A MINISTERING SPIRIT.
Sweet illusions--Everything seen and done--True devotion--In the
vortex--Sunshine and blue skies--Less demon-like pit--Lights and
shadows--Arcades lose their gloom--Rosalie--Charm of
Anselmo--Romance not dead--H. C. in ecstasy--Escorting an
angel--Cathedral steps--San Filiu--A lovely spot--Ancient
house--Mullions and latticed windows--Passing away--Rosalie's
ministrations--Resignation--Rosalie's farewell--"Consuelo"--Taken
from the evil to come--The door closed--Ernesto's world
topsy-turvy--Ernesto turns business-like--The catapult again--Up
the broad staircase--Not the ghostly hour--Madame in her
bureau--Posting ledger--Balance on right side--Madame
philosophises--Shrieks to the rescue--"My dear daughter"--Our host
and the nightingales--Waiting for next year's leaves--The Senorita
Costello--Delormais on the wing--Another vigil--Promise
given--Departure--Inspector quails--H. C. collapses--The
susceptible age--Lady Maria alters her will--Possession nine-tenths
of the law.
It was not an unmixed sorrow. At sunrise the next morning preparations
for the cattle fair must commence. By mid-day bipeds and quadrupeds
would rule the town, our beautiful palace find itself desecrated. In its
present half-deserted condition an air of refinement and antiquity hung
over it. One felt, almost saw and heard, the great crowd of cavaliers
and dames, besacked and besworded, that had passed up and down the broad
marble staircase in the picturesque and romantic Middle Ages. All the
ghosts and ghostly sighs and shadows lurking in secret corners, halls
and corridors, would vanish before the vulgar herd. Under this influence
Gerona the beautiful would become intolerable; better leave with
impressions and sweet illusions undisturbed.
And little remained. Everything had been seen, everything done. We had
said farewell to Anselmo, then plunged into the vortex of the fair,
where noise, crowd and confusion fought with each other. Sunshine and
blue skies were having their usual effect upon the Spanish people. Every
one was in high spirits, inclined to patronise booths, monkeys, and
fortune-tellers.
[Illustration: A GERONA PATIO.]
Every hour spent in the ancient town strengthened our devotion. This
old-world atmosphere, these marvellous outlines lost nothing by
familiarity. Standing once more on the bridge we confessed how difficult
it would be to look upon such a scene again. To-day, under the sunshine
the chestnut-roasters appeared less demon-like, the bed of the river
less a bottomless pit. A little of the weird element had departed. The
sense of mystery so strongly felt last night could not live in this
brilliant atmosphere.
By way of compensation the deep lights and shadows appealed to the
imagination quite as strongly as any sense of mystery. They filled the
air with life and motion. The trees rustled and gleamed and glinted and
drew moving pictures upon the white houses. Arcades lost their gloom,
but not their charm, and these apart from all else raise Gerona far
above the rank of any ordinary town. As we left the fair and turned into
the quieter streets, it seemed almost a natural consequence that from
one of the deep round arches there glided the quiet, graceful form of
Rosalie. She had foretold that we should meet again.
"But for the last time, Rosalie," as she greeted us with her rare sweet
smile. "We leave this evening. Time presses, and we would avoid
to-morrow's ceremony."
"They are terrible days," returned Rosalie. "No wonder you escape them.
Until they are over we keep as far as possible out of sight. You have
seen Anselmo to-day, senor?"
"Yes, and wished him farewell. It was a sad moment. He alone has repaid
us for our visit to Gerona. We should like to spend many days here and
know him more intimately."
"Days of profit, if I may venture to say so, senor. The more you saw
Anselmo, the more you would love him. It is every one's experience.
Apart from his saintliness, you cannot tell on a slight acquaintance how
much there is in him. His is not the goodness of a weak but of a strong
nature; intellectually strong; but so refined and unambitious that to an
ordinary observer it may seem passive. He is of a different order from
Pere Delormais, who is full of action and energy, and does so much and
does all well. But Delormais was born to great things; they are his of
inheritance. Anselmo had not these privileges."
"The greater merit, Rosalie; but we think you count for very much in his
life. He has kept you before him, and your image has inspired him to
deeper holiness."
"Ah, no, senor. Rather is it the other way. He has been my guide and
king, as I told you yesterday. Anselmo is above all earthly mortals,
all human aid. But you will meet him again and know him better. This
your first visit to Gerona will not be your last. Few people come here,
but those who do always return. I think of it as a place apart,
possessing ideal beauties, a separate atmosphere. And for me," she
smiled, "everything seems imbued with the charm of Anselmo. The bells
ring out his name; I hear it in the song of the birds, the whispering of
the trees. Romance is not dead within me because I am Sister Anastasia."
