A VISIT TO THE CONVENT.
It was about five in the evening when Leon Delbès left the posada in
the company of Crevel. The great heat of midday had been succeeded by
a refreshing sea breeze, which was beginning to rise and blow softly,
producing an exquisite temperature, of which all took advantage to
rush from their houses, and join the numerous promenaders crowding the
streets, squares, and the shore of the ocean, whose calm and smooth
surface was tinged by the ardent beams of the sun, which had spent
two-thirds of its course. It was a saint's day, and the people, dressed
in their best clothes, whose varied colours offer the eye such a
piquant effect, hurried along with shouts, song, and laughter, of which
no idea can be formed in Europe. In South America a holiday is the
occasion for all the pleasures which it is given to man to enjoy, and
the Americans do not neglect it. Marvellously endowed by nature, which
has given them strength, vigour, and unalterable health, their powerful
organization allows them to do anything. Born for love and pleasure,
the South Americans make of their life one long enjoyment: it is the
ideal of refined sensualism.
The two Frenchmen, with their hats pulled over their eyes, and
carefully wrapped in their ponchos, so as not to be recognised and
delayed, mingled with the crowd, and elbowing and elbowed, pushing
and pushed, they advanced as quickly as they could, moving with great
difficulty through the mob that surrounded them.
The reader will be doubtless astonished to see, in a country so hot as
Chili, Leon Delbès and Crevel enveloped, as we have just said, in heavy
cloaks. In Chili, Peru, and generally in all the ex-Spanish colonies,
the cloak is constantly in use, and almost indispensable! It is worn
everywhere and always in all weathers and all places, at every hour
of the night and of the day. There is a Spanish proverb which says
that the cloak protects from heat and cold, from rain and sun. This is
true to a certain extent, but is not the sole reason why it has become
obligatory.
The South Americans, as well as the descendants of the Spaniards, have
retained the two chief vices which distinguished their ancestors, that
is to say, a mad pride and invincible indolence. The American never
works save when driven into his last entrenchments, when hunger forces
him to lay aside his careless and contemplative habits in order to earn
means to support himself. Hence it follows very naturally, that it is
impossible for him to obtain the fine clothes which he covets, and
whose price is so heavy, that he despairs of ever possessing them.
In order to remedy this misfortune, and save, at the same time, his
pride, which prohibits him from appearing badly dressed, he works just
long enough to save the money to buy himself a Panama hat, a pair of
trousers, and a cloak. When he has succeeded in obtaining these objects
of permanent necessity, he is all right and his honour is saved, for
thanks to the exceptional talent which he possesses of draping himself
elegantly and majestically in a piece of cloth, he can boldly present
himself anywhere, and no one will ever suspect what hideous rags and
frightful misery are covered by the splendid cloak which he bears on
his shoulders.
In addition to the motive which we have just explained, it is fair to
state that, owing to the excessive heat of the climate, the advantage
of the cloak is felt in the fact that it is ample and wide, leaves
the limbs liberty of movement, and does not scorch the body, as
well-fitting clothes do when heated by the sunbeams. Hence rich and
poor have all adopted it.
After a ride interrupted at every moment by the people who encumbered
the streets, the two Frenchmen reached their destination, and stopped
before the church adjoining the convent. There they separated: Crevel
proceeded toward the gate of the community, and Leon, after dismounting
and fastening his horse to an iron ring fixed in the wall, entered the
church, and leant against a pillar to wait.
The church of Nuestra Señora del Carmo, belonging to the Convent of the
Purísima Concepción, is one of the finest and richest of those existing
in Valparaíso. It was built a short time after the conquest of Chili,
in the Renaissance style. It is lofty, large, and well lighted by a
number of arched windows, whose coloured glass is among the finest
specimens of the art. A double row of columns delicately carved,
supports a circular gallery, with a balcony in open work, made with
that patience which the Spaniards appear to have inherited from the
Arabs, and which produced the marvellous details of the great mosque of
Cordova.
