A STUDY IN GREY.
Manresa--Tropical deluge--Rash judgment--Catalan hills and
valleys--Striking approach--Taking time by the forelock--Primitive
inn--Strange assembly--Unpleasant alternative--Sebastien--Manresa
under a cloud--Wonderful outlines--Disappointing church--Sebastien
leads the way--Old-world streets--Picturesque and pathetic--Popular
character--"What would you, senor?"--Sebastien's Biblical knowledge
at fault--Lesson deferred--A revelation--La Seo--Church cold and
lifeless--Cave of Ignatius Loyola--Hermitage of St. Dismas--Juan
Chanones--Fasting and penance--Visions and revelations--Spiritual
warfare--Eve of the Annunciation--Exchanging dresses--Knight turns
monk--Juan Pascual--Loyola comes to Manresa--Fanaticism--Vale of
Paradise--"Spiritual Exercises"--Founding the Jesuit Order--Dying
to self--The fair Anita--In the convent chapel--Two novices--Vision
of angels--The White Ladies--Agonising moment--Another Romeo and
Juliet--Back to the hotel--Sebastien disconsolate--"To-morrow the
sun will shine"--Building castles in the air--A prophecy fulfilled.
Only a few miles from Montserrat and within sight of some of its
mountain peaks, you find the wonderful old town of Manresa. Thither we
wended our way one gloomy morning.
From the skies came a constant downpour of almost tropical rain. We were
well sheltered and comfortably housed in Barcelona, but H. C. declared
Joseph's friend was a true prophet after all, the rainy season had set
in, and if we waited for the weather, we might wait for ever.
Acting upon this rash judgment we departed under lowering skies. Water
ran down the streets like small rivers, and the omnibus waded to the
station.
"Such days have their beauty," said H. C. in his best artistic style.
"The effect of atmosphere is very fine. And after all we are not made of
sugar."
"We need be to bear this infliction calmly," was the reply; a sarcasm
lost upon H. C. who was diligently studying the clouds.
The very train seemed to struggle against the elements as it made way
through the Catalan hills and valleys, and we certainly acknowledged a
peculiar charm as we saw them half veiled through the mist and the rain
that yet was distinctly depressing. On nearing Manresa, it lightened a
little: the clouds lifted and the rain ceased, but only for a short
respite.
Nothing could be more striking than the approach to the old town.
Perched on a hill, outlined against the grey sky was the famous old
cathedral, rising upwards like a vision. Far down at the foot of the
hill ran the rapid river, winding through the country between deep
banks. A splendid old bridge added much to the impressive scene, about
which there was a wildness that seemed very much in harmony with the
grey and gloomy skies.
As we crossed the bridge outside the railway station, a young man, well
built, handsome, with a fresh colour and honest face, came up and
offered to bring us a carriage or personally conduct us to the hotel.
Few people visit Manresa; omnibuses are unknown, and carriages only come
out when ordered. We chose to walk, in spite of the rain, which was
coming down again with vengeance. The services of the guide were
accepted, and we soon found that he filled the important office of
general factotum to the hotel.
"Ah, senor," taking us into his confidence in the first five minutes,
"if you would only petition the padrone in my favour and get him to
promote me to the dining-room! As it is, I fetch and carry all day long
and scarcely earn money enough to pay for the boots I wear out."
We certainly thought no time was being lost in enlisting our sympathies,
and mildly suggested the padrone might not thank us for meddling with
his own affairs.
The streets were very steep, stony and winding. Water streamed from the
houses and ran down the hills, and the place altogether looked very
hope-forsaken, for it especially needed sunshine. Yet in spite of all we
found it very interesting, and its situation is so striking that it
could never be otherwise. We waded on and thought the rain would never
cease or the walk ever end.
At last the inn, which would hardly have been found without our guide.
He pointed to it with pride, but we could not rise to the sentiment.