Here H. C. struck in, unable to contain himself any longer.
"If I were here very long," he cried excitedly, "I should fall madly in
love with you myself, and write reams of poetry to your lovely eyes. I
have never seen such eyes. They have all the light of heaven in them,
and--and--all the beauty of earth."
Rosalie laughed.
"You are very outspoken, senor. I could have told you were a poet from
your look. But you must exercise your genius on a worthier theme. On me
it would be wasted; my life, all I have, all I am, is dedicated to
Heaven. Time is passing. Will you not go with me on my way that I may
show you one of the loveliest spots in Gerona?"
So Rosalie walked through the quiet old-world streets with an escort on
either side. We felt we were attending an angel. H. C. did not attempt
to conceal his rapture. It is a weakness of which he seems unconscious.
Rosalie pointed out many a house in which she had ministered; here
soothing the pillow of the dying, there rescuing one from the grasp of
death. Under her guidance the streets seemed more beautiful than ever; a
holier atmosphere surrounded them.
At length we reached the wonderful steps leading to the cathedral. They
were flooded with sunlight and gave dignity to the ugly west front, so
unworthy of the splendid interior. Passing under the fine old gateway
and turning to the left, we found ourselves close to the old church of
San Filiu. In days gone by, when the Moors captured Gerona and changed
its cathedral into a mosque, the Christians had worshipped here.
Whatever its interior at that time, it is now dark, gloomy and
depressing.
Rosalie entered a quiet street beyond, a short narrow turning of only a
few yards, then halted.
It was, as she had said, one of the loveliest spots in Gerona; so hidden
that few would find it by chance. A small house of great antiquity but
perfectly preserved. An exquisite Gothic archway over which the house
was built led into a small quadrangle. Beside this archway was a
mullioned window with latticed panes. We imagined the quaint old room
within and longed to enter. Above this was another latticed window with
Gothic mullions and ornaments. It was open, and sweet-scented flowers
threw their perfume upon the air. This was crowned by a sloping roof
with red tiles bearing all the tone and beauty of age. At least three
centuries must have rolled over them unmolested. Even H. C. forgot the
charms of Rosalie and became enthusiastic in favour of still life.
"It is my destination," said Rosalie. "I was hastening here yesterday
when you saw me crossing the square of San Pedro. Where those lovely
flowers are scenting the air, a lovelier earthly flower is passing away.
Consumption is doing its work. The only child of a mother who will soon
have no tie left on earth. So Heaven sometimes sees well to draw our
souls upwards. There are those who need this discipline. Trouble, like
everything else, enters into the wise economy of God's purposes. I doubt
if a single unnecessary care or pain is dealt out to us. But here the
hand of affliction is charged with a heavy burden. The invalid is a fair
maiden of seventeen, pure and beautiful. Her resignation is a gift from
heaven, a lesson to us all. But for that I don't know what would become
of the mother."
As she spoke a face appeared at the window above the flowers; the sweet
gentle face of a middle-aged woman, pale and pathetic, to which the
mantilla added grace and charm. There was a look of patient sorrow in
the dark eyes, lightened by a momentary gleam as they caught sight of
Rosalie.
"Sister Anastasia," said the subdued woman, "the sun is not more true to
its course than you to your hour. My child hungers for you. Next to her
mother you are her only consolation."
"I come, I come," replied Sister Anastasia. "Tell Rosita that in my bag
I bring her refreshment for the mind and food for the soul. Ah, senor,
this is indeed farewell, since you tell me your moments in Gerona are
numbered. The sun shines, the skies are blue, let these be an omen of
your life until we meet again. For by the love you bear Anselmo--you
must love him; we all love him--you must return. He will be here and so
shall I. We shall probably see no change until Heaven calls us to the
great change of all. This fair child above will have passed away, and
the mother's heart will be desolate. But Heaven that brings the sorrow
will heal the wound. Adieu senor. Adieu."
[Illustration: OLD HOUSES ON THE RIVER: GERONA.]
She glided through the archway and on the other side gained admittance
to the house. The door opened to receive her, a quiet voice was heard in
greeting. "You are an angel of light," it said. "Your new name should
have been Consuelo. But, oh, Anastasia, my child is worse. I fear me a
few days will see the ending, and I shall be lonely and desolate upon
earth. Why did Heaven take the child and spare the mother?"
