Glories of Spain Part 13

"Now and then she would accompany us in our yacht, and it was delightful to witness the reverence and devotion of the crew on those occasions--men who remained with us year after year, nor ever thought of change. I believe that every one of them would have laid down his life for her. She never liked the sea; the least rising of wind or ruffling of water alarmed her. When she accompanied us our excursions would be lengthened. We explored the islands of the Mediterranean, visited friends in some of the more distant towns on the seaboard. How well I remember a longer absence than usual, when we made acquaintance with all the Greek isles, and explored the fair city of the violet crown. Who that has approached those cla.s.sic sh.o.r.es can forget the first sight of Ossa and Pelion--scene of the battle between the G.o.ds and t.i.tans--though Homer reverses possibilities in placing Pelion upon Ossa! Who can forget his first impression of the rocky gorge and valley between Ossa and Olympus! All is now in a state of sad but picturesque ruin and poverty, but in days gone by industries flourished here--a happy and contented people. The spinning-jennies of England have a little to answer for in this.

"To my mother's cla.s.sic mind, all ancient history appealed with a special charm. The sh.o.r.es of Greece, like our own, were washed by the blue waters of the Mediterranean. There too the hills, in all their exquisite form, stood out in a bright clear atmosphere. We journeyed leisurely from the frontier to the Piraeus; visited the islands of the Peloponnesus, with all their ancient and romantic interest; rested ourselves at the Monastery of Daphne, and from the summit of the pa.s.s gazed upon that wonderful view of Athens. Together we ascended Mount Olympus and pictured ourselves amongst the G.o.ds of the ancient mythology. We admired its richly-wooded slopes, where the endless mulberry trees put forth their spreading foliage, and visited the Monastery of St. Dionysius, which lies in that wonderful Olympian amphitheatre--one of the grandest scenes in nature.

"All Athens opened its doors to us. They could not greet too warmly or _fete_ too highly my mother's beauty and grace, my father's rare gifts of heart and mind.

"But our happiest hours were spent alone. Together we studied the wonders of the capital, and grew familiar with the Byzantine churches.

We pa.s.sed days upon lovely aegina where blow the purest of Heaven's pure winds. We stood almost in awe before the wonderful ruins of the Doric Temple of Zeus, aegina's glory, whose columns have stood the test of 2,500 years. What can be lovelier than the view from the summit of that rugged hill crowned by its imperishable monument? I remember as though it were yesterday my first glimpse of Helicon and Parna.s.sus, as we sailed through the Gulf of Corinth; the walk through the olive-groves of the Sacred Plain, where, turn which way you will, the eye rests on historic ground. In the fair city we thought of Paul as he preached to the Athenians under the shadow of the Parthenon. We haunted the Acropolis with its barren rocks and fragments of past glories. From the charmed heights we gazed upon the sapphire sea ever flashing in brilliant sunshine. In the distance, faint and hazy and dreamlike, were ever the sleeping mountains, aegina and Argolis protecting the magic ranges. Sometimes we penetrated too far inland, and more than once my father's adventurous spirit had nearly brought us within the grasp of the lawless, a condition of things that would have been the death of my mother, and for which he would never have forgiven himself.

"But all the pleasure of our wanderings never equalled the charm of our home-coming. There was our life and our delight. There we were truly happy. Looking back, I see that it was an ideal existence: a condition Heaven never permits to remain too long unbroken, or we might forget that this is not our abiding city.

"My father filled his leisure moments by cultivating vineyards, which in those days were very successful, and in the form of wine returned rich revenues. We lived in a rainbow atmosphere, and, if you know Provence--as doubtless you do--you will also know that this is no mere figure of speech. The airs of heaven were ever balmy. In those days one never heard of cold and snow and frost on the Riviera. We have since approached some degrees nearer to the North Pole. Little need for others to go off in search of it and bring it to us. At that time we lived in perpetual summer. The sapphire waters of the Mediterranean for ever flashed and flowed upon the white sands of the sh.o.r.es that belonged to us. It seems to me now that the skies were always blue and the sun ever shone. Olive-yards and vineyards, I have said, surrounded us. Orange and lemon-groves sent forth an exquisite perfume only known to those who live amongst them. An amphitheatre of hills rose about us; the lovely Maritime Alps with all their graceful undulations, all their rich foliage. Birds flashed in the sunshine. In the balmy nights of May the nightingales never ceased their song.

