Led with delight they thus beguile the way
* * * *
When weening to return whence they did stray,
They cannot find that path, which first was showne,
But wander to and fro in ways unknown,
Furthest from end then, when they nearest weene,
That makes them doubt their wits be not their own,
So many paths, so many turning seene,
That which of them to take in diverse doubt they been.
Faerie Queene.
The party mustered early the next morning to continue their journey,
and after breakfast L'Isle called for the innkeeper to pay him his
bill. This worthy, acting on the natural supposition that the English
had come into the country to indemnify the Portuguese for their losses
at the hands of the French, at once named the round sum of sixty
_crusados_. On L'Isle looking surprised, he began to run over so long
a list of articles furnished, and items of trouble given, that L'Isle,
who was annoyed at the interruption of an agreeable conversation with
Lady Mabel, was about to pay him in full to get rid of him, when
Shortridge peremptorily interfered. The demand was extortionate and
aroused his indignation. Perhaps he looked upon the fellow as usurping
a privilege belonging peculiarly to the commissary's own
brotherhood. He abused the man roundly in very bad Portuguese, and
insisted that L'Isle should pay him but half the sum.
The innkeeper, a dark, sallow man, with a vindictive countenance,
glared on him as if fear alone withheld him from replying with his
knife. When he found his tongue, he began to answer with a bitterness
that was fast changing into uncontrollable rage; but the commissary,
who was a master in the art of bullying, cut him short.
"This fellow," said he, addressing L'Isle, but still speaking
Portuguese, "has three fine mules in his stable. I shall need a great
many beasts to carry corn to Elvas, and will apply to the _Juiz de
Fora_ to embargo them among the first."
The innkeeper turned as pale as his golden skin permitted at the bare
suggestion. The French had made a similar requisition on him four
years ago, and when he followed his cattle to reclaim them after the
required service, he got only sore bones and a broken head for his
pains.
"You may do as you please in that matter," said L'Isle, throwing on
the table half the sum demanded, and leaving their host to swallow his
anger, and take it up, if he pleased.
The muleteer, having come in for the baggage, on finding out the
nature of the controversy, now poured out a flood of vociferous
eloquence on the extortioner, denouncing him as a disgrace to the
nation, and no true Portuguese, but a New Christian, as might be seen
in his face; and he was urgent with Shortridge to let him show him the
way to the house of the _Juiz de Fora_ without loss of time.
L'Isle's commanding air and contemptuous indifference overawed the
innkeeper quite as much as Shortridge's threats. So, sweeping the
money into his pocket, he went out hastily to find a safe and secret
hiding place for his mules.
"Pray," said Lady Mabel to L'Isle, while they were waiting for their
horses, "what is a New Christian?"
"The explanation of the term does not tell well in the history of the
country," said he. "When Ferdinand and Isabella expelled the Jews from
Spain, many of them took refuge here, where John II. gave them
shelter, on condition that they should quit the kingdom in a limited
time. This king endeavored to keep faith with them. Nevertheless, in
his and the following reign, they were subjected to unceasing
persecutions, being required to become Christians, or leave the
country; at the very time every obstacle was put in the way of their
escape. At length their children were taken from them to be reared in
the Christian faith, and numbers abjured Judaism in order to recover
possession of their own offspring. But such a conversion failed not to
furnish for many a generation a crowd of hapless inmates for the
'Tremendous House of the Inquisition' in every town. Even in the last
century, no diversion delighted the Lisbon mob like the burning of a
relapsed Jew. The usage of them of old still influences the condition
of the country and the term New Christian is yet a by-word common in
the mouths of people."
"We certainly see a great many Jewish faces among the Portuguese
Christians," said Mrs. Shortridge.
"So the great Marquis de Pombul thought," L'Isle answered; "for when a
great crowd had assembled to see him open a fountain he had erected in
Lisbon, on a courtier's saying, 'See, my Lord, like Moses, you make
water flow from the rock!' 'Yes,' replied the marquis, 'and here are
the Jews looking at me.'"
"And our host," said Mrs. Shortridge, "is doubtless one of these New
Christians."
"But has the commissary," Lady Mabel asked, "a right to make the
requisition with which he threatens him?"
"Not on his own authority," said L'Isle, laughing. "But these people
would well deserve that we should sweep off every mule and yoke of
oxen around Evora. Last year when we were collecting materials for the
siege of Badajoz, the ungrateful rascals would not send a single cart
to help us."
"Why, were we not fighting their battles?" Lady Mabel exclaimed.
"Would they not assist in their own defence?"
"Badajoz is not within sight of Evora, and that was enough for these
short-sighted patriots."
"Has such blind selfishness a parallel?" asked Lady Mabel.
"Many," said L'Isle. "We may at times find one at home, in the wisdom
of a whig ministry, which consists in taking a microscopic view of the
wrong side of things just under their noses."