"God knows best," returned Anastasia. "Let His will be done. Be sure He
who deals the blow will not forsake you. Your child is spared the
sorrows of earth. You will think of her as in safe keeping; taken from
the evil to come."
We heard no more. The door was closed. Let us leave Rosalie in her true
element, a ministering spirit shedding abroad more happiness and
consolation, more holy influence, than she at all realised; doing all
with that unconscious modesty which was one of her greatest gifts. The
picture of that last interview remains vividly in our memory. A little
mediaeval old house that has scarce its equal in Gerona; the flowers
behind the latticed panes and the sad, subdued face appearing above
them; Rosalie's eyes looking up in all their loveliness with an
expression of almost divine sympathy.
We went our way, richer for having known her. It was our last look upon
these cathedral precincts. The afternoon shadows were lengthening as we
went back through the quiet streets to the hotel. All the brilliant
glory of the day had departed. These repeated farewells were depressing,
yet not quite over, for as we approached the Fonda who should be
standing at their own door but Ernesto and his mother. We had not met
them since the previous day when they had disappeared within the lion's
den, and we had gone round to the reeds and the river.
"Ernesto! how is this? Why are you not at school?"
"School, senor!" opening very wide eyes. "Fair week is holiday. We
should have a revolution if they attempted school upon us. For this one
week in the year we change places with our fathers and mothers, pastors
and teachers. They obey and we command."
"We congratulate you on this topsy-turvy state of things. But as you are
strong be merciful. Remember that Black Monday comes. Cinderella went
back to her rags at midnight; you must go back to school and good work.
And the monkeys? You are still at large; we feared the opposite, as you
had not brought us your report."
"Oh! I brought it, senor; but it was rather late, and Senor Lasoli said
you were at the opera. You should have seen the monkeys!" And here he
went off into convulsions at the recollection of the performance. "They
couldn't understand what was inside the lozenges to bite their tongues
so! First they would take a nibble, then rub the lozenge on the arm;
then another nibble; then a whole torrent of monkey-swearing and
lozenge-rubbing because it kept on biting and burning. I quite thought I
should die with laughing."
From the way he laughed now, it seemed doubtful whether all danger was
over.
"But that is not the worst, senor," said the mother, at length making
herself heard. "Will you believe that the boy has a wretched catapult in
his pocket, and there will be any number of broken windows and
assassinated cats in the town. I don't know what will become of us. If
there is one thing I dread more than another, it is a catapult. They are
the implements of the devil."
"There is absolutely no fear," laughed Ernesto. "I never broke a window
in my life--at least, hardly ever. As for cats, they are quite outside
the law of murder. A dead cat is as rare as a dead donkey. Are you
really going to-day, senor? Then I shall have no more pleasure in the
fair, though this year it is better than usual. The lions roared like
thunder, and the monkeys accepted all the lozenges. They were punished
for their greediness. But will you come back to spend a whole month at
Gerona? And if you allowed me, I would take you to some of the
excursions in the neighbourhood. There are any number within twenty
miles; ruined churches and deserted monasteries. I don't care much about
them myself, but I know many who do. It seems to me that a good show and
a handful of chestnuts are worth all the wretched old ruins in the
world."
In spite of this vandalism, we assured Ernesto that when we spent a
month in Gerona he should have the honour of escorting us, provided it
was not school-time. He wished to bind us to a given date, thereby
showing a decided talent for business, but we refused to be committed to
the inevitable. We left mother and son together, a picture of domestic
happiness. As we disappeared under the archway of the hotel, Ernesto
held up his catapult in triumph, successfully parrying his mother's
attempt to obtain possession of the forbidden weapon. She evidently
looked upon it as only one degree below an infernal machine.
Once more up the broad marble staircase. But it was not the ghostly
hour, and sighs and rustlings and shadows were in the land of the
unseen. Madame in her bureau looked the picture of massive contentment.
At this moment she was posting a ledger, and the balance was evidently
on the right side.
[Illustration: MARKET PLACE: GERONA.]