"I must have been an impressionable child, with all my strong, st.u.r.dy health, inheriting something of my mother's romantic nature. It is certain that the memory of those early days has never faded, but has been the background and colouring of all my after life. Even now in thought I often go back to them. There are times when I am a little undecided how to act. I ask myself how my father or mother would have acted under the circ.u.mstances, and in their clear, sensible tones seem to hear the reply.

"Up to the age of seven they were my sole instructors. Then fresh plans were formed. A precocious child, it was felt that I ought to enter upon more serious studies than they had leisure to direct.

"A tutor was found; the Abbe Riviere; a man of large mind and solid attainments; a profound thinker. To this he added the simple nature of a child. The marvel was that he condescended to become tutor and companion to a lad of seven. We soon found that his ambition was to have leisure for the writing of metaphysical works. His present appointment gave him his heart's desire. He had no parish or people to look after. With less singleness of purpose and more worldliness, he might have risen to any position in the church. No better companion for a boy could have been found, and he possessed the rare faculty of imparting knowledge. His mind could unbend, and he adapted his conversation to his hearers. No mere bookworm was he, dry, tedious and incomprehensible. My studies were a delight. I knew afterwards that one of the joys of his life was to watch day by day the unfolding of his pupil's mind. Thus he took the keenest interest in his work, and considered his days doubly blessed. I have heard him say that the offer of the triple crown could not have tempted him to change his life.

"He did not live in the chateau, but in a small house on the estate. It was supposed that here he would feel himself more his own master, free to order, to come and go as he would, whilst every comfort was secured to him. My father was the most generous of men, full of thoughtful consideration for all in any way dependent upon him. From the highest to the lowest, none were pa.s.sed over. He soon discovered the Abbe's true character; the high purpose that actuated his life; and became devoted to him. My father's mind was quite equal to the Abbe's, though he had not spent his life in metaphysical studies. Still, he sympathised with his pursuits, and read his works in MS. Now he agreed with the writer and now differed. His clear, correct vision many a time won over the Abbe to his opinion.

"The Abbe became, so to say, our domestic chaplain. As often as he could be persuaded, he made a fourth at the dinner-table, and said grace in his quiet, refined tones. And he needed far less persuasion on these occasions than when the chateau was filled with guests. He was always an acquisition. A man of deep and varied thought, possessing the gift, not always given to great men, of putting his thoughts into words. An earnest, fluent talker, who could unstring his bow and throw a charm even over ordinary topics. This was far more apparent, far more exercised when we were alone and he was sure of the sympathy of his hearers, than when others were present. If he only spoke of the pa.s.sing clouds, the ripening fruit, or the flashing sea, his rare mind would clothe his ideas in a form peculiarly his own, and especially attractive.

"I often think Providence helped my father in his selection. When indeed does Providence _not_ direct the paths of its children? Without doubt I owe the Abbe a deep debt of grat.i.tude. He did much to shape and consolidate my character. I was his pupil in all those important years when the seeds are being sown to bear fruit in the after life. From the age of seven to nineteen, I was seldom absent from him. Occasionally he would join in our yachting excursions. Then, unbending, throwing work to the winds, he became the most delightful of companions. In spite of his more than fifty years and his long white hair, he could be almost child-like in his ways. His was one of those simple and rare natures that never grow old.

"Rightly or wrongly, my parents elected to keep me at home. I was their all in life; they would have me under their own roof. And why not? My future was a.s.sured. I should be wealthy. It was not necessary to go out into the world to learn to fight my way, as it is called. In the matter of education I certainly did not suffer. Experience of the world came soon enough.

"So our quiet and charming life went on. Looking back, I would not change one single circ.u.mstance of those early days. They are a treasure-house on which I still draw for strength and guidance.

