Glories of Spain Part 33

"You are here!" he cried. "I have been wondering all the morning why I did not come across you, in what ancient nook you had buried yourselves.

I was now on my way to your hotel to ask whether you had departed to other fields, and to find out why you did not come to me last night.

To-night I shall make sure of you. You shall dine with me--I will take no refusal. For once the old priest's frugal fare must suffice you. It shall be a fast-day. Abstinence from flesh-meat occasionally is good, even for travellers. Tell me you will come. Do not pain me by refusing, or make me guilty of pressing you too much. Juanita, my old housekeeper, tells me she is quite equal to preparing you _un diner maigre_."

Pressure was not needed; we were too glad to accept the good priest's invitation. He was given to hospitality in the best sense of the word, and we readily promised to dine with him. For us, the diner maigre had no terrors.

"That is good," he replied, in his rich round voice. "I shall expect you at seven o'clock, though we shall not dine until eight. So you are still lost in amazement at this architectural dream. The oftener you see it, the more beautiful it becomes. With few interruptions I have looked upon it daily for forty years, and every morning its charm seems new and strange to me. Well, since I have seen you I shall not go to your hotel.

I have sundry visits to pay to poor sick folk. Until the infirmities of old age become too strong for me I will not give them up. And before that happens I trust a merciful Creator will remove me to scenes where there is neither age nor infirmity nor sick poor in need of consolation."

He hurried away, leaving us to the marvellous interior. We were glad to go to the old canon's, and felt it would be our opportunity for laying before him that interesting but unhappy case.

[Ill.u.s.tration: INTERIOR OF CATHEDRAL, SHOWING CORO AND ORGAN: ZARAGOZA.]

As the clock struck seven we rang the bell. The drooping handle was in itself an object of art: a wonderful specimen of iron work cunningly wrought. We were not privileged to use the hidden spring, which moreover we could not discover. The bell was immediately answered by Juanita in grey hair, placid face and black silk gown; a picture of high respectability. She greeted us with a serene smile and a.s.sured us that we were welcome: tones and manner a reflection of her master's: the fruits of long and faithful service. Hers was a face to be taken on trust.

As we entered, the canon came out of his dining-room.

"I like this punctuality," he cried, "and you are doubly welcome. As our frugal dinner is not ready, I will take you through my little house whilst a glimmer of daylight lasts. Let us first lay siege to Juanita's regions--my good old housekeeper who has been with me or mine for fifty years--ever since she was a maiden of ten. We will explore the mysteries of her preparations for our benefit. I always feel like a child when gazing upon her handiwork."

A long pa.s.sage panelled in old dark oak led from the dining-room to the kitchen. Here, indeed, we found ourselves in fairyland. The room was far larger than the dining-room. Latticed windows looked out upon a small courtyard, half conservatory, where bloomed a profusion of sweet-smelling flowers. The kitchen itself was a picture; walls were panelled, the ceiling was of oak; everything bore the unmistakable tone of age. Facing the windows were hooks and shelves bearing the brightest of bra.s.s pots and pans. The latticed windows, the flowers beyond all, here found their reflections multiplied. Every bra.s.s implement was of the most artistic description. At right angles with this, other shelves bore a small but special dinner-service of old Spanish ware, the only example of its kind we had ever seen. Below this was an old dresser on which the silver used by the canon was displayed, with here and there an artistic water-pot and cooler.

In the centre of the s.p.a.cious kitchen was a large, solid, substantial oak table. At one end lay some work at which Juanita had evidently lately been busy. At the other end was a small pile of the curious Spanish-ware plates, evidently on their way to the dining-room.

Under one of the latticed windows was Juanita's help-mate: a young woman busily engaged in preparing a dish of olives. One could have lived in this room with the greatest pleasure, and never asked for anything more artistic or luxurious. A savoury smell, as of frying of eggs with sweet herbs, was in the air; yet were there no signs of stove or cooking. A huge chimney-place there was, in which half a dozen people might have comfortably found seats; but nothing was to be seen excepting a couple of old-fashioned dogs on which some lighted wood and peat sparkled and crackled, whilst the blue smoke went curling up the wide opening.

"Wonderful!" we cried, taking in the incomparable effect of the whole room. "This is a house of magic."

"Very simple magic," laughed the old canon. "I fear that in sleight of hand Juanita and I would be failures. Her magic lies in preparing simple dishes."