"As it need be, for they worked hard enough for their living," she
assured us. "She couldn't tell how it was; no one would think from her
size that she never relaxed in her exertions. Do what she would, she
could not get thin. As for her husband, she made him eat all the richest
bits at dinner; never allowed him to fast; supplied him with eggs and
butter and beer _ad libitum_. No; he was obstinate. He _would_ keep
thin. The consequence was they were a ridiculous couple. She was the
Duomo at Florence, he was the Campanile. However, they made the best of
it. Life was too short to grieve over inevitable troubles. Clearly she
was an inevitable. When she was a girl, there were five ladies who might
be seen walking out morning, noon, and night, and always together. Go
which way you would you were sure to meet them. They knew every one, and
five perpetual bows were everlastingly see-sawing like a wound-up
machine going through its performance. They were called the Inevitables.
No one ever thought of them by any other name. They were quite aware of
it and rather liked it. It was something to be in constant evidence.
What other five sisters would live together in such harmony? Well, these
five ladies were for ever running in her head. For a long time past she
had felt like all five ladies rolled into one. She was one great
Inevitable. Fate was a little cruel. Her movements might be compared to
those of the elephant. As for her husband, he could still run up and
down stairs like a lamplighter--almost pass through a keyhole--but it
took her five minutes to get up a dozen steps. Soon it would take her
ten. And then she wanted pulling up in front and pushing up behind. It
was quite a ceremony. She had serious thoughts of having a crane and
pulley adjusted to her windows, and of being hoisted up and down, but
the question was whether a hempen rope would bear her weight, or
anything under a cast-iron chain. Was it true that Queen Victoria was
carried wherever she went, because she suffered from rheumatism? Ah! it
was a great thing to be a queen. No ledgers to post up; no anxiety as to
whether the balance would be on the right side at the end of every
month. What a blessing to have a good, solid, comfortable margin at
one's bankers to draw upon for contingencies, which was only another
word for the unexpected. This year it was painting inside, next year
painting outside. If there was no painting, it was chairs, tables or
linen. The extras went on for ever and swallowed up all the profits."
We thought the old lady, like the extras, would also have gone on for
ever, but to our infinite relief a piercing shriek was heard from an
upper region. Madame turned pale and mildly echoed the scream.
"My dear daughter!" she cried. "Something has frightened her, or she is
suddenly taken worse. She is always being taken worse, though worse from
what I cannot possibly imagine. Sometimes I think it is fancy or
hysteria. She is really perfectly well all the time."
At this moment the mysterious daughter appeared upon the scene, running
downstairs at a speed that testified to the soundness of her limbs,
whatever her state of nerves.
"A dreadful mouse," she moaned, throwing herself into her mother's
capacious protection. "It ran right over my feet, across the room, and
went into my little cupboard."
"Perhaps you have some cake there?" said this sensible mamma.
"A mere fragment," acknowledged the daughter.
"Poor little mouse," said the mother soothingly. "It is hungry, perhaps,
and fond of cake. My dear, it will eat cake; it will not eat you."
We caught sight of our industrious host in his garden surveying his
possessions, and escaped. The cook stood in his doorway in white cap and
apron, a satisfactory object in all hotels. Over the slanting tiled roof
grew the fruitful vine, a picture of beauty. Our host, surrounded by
his birds and pigeons, was vainly imploring the nightingales to sing.
They only looked at him with their little black eyes, opened their
beaks, shook their heads, and said as plainly as possible that the song
had left them. It would return with next year's leaves and garlands,
more glorious for the rest.
"I should have liked you to hear them," said their proud owner in quite
a melancholy voice. "You would have thought yourselves in Italy, as I
often do."
"Or on the Rhine, or the Blue Moselle, or the Dauphine Alps, Senor
Lasoli, where the nightingales assemble in myriads, and sing and rave
night and day through the weeks of spring. We have heard them."
"They are more beautiful near water," said our host. "The song gains
volume and vibration by being carried across. But I have chiefly heard
them in our woods on the Mediterranean shores. France to me is a sealed
book. So, senor, you leave us, and I cannot even wish you to remain.
To-morrow you would not be in your element. Gerona will be out of joint
until we settle down again to our normal condition. I trust you will one
day return, and that your friend will write an epic poem in honour of
our town. It would certainly be translated and might be dedicated to the
Senorita Costello. He would be feted on his arrival; fireworks,
illuminations, and municipal addresses. The hubbub of conscription would
be nothing to it. At five o'clock, senor, the omnibus will be at your
service."
As we went through the haunted corridors to our rooms, Delormais came up
the marble staircase, apparently somewhat hurried.