"We were by no means isolated. My father was given to hospitality and delighted in receiving his friends. We mixed freely with the few families of our own rank in the neighbourhood. Nevertheless these were exceptional times. He was happiest--we all were--when the house was free from guests and we were all in all to each other. It was a paradise of four people; for the Abbe in time became as one of ourselves. If good influence were wanted, he gave it. He was a deeply religious man in the wide acceptance of the term; not thinking of saints and fasts and penances, but of the higher life which looks Above for strength and consolation. I much fear me he would have pa.s.sed but a poor examination before the Consistory of Rome. I doubt if he would have escaped excommunication. Holy, upright man!" cried Delormais with emotion. "He was as much above ordinary human nature, with all its petty ways and narrowing limits, as the stars are above the earth."

Again he paused, and for a moment seemed plunged in profound sadness. He had evidently reached a painful crisis in his life. A deep sigh escaped him which seemed weighted with the burden of years. Then with an effort, still turning upon us that kindly, penetrating eye, he went on with his narrative.

"At the age of fifteen came my first great sorrow--the greatest sorrow of my life. I could not have conceived that our cloudless sky would so suddenly become overcast with the blackness of night.

"My mother died. A man loses his wife, and however much he loved her, he may get him another. But he can have but one mother in his life, one father.

"For long she had been gradually failing. Much as I loved her, my boyish eyes did not perceive the change that was coming. I did not see that this earthly angel was quietly pa.s.sing away to heaven. She herself was conscious of it. There were times--how well I remembered it afterwards--when I would find her eyes fixed upon me with a yearning ineffable sadness. Her whole soul and spirit seemed to be speaking to me without words. She was about to leave me to the temptations and tender mercies of the world--how would it fare with me in the years to come?

But she never spoke or gave me word or sign of warning.

"My father also saw the change coming, but would not admit it; could not believe or realise it. The loss would be his death-blow. For him there could be no second wife, no other companion. When the blow fell, it crushed him. He was never the same again. I never again heard him laugh, scarcely saw him smile. His body was still on earth, thought and spirit seemed to have followed his wife into the unseen world. His affection for me, the kindly remonstrances of the good Abbe, even these were not powerful enough to restore his desire for life. He went on quietly, patiently for four years, then followed the wife without whom it seemed he could not remain on earth.

"I told you just now their life was too happy to remain long without interruption. Fifteen years of perfect companionship had pa.s.sed as a flash, the dream of a long day, and then vanished.

"I was now nineteen, but mentally and physically more like five-and-twenty. A restlessness seized me. My home was haunted by the spirits of my parents; by the remembrance of days whose perfect happiness made that remembrance for the moment intolerable. I had pa.s.sionately, tenderly loved both father and mother. If I went into the groves, her face seemed ever gazing at me amidst the fruit and foliage.

Her accustomed place in the terrace was filled with her presence. In every room in the house I heard my father's voice, felt the clasp of his hand.

"The good Abbe was my frequent companion, but the blow had told upon him also. He had aged wonderfully. Though he tried to be cheerful for my sake, it was clearly forced. My life grew impossible. I felt that I must change the scene if I would recover mental tone and vigour. For a time I must travel; see the world; wander from place to place, country to country, until rest and calm returned to my soul. Even the Abbe, sorry as he was to part from me, commended my resolution.

"I was my own master; wealthy; free to come and go as I would; everything favoured the idea. At home I would change nothing. The Abbe should remain in his little house, his days and leisure at his own disposal. The old servants were retained in the chateau. Only the living-rooms should be closed to the ghosts that haunted them. The able superintendent of all outdoor concerns, a domestic charge-d'affaires, who had for years filled the position under my father, remained at the head of all things. The only change in his routine was that once a week he should have a morning with the Abbe. All matters were to pa.s.s under the scrutiny of that wise judgment. If any difficulty arose he was to be appealed to. It was the only service I asked at the hands of my old tutor in return for the home and stipend it was my privilege to afford him. He had long been white-haired, and was now venerable beyond his nearly seventy years. He gave me his solemn benediction at parting, and for the first time I saw him break down. He wept as he placed his hands upon my head. 'This third parting is too much for me,' he cried. 'I can no more.'

"So I turned my back upon my home, my face to the world. I was strong, energetic, full of life and spirit, though for the moment clouded and subdued. The Abbe had taken care that my mental powers should be thoroughly trained. For twelve years I had been his constant care. In many things he thought me his superior. Mathematics and cla.s.sics, the sciences, these by his rare skill he had made my amus.e.m.e.nt. But my impulsive nature, quick sometimes to rashness, had not been conquered.

