DELORMAIS' ROMANCE.
Rome--Count Albert--Happy months--Sweets of
companionship--Egypt--Strange things--Quiet weeks--Sinai--Freedom
of the desert--Crossing the Red Sea--Mount Serbal--Convent of St.
Catherine--In the Valley of the Saint--Tomb of Sheikh Saleh--Pools
of Solomon--Jerusalem the Golden--Bethel--Lebanon--Home
again--Fresh scenes--Algeria--Hanging gardens of the Sahel--Mount
Bubor and its glories--Rash act--At the twilight hour--Earthly
paradise--Fair Eve--Fervent love--Arouya--Nature's revenge--Not to
last--Eternal requiem of the sea--In the backwoods--Hunting
wolves--Prairies of California--Honolulu--Active volcanoes--Lake of
fire--Rare birds and wild flowers--Worship of Peleus--An
eruption--Mighty upheaval--Coast of Labrador--Shooting bears.
"The first morning that I wakened up away from home I found myself in
the Eternal City. I had always loved Rome. Here I thought I might lose
myself in ancient history. In imagination I trod the palace of the
Caesars, and in the Coliseum beheld the martyred Christians. I pictured
the gilded pageantries of the Tiber, the splendours of the pleasure-lost
citizens. I saw the vast Campagna clothed with its armies, listened to
the clash of arms and shouts of warriors ascending heavenwards. I walked
the Appian Way with St. Paul and at the Three Taverns seemed to hear his
voice in sorrowful farewell. At the shrine of Cecilia Metella I lingered
in sympathetic communion; and from the Pincio Hill watched the sunsets
of those matchless skies. Why are the skies of Rome more beautiful than
any other? The Vatican opened its doors to me and the Pope gave me his
most intimate and friendly benediction. I fear that I thought too
lightly of the latter.
"What just then was more to my purpose, in Rome I found a great friend.
He, Count Albert, was the nephew of the duke my mother had refused to
marry. We had been intimate from childhood, but he was five years my
senior. I need not say that he was a very different man from his uncle:
high-minded, earnest, a cultivated citizen of the world. About to visit
Egypt and Palestine, he begged me to join him. His happiness he declared
would then be complete.
"Thus chance, or an over-ruling Providence, decided for me. I willingly
acquiesced, and the many months we spent together remain as some of the
happiest of my life. Though never ceasing to mourn my loss, I quickly
threw off depression in the excitement of ever-changing scenes. Only in
the still darkness of the night hours would the beloved faces and voices
come to me with an ever-recurring sense of loneliness, and, man though I
was, my pillow was frequently wet with tears. But our friendship for
each other was sincere and has remained so. For the Duke of G.--he has
now by the decrees of fate become the head of his family--is still
living, though we have seldom met of late years.
"We travelled together, enjoying those sweet pleasures of companionship
only given us in youth. With Egypt and Palestine we became intimate and
familiar. Cairo delighted us. It was less modern in those days than in
these. We were never tired of visiting the mosques with all their sacred
and historic charm. We made the acquaintance of the sheikhs, saw them
perform impossible magic, heard strange things revealed in a drop of
ink. To me these mysteries have remained unsolved to this day. We spent
hours and days amongst the tombs of the Caliphs, revelling in their
wonderful refinement. We visited all the ancient cities of the Nile:
Thebes with its hills and ruins, Memphis with its palm forests and
Pyramids--those monuments the most ancient in the world. We contemplated
the great Pyramids of Ghizeh by moonlight and felt steeped in mystery.
In the same weird light I have stood before the Sphinx and asked the
reason and origin of its existence, but only profound silence has
answered me. At Dendera, that perfect temple begun by Cleopatra and
finished by Tiberius, I gazed upon the features of the famous queen and
compared them with those of Hermonthis. I found they resembled each
other and confess that I wondered in what consisted the beauty of the
woman who changed the fate of the world--but beautiful she must have
been. We chartered our dahabeah and travelled up to the Second Cataract.