They now mounted their horses, and leaving the _praça_, had entered on
a narrow and somewhat crooked street, where they suddenly met a
funeral procession, with its priests, crucifix and tapers, the dead
being carried by several persons on a bier, and followed by a few
peasants. The travelers drew up their horses close to the adjacent
wall, to leave room for the procession. The face of the dead was
uncovered as usual, and the friar's dress which clothed the body, with
the rosaries and other paraphernalia displayed about his person, led
Lady Mabel to say, "I see that one of the good fathers is gone to his
account."
"He will now find out," said Moodie, "the worth of his beads, crucifix
and holy water."
"I am surprised," said Lady Mabel, "at so unpretending a funeral, in
the case of a member of the great order of St. Francis."
L'Isle asked a question of a Portuguese standing near, and then said,
"The cowl does not make the monk, nor must you infer from his dress
that this man was a friar. He lived all his life a peasant in a
neighboring village."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Lady Mabel.
"Almost every one," said L'Isle, as they turned to ride on their way,
"here and throughout the Peninsula, is buried in a religious
habit--the men in the uniform of friars, the women dressed like
pilgrims, and the girls like nuns. They are loaded with a freight of
rosaries, _agni dei_, and other saintly jewelry, fastened to the neck,
hands and feet, and stuffed into the clothes. Convents have often a
warehouse appropriated to this posthumous wardrobe, in the sale of
which they drive a profitable trade. It was a most natural mistake
made by a stranger, who, after being a few weeks at Madrid, and seeing
so many Franciscans interred, expressed his astonishment at the
prodigious number of them in the city, and asked if their order was
not entirely carried off by this violent epidemic."
"I suppose," said Lady Mabel, "the custom originated in the propensity
so strong in us all, to live sinners and die saints."
"Exactly so," L'Isle answered; "it is a fraudulent custom, old as the
fifth century, and common in popish countries. It is nothing less than
an attempt to cheat St. Peter, who, you know, keeps the keys of
heaven, by knocking at the gate in the disguise of a monk or a friar."
"I have too much faith in St. Peter's vigilance and penetration," said
Mrs. Shortridge, "to think he has ever been so taken in."
They presently got out of the city; but, to Moodie's displeasure, by a
gate opposite to that by which they had entered it. He was still more
annoyed, when, on coming to a place where the road branched into two,
the commissary took a brief though kindly leave of his wife and
friends, and, followed by his man, galloped off to the right, on a
professional chase after grain and bullocks.
L'Isle was surprised to find himself regretting the loss of their
fellow-traveler. He had found him, always remembering that he was a
commissary, a very good fellow; for we can find some good in every
man, if we take the trouble to look for it; and Shortridge was one
who, after taking care of himself, was quite willing to take care of
other people.
But L'Isle's regret was nothing to Moodie's, whose habits of life led
him to appreciate the nature and importance of the commissary's
official duties. He valued him as a practical, responsible man of
business, with no foolish fancies about him. He admired the summary
way in which he had disposed of the extortionate inn-keeper, and now
looked after him almost in despair; for he did not think the party
left behind by any means fit to take care of themselves or each other.
L'Isle he did not understand and mistrusted, doubting whether he were
merely idly rambling about the country, or harbored some covert
design, the object of which was Lady Mabel, of course.
"My Lady," said he, riding up beside her, and speaking in an under
tone, "this is not the road we traveled coming from Elvas. Where are
you going to now?"
Remarking his dissatisfied air, and the look of suspicion he cast on
L'Isle, she answered, with provoking coolness, "Oh, we are merely
rambling about; any road is the right one, if it but leads to a new
place."
"But now the commissary has left us, do you not mean to go back to
Elvas?"
"In returning we will make a detour."
"And what is a detour?" asked Moodie, with a puzzled air.
"It means going back the longest way. We have plenty of leisure, for
the campaign will not open directly."
"I would like to know what you, my Lady, have to do with the opening
of the campaign?"
"A great deal, and so have you; for, as soon as it does open, you and
I must march back to Scotland."
"I wish it were to-morrow," said Moodie.
"It will not be to-morrow, or to-morrow's morrow," Lady Mabel
answered. "Meanwhile, we will see all that is to be seen, and learn
all that is to be known. Even you, by crowding and packing more
closely your old notions, may find room for some new ones."
"I am too old to learn," said Moodie, sullenly.
"Too wise, you mean," she said, breaking off from him. "Come,
Mrs. Shortridge, let me tear you from this barren spot, to which grief
has rooted you on parting from the commissary;" and, seizing that
lady's mule by the rein, Lady Mabel led her, as if helpless from
sorrow, after the guide, who had taken the left-hand road.