The entrance was small, and we soon found ourselves mounting a narrow
wooden staircase which had neither the fashion of Barcelona nor the
dignity of Gerona. The first landing opened to a long low room of many
windows, looking old enough to have seen the birth and death of many a
century. This was given over to the servants of the house, and the
humbler folk whose rank entitled them to a place below the salt. They
were seated at round tables--but certainly were not knights--in
detachments of eight or ten, and their boisterous manners and loud
voices kept us at a respectful distance, without any desire for a nearer
approach. For ourselves, we had to go a stage higher in the world,
represented by the second floor. Here we found the quality at
breakfast--the substantial mid-day meal: a worthy crew hardly a degree
better than those we had just interviewed. They proved, indeed, the
roughest specimens we had yet met in Catalonia: an assemblage of small
farmers, pedlars and horse-dealers. Had the landlord added
house-breakers to his list, one or two might have answered to the
description.
But as travelling, like adversity, makes us acquainted with strange
companions, and we cannot always choose our types, we sat down to table
with a good grace. The only alternative was to fast, a penance in which
H. C. had no faith whatever. To-day this motley assemblage seemed
peculiarly objectionable, without any of the redeeming points such
people often have: honest, straightforward speech, directness of purpose
and modesty of manner which are a certain substitute for cultivation,
and atone for the want of breeding. Nothing of this was perceptible
to-day.
The room like the one beneath was long and low, but lighted only by one
window at the end, so that we were in a semi-obscurity still further
increased by the weeping skies. A redeeming feature was the civility of
the inn people, a fault their slowness. To make matters worse, the food
was coarse and ill-served, and we had to pass almost everything. Long
before dejeuner came to an end we left them to it and went forth to
explore. We had very little time to spare, having arranged not to spend
the night in Manresa: a lucky arrangement on our part, for picturesque
and striking as the place really is, its resources are soon exhausted. A
wet evening in such an inn would have landed one in the profoundest
depths of melancholy.
On leaving the table we found that for the moment the rain had ceased.
Our guide evidently thought it his duty to look after us, and no sooner
caught sight of us as we passed downwards than he sprang up, leaving
upon his plate a delicious piece of _black-pudding_. In vain we offered
to wait whilst he finished his bonne-bouche. "You are very good, senor,
but it is not necessary," he replied. "I am very fond of black-pudding,
but this was my third helping, and really I have had enough."
This seemed probable. "Apparently the supply equals the demand," we
said. "You must have a liberal master in the landlord of the inn."
"Yes, that is true," returned Sebastien--for such he soon told us was
his name. "But we only have black-pudding once a week, and we ought to
have it twice. We are agitating for it now, and as the padrone knows the
value of a good servant I expect we shall get it."
Sebastien would not leave us again and became our shadow, sublimely
indifferent to the rain which every now and then came down in
waterspouts. To this day we feel that we saw Manresa under a cloud. It
was a study in grey; and if we paid it another visit in sunshine we
should probably not know it again. For this H. C. was responsible in
preaching up his rainy season: the true fact being that the next day and
for ever after we had blue skies and cloudless sunshine.
Manresa is rich in outlines. Its church towers stand out conspicuously
on the summit of the rock on whose slopes much of the town is built. On
leaving the inn we saw before us one of the old churches standing in
solemn repose, grey and silent above the houses. The interior proved
uninteresting in spite of the nave, wide after the manner of the Catalan
churches. Sebastien thought every moment spent here waste of time. "It
is cold and ugly," he declared, constituting himself a judge--and
perhaps not far wrong. "It makes me shiver. But when the altar is
lighted up on a Sunday evening, and the place is full of people, and the
organ plays, and the priest gives the Benediction, then it is passable."
We felt inclined to agree with him, and wished we could see the effect
of a Benediction service, but as this was not possible we left the
church to its silent gloom and shadows, Sebastien cheerfully leading the
way.
[Illustration: MANRESA.]
The streets, decayed and old-world looking, had a wonderfully
picturesque and pathetic element about them, and on a bright day would
have been full of charm. A canal ran through one of them, spanned by a
picturesque single-arch stone bridge. On each side the houses rose out
of the water, reminding one of Gerona or a Venetian street; handsome,
palatial, full of interesting detail; a multitude of balconies, many of
rich wrought ironwork; many a Gothic window with deep mullions; many an
overhanging casement, from which you might have dropped into the running
stream. Waterspouts stood out like gargoyles, and slanting tiled roofs
were full of colouring. Towering above these rose a lovely church
tower, splendid with Gothic windows, rich ornamentation and an openwork
parapet, with a small round turret at one corner.