Never shall I forget the soothing repose of those quiet weeks, the
delight of our uninterrupted companionship, the books we read together,
the daily thoughts we exchanged, the ruined cities we explored. It was
an experience that comes only once in a lifetime.
"We both felt strongly the connection between Sacred Geography and
Sacred History: how the one would be better understood if the other were
visited. So together we became acquainted with the Peninsula of Sinai,
its mountains, plains, and sea. The charm and freedom of the desert I
had often dreamed about, but how far greater was the reality! Here we
revelled day after day in the wonderful isolation: sky and sand and
nothing else. A mingling of gorgeous tones: a vast expanse of blue and
yellow; a molten sun burning down upon all by day, at night the infinite
repose of darkness and star-lit skies. How endless were those sandy
wastes, broken only by the wild broom and acacia yielding its gum
arabic, the wild palm and manna-giving tamarisk!
"We traversed the desert in which the Israelites wandered for forty
years, and crossed the Red Sea over the very spot where Pharaoh and his
host were drowned. We ascended Mount Serbal and the cluster of Jebel
Musa, and therefore must have trod the very Sinai of Israel. We stayed
for days at the wonderful convent of St. Catherine, a strange building
to exist in the very centre of the desert, with its massive walls,
gorgeous church and galleries, monkish cells and guest chambers, its
wonderful gardens. We spent much time in the Library, examining its
ancient and singularly interesting MSS. We conversed frequently with the
monks, and wondered why they should be Greek and not Arabian; and
whether, so far removed from the world, temptation and sin and sorrow
still assailed them.
"In the Valley of the Saint we visited the tomb of Sheikh Saleh, the
'great unknown,' where the tribes of the Desert assemble once a year and
hold their races and dances and offer up burnt sacrifices. We looked
upon Hebron, that wonderful sepulchre of the Patriarchs, and passed
through the Valley of Eschol, once so abundant in the fruits of the
earth. We visited the three Pools of Solomon on our way to Bethlehem.
Never can I forget the gorgeous splendour of the scene, the wonderful
undulations of those vine-clad hills. In the vast depression lie the
sleeping pools, square and regular, and sky and atmosphere seem full of
flaming colours, and one realises the true meaning of the glories of the
East. Beyond lies Rachel's tomb, and from the top of a neighbouring hill
one looks down upon Jerusalem the Golden. We feel that we are treading
the holiest ground on earth.
"We went up the Passage of Michmash to Bethel; that dreary and barren
spot where Jacob made him a pillar of stones and dreamed his dream. You
remember his words: 'Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it
not.... This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate
of heaven.' The spot is very desolate; no wonder Jacob feared as he
gazed around.
"We visited Lebanon, and in its grove reposed under the few remaining
cedars, listened to the cry of the cicale, and watched the birds of
brilliant plumage flitting from branch to branch. Though in the midst of
the desert there was no silence. A wonderful spot, with its rushing
streams, its vineyards and corn-fields, the magnificent sea flashing in
the sunshine. What a forest life it must have been before Sennacherib
laid it low!
"So we became thoroughly acquainted with Sinai and Palestine. I can
never understand those who leave this magic land with a sense of
disappointment. It is true that we were young, full of life and vigour,
ready to extract all the honey from our sweets; but to me no after
experience ever equalled this first lengthened journey of my manhood.
With what sorrow and regret I brought it to an end and parted from my
friend, you will easily imagine.
"But it had to be. I had been long absent from home. The Abbe wrote to
me regularly; all had gone well and quietly, but I began to feel anxious
to gaze once more upon the beloved groves and familiar shores; to hear
once more the voice of the good old man who I knew hungered and thirsted
for my return.
"One morning when the sun was shining and everything looked bright and
happy, I suddenly appeared before the Abbe. He was absorbed upon a MS.,
putting the finishing touches to a chapter of peculiar merit, when he
looked up and saw the desire of his eyes. For a moment I thought he was
about to lose consciousness. Then the blood rushed to his pale, refined
face, and I found myself clasped in his arms.