He had only given me a certain amount of judgment and common-sense which must stand by me in moments of difficulty or danger. Altogether I was well-fitted to take care of myself, in spite of my love of adventure and quick temperament. You see that it clings to me still," added Delormais with a smile. "The old Adam dies hard within us. Who else would have treated you to a homily on black coffee and strong waters as I did this morning?

"I departed on my travels with no fixed purpose other than to see the world. To which point of the compa.s.s I turned, chance should decide."

Again Delormais paused as though absorbed in past recollections. For a moment his white, well-shaped hand shielded his eyes. Then returning to his former att.i.tude, now gazing earnestly at us and now into s.p.a.ce, he continued his narrative.

CHAPTER X.

DELORMAIS' ROMANCE.

Rome--Count Albert--Happy months--Sweets of companionship--Egypt--Strange things--Quiet weeks--Sinai--Freedom of the desert--Crossing the Red Sea--Mount Serbal--Convent of St.

Catherine--In the Valley of the Saint--Tomb of Sheikh Saleh--Pools of Solomon--Jerusalem the Golden--Bethel--Lebanon--Home again--Fresh scenes--Algeria--Hanging gardens of the Sahel--Mount Bubor and its glories--Rash act--At the twilight hour--Earthly paradise--Fair Eve--Fervent love--Arouya--Nature's revenge--Not to last--Eternal requiem of the sea--In the backwoods--Hunting wolves--Prairies of California--Honolulu--Active volcanoes--Lake of fire--Rare birds and wild flowers--Worship of Peleus--An eruption--Mighty upheaval--Coast of Labrador--Shooting bears.

"The first morning that I wakened up away from home I found myself in the Eternal City. I had always loved Rome. Here I thought I might lose myself in ancient history. In imagination I trod the palace of the Caesars, and in the Coliseum beheld the martyred Christians. I pictured the gilded pageantries of the Tiber, the splendours of the pleasure-lost citizens. I saw the vast Campagna clothed with its armies, listened to the clash of arms and shouts of warriors ascending heavenwards. I walked the Appian Way with St. Paul and at the Three Taverns seemed to hear his voice in sorrowful farewell. At the shrine of Cecilia Metella I lingered in sympathetic communion; and from the Pincio Hill watched the sunsets of those matchless skies. Why are the skies of Rome more beautiful than any other? The Vatican opened its doors to me and the Pope gave me his most intimate and friendly benediction. I fear that I thought too lightly of the latter.

"What just then was more to my purpose, in Rome I found a great friend.

He, Count Albert, was the nephew of the duke my mother had refused to marry. We had been intimate from childhood, but he was five years my senior. I need not say that he was a very different man from his uncle: high-minded, earnest, a cultivated citizen of the world. About to visit Egypt and Palestine, he begged me to join him. His happiness he declared would then be complete.

"Thus chance, or an over-ruling Providence, decided for me. I willingly acquiesced, and the many months we spent together remain as some of the happiest of my life. Though never ceasing to mourn my loss, I quickly threw off depression in the excitement of ever-changing scenes. Only in the still darkness of the night hours would the beloved faces and voices come to me with an ever-recurring sense of loneliness, and, man though I was, my pillow was frequently wet with tears. But our friendship for each other was sincere and has remained so. For the Duke of G.--he has now by the decrees of fate become the head of his family--is still living, though we have seldom met of late years.

"We travelled together, enjoying those sweet pleasures of companionship only given us in youth. With Egypt and Palestine we became intimate and familiar. Cairo delighted us. It was less modern in those days than in these. We were never tired of visiting the mosques with all their sacred and historic charm. We made the acquaintance of the sheikhs, saw them perform impossible magic, heard strange things revealed in a drop of ink. To me these mysteries have remained unsolved to this day. We spent hours and days amongst the tombs of the Caliphs, revelling in their wonderful refinement. We visited all the ancient cities of the Nile: Thebes with its hills and ruins, Memphis with its palm forests and Pyramids--those monuments the most ancient in the world. We contemplated the great Pyramids of Ghizeh by moonlight and felt steeped in mystery.

