THE ABBOT OF SAN JUAN
The two weeks which followed constituted, I have no hesitation in
saying, the gala fortnight of my existence.
I never could have imagined it possible that so much pleasure could
have been crowded into such a short time. But can it not be easily
believed that everything then was to me gilded with that supreme fine
gold, the glamour of a young love? Yes, I think even the old Don
himself saw it, and at any rate did not forbid it.
I went about with Dolores everywhere, even to church, at which she was
a regular attendant, and I flatter myself behaved very creditably
there, for though I was not a Roman Catholic like herself, yet I had
attended the Sunday evening ministrations of the monks of Bath, and
knew a good deal about it through the said monks' discourses.
I hope I don't make a mistake in calling them monks--if I do, I ask
their pardon. I certainly understood them to _say_ they were monks.
Be that as it may. I did not disgrace Dolores when I went with her to
the great cathedral in Valoro.
But our time there was by no means entirely spent in going to church.
Day after day the old Don engaged special trains in which we flew about
the Republic faring sumptuously everywhere, and on our return there
would generally be a dinner-party, followed by the theatre or the
opera--a magnificent house and performance--and as likely as not a ball
after that. Much more of it would have killed us all.
But the gay life mercifully drew towards a close, and Dolores and I
began to contemplate a pleasurable voyage back on that very ship on
which we had first met and loved.
Yes, loved; we were plighted lovers now; there was no secret, no hiding
anything from one another.
By Dolores' wish I only waited to reach England to tell her father of
my love for her and ask him for her.
"And do you think he will give you to me, darling?" I asked one
beautiful night, when we were sitting out a waltz at a ball at the
house of a grandee at Valoro. "Do you think he will give you to an
Englishman?"
"Considering that he gave his sister away to an Englishman I don't see
how he can refuse me to you, dearest," she answered. "At any rate I
think I can persuade him."
Yes, I believed she could, she looked capable of persuading the angels
themselves, in her dress of white silk, cut rather low, with a string
of pearls round her neck worth about the value of the winner of the
Derby.
Towards the last few days of our stay in Aquazilia, when we were all,
even Lady Ethel, surfeited with dancing, and St. Nivel and I began to
look askance at banquets, Don Juan came to me one day and took me aside
into his garden.
I purposely led him away from the direction of the reptile houses of
which I had a holy horror, and we sauntered down a shady avenue of
palms.
"There is one place of interest near Valoro, Mr. Anstruther," he said,
"which I should much like to show you and Lord St. Nivel if he cares to
come, and that is the great Trappist Monastery at San Juan del Monte,
about ten miles from here."
"By Jove!" I answered, "that is the very place I should like to see!
I'm your man at any time."
"If you can be up by seven to-morrow morning," continued the old man,
"we can motor over in the cool of the day. I know it is asking a good
deal of you, because we have this evening to attend the reception of
your minister, and then go on to the ball at Donna Elvira della
Granja's. At the earliest we shall not be in bed till two, I fear."
"Never mind," I answered, "a cold tub usually puts me straight after a
late night, and I am particularly anxious to see some real live monks
in real cells."
"You will see both there in dozens," replied d'Alta; "there are nearly
three hundred monks there."
Despite the dissipation of the night, six o'clock the next morning saw
me out of bed, and 7.45 found me dressed for the road and as fresh from
my cold bath as if His Britannic Majesty's Minister at Valoro had not
given a reception at all, and Donna Elvira della Granja's ball had
never taken place, though I certainly put in an appearance at the
former, sitting in a corner with Dolores and listening to her
description of all the political notabilities present, and at the
latter I certainly did my duty as an Englishman, as many a black-eyed
donna could testify, albeit I had all the best waltzes with Dolores,
and of course took her in to supper.
I think every one in Valoro by this time put us down as an engaged
couple; especially as old Don Juan seemed a consenting party or
discreetly blind to our proceedings.
St. Nivel told me afterwards of a conversation he overheard between two
American attachés at Donna Elvira's.
"I guess," remarked the "Military" to the "Naval," "that Englishman's
goin' to walk off with old d'Alta's girl."
"You bet," confirmed the Naval, "he's fairly on the job. What is he?"
"Well, he's the cousin of that young Lord St. Nivel," responded the
Military, "and that counts a lot, of course. But his _real_ trade I'm
told is book writing."
"Jeehosophat!" commented the Naval. "I guess he'll chuck that when
he's Don Juan's son-in-law; the old snake-charmer will never tolerate a
mere _bookman_ in his drawing-room. His blue Spanish blood would all
turn green, I reckon."
Thus was the humble calling of a novelist despised, even in Valoro!
When, however, I descended from my bedroom at 7.45, after partaking of
a delicious _petit déjeuner_ of coffee, milk, bread, and fruit in my
apartment, I found Don Juan d'Alta ready for the road, and the motor at
the door. In five minutes St. Nivel joined us.
"I didn't like to be left behind, old sportsman," he exclaimed.
"Staying in bed on a huntin' mornin' is not exactly my form, even when
the quarry is merely a harmless Trappist!"
"Your early habits do you credit, but your language, St. Nivel," I said
reprovingly, "is verging on the profane."
"I'm sure I'm very sorry," he answered. "I'd walk ten miles rather
than offend any one's feelings. I hope Don Juan didn't hear me."