"We spent a quiet happy month together. I took up my abode in his house,
not in the chateau. Everything was pursuing the calm and even tenor of
its way. Every one was happy, and the return of the master made that
happiness complete. They all hoped I had come to remain; but I found
that could not be. I was unable to settle down to a quiet domestic life.
This home-coming had brought back all my loss, the happiness of days
gone for ever. I felt I must seek fresh scenes, and soon departed again
on my wanderings. This time they were not very distant.
"I crossed over to Algeria, and from the bright green slopes of the
Sahel learned to love the white terraces and hanging gardens that
contrasted so well with the matchless blue of the Mediterranean. That
was not all that I learned to love.
"I mixed freely with the Arabs and the French of all classes. Fate took
me to Djidjelly. I wished to ascend Mount Bubor, and from its summit
gaze as it were upon all the kingdoms of the earth and the glory of
them. Here I committed the most rash, most impulsive act of my life. You
will say it was impossible in one brought up as I had been. I have
learned that nothing is impossible. Remember also my youth; that I was
in a sense alone in the world; had never loved, never even thought of
love. I will now tell you a secret hitherto locked within my own breast.
In a word, I married. Djidjelly has been considered almost impregnable,
but no fortress can keep out the arrows of Cupid.
"I had been in the town for about a week, exploring the rocks and
heights, picturing that terrible expedition two centuries ago, when the
Kabyles brought Beaufort and his men to utter defeat. One day I had
walked some ten miles into the interior. I was revelling in the perfume
of one of the lovely groves that abound, when suddenly I came upon a
vision of grace and beauty that absolutely dazzled and astounded me. It
was that witching hour of evening when the sun nears the horizon and
all nature seems sinking to repose. A perfect paradise of orange and
almond trees, olives and pomegranates interspersed with the wild laurel,
surrounded me. Never did paradise boast a fairer Eve. The declining sun
threw deep shadows athwart the paths; branches and foliage traced fairy
pictures of sunlight and shade.
"In this enchanting scene stood a young Kabyle woman, lovelier than
anything I had ever seen before or have ever dreamed of since. She was
about seventeen, but here, as you know, women develop early. Her form
was perfect as her face. If she walked, her step was light and majestic.
If she ran, it was with the grace of the gazelle. Everything about her
was harmonious. Her abundant dark hair crowned a small and shapely head.
Her eyes, large, dark and soft, flashed with sensibility and
intelligence beneath pencilled eyebrows and long drooping eyelashes that
almost swept her cheek. Her expression was one of singular purity and
guilelessness. All the passionate temperament of the East seemed to have
passed her by. Yet how purely, how fervently she could love. Over a
silken robe she wore a haick or burnous of fine gossamer that fell about
her in graceful folds. When her small coral lips parted they revealed
the most exquisite of pearly teeth. Her voice was music. You will say
that I am making her too perfect. This would indeed be impossible. I
have never met any one to approach her either in grace of mind or beauty
of feature.
"But Nature had been cruel. She had bestowed those matchless charms only
to withdraw them too soon. I saw her and from that moment loved her:
loved her for ever. There was no doubt or wavering in my mind. I
approached her. She met me fearlessly, naturally, without thought of
guile. To my delight she spoke perfect French, was evidently refined and
educated. Her father was the proprietor of this little paradise. This
meant that he was probably at ease in the world without being exactly
rich. I quickly got to know him. Wooing in this part of the world is not
a matter of months or years. Within a week of our first meeting, I was
engaged to Arouya. Her father was only too willing to give her to one
who was young, good-looking, above all had wealth at his command.
Almost immediately, without counting the cost or reflecting upon the
mistake of a union with one of another race and religion, we were
married. But all the reflection in the world would have made no
difference. I was borne on by a mighty torrent against which there was
no struggling.
"For six months I lived a charmed, enraptured, secluded life with
Arouya, my wife. We were intensely happy in each other's love: bliss
that is rarely given to mortals. It was not a mere life of the senses;
her mind was wonderfully pure, bright and expansive. From the very first
I laboured to convert her to Christianity, and with singular clearness
she grasped and embraced all its profound yet simple truths: became
deeply, devotedly religious. This only seemed to strengthen her
affection for me.