"Somewhere hereabouts," L'Isle remarked, as they rode on, "lies what
is called the field of Sertorius. I know not why it is so named; but
it figures largely in the tradition, and yet more in the
superstitions, of the country. 'There exists in Portugal a strange
superstition concerning King Sebastian, whose reappearance is as
confidently expected by many of the Portuguese, as the coming of the
Messiah by the Jews. The rise and progress of this belief forms a
curious part of their history. It began in hope, when the return of
that prince, after his hapless expedition to Morocco, and the fatal
battle of _Alcaçar Quiber_, was not only possible, but might have been
considered likely; it was fostered by the policy of the Braganzan
party after all reasonable hope had ceased; and length of time only
served to ripen it into a confirmed and rooted superstition, which
even the intolerance of the Inquisition spared, for the sake of the
loyal and patriotic feelings in which it had its birth. The holy
office never interfered farther with the sect, than to prohibit the
publication of its numerous prophecies, which were suffered to
circulate in private. For many years the persons who held this strange
opinion had been content to enjoy their dream in private, shrinking
from observation and ridicule; but as the belief had begun in a time
of deep calamity, so now, when a heavier evil had overwhelmed the
kingdom, it spread beyond all former example. Their prophecies were
triumphantly brought to light, for only in the promises which were
there held out could the Portuguese find consolation; and proselytes
increased so rapidly, that half Lisbon became Sebastianists. The
delusion was not confined to the lower orders; it reached the educated
classes; and men who had been graduated in theology became professors
of a faith which announced that Portugal was soon to be the head of
the Fifth and Universal Monarchy; Sebastian was speedily to come from
the Secret Island; the Queen would resign the sceptre into his hands;
he would give Bonaparte battle near Evora, on the field of Sertorius,
slay the tyrant, and become monarch of the world."
"And this superstition now prevails?" Lady Mabel asked.
"So widely, that at least every other man you meet is a Sebastianist."
As they rode on they found the country dotted over with _quintas_ and
country-houses, here called _montes_, from being generally seated on
hills. Around each homestead the meagre and tame-hued olive was
mingled with the deep rich green of the orange-tree, which here
produces its fruit in the greatest perfection of flavor, at least, if
not of size, and a vineyard occasionally occupied the slope of the
hill. The lower grounds were covered with extensive cornfields,
bearing here a thriving growth of wheat, there a young crop of maize,
which furnishes these people with more than half their food.
"The Portuguese," said L'Isle, "like their Spanish neighbors, are
often charged with indolence; but here and elsewhere, under favorable
circumstances, they show no want of industry. The husbandman of this
part of Alemtejo has grown rich in spite of the greatest obstacle to
thrift, which the church has raised up in devoting more than half the
year to holy days. Good lands are apt to make good farmers, and labor
and skill well repaid, leads to the outlay of more labor and greater
skill."
"We see around us a people," said Lady Mabel, "reveling in the
Scripture blessings of corn, wine, and oil. I think there must be no
little resemblance between Portugal and Palestine."
"The Jews think so too," answered L'Isle. "The delights of Portugal
can make a Jew forget Jerusalem. They clung, and still cling to it, as
another promised land. Moreover, if their fathers of old longed after
the leeks and onions of Egypt, their sons may satisfy that longing
here."
"And stuff themselves with garlic to boot, like Portuguese sausage,"
said Mrs. Shortridge. "The quantity of these things in it leaves
little room for the pork."
The travelers occasionally fell in with peasants singly, or in parties
on the road; and L'Isle, prompted by the ladies, let few of them pass
without exchanging some words, which were easily drawn out; for
English uniforms, and ladies so evidently foreigners, excited much
curiosity, especially in the women. Struck with the air of comfort
common among these people, and the marks of fertility and cultivation
in the country around them, Lady Mabel hoped that Moodie had at last
met with something to please him; so she asked the opinion of that
high authority on the rural prospect and the farming around them. But
he at once condemned it as unskillful, wasteful, and slovenly; in
short, just what was to be looked for in this benighted land.
"What a pity it is, Moodie, you cannot speak Portuguese," said Lady
Mabel; "you might seize many a chance of giving these benighted people
a valuable hint, particularly how to ferment their wine, and press
their olives."
"I am sure," replied Moodie, "I could make as sour wine and rancid oil
as the best of them, and they make no other."
"You are a fault-seeking traveler," said Lady Mabel; "and so will find
nothing to please you, while I enjoy all around me, and see nothing to
find fault with, except the abominable custom of the women riding
astride on their _burras_, which I am glad to see is not universal."
"Nay, my lady, the country pleases me well enough. The pasturage is
poor and parched, yet the oxen are fine in spite of their monstrous
horns; and I see corn land that might yield good oats or barley in
Scotland. The land is well enough; it is the people I find fault
with."