"Don Juan is a man of the world," I answered, "and it wouldn't matter
if he did, but other people might hear you and not like it."
"Righto, Bill," replied my sporting cousin. "I'll keep my eye on you
and try and not put my foot in it."
In a few minutes we were rattling through some magnificent mountain
scenery, with luxuriant vegetation and lovely wild flowers on every
side. On the tops of the trees were parrots of varied colours which,
disturbed by the noise of the motor, fluttered in all directions before
us.
"Now I particularly want you to notice the abbot," said Don Juan as we
approached the monastery, a very ancient-looking pile of buildings
situated in a most lonely spot on the side of a mountain, yet
surrounded by scenery which would have rivalled any in the world; "he
is a most remarkable man, and possesses, as you will see, a most
remarkable presence."
Presently we drew up at a very plain front door, and were immediately
reconnoitred through a small wicket hole.
"The janitor," observed St. Nivel, "is evidently taking stock of us,
and for that reason, Bill, I feel thankful that you have put on that
new Norfolk suit; it gives the whole party a classy appearance."
The survey seemed satisfactory. Some bolts were shot back and the door
opened, disclosing a monk in a brown habit.
He made some evidently most respectful remarks to Don Juan in Spanish,
and then we all entered the monastery and were shown into a guest-room.
Here in a few minutes another lay brother brought a liqueur stand with
glasses.
"Veritable Chartreuse," remarked Don Juan, as he laid his hand on the
little decanters of green and yellow liquid, "the true stream drunk at
the source!"
He filled the little glasses and handed them round as the lay brother
stood looking on admiringly.
"You must take some," he said, "or they will be offended."
St. Nivel sipped his glass appreciatively.
"The monk who invented this," he remarked sententiously, "_deserved_ to
go to heaven."
"Our abbot will give himself the honour of waiting upon your
lordships," were the lay brother's parting words as translated to us by
Don Juan.
We possessed our spirits in contentment, and awaited his coming, whilst
d'Alta expatiated on the rigours of the Trappists' life, their
isolation, their silence, their exactness in the keeping of the Office
of the Church.
I fear this discourse, earnest though it was on the part of our host,
was lost upon St. Nivel, whom I detected catching flies--and liberating
them immediately--in the most solemn part. To him the severest form of
penance was represented by a life from which all descriptions of
"huntin'" and "shootin'" were excluded. He had been burning to kill
something big in the game line ever since he had set foot on shore, and
I was quite prepared to hear him ask the abbot when he arrived whether
he was "a huntin' man." He had asked that question of almost everybody
we had met up to then in Aquazilia.
The abbot, however, came at last, just as Don Juan was concluding an
account of St. Bruno, the Founder of the Order, and Jack was sitting
with his eyes stolidly fixed upon the liqueur decanter.
Yes, the abbot was all d'Alta had said; he was a man of fifty, tall,
spare, straight as a dart, but unlike most of the other monks we saw,
fair and fresh coloured.
I stood looking at him for some time, gazing into his fair open face,
after he had taken my hand and released it. I wondered who it was he
reminded me of, whose face he brought so vividly to my recollection.
Yet striking as the likeness was to _some one_, I could not recall who
that some one was.
"You must be hungry after your drive, gentlemen," he said, speaking
very fair English, as indeed most educated people did in Aquazilia. "I
have ordered _déjeuner_ at once for you. While it is preparing would
you like to see the monastery?"
St. Nivel and I at once expressed our pleasure at the prospect, and the
abbot preceded us, walking with Don Juan, but stopping occasionally to
turn and speak to us and point out some object of interest.
In this way we passed through the wonderful institution and saw the
Trappists each in his little abode, a sort of cottage to himself in
which he ate and slept, and worked _alone_. At stated hours all
through the day and night, the hundreds of monks met in the church to
recite the office.
Don Juan told us as we stood on the steps of the great corridor that he
had spent a week there in retreat before his marriage, and kept the
"Hours" with the community.
Pointing down the corridor which stretched before us, he said the sight
which struck him most was to stand as we did, on a night in winter and
hear the great bell ring for Matins.
"Then," said he, "all those doors of the little houses open, and from
each comes out a monk with a lantern. They look like hundreds of
fireflies all going towards the great Abbey church."
I think the abbot saw with that intuitive knowledge which belongs to a
refined nature that St. Nivel was _bored_; he steered us back to the
guest-room, where a most excellent lunch was awaiting us--soup, fish, a
dish of cutlets and a sweet omelette, all excellent, and served with
red and white wine-like nectar and coffee from the Trappists' estate on
the hills.
The abbot did not eat with us, but sat and charmed us with his
conversation, for charming it was.
He talked with that fascinating fluency which one would have expected
to find in a travelled man of the world rather that in a cloistered
monk. He held us during all that meal, giving zest to each dish that
came, with anecdotes of every country, and yet he spoke with a refined
simplicity and perfect innocence of thought. His clear-cut and healthy
face, his bright blue eyes and white teeth, the exceeding sweetness of
his face and expression are with me now as I write.
When it was over and we had parted from him and were flying back to
Valoro and modernism, I turned to Don Juan and spoke my thoughts.
"And where," I asked, "can the Order of Trappists have gained such a
wonderful recruit from?"
The old man's face, which had been smiling, turned very grave; he shook
his head and sighed.
"Ah! I wish I could tell you!"
That was his answer.