In the same weird light I have stood before the Sphinx and asked the reason and origin of its existence, but only profound silence has answered me. At Dendera, that perfect temple begun by Cleopatra and finished by Tiberius, I gazed upon the features of the famous queen and compared them with those of Hermonthis. I found they resembled each other and confess that I wondered in what consisted the beauty of the woman who changed the fate of the world--but beautiful she must have been. We chartered our dahabeah and travelled up to the Second Cataract.

Never shall I forget the soothing repose of those quiet weeks, the delight of our uninterrupted companionship, the books we read together, the daily thoughts we exchanged, the ruined cities we explored. It was an experience that comes only once in a lifetime.

"We both felt strongly the connection between Sacred Geography and Sacred History: how the one would be better understood if the other were visited. So together we became acquainted with the Peninsula of Sinai, its mountains, plains, and sea. The charm and freedom of the desert I had often dreamed about, but how far greater was the reality! Here we revelled day after day in the wonderful isolation: sky and sand and nothing else. A mingling of gorgeous tones: a vast expanse of blue and yellow; a molten sun burning down upon all by day, at night the infinite repose of darkness and star-lit skies. How endless were those sandy wastes, broken only by the wild broom and acacia yielding its gum arabic, the wild palm and manna-giving tamarisk!

"We traversed the desert in which the Israelites wandered for forty years, and crossed the Red Sea over the very spot where Pharaoh and his host were drowned. We ascended Mount Serbal and the cl.u.s.ter of Jebel Musa, and therefore must have trod the very Sinai of Israel. We stayed for days at the wonderful convent of St. Catherine, a strange building to exist in the very centre of the desert, with its ma.s.sive walls, gorgeous church and galleries, monkish cells and guest chambers, its wonderful gardens. We spent much time in the Library, examining its ancient and singularly interesting MSS. We conversed frequently with the monks, and wondered why they should be Greek and not Arabian; and whether, so far removed from the world, temptation and sin and sorrow still a.s.sailed them.

"In the Valley of the Saint we visited the tomb of Sheikh Saleh, the 'great unknown,' where the tribes of the Desert a.s.semble once a year and hold their races and dances and offer up burnt sacrifices. We looked upon Hebron, that wonderful sepulchre of the Patriarchs, and pa.s.sed through the Valley of Eschol, once so abundant in the fruits of the earth. We visited the three Pools of Solomon on our way to Bethlehem.

Never can I forget the gorgeous splendour of the scene, the wonderful undulations of those vine-clad hills. In the vast depression lie the sleeping pools, square and regular, and sky and atmosphere seem full of flaming colours, and one realises the true meaning of the glories of the East. Beyond lies Rachel's tomb, and from the top of a neighbouring hill one looks down upon Jerusalem the Golden. We feel that we are treading the holiest ground on earth.

"We went up the Pa.s.sage of Michmash to Bethel; that dreary and barren spot where Jacob made him a pillar of stones and dreamed his dream. You remember his words: 'Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not.... This is none other than the house of G.o.d, and this is the gate of heaven.' The spot is very desolate; no wonder Jacob feared as he gazed around.

"We visited Lebanon, and in its grove reposed under the few remaining cedars, listened to the cry of the cicale, and watched the birds of brilliant plumage flitting from branch to branch. Though in the midst of the desert there was no silence. A wonderful spot, with its rushing streams, its vineyards and corn-fields, the magnificent sea flashing in the sunshine. What a forest life it must have been before Sennacherib laid it low!

"So we became thoroughly acquainted with Sinai and Palestine. I can never understand those who leave this magic land with a sense of disappointment. It is true that we were young, full of life and vigour, ready to extract all the honey from our sweets; but to me no after experience ever equalled this first lengthened journey of my manhood.

With what sorrow and regret I brought it to an end and parted from my friend, you will easily imagine.

"But it had to be. I had been long absent from home. The Abbe wrote to me regularly; all had gone well and quietly, but I began to feel anxious to gaze once more upon the beloved groves and familiar sh.o.r.es; to hear once more the voice of the good old man who I knew hungered and thirsted for my return.

"One morning when the sun was shining and everything looked bright and happy, I suddenly appeared before the Abbe. He was absorbed upon a MS., putting the finishing touches to a chapter of peculiar merit, when he looked up and saw the desire of his eyes. For a moment I thought he was about to lose consciousness. Then the blood rushed to his pale, refined face, and I found myself clasped in his arms.