"Moodie's verdict on Portugal," said L'Isle, "can be summed up in four
little words: '_Bona terra, mala gens_.'"
"What pleasure," continued Moodie, not heeding the interruption, "can
a Christian man find in traveling in a land where the people grovel in
ignorance and a besotted superstition, which manifests that God has
given them over to a reprobate heart. I cannot speak their language; I
can only look on their wanderings in the dark, and think of the wrath
to come."
"And so here is a missionary lost!" Mrs. Shortridge exclaimed.
"But, according to Moodie's favorite dogma," said L'Isle, "were he
gifted with the purest and most eloquent Portuguese, or had he the
gift of St. Francis Xavier, who, when thrown among any strange people,
was soon found exhorting them in their own tongue, he could be to this
people only a prophet of evil. You say that they are given over to a
state of reprobation. Do you, like a great English philosopher,
believe in election and reprobation by nature?"
"Not exactly; nor do I know any thing of your English philosopher; but
since I have been among these people, I have seen much to lead my
thoughts that way. And we have example for it. Had not God his chosen
people of old? And the seven nations of Canaan, were they not swept
off as utterly reprobate from the face of the earth?"
"And now," suggested L'Isle, wishing to know the old man's views,
"election is for the Scotch nation, and reprobation for the
Portuguese?"
"I do not say that all Scotchmen, even in the Kirk, are of the elect."
"No," interposed Lady Mabel. "You misconstrue Moodie. He holds a
particular election within the Kirk, and a national reprobation
outside of it."
"I am afraid, my lady, it is not given to you to understand that high
doctrine. It is ordered that the blessing, and the comprehension of
it, go hand in hand."
"I must despair then, for I certainly do not comprehend it. In truth,
the tenor of your discourse calls up in my mind the involuntary doubt,
did this people first desert God, or God them? But I trample it down
as a snare laid by the evil one."
"We are in a land where the evil one bears full sway," said Moodie.
"Yet you have voluntarily put yourself in purgatory by coming to
travel in it," said Lady Mabel. "But you have your consolation, and
may give thankful utterance to the words of our Scotch poet:
'I bless and praise thy matchless might,
Whan thousands thou hast left in night,
That I am here afore thy sight,
For gifts an' grace,
A burning and a shining light,
To a' this place.'"
"I do not know that psalmist, if in truth he be a maker of spiritual
songs," said Moodie, with a doubtful air.
"He did dabble a little in psalmody," said Lady Mabel; "but I doubt
whether his attempts would satisfy you. How like you this sample:
'Orthodox, orthodox, who believe in John Knox,
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience;
There's a heretic blast has been blown in the Wast,
That what is not sense must be nonsense.
Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, load your spiritual guns,
Ammunition you never can need;
Your hearts are the stuff, will be powder enough,
And your skulls are store-houses o' lead.'"
"'Tis that profane, lewd fellow, Burns," exclaimed Moodie,
angrily. "He did worse than hide his ten talents in a napkin. I
wonder, my lady, you defile your mouth with his scurrilous words."
"I have done with him," said Lady Mabel, laughing. "He was a profane,
lewd fellow, far better at pointing out other men's errors than
amending his own."
Moodie now fell back among the servants; and L'Isle remarked, "your
old squire, Lady Mabel, holds an austere belief. I never met a man so
confident of his own salvation and of the damnation of others."
"He reminds me," Mrs. Shortridge said, "of a dissenting neighbor of
ours, when we lived in London, who was always saying, 'I am called,
but my wife is not,' much to the poor woman's disquiet in this world,
if not to the hazard of her happiness in the next."
"The old man puzzles me sadly at times," said Lady Mabel; "and he has
at hand many a text to sustain his dogmas."
"It is a pity," said L'Isle, "that he will not bear in mind those that
bid us 'Judge not that ye be not judged;' 'Let him that thinketh he
standeth, take heed lest he fall; 'Unto whomsoever much is given, of
him shall much be required;' and many others of the same tenor."
"Pray go on," said Lady Mabel, "and provide me with a refutation of
Moodie's theology of destiny: not that I hope to silence him, for
controversy is to him the breath of life."
Now L'Isle had acquired many things laboriously, but he had gotten his
training in divinity somewhat incidentally, and hesitated, as well he
might, to undertake the task imposed. But spurred on by the deference
she showed to his opinions, he eagerly sought to satisfy, yet not
mislead her. "Moodie is the type of a class," he said, "who are the
most wilful men in the world, yet are even inculcating that man has no
will of his own, but is the play thing of fate. Fatalism, indeed, is
no modern invention, being as old as humanity itself, perhaps,
older. We find it as strongly inculcated by the Greek tragic poet, as
by the modern Calvinist. But the peculiar colors in which we see it
dressed, are derived from the revolt of men's minds against the Romish
doctrine as to good works. Among these, penance, fasting, alms,
pilgrimages, bounty to the church and its servants, come first. This
leads to the keeping of a debt and credit account with heaven; and to
the saints is attributed the power of buying up a stock of works of
supererogation, by which they acquire a mediatory power in themselves.