The choir is separated from the nave by a massive silver grating,
modelled by some rival of Benvenuto Cellini. The high altar is of lapis
lazuli, and sixteen silver columns support a dome painted blue, and
studded! with gold stars, above the splendid table covered with a rich
pall of English point, on which stand the magnificent golden reliquary
containing the Holy Sacrament.
In the aisles, eight chapels, placed under the protection of different
saints, and adorned with, extraordinary wealth, each contains a
confessional which closes hermetically, and in which it is impossible
to catch a glimpse of the male or female penitent asking remission
of sins. Nothing can be imagined more aërial or coquettish than the
ebony pulpit, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, used by the preacher. This
pulpit is a masterpiece, and it is said that a Spanish workman, finding
himself in great danger, made a vow to Nuestra Señora del Carmen that
he would give her a pulpit if he escaped. Having escaped the danger,
he devoted hourly years of his life to the accomplishment of the work
he had promised, and which he only completed a few months prior to his
death. If we may judge of the danger this man incurred by the finish of
the execution and the merit of the work, it must have been immense.
Lastly, there are at regular distances large holy water vessels of
carved marble, covered with plates of silver. When Leon entered the
church it was full of faithful people. Upwards of two thousand candles
spread a dazzling light, and a cloud of incense brooded over the
congregation, who were plunged into a profound contemplation.
In American churches that impudent traffic in chairs, which goes on so
shamelessly elsewhere during the holiest or more sorrowful ceremonies,
is unknown. There are no seats, but the men stand, and the women bring
with them small square carpets on which they kneel. This custom may
perhaps injure the symmetry, but it certainly imparts to the assembly
of the faithful a more religious appearance. We do not see, as in
France, individuals stretching themselves, taking their ease, throwing
themselves back, or sleeping in their chairs, and we are not at each
movement disturbed by the rattling of wood upon the slabs.
On hearing the chants of the nuns, which rose in gentle and melodious
notes, accompanied by the grave sound of the organ, Leon Delbès felt
himself involuntarily assailed by a melancholy feeling. Gradually
forgetting the motive of his presence at this sacred spot, he let his
head fall upon his chest, and yielded entirely to the ecstasy into
which the mighty harmony that filled his ears plunged him.
In the meanwhile Crevel, after leaving the captain of the smugglers,
took a half turn and proceeded, as we said, toward the gate of the
convent, on which he knocked thrice, after looking around him rather
through habit than distrust, in order to make certain that he was not
followed. The door was not opened, but a trap in the niche of the
upper panel was pulled back, and an old woman's face appeared in the
aperture. Crevel assumed his most sanctimonious look, and giving a
mighty bow, he said, as he doffed his broad-brimmed straw hat--
"Ave Maria Purísima, sister."
"Sin pecado concebida, brother," the old woman replied, who was no
other than the sister porter, "what can I do for you?"
"I am ill, sister, very ill," Crevel repeated in a moaning voice.
"Good gracious, brother, what is the matter with you? But I am not
mistaken," she added, after looking at the newcomer more attentively,
"you are the worthy Frenchman established in the Calle San Agostino,
who brings from time to time a few bottles of old French wine to the
abbess for her cramp."
"Alas! yes, sister, it is myself; and I have brought two under my
cloak, which I beg her to accept." Crevel, like a good many of his
fellow traders, had the praiseworthy habit of giving alms to the rich,
in order to rob the poor with greater facility.
"They are welcome," said the sister porter, whose small eyes glistened
with covetousness; "wait a minute, brother, and I will open the gate
for you."
"Do so, sister, and I will wait as long as you please."
Crevel soon heard the formidable sound of bolts being drawn and locks
turned, and at the end of a quarter of an hour the door was opened
just wide enough to leave passage for a man. The landlord glided like
a snake through the opening offered him, and the door closed again at
once.
"Sit down, brother," said the sister porter; "it is a long way from
your house to the convent."
"Thanks, sister," said Crevel, taking advantage of the invitation; "I
am really extremely tired."
He then took from under his poncho the two bottles, which he placed on
the table.
"Be good enough, sister," he said, "to give these bottles to your
Mother Superior, begging her not to forget me in her prayers."
"I will not fail, brother, I assure you."