"But it was not to last. Almost from the day of our marriage I felt the
shadow of the sword. Our happiness was to be as fleeting as it was
perfect. Arouya was already stricken with mortal illness. Consumption
had set its seal upon her. Before we had been married three months she
began to droop; at the end of six months she died. Died in my arms,
blessing the hour in which we had first met. I laid her in her far-off
grave, within sound of the sea, which chants her eternal requiem.
"I will draw a veil over my grief. For the third time in my young life I
was heavily stricken. But I have learned to see the hand of mercy in the
blow, and in time I lived it down. It was an episode in my life so
romantic, so sacred, that I never spoke of it even to the good Abbe. You
are the first to whom I have confided it. The secret is locked in my own
breast--and in yours.
"I left Algeria and sought distraction from my grief by going farther
abroad. I visited America, where I saw Nature on a gigantic scale. There
I went through endless experiences and adventures. In the backwoods of
the North I have spent whole nights watching for wolves, and heard their
howlings on all sides. Often I have been sore beset. Many a tree have I
climbed to save my life; from its branches shot many a tiger whose
glaring eyes and deep growls told me one or other must conquer. But as
in childhood, so in later years I seem to have carried about with me a
charmed life. Many a time has my thirst been assuaged by the monkeys,
who in return for stones pelted me with cocoanuts. In the Indian jungle
I have hunted lions, and once was surprised and sprung upon by a tiger
that at that very moment was providentially shot by my servant.
Otherwise I should not now be here to tell you the tale. It was a narrow
escape.
"In the vast prairies of California I delighted. Here I saw vegetation
as I had never conceived it. Even the cedars of Lebanon paled before
these gigantic monarchs of the forest. Loveliest flowers of gorgeous
hues, wonderful tree-ferns, abounded. There was no limit to their
wealth. Once, whilst here, the desire seized me to visit Hawaii--the
Sandwich Islands as they are called: those wonderful volcanic isles of
the Pacific. Beside them, everything else of a like nature fades into
insignificance. Vesuvius, AEtna, Hecla, these are child's play in
comparison. The eight islands form a rich and productive chain.
"I embarked from San Francisco for Honolulu, and reached it after a run
of sixteen days before the wind. Here I found much to repay me. The
island is full of rocky spurs which form so great a contrast to the
green plains of the interior with their clear flowing streams and
endless forests. Vast craters are ever in a state of eruption: the
largest volcanoes in the world: some extinct, others in a state of
activity. One of these days I believe that a tremendous upheaval will
take place and the islands will disappear. The mountain peaks of Hawaii,
Mauna Kia and Mauna Loa, 14,000 feet high, with their eternal snows,
would alone repay a visit. Perpendicular precipices 3000 feet high
present a bold savage front to the sea, and looking at them you think
that never before have you gazed upon rock scenery. The sandy shores
have the loveliest, most perfect of coral reefs. The waters surrounding
the islands are clear and brilliant with every rainbow colour. Here the
world is a paradise; but its people, though harmless enough, are not
angels.
"Kilanea on Mauna Loa is the largest of the active volcanoes. Its
oval-shaped crater is nine miles in circumference and 6000 feet above
the level of the sea. Within this a lake of fire is for ever burning and
seething, moving and heaving to and fro in liquid waves of molten lava.
Imagine the tremendous, the awful sight. I was there in 1856 when it was
in a very active state and continued so for some years. At night the
spectacle was sublime beyond description. Herds of wild horses roam the
islands. There is a curious bat that flies by day. Many of the trees are
productive. The sugar-cane flourishes; the palm, banana, cocoanut and
_ti_. The natives bake and eat the roots of the latter and thatch their
huts with its leaves. The snow-clad hills are the most distinctive
feature, here and there rising in overpowering masses wreathed in
fantastic vapours. Above these the clear blue sky rises in brilliant
contrast and unbroken serenity. At sundown the white snow-tops flush a
rosy red. Wonderful creepers interlace the trees of the forest, so that
you walk under an endless magic roof of green, through which the sun at
mid-day penetrates only in delicate gleams and patches. Gorgeous
wild-flowers grow everywhere through the pathless woods. Birds of rare
plumage flash from bough to bough, chattering and calling, but soulless
in point of song. Everywhere one meets the pungent odour of wild fruit.