Human reason has been likened to a drunken clown, who if you help him
up on one side of his horse, falls over on the other. To deter men
from the presumptuous sin of attributing merit to their actions, the
reformers, and also individuals and even orders in the church, have
labored to prove that man acts only in obedience to preordained
decree, and can of himself do nothing good; yet their logic charges
him freely with the _guilt_ of sinning by necessity. I cannot for the
life of me distinguish between fatalism and predestination. Either
binds us with the same chain of necessity, in thought, word and deed,
from the cradle to the grave. To escape this charge, fanaticism can
only add a few links to the chain of necessitating cause, and tell you
it is necessity no longer. Now, our most perfect conception of sin is
found in a will which sets itself in opposition to God's will. This is
the characteristic of the father of evil and his fallen hosts. Our
highest idea of virtue is found in the creature's conforming his will
to that of his Maker; this is the trait of the angels who were
steadfast in their faith. How can you here couple fatality and will?
If ours be a state of probation, it is only by a certain freedom of
action, an originating power of causation in ourselves, that we can
conceive of our being put to proof. Possibly, in fallen man, that
freedom is limited to the power of rejecting or yielding to the
influences of grace. Yet within that narrow range it may be still a
perfect freedom. God said, 'let us make man in our image and after our
likeness,' and this likeness between the 'cause of causes' and his
creature, may well consist in man's being endowed with a spark from
the Creator's nature, gifted with an originating will, and made a
source of causes in himself. To say that this may not be, were to
limit the power of God."
"Most assuredly," said Lady Mabel, who was on this point easily
convinced. "I shall now be ready armed for Moodie, when next he
broaches his dogma of predestination. But will he listen, much less
understand?"
"If his dogma be a truth," continued L'Isle, encouraged by her
approbation, "to know it, or any other revealed truth, can avail us
nothing; for our knowledge, itself a predestined fact, cannot
influence our preordained condition here or hereafter. On the other
hand, if the doctrine be misunderstood or false, it is most dangerous;
there being but a short step between believing it and applying it,
presumptuously, in our own favor, and adversely to our neighbor. We
are ever more successful in deceiving ourselves than others; and to
indulge in the belief that we are the chosen of God, may be only less
dangerous than a conviction of our utter reprobation."
"For my part," said Lady Mabel, "I can appeal yet more confidently to
my feelings than my reason, for a refutation of the doctrine Moodie
has so often urged upon me. I feel within me a capacity to be as
wicked as I please, if fear and reverence did not withhold me."
"And I, as your duenna," said Mrs. Shortridge, "prohibit any such
frank admission of propensity to evil in a young lady under my
charge."
"Why, will you not let me make a Christian confession of the
sinfulness of my nature? It were indeed heresy to claim an equal
capacity for good. There I acknowledge the need of aid from above."
"And that aid is not compulsion," said L'Isle, "as every page of
Scripture testifies. There is something strangely illogical in the
reasoning of those who, starting from the point, that what has been
decreed by God is as good as done, and the future as fixed as the
past, thence exhort us to plead, because the decree has gone forth; to
run in the race, because the victor has been chosen, and the prize
adjudged; to strive, because the battle has been fought; and to repent
and be saved, because our final destiny was decided before time was.
Surely, if this life have any bearing on another, we are running a
race, the issue of which is undecided until death; and ours is a real
struggle, not merely the acting out of a foregone conclusion, not the
dramatic representation of a past event. What would you think of a
modern Greek praying zealously that Mohamed II. should not _have
taken_ Constantinople? Or of a Roman of to-day besieging heaven with
prayers that Rome should not _have been_ taken by the Goths, or sacked
by the army of the Constable Bourbon? Yet what is commonly called
Calvinist is nothing less than this; praying against past events, or
the decrees of fate. Is the papist so absurd in offering his masses
for the dead?"
The ladies were still complimenting L'Isle on his refutation of
Moodie's tenets, so obnoxious to their own convictions, when they met
a peasant trudging along, _cujado_ in hand, with the small end of
which he occasionally enlivened the motions of an ass toiling under a
heavy sack of grain. The muleteer stopped him to enquire where they
might find water for their animals in this thirsty land. The peasant
pointed back to a thicket near the road, and said: "I would have
watered my own beast there, but for the would have watered my own
beast there, but for the company I would have fallen among." He then
went on his way, and they rode to the spot pointed out, where among
the oleander and buckthorn bushes they found a puddle rather than a
spring, so well had it been lately stirred up. A gang of eight or nine
vagrants, who had been munching their crusts and _sardinhas_ in the
shade, now sprung up, and placing themselves between the travelers and
the water, vociferously demanded alms. To rid themselves of this
motley troop, L'Isle and Mrs. Shortridge threw each of them a small
coin. They were not so easily satisfied, but thrusting themselves
among the horses, continued to rival each other in whining petitions
and adjurations of their favorite saints. Lady Mabel, who had emptied
her purse of small coin the evening before, now entreated Moodie to
let this second opportunity of alms-giving, so manifestly sent for his
benefit, soften his stony heart. But he shook his head grimly, saying:
"If they are strong enough to travel, they are strong enough to work;
and work they shall, or starve, before they touch a penny of mine!"
