MILDRED LEE.
Grief should be
Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate;
Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free;
Strong to consume small troubles; to commend
Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end.
—_Aubrey de Vere._
Mildred Lee, at the time of our story, was twenty-eight. She early lost
her mother, and now, by the recent death of her father, was left to her
own devices. She was fortunate in the devoted attachment of her maiden
aunt, Janet, who shared her tastes, and whose views on things in
general were, with some important differences, which gave a zest to
their discussion, pretty much her own.
Aunt Janet was studious and intellectual, and had exercised a great
influence in the development of her niece’s mind. It was she who had
formed her tastes, and in a great measure moulded her intellect, while
it was yet plastic, on her own exalted pattern. Mildred’s father had
been but too glad to confide his only child to her care, and the event
proved his wisdom and her salvation, for the devotion of Aunt Janet’s
life had found its reward in the beautiful flower of Mildred’s
intellectual and moral life, which seemed a reflex of her own. Blessed
with Nature’s best endowment at starting, a robust and healthy frame,
which often implies a vigorous and healthy mind, Aunt Janet had the
initial impetus within her from childhood which kept her always aiming
after the noblest and best standard of the good and true. A tendency of
phthisis is not the sole cause and stimulus of the religious sentiment,
and the strumous diathesis is not the only reason why children take
instinctively to books instead of athletics, as some maintain.
Certainly none of these things were the causes of Aunt Janet’s devotion
to letters, and her constant desire to do something to advance the
interests of mankind. The vigour of her thinking capacity, her rapidity
in grasping the idea of a subject, her instinctive apprehension of the
right way to the essence of things, was equalled by the physical
capacity for continued work, and the strain which her system could bear
without breaking down or depressing her industry. She was witty, and
superabounding in good humour; never dull, never—like so many
brilliant leaders of society—the subject of reaction after unusual
efforts to amuse and enjoy; but so even, so constant in mental, as in
physical health, that all her friends sought her in seasons of
depression and mental discomfort, feeling that some subtle healing
power for their minds would restore and reinvigorate them. Her niece
could have had no better training than the mere daily contact with so
normal a mind. Subject of late to fits of melancholy, musing
despondently on what she called her unsatisfied longings for a higher
life, she was yet daily growing, though she knew it not, into the
perfect woman, nourished by all the elements necessary to build up a
capacity for a great world’s-work.
Their method was to lose no more time over the small society
frivolities, or even its conventional demands, than was absolutely
necessary; and when these things were cut down to their lowest
convenient point, they found they had time enough to devote to their
philanthropic projects and their intellectual pursuits. Aunt Janet had
never found time to be in love; she used to say this in a joking
manner, but it was perfectly true. Books, and the study of almost
everything practicable for her, occupied her whole thoughts from
morning till night. Love, she thought, might some day be taken up, when
philosophy, botany, and the higher mathematics failed to absorb her;
but it was always hidden away in the dim distance, and was as likely to
be seriously entertained as a journey to the sources of the Nile. Of
the two rather less likely, for distant foreign travel was quite in her
line; and as she had more than once packed up and shipped herself off
to Eastern climes, for better acquaintance with their history, she
might be moved to undertake Central Africa in default of anything
better to do. When she undertook the care of her niece, and the
superintendence and development of her mind, she found abundant
employment, and was busier than ever, so that love and Equatorial
Africa receded still farther into distance, and she settled down
perfectly contented to be an old maid for life.
Now the influence of such a preceptress on a clever, thoughtful girl
like Mildred was just this. She gave herself up to her aunt to learn
all she wanted to teach her, and imbibed so much of her spirit and mode
of looking at things that she was ashamed to talk, or even think of
love, in face of the supreme indifference, if not quite contempt, with
which Aunt Janet viewed the tender passion. Her father acquiesced in
this state of things. He was too unwilling to part with Mildred, and
only hoped the men would keep away from his treasure as long as he
wanted it all to himself. Her aunt, for her part, thought her niece
much too good to be sacrificed in marriage. It was not the selfishness
which animated Dr. Lee that made her wish to keep her niece single, but
a real conviction that if a woman could in any way avoid it, marriage
was not the best state for her, whatever the world might say to the
contrary. As, therefore, she was in no want of a position, what better
thing was there for her to do than keep single, be the light of her
father’s home, and help her—dear, philanthropic old maid as she
was!—in her humanitarian and intellectual schemes—projects which
could only be successfully worked out by women, and women who had no
husbands, babies, and family ties to engross them, and make them
callous to the wants of the great world outside a nursery? If a young
woman wants to shield herself from the arrows of Cupid, there is no
better defence for her than a wall of books, a science or two, some
ologies, and a taste for writing. Behind these bulwarks her pretty
face, her figure, her youth, her grace, and her accomplishments are
comparatively safe. So Mildred seemed likely to be a second edition of
her aunt; and if truth must be told the prospect did not in the least
alarm her.