Here too I found orange and lemon-groves that almost rivalled those of
my Mediterranean home. You have heard of those wonderful trees with
their wealth of blossoms that live one day, changing colour three times
in the daylight hours: white in the morning, yellow at noon, red at
sundown--blushing their life away.
"The heat of the days was intense, but at sunset a cool breeze would
spring up, laden with the perfume of orange and lemon-groves. I mixed
freely with the natives, a curious, superstitious race.
"It was here that I first experienced the sensation of earthquakes. They
are common enough in these volcanic islands, and unless violent, excite
little attention. I had been travelling for two days. Suddenly I felt
the ground as it were slipping under my feet. The trees about us swayed,
the leaves rustled as though moved by a strong wind. In the air was a
brooding stillness. We were not far from a tremendous volcano. An
eruption was evidently about to take place. I had two or three native
servants with me, and an acquaintance who was half a Frenchman and had
settled in the island. The former were frightened and superstitious,
given up to the worship of Peleus, goddess of the volcano.
"With difficulty we made our way to the mouth of the crater through the
pathless forests surrounding it. Never can I forget the beauty of the
immense tree-ferns that abounded. It was no doubt a rash proceeding, but
at last we stood at the edge of the crater. We looked upon a vast lake
of liquid fire. The sight was terrific, and made me think of Dante's
most graphic passages.
"All this soon changed. Presently the surface of the lake of fire had
turned black, sure sign of an approaching eruption. Not a breath of air
stirred. All nature was steeped in a profound hush. The very birds
ceased to fly and flutter. Our horses trembled and manifested every
symptom of fear. There was no time to be lost if we wished to save our
lives. After a sharp ride we gained the slopes of a snow mountain. Here
we waited for what soon came; shock after shock of earthquake. Rocks and
stones detached themselves around us and rolled into the valley. Trees
were uprooted. Then came a mighty, rushing, hissing sound, as a sea of
molten lava rolled down in many directions and spread over the plain.
Never shall I forget the grandeur, the awful majesty of the sight. We
knew not how far it would reach or to what extent our lives were in
danger. Dense volumes of smoke rose in the air, obscuring the sky.
Torrents of ashes fell far and wide. I thought of the fate of
Herculaneum and Pompeii, scenes I had visited with my parents only a few
years before. Was such a fate to be ours? We were almost choked with the
smell of sulphur. Vegetation was scorched and burnt up under the
terrible influence. It was a monster devouring all that came within its
path. The poor monkeys in the cocoa-nut trees no longer thought of
pelting us with fruit. They crouched and hid themselves in the branches,
and understood the peril of their lives. I will not weary you with
further description. Suffice it that we escaped, and when I again found
myself in Honolulu, it was to bid the islands a long farewell.
"For a time there was no end to my wanderings. From Honolulu I went off
in an American whaler to the coast of Labrador and shot bears as they
drifted southward on icebergs coming from that mysterious and hitherto
inaccessible North Pole. Once I spent a week with that curious little
people, the Esquimaux, who inhabit the creeks of Labrador and live
chiefly on the excellent fish abounding in those waters: waters so
wonderfully tempered by the Florida stream. In my travels I have
experienced the extremes of refinement on the one hand, of hardship on
the other. But the latter has been my own choice, and this makes all
things bearable. I once had a friend who went out to break stones on the
road; work we give to our convicts; but he did it for pleasure and
thought it delightful."
* * * * *
Once more Delormais paused as though in deep reflection. The silence in
the room was only broken by the faint ticking of the clock on the
mantelpiece. Outside not a sound disturbed the sleeping world. Not a
breath stirred in all the corridors of the old palace that had seen
better days. We waited until the spirit should move him again.