L'Isle's short tempered groom, availing himself of the impatience of a
thirsty horse, now turned his about, at once spurring and reining him
in, which made him lash out his heels at the intruders near him. The
other steeds seemed to catch this infectious restiveness, and the
beggars were driven to a safer distance. Their horses now could drink
in peace of the water stirred up and muddied by their mendicant
friends, whom they presently left behind them, without further heeding
their continued and vociferous appeals. One stout ragged fellow put
himself in their way, and displayed to their eyes a flaming picture,
painted on a board, depicting the torments of the souls in
purgatory. But the travelers were in a hurry, and unmoved at the
sight, left the souls in unmitigated tortures there.
"What we have just seen," said L'Isle to the ladies, "may convince you
that beggars are a formidable class in this country. They ramble
about, and infest every place, not entreating charity, but demanding
it. They often assemble at night in hordes, at the best country house
they can find, and taking up their abode in one of the out-buildings,
call for whatever they want, like travelers at an inn; and here they
claim the right of tarrying three days, if they like it. When a gang
of these sturdy fellows meets a traveler on the highway, he must offer
them money; and it sometimes happens that the amount of the offering
is not left to his own discretion. St. Anthony assails him on one
side, St. Francis on the other. Having satisfied their clamor in
behalf of these favorite saints, he is next attacked for the honor of
the Virgin; and thus they rob him, for the love of God."
"I wonder," Mrs. Shortridge said, "the nation tolerates such a
nuisance."
"There are laws for its abatement," answered L'Isle. "John III. and
Sebastian both warred against the beggars. A law of the sixteenth
century ordains that the lame should learn the trade of a tailor or
shoemaker, the maimed serve for subsistence any who will employ them,
and the blind, for food and raiment, give themselves to the labors of
the forge, by blowing the bellows. But we see how the law is enforced.
These men behind us are neither lame, halt, nor blind, but truly
represent the sturdy vagrants with whom Queen Bess's statute dealt so
roughly. With what result? It is but the ancestor of a long line of
laws which load our statute-books, and have built up our poor-law
system, merely substituting for one evil another which burdens the
country like an incubus, and, vulture-like, is eating out its
entrails."
"We have no such national institution for the breeding of beggars in
Scotland," said Moodie, from behind.
"Is it because Scotland is too poor to maintain paupers?" inquired
Mrs. Shortridge.
"It is because it is not natural for a Scotchman to be a beggar,"
replied Moodie, with patriotic pride.
"We cannot carry the system much further in England," said L'Isle;
"the resources of the country, and the sturdy character of the people,
are breaking down under it."
"Could our British population be brought down to as low a condition as
these people?" Lady Mabel asked.
"Assuredly not," said Mrs. Shortridge.
"Have you ever been in Ireland?" asked L'Isle.
No, neither of the ladies had been there.
"Or in an English poor-house?"
That, too, was _terra incognita_, especially to Lady Mabel.
"Either of them might assist you in finding an answer to a very
difficult question. Still, like Moodie, I have great faith in race,
and in the fitness of climates to races. There is something enervating
to a northern race in these subtropical climates. While the powers of
enjoyment remain unimpaired, or are even stimulated, the energy of
action is rapidly sapped. We know that the Gothic conquerors of this
peninsula lost, in a few generations, their energy and enterprise. A
war of seven centuries revived and sustained that of their
descendants; but, after that stimulant was withdrawn, on the expulsion
of the Moors, they gradually sunk to what we see them now. Some
persons attribute the character and condition of these peninsular
nations to the vices of government, others to the corruption of the
church. I doubt the question's admitting of so simple a solution as
either, or both of these. We may be putting effect for cause, and
cause for effect. An inferior people may deteriorate government, and
corrupt the church. The disciples of the apostles received
Christianity in its purity. Whence originated the rapid degeneracy of
the early Church? We see some portions of the human race betraying
stronger downward tendencies than others. But the 'why' is too complex
a question to admit of a simple solution. The Portuguese of this
province especially are an inferior people. They are probably a
degenerate people; and one cause of that degeneracy may be an
intermixture of dissimilar races."