"I am certain of it, sister; and stay," he added, drawing out a third
bottle, "take this, which I brought for you, and which will do you
good, for it is justly said in France that wine is the milk of aged
people."
"That is true, brother, and I thank you; but tell me the nature of the
illness you are suffering from."
"For some time past, sister, I have been subject to a sudden dizziness,
and as your convent possesses a miraculous water which cures all
diseases, I have come to buy a phial."
"With the greatest pleasure, brother," the sister porter replied. "I
am sorry that I cannot make you a present of it; but this water is
deposited in my hands, and is the property of the poor, to whom we
must render an account of it."
We will remark parenthetically that the convents of Valparaíso
willingly accept anything offered them, but never give anything away.
Crevel was perfectly aware of this fact; hence, without offering the
slightest observation, he drew four piastres from his pocket, which he
placed in the sister's hand. The latter put them out of sight with a
vivacity which astonished the banian himself: then running to a chest
of drawers, the sole article of furniture which adorned the room, she
opened it and took a small white glass bottle, carefully corked and
sealed, which lay there along with some sixty others, and brought it to
Crevel.
The landlord received it with marks of profound gratitude.
"I hope that this water will do me good," he said, striving to prolong
the interview.
"Do not doubt it, brother."
And the sister porter looked at Crevel in a way which made him
comprehend that nothing need detain him now that he had what he came to
seek. The banian understood it and prepared to rise.
"Now, sister, I will ask your permission to retire, in spite of
the charm which your conversation has for me; but business before
everything."
"That is true," the sister porter replied; "hence I will not keep you;
you know that you will always be welcome to the convent."
"Thanks, sister, thanks. And now I am off."
"Farewell, my brother."
He walked a few steps toward the door, but then hurriedly turned back.
"By the bye," he said, as if remembering something which he had
forgotten, "I trust that the accident which happened to one of your
sisters during the procession had no serious consequences."
"No, thanks to Heaven, brother."
"Ah, all the better; then she has quite recovered."
"So perfectly," said the sister porter, "that she is travelling at this
moment."
"What! the Señora Maria de Soto-Mayor travelling?"
"You know her name?"
"Of course; for I was formerly butler to the general her father."
"Well, then, it was through an order of the general that Sister Maria
left this morning for the country house which he possesses a few
leagues from here."
"Well, then, sister, good-bye, and I hope we shall meet again soon,"
Crevel exclaimed, hurrying this time to reach the gate.
"¡Anda Ve con Dios!" said the sister, surprised at this hurried
movement.
"Thanks, thanks."
Crevel was already in the street.
Now, while he was conscientiously performing the commission which Leon
had entrusted to him, the latter was still waiting for Crevel to rejoin
him. After remaining a quarter of an hour in the church, he left it,
and was beginning to grow impatient, when the landlord's shadow was
thrown on the convent wall.
In a second he was by his side.
"Well?" he asked, on approaching him.
"Come, come," said Crevel, with satisfaction, "I fancy I bring good
news."
"Speak at once."
"In the first place, Doña Maria is perfectly well, and feels no effects
from the terror which your horse caused her."
"Next?"
"That is something, surely."
"Go on, go on! scoundrel," the smuggler cried, as he shook Crevel's arm.
"Good heavens! a little calmness, Señor Caballero; you will never
correct yourself of your vivacity."
Leon's brows were contracted, and he stamped his foot passionately, so
Crevel hastened to obey.
"Learn, then, that this morning the young lady left the convent to
rejoin her family."
"What do you say?" Leon asked, utterly astounded.
"The truth; for the sister porter assures me of the fact."
"In that case, I am off, too."
"Why?"
"What would you have me do here?"
And, not troubling himself further about his companion, the captain
unfastened his horse and leaped on its back. Then, throwing his purse
to the landlord, he said that he should see him again soon, and started
at a gallop.
"Hum!" Crevel said, quite confounded; "the devil's certainly in that
fellow, or he has a slate loose. What a pace he rides at!"
And, after giving a last glance at the rider, who was disappearing
round the corner of the square, the worthy landlord quietly bent his
steps in the direction of his posada.
"For all that, he is a good customer."