While this calm and uneventful life went on, unbroken by a single
disturbing element, each of these happy, pure, and useful women making
the world around them better and happier for her presence in it, and
reaping in calm contentment the fruits of the good deeds they scattered
lavishly, the sad calamity of Sir Martin Lee’s death suddenly fell upon
them. Had their lives been hitherto spent in selfish enjoyment of the
pleasures of the hour, the blow would have been heavier than it was;
but though they were unfamiliar with great troubles of their own, their
loving work amongst the poor, the friendless, and the sick had
familiarized them with suffering in others, and they knew how to bow
the head in meek submission when the storm passed over them, and
scattered their hopes in its path. Resignation was now the virtue to be
practised, and Mildred did not fail in the hour of trial. A few months
after Sir Martin’s death her aunt took her for a long tour through
scenes of travel which she was anxious to unfold to her. They had often
talked of them, and it was soon resolved to take the St. Gothard route
to Italy, and return home by Spain. From Naples they went to Sicily,
and made a rather long stay at Taormina, under Etna. It was not till
they reached this magnificent spot (perhaps, as has been said, the
loveliest on the earth), that Mildred began to recover somewhat from
her bereavement. On that lofty height, surrounded by mountain peaks, up
which rock-hewn steps led to ancient cities and old-world castles and
fortresses, with the great snow-covered volcano rearing its lofty head
above the clouds, with the Straits of Messina dividing their shores
from those of Calabria, whose purple mountains melted away into the dim
distance, she could read the lines which Cardinal Newman wrote amid
those scenes with a sweet conviction of their truth.
“Say, hast thou tracked a traveller’s round,
Nor visions met thee there,
Thou could’st but marvel to have found
This blighted world so fair?
And feel an awe within thee rise,
That sinful man should see
Glories far worthier seraphs’ eyes
Than to be shared by thee?
Store them in heart, thou shalt not faint
’Mid coming pains and fears,
As the third heaven once nerved a saint
For fourteen trial years.”
And so from one world-famous spot to another in that panorama of
Southern loveliness, they made the tour of Sicily, and at Palermo took
the steamer for Malaga. It was a sight to lift up any sorrowful spirit
when Mildred went on deck in the early September morning, as the
steamer lay at anchor before the beautiful white city, glowing in the
roseate hues of the rising sun. High above them the cathedral seemed to
stand as the protector of the town, surrounded by palaces, and as its
guard, still higher,
“On a lofty hill the castle of Gibralfaro
Seemed to watch the town and bay.”
The harbour, crowded with vessels of all nations, and the busy quays,
gave signs of wealth and activity which the travellers had scarcely
expected to find in benighted Spain. The blessed Mediterranean it is
which would have given trade and wealth wherever its waves touched the
shores, had man known how to preserve its gifts. It has given Malaga
more than wealth; for it is one of the great health resorts of the
South. It must be confessed, however, that what these blissful spots
gain in climate, they, by the ignorance and indolence of their
inhabitants, lose by neglect of the simplest elements of sanitary
science.
Aunt Janet had been a little doubtful of Spain; she feared they would
have to “rough it” rather too much, having taken her impressions from
Mr. Ford’s books, which, however accurate in some particulars, are too
prejudiced against the _cosas de España_ in general to deal fairly with
the manners and customs of this intensely interesting land.
“Now for rancid oil, and garlic, and bull beef!” said she. “No more
French cookery.”
“Well, aunt, it can’t be worse than Sicily; and we have done fairly
well there.”
“I don’t know, dear. I fear we shall be devoured alive by the ‘light
infantry’ of the country, unless we are poisoned straight off by their
cooks. Besides, we don’t know any Spanish!”
“Why, aunt, the courier declares I speak it very well indeed, and for
the rest I expect French will serve us perfectly.”
Their hotel was situated in the Alameda, and a glimpse of that pleasant
resort revealed so much of the beauty of the Spanish ladies, of which
they had heard with a little scepticism after their illusions had been
dispelled as to the charms of the Italian fair sex, that they agreed
the reports had not been exaggerated. The next day they started for
Granada, which they reached two hours late, thus early making their
acquaintance with the dilatoriness of Spanish railways. Mr. Crowe and
Dr. Graves met them at the station, and welcomed them to their abode in
the grounds of the Fairy Halls of Alhambra.