"It is evident," said Lady Mabel, "that the work Pelayo began was
never finished by his successors; that in reconquering the country the
Christians did not make thorough work in expelling the Moors."
"I know not how thoroughly they may have driven out the Moors," said
Mrs. Shortridge, "but they certainly have not kept out the
black-a-moors. The negroes now form no small part of the population of
Lisbon."
"And the worst part," said L'Isle; "as will always happen when an
inferior race is brought in contact and competition with one superior
to it. A great part of the robbers, and other criminals there, are
negroes. These are comparatively new-comers; but among the old
population around us, though we meet with many specimens of men of
pure and better breed, still, the great number of turned-up noses and
projecting lips we see, gives us an idea of an intermixture with
negroes. This mixture and deterioration of the people will control the
condition of the country far more than revolutions in church and
state. The presence of but one race in a country renders possible a
real freedom, embracing the whole population, and it becomes more
attainable if this people be a race of high caste; but an inferior
people mingled with them, will be politically and socially subjected
to them. This is the history of races all over the world."
They had now ridden many miles on the road to Murao, whither L'Isle
would gladly have led the ladies, were it only for the pleasure of
taking them across the Guadiana, so renowned in song; but he feared to
prolong the fatigues of the journey beyond the next day, and bade the
muleteer find the shortest way back to Elvas. On this their guide soon
turned into a by-way, and they gradually left the cultivated country
behind them. The heat of the day made them wish for shelter long
before it could be found in so bare and desolate a region. At length
they were cheered by the sight of a few pines of stunted growth, and
seating themselves in the shade, prepared to dine, while the servants
went in search of water, which proved scarce drinkable when
brought. The sweet-smelling thyme, which abounded in this spot, now
bruised under the horses' hoofs, gave a refreshing fragrance to the
air, and they rested the longer, as Mrs. Shortridge seemed worn out
with the heat. Lady Mabel seized the occasion to add some new plants
to her _hortus siccus_, which, now swollen to a portentous bulk,
occupied the highest place in the load of one of the mules. As she
wandered from one cluster of plants to another, her voice rose into a
tuneful strain. L'Isle followed her with eye and ear, as imprisoned
Palamon did Emilie, while
"She gathered flowers, partly white and red,
To make a subtle garland for her head,
And as an angel, heaven-like she sang."
But she presently returned to her seat, and to her favorite diversion
of exciting Moodie's controversial spirit, by asking him if there was
not something exceedingly impressive in the external religion of the
people they were among?
The term she used was enough to rouse him; but, checking himself, he
sneeringly said, "I think these mummeries are well contrived for their
purpose, to amuse a childish people, and keep them in a state of
childhood."
"And why should they not be amused?" said Lady Mabel, "since you will
view it in that light? The church, their nursing-mother, takes charge
of them, body and soul, and strives to make religion part and parcel
of the occupations of every hour of every day life. By spectacles,
processions, pictures, music, by the lonely way-side cross, by the
crucifix hidden in the bosom, by the neighboring convent bell, chiming
the hour of prayer, the Romanist is reminded forty times a day that he
does not live for this life alone. Does he seek amusement from books?
she takes out of his hands the lewd tale or lying romance, and puts
into it the more wonderful legend of a saint or a martyr. Does any son
of the church neglect the practice of charity? she sends him an humble
penniless friar to remind him of that duty. Does he strive to forget
his sins? she startles his slumbering conscience by duly summoning him
to the confessional. The youths and maidens, taking an evening walk,
led by early habit, stroll toward some neighboring chapel, and suspend
their thoughtless mirth, while they bend the knee to offer up a
prayer, and make the sign of the cross, in emblem of their faith in
Him who died upon it."
Moodie shook his head. "You have well named its external religion. It
is a whited sepulchre, full within of dead men's bones. The Kirk
swept out all that rubbish long ago, and the less it is like Rome the
nearer the pure faith."
"They would be odd Christians," said L'Isle, "who held nothing in
common with Rome. I doubt, too, whether it be possible to preserve the
substance with an utter disregard to form. When inspiration ceased, it
was time to frame liturgies and creeds. But there is one material
point in which the Kirk of Scotland and the Church of Rome still
strongly resemble each other."
Moodie pricked up his ears at this astounding assertion, and
scornfully asked: "What point is that, sir?"
"Their vicarious public worship," answered L'Isle. "They both pray by
proxy. The Papists employ a priest to pray for them in a dead language
which they do not understand, and the Presbyterians a minister to
offer up petitions unknown to his people until after they are uttered,
who stand listening, or seeming to listen, to this vicarious prayer,
which may be, and often is, unfitted to the wants of their hearts, and
the convictions of their consciences."
"And to escape these dangers, more possible than likely, you flee to
those dead formularies you call your liturgy," retorted Moodie.