"But where are they prepared?" we said. "There is neither sign nor sound of cooking here."

"Come and see," laughed the canon; and crossing the kitchen, he led the way through a further door down a short pa.s.sage into a small, whitewashed room beyond. Here on a large stove Juanita and her hand-maiden conducted their mysteries. A dozen bra.s.s pans stood upon the stove, and every one of them seemed in use.

"Surely these are not for dinner!" we cried. "It was to be a fast-day."

"A fast-day as far as flesh is concerned," laughed the canon. "That does not absolutely mean that you are to starve. I know no more than you what Juanita has prepared. If I intruded upon her province with the faintest suggestion, she might retaliate by sending us empty dishes. I fear our faces would lengthen before them--that is if anything could lengthen mine," he gurgled, turning his large, round, delightful countenance full upon us. "I see signs of approaching readiness in those steaming saucepans. Let us continue our inspection. Daylight dies; nothing remains but the afterglow."

We pa.s.sed again through the charming old kitchen, where the logs on the great hearth blazed and crackled.

"Summer and winter, Juanita will have a fire," said the old canon, pointing to the crackling logs. "She declares that she is growing old and shivery, and the bright flames chase the vapours from her mind."

We pa.s.sed up the old oak staircase. Everywhere we came upon the same signs of age; the same artistic old panelling; bedrooms with ancient oak furniture, oak ceilings finely carved. A perfect house of its kind, and much larger than it appeared from the outside. One room was the canon's own sanctum, fitted up with book-shelves, where reposed many a precious volume. Amongst his treasures he produced some ancient illuminated ma.n.u.scripts of rare value. The desk at which he sat and worked was placed near a latticed window in a corner of the room, through which one just caught sight of the tower of La Seo.

Again we exclaimed that so perfect a house should be found in Zaragoza.

"Mine by inheritance," said the canon. "Early in the sixteenth century it belonged to a far-away ancestor, who was Bishop of Zaragoza. Dying, he left it to his brother and his children, of whom I am a direct descendant. The singular thing is that between the bishop and myself there has not been a single ecclesiastic in the family. When I die, the direct line of nearly four centuries will be broken. The house will pa.s.s to my nephew, who is mixed up with Court life, and has married a Court beauty. He is already nearly middle-aged, with sons and daughters growing up. As far as possible I have ordained that the house shall never be altered. But who can legislate for what shall happen after death?"

We returned to the dining-room, where we soon found that our fast was to be in reality a light, refined and delicate feast. Fish of more kinds than one, dressed to perfection; eggs and sweet herbs in many forms and disguises; choice fruits. And from his cellar the canon brought forth exquisite wines--priceless Johannisberg and Chambertin; whilst with our coffee he gave us Chartreuse fifty years old. Yet he himself pa.s.sed over all delicacies, limiting his dinner to eggs and sweet herbs, with which he drank coffee.

"You censure others by the dignity of excelling," we said. "Though crowding upon us these indulgences, you abstain from all."

"I believe in St. James, who said, 'Use hospitality one to another without grudging,'" returned the canon. "I delight in doing this. Heaven has blessed me with means; how can they be better employed than in ministering to others, whether rich or poor? As for myself, do not think I am exercising self-denial. Habit is second nature. Did I not tell you that the pleasures of the table had nothing to do with my physical rotundity. But heaven be praised, I can still manage to roll over the ground without trouble."

Juanita waited upon us with unruffled ease, her comely face looking the delight she evidently felt in dispensing luxuries. Her hands were clothed in black silk mittens; her black silk gown rustled with a gentle dignity as she quietly moved about, taking plates and dishes from her hand-maiden, who stood outside the door. Some wonderful old silver adorned the table and everything from first to last showed the ruling hand and head of one born and bred in an atmosphere of refinement.

We had not sat down to table until eight o'clock, and when coffee was served the old clock on the oak mantelpiece had chimed nine, and its last vibrations had long died upon the air. Yet the time had pa.s.sed with lightning rapidity, for the canon in giving us some of the experiences of his long life, and in telling us many legends of Zaragoza, had engaged our whole interest and attention.

When Juanita had handed us coffee, and left the charming old silver coffee-pot steaming upon the table dispensing its aromatic fumes, she made us collectively a court-curtsey at the door and withdrew.