"We are both on the wing," he cried, "and so I the less regret your
going. I thought to have stayed until to-morrow, but sudden news compels
me to leave to-night. Summoned to Rome, I must obey. I know that I have
a battle before me, and also know that I shall win. Conquering as a
humble Vicar of Rheims, I shall not do less as Bishop of X. You will see
me dismissed with a Cardinal's hat, an honour I would not cross the road
to obtain, so little do I care for the pomps of the world. With such
models before me as my father and mother and the good old Abbe, one
feels that the only thing worth living for is to do good and cultivate
the graces of the spirit."
We were in his room, scene of last night's vigil, where he had sketched
an outline of his life and the hours had passed unconsciously.
"Another night of vigil, but without companionship," said Delormais. "On
the contrary, time will only place distance between us. You go
southward, I northward into France, reaching my destination about two
o'clock to-morrow afternoon. Would that I might accompany you to
Barcelona and gaze with you upon the wonders of that loveliest of
cathedrals. Again I say that the Catalonian cathedrals are the glories
of Spain. But my own has its charms, and those at least we shall often
see together. I have your promise?"
We gave it unconditionally, in this instance not fearing to commit
ourselves to a given date. Delormais was a man whose friendship was a
privilege and whose sympathy and conversation made all days a delight.
We parted, hoping to meet again.
Not long after this the omnibus rattled out of the courtyard, and our
host intimated that time was up.
The sun had set, darkness had fallen when we clattered through the quiet
streets. Passing the deep, round arcades we looked out for Rosalie, but
no light, graceful figure speeding on its errand of mercy appeared. The
arcades were again mysterious and impenetrable. We turned on to the
bridge and for the last time looked upon the scene as the omnibus
rattled on. All down the boulevard booths were on active service.
Torches flared and still the crowd sauntered to and fro. The river
flowed on its way, and all the outlines of those wonderful old-world
houses were faintly visible. We knew them by heart now, and they were
almost as real to us by night as by day.
The station once more. Only forty-eight hours had passed since we had
struggled across that crowded platform, but we had gone through so many
experiences, heard and seen so much, that many days seem to have flown.
When we thought of Delormais it was impossible to realise we had not
known him for years, visited his early home, joined in his travels. The
father and mother, still the objects of his undying affection, the old
Abbe in whom he delighted, had become personal friends by his vivid
descriptions.
Reflections were suddenly put to flight as the omnibus brought up with a
jerk that almost landed H. C. once more on his knees. The station crowd
was small compared with that previous crowd. Again we had a slight
adventure with our luggage, and began to fear in earnest that we and it
should never reach Barcelona together. They refused to register or have
anything to do with it; luggage was never booked to Gerona by the
express. One other miserably slow train left in the early morning, and
the officials calmly intimated that we might wait for it.
But a worm will turn, and we felt the law must be taken into our own
hands. We bade the omnibus conductor leave at his peril, made him carry
our baggage through the buffet to the platform, and when the train
arrived, the whole, great and small, was put into a carriage. Then we
followed and mounted guard. The inspector came up and demanded an
explanation, upon which H. C. put on his Napoleon air and shouldered his
umbrella. He looked so much in earnest that the inspector quailed,
bowed, withdrew, and gave a hasty signal for departure. Away we steamed,
masters of the situation.
Then H. C.'s military aspect collapsed. He turned paler than usual.
"What is it?" we asked; for his susceptible heart is subject to
spasmodic attacks. The doctors declare they are functional and not
organic, and will pass away with the emotional age. Lady Maria was once
terribly frightened and sent post-haste for Sir William
Broadbent--though he was not Sir William at that time. The report was
encouraging, but Lady Maria had received a shock. "I am sure my dear
nephew will never be fit for hard work in this world," she said; "he
must be made independent of it." And forthwith she sent for her man of
business, and altered the paltry L200 a year she had left him into four
th----. Well, well; Lady Maria is still living, and nothing on earth,
they say, is certain excepting death and quarter-day. "What is it, H.
C.?" we asked. "Will you take a little of the century-old----"
"No, no," he cried despondently. "I am only thinking that that inspector
will be one too many for us. He looked revengeful. At Barcelona we
shall find ourselves under arrest. Instead of a comfortable night at the
Four Nations, we shall occupy a dark cell in the town prison."
A gloomy prospect indeed--too terrible for reality.
"Calm yourself," we replied. "You played your part too well just now.
The inspector was really alarmed and glad to get rid of you at any
price. If he pursued us with vengeance, we might turn up against him,
like the eastern slippers. Depend upon it we have seen the last of him."
We looked round comfortably upon our possessions. With nine points of
the law on our side all must be well.