"To the formalist and the negligent," L'Isle replied, "the liturgy is
but a form; but to the earnest churchman it is a thing of life. Using
it, the Christian congregation, priest and layman, pastor and flock,
join in an united confession of their sins, in the profession of their
common faith, in prayer for mercies needed, in thanksgiving for
blessings bestowed. God's praise is sung, his pardon to repentant
sinners authoritatively pronounced, the sacraments ordained by Christ
are reverently administered, and the whole body of revealed truth and
sacred history systematically recited to the people in the course of
each year--a most profitable teaching to the young and ignorant, who
cannot search the Scriptures for themselves. This is a true Christian
public worship, complete in itself. Nor do we neglect preaching as a
means of instruction and exhortation, without holding it to be an
always essential accompaniment, much less, as you do, the right arm in
the public worship of God."
"And to this form of words, made by man," objected Moodie, "you
attribute a divine character, little, if at all, below that which
belongs to the word of God."
"So far as it consists of the language of Scripture, rightly applied,
it is divine," said L'Isle. "But it is an error to say that our
liturgy, or any other worthy to be named, was made by a man, or the
men of any one age. It has a more catholic origin than that. The
spiritual experience of devout men of many centuries of Christianity,
realizing the needs of sinful humanity in its intercourse with its
Maker and Redeemer, and the comforting Spirit, have helped to build it
up, and thus adapted it, in its parts of general application, to the
spiritual wants, at all times, of every child of Adam."
"You speak up finely for your formal service, sir," said Moodie; "and
I may not be scholar enough to answer you. But every spiritual minded
man knows that it only fetters the spirit in prayer."
"Yet we might infer," said L'Isle, "from a passage in the Revelations
of St. John, that a liturgy is used by the four and twenty elders who
stand before the throne."
"You and Moodie do not seem to get any nearer to each other," said
Mrs. Shortridge, "in your rambles through the mazes of controversy."
"We only need here a well-trained son of Rome," answered L'Isle, "to
make confusion worse confounded. Luckily, Moodie and I can fight out
our duel in quiet, without having a dexterous adversary come in as
thirdsman, and kill us both."
The muleteer, who had shown signs of impatience unusual with him, now
pointed to the sun; in a few minutes they were again on the road,
which was but a bridle-path, and the country promised less and less as
they rode on. Their guide looked around doubtingly, and at length
turned aside to a half ruinous cottage, the only habitation they had
seen for miles, where he closely questioned an old woman whom he found
there as to the way before them. Little satisfied with her directions,
he presently stopped an idiotic looking fellow, with a huge head, whom
they met driving some milch goats toward the hovel, and questioned
him. The goatherd stood staring at the party with open mouth, and gave
little heed to him. But, at length, being pressed for an answer, he
gave one in a harsh voice with great volubility, and much action, as
if drawing in the air a map of the whole country around. The muleteer
seemed satisfied, and they again moved on over a waste of low, rolling
hills, without a tree upon them. Unlike the heaths of the north of
Europe, it was covered with a false show of fertility, displaying a
variety of plants; among them several species of heath, one six feet
high, and entirely covered with large red flowers, another, smaller
indeed, but with flowers of a yet more lively red. Here, too, were the
yellow-flowered _cisti_, and many other plants with blossoms of many
hues, perfuming the air while they delighted the eye. But the stunted
juniper bushes, and the myrtles, not luxuriant and beautiful, like
those growing on the banks of the rivulets, but dwarfish to the humble
size of weeds, told of a land of starvation under this wilderness of
sweets.
Lady Mabel, much as she loved flowers, was sated here, and owned that
no profusion of them could make a landscape. "There is a dreary
monotony in a scene like this, that words cannot express. The sky of
brass over our heads, and this treeless, lifeless sea of sandy
hillocks around us, excite a feeling of desolation and solitude, which
forces me to look round on our party to convince myself that I am not
alone in the world."
The muleteer, who was some way ahead, now stopped short. Riding up,
they saw that the path here divided into two, and heard him heaping
curses on the huge head of the simpleton, who had forgotten to tell
him which to follow. But, on L'Isle's asking what they should do now,
he dismounted, and stepped up to consult his wisest mule, which he did
by slipping the bridle from his head. At once, sure instinct came to
faltering reason's aid; the beast turned complacently into the right
hand path, and moving briskly on, jingled his bells more cheerily than
before, as if he already saw the open stable door, and snuffed his
evening meal. Their path bending westward, they now saw clouds
mustering on the heights before them, and one of April's sudden
showers drawing near.
Within less then a mile, they came upon a hedge of American aloes,
which, with their close array of massive leaves, each ending in a
sharp point, protected an orchard. Following its course a few rods,
they came to a rude gateway, which admitted them into a small
cattle-yard, and a low, unpretending farm-house stood before them.