Then came our opportunity, and we related to the canon our previous day's adventure, with all its sadness and its apparently hopeless element. He listened with earnest attention and sympathy.

"The world is full of these instances," he cried with a profound sigh, when we had ended. "Do you wonder at my frugal living when I hear of these wrecked lives? I have seen so much of this terrible vice. I know how hard it is to conquer, how seldom the victory is gained. It requires daily care on the part of one stronger than the tempted, and too often even that fails. But who is this frail creature? She must and shall be rescued if human aid, under divine help, can avail. For heaven will not always save us in spite of ourselves. 'My Spirit shall not always strive with men.'"

Her name and domestic history had been withheld to the last. We now explained who she was, who her father had been, his position under Government, his sudden death from grief. and we gave him her card, which bore both her married and her maiden name--the latter written in pencil: Eugenie de Colmar.

The canon quite started as we spoke it, and threw himself back in his chair.

"Is it possible!" he cried. "Is it possible! But life is full of these coincidences. Verily the Divine hand holds the threads of the world's human actions; and what we call coincidences are the silent drawing together of these threads for ordained purposes. De Colmar was my intimate friend, though many years my junior. He would come and spend a week at a time with me here, but his visits were not frequent. I knew little of his wife, still less of his child, whom I saw but once when she was about ten years old. I was told of his death; had heard of a tragedy; but the full details I now learn for the first time. It is one of the saddest stories I ever listened to. For the sake of the father I must make every effort to save the child. It will be a hard task, but only needing the more courage. To-morrow I will seek her out. She must be taken from this unwholesome life and excitement. I will tell her that she owes it to the memory of her father, in atonement for the wrong she did him, to place herself in my hands; to give up her will to mine. She shall come into this house and take up her abode with us for a time. Her reform shall be my daily care. Juanita, for all her placid face, has plenty of good sense and decision; she is quite equal to being her companion and to watching over her. It shall be done. I have seldom failed in what I earnestly took in hand, and I must not fail now."

This was good news. A load was taken from our mind. Surely all this would bear fruit. There seemed every hope that this poor creature would be rescued and restored. When we got up to leave, it was with a light heart. The time had pa.s.sed quickly and the hands on the old clock pointed to eleven.

"Alas, you are going away. When shall we meet again?" said the canon, in tones as melancholy as we felt sure ever fell from his lips. Not his to look on the sad side of life. He pa.s.sed his days shedding light and warmth around him like a substantial sunbeam, distributing favours with both hands.

"When shall we meet again?" he repeated. "Perhaps never! Even the splendours of La Seo may fail to draw from you a second visit; whilst the welcome awaiting you from the old priest will be altogether forgotten."

We a.s.sured him that ingrat.i.tude was not one of our sins. The delightful evening he had given us would be remembered for ever; we truly declared it a privilege and a pleasure to know him; a sorrow to say farewell.

"It is a word I never utter," quickly returned the canon. "With me it is ever _au revoir_; if not in this world then in the next. And we have now a bond of sympathy between us in this poor creature whom I am going to save and rescue whether she will or no. She is our joint protegee; I shall write and keep you posted up in her welfare. Be sure that if any power can possibly reclaim her, she is saved. _Au revoir_--let us leave it at this. Heaven be with you--and peace."

Full of peace indeed was the night as we pa.s.sed out into the darkness.

The stars seemed to shine down upon the world with a serene benediction.

Much of the pain we had felt last night was removed. Surely no chance hand had guided us. The work begun to-night was destined to succeed.[C]

Before turning in, we went once more round to our favourite spot. It was our last look by starlight upon the deep, dark flowing river, the wonderful old bridge, the faint outlines of El Pilar rising beyond.

To-night all was shadowy and indistinct; a dream vision; and the only sound to be heard was the swirling of the waters through the seven arches of St. Peter's bridge.

The next morning we left Zaragoza by an early train for Tarragona: a long roundabout journey. Again we had to pa.s.s through Lerida, where we had twenty minutes to wait. As chance would have it, our landlord was on the platform, speeding parting guests. We went up to him and drew him apart.

"Tell us," we said; "what about the dragging of the well? Has it been done?"

Our late host threw up his hands. "Oh, senor, I shiver and shake at the very thought of it. I had it done the very day after you left. And what do you think came up?"

"Two skeletons?"

"The keys, senor: the missing keys and a pair of slippers--very much down at heel."

"And the skeletons?"