It was scarcely light when Mildred rose to visit the palace of her
childhood’s dream. It seemed almost wicked to sleep with such delights
awaiting her. Aunt Janet was much less in a hurry to leave her couch;
still, as she was not less imbued with the spirit of the enchanting
place, she soon followed her niece into the grounds. When we have
longed all our lives to visit some celebrated scene, the first
impression, on finding our hopes at length realized, is often one of
disappointment. The imagination in some minds paints in colours of such
“rainbow substance” that reality can never equal; but it has often been
remarked that no one has been disappointed in his expectations of the
Alhambra. Here he is in the scenery of the Thousand and One Nights
itself, and if he is of the least romantic order of intellect, will be
filled with more poetic reflections than can be supplied by any other
place in Europe. Long before the gates were opened for visitors, the
ladies had walked round the venerable walls, had visited Charles V.’s
incongruous palace, and drunk in some of the inspiration of the lovely
scene. When they returned to the hotel to breakfast, they found the
doctors awaiting them with tickets for the Generalife, which they were
to visit after the Alhambra.
What a day was this to Mildred! How she wished she could have some of
her English friends with her, as she imbibed such stores of beautiful
recollections! Mr. Crowe was very attentive, and was full of learned
lore about the builders of the place. He praised the Moors so much that
he seemed to lament that they had been expelled from Spain, and it
required all Dr. Graves’ chivalrous devotion to the memory of Isabella
to defend the conquest.
“But you must not forget, Crowe, that your beloved Moors were in their
decadence when their expulsion came; their luxury and over-refinement
had drawn attendant evils in their train, and these brought about their
ruin when attacked by a people like the Spaniards—then, as you must
admit, in every way superior to their foes, or they could never have
united all Spain under their sovereigns Ferdinand and Isabella.”
But Mr. Crowe could not forgive the Spaniards for having too much
religion and too little science; and maintained that in both respects
they were considerably the inferiors of the Moors whom they had
dispossessed.
Of course Mr. Crowe and Dr. Graves thoroughly acquainted themselves
with the mysteries of the Bull Ring. They wished to take the ladies to
a bull fight, declaring that one could not really say he had seen Spain
without a visit to the national sports. As neither of the ladies had
any desire to say she had “seen Spain,” they deprived themselves of
this particular item of their education, and astonished the hotel
proprietor by their forbearance. He protested that all the English
ladies went to the fights, though they all declared it was a disgrace
to Spain to tolerate such cruelty; and he laughed at what he evidently
considered our national hypocrisy. To the credit of the Spanish nation,
ladies do not attend the bull fights nearly so frequently as formerly.
It is beginning to be unfashionable to do so.
Did Mr. Crowe enjoy the sport? Strange to say, he strongly disapproved
of it! He thought it a degrading and cruel spectacle; most demoralizing
to the people, and a quite useless waste of life, which could have been
devoted to the progress of humanity. So do our minds refract the light
that comes from the actions of our fellow-men! Dr. Graves did not
scruple to say, “a bull fight was just the grandest sight on all this
planet!”
They visited the cathedral together, and descended to the vault where
Isabella and her husband lie in their leaden coffins side by side.
Dr. Graves could forgive the great queen all her bigotry for having
offered to pawn her jewels to send Columbus on his voyage of discovery.
Nothing would satisfy him but that he must make a pilgrimage to the old
bridge where the messenger overtook the heavy-hearted navigator, and
brought him back to the noble queen.
“So like an impulsive, generous woman, ready to sacrifice everything
for an idea!” said Dr. Graves.
“A very substantial idea,” replied Mr. Crowe, who detested Isabella for
being a good Catholic but could not help admiring her devotion to
exploration and experiment. “The acquisition of a new world to the
crown of Leon and Castile was worth a few jewels.”
“Don’t you think,” asked Aunt Janet, “that she was actuated by far
worthier reasons than those?”
Mildred was almost as much in love with Isabella as Dr. Graves, and
declared “that she was moved in all her conquests and expeditions by a
passionate desire to win souls for God and His Church.”
“By roasting their bodies at the stake,” added Mr. Crowe.
Mildred said, in her quiet, arch manner,—
“We may roast people alive in the coming age of science for much less
important reasons, if physiologists have their way!”
This was a particularly nasty cut, as it was well known Mr. Crowe had
often lamented to his class that criminals under sentence of death
could not be used for scientific purposes.
“We should not burn people alive, I hope,” said he.
“I am not so sure of that. I have read somewhere of one of your
profession boasting that he took particular delight in inflicting
‘atrocious pain’ on dogs.”
Aunt Janet interposed, as the discussion was getting rather acrid, and
philosophically attempted an apology for the persecutions of the dark
ages.
Having paid a visit to the Cartuja Convent, they returned to the hotel
for luncheon, and afterwards wandered about the delicious gardens of
the Generalife till it was time for dinner. As the night was moonlight,
they obtained permission to enter the Alhambra again, and saw it with
all the glamour and witchery of the midnight hour.