We stood long on the bridge, gazing at the wonderful scene, all its
infinite detail and harmony of effect; the deep shadows reflected in the
dark water which needed so much the blue sky and laughing sunshine. It
was evident that Sebastien could not understand what kept us
spell-bound. He stood by in patience, now looking intently as though
trying to learn what was passing in our minds, now directing his
attention to the water and the houses, as though to guess the secret of
their fascination. Apparently he was hail-fellow-well-met with every one
in the town--that dangerous element, a popular character; for not a
creature passed us, man or woman, youth or maiden, but he had something
to say to them.
"You seem to know every one, Sebastien," we remarked, as we took our
kodak out of the case he had slung over his shoulder, in the wish to
carry away with us some of these splendid outlines.
"What would you, senor? The town is not large, the inhabitants do not
change, and I was born and bred here. I am fond of company, and make
friends with them all. I wanted to be a soldier and go out and see the
world, but they said my sight was not strong enough, and they would not
have me; so I turned to and took service in the hotel. I am comfortable
enough, and just earn my living, without a trifle over for the old
mother, but I don't see much prospect of rising unless I am promoted to
the dining-room."
"Your eyes look quite strong," we said; large blue eyes, bright and
clear, without a sign of weakness about them.
[Illustration: MANRESA FROM THE RIVER: MORNING.]
"They are as strong as yours, senor--if I may say so without offence. I
never could make out what they meant. Sometimes I have thought my old
mother was at the bottom of it, and because I was her only child, went
to the authorities and begged them to spare me. I don't _know_ that she
did, but I have my suspicions. One day I taxed her with it point-blank.
She was very confused for a moment, and then told me not to be
foolish--the authorities wouldn't pay attention to such as her, even if
she had gone to them. I'm not so sure of that. It is well known the old
mother has seen better days, and when she goes out dressed in her
best, with her black lace mantilla over her head, which she has had ever
since she was a young woman, why, she commands respect, and I can quite
believe the authorities would listen to her."
"Why not try again with those eyes of yours?" we suggested. "You cannot
be more than nineteen."
"Not more than nineteen!" returned Sebastien, opening the said eyes very
wide. "Why, senor, I am twenty-three, going on for twenty-four. I know I
look young, and do what I will I can't help it, and can't make myself
look any older. I have tried hard to grow a moustache, but it is only
just beginning to sprout."
He laughed, and we laughed with him, for the down upon his upper lip was
of the most elementary description. He looked youthful in every way, but
we cheered him with the reflection that it was a fault time would
inevitably rectify.
"I have one consolation," he said. "At the fonda I get as much
black-pudding as I want--once a week; in the army they don't give
black-pudding at all. So if I have lost something, I have gained
something too."
"Sebastien, we are ashamed of you! Would you sacrifice your birthright
for a mess of pottage?"
"What does the senor mean?" asked Sebastien, looking puzzled.
"Have you never heard of Esau?"
"Never, senor. Was he a Spaniard or an Englishman? And was he, too, fond
of black-pudding?"
It was impossible to help laughing; but we passed over the question,
feeling that a course of Bible history begun on the bridge would come to
an untimely end. So we left him to his ignorance and his preference for
black-pudding, passed away from the canal, the old bridge and ancient
outlines, and climbed about the steep decayed streets. The rain poured
through the water-spouts, and every now and then we came in for an
unwelcome shower-bath. This highly amused Sebastien, who never enjoyed
the fun more than when he himself was victim.
Suddenly we found ourselves confronted by one of those views which come
upon one as a revelation of what nature sometimes accomplishes. We had
seen nothing equal to it, nothing to resemble it since the days of
Segovia. In sunshine the likeness might have been still more striking.
We had passed by a steep descent into the lower part of the town and
stood upon the hill side. To our right rose the great collegiate church
of La Seo, crowning a massive and majestic rock. Houses stretched far
down the slopes, and the church rose above them in magnificent outlines.
It was built of yellow greystone that harmonised wonderfully with the
grey skies. For the time being these had ceased to weep, and everything
was bathed in a thin mist, which rolled and curled about and threw a
wonderful romance and glamour over the scene, especially refining and
beautifying.
Still below us, on the left, ran the broad river, with its dark, almost
blood-red waters flowing swiftly under the high, picturesque bridge. We
traced its winding course between deep banks far out into the country;
just as we had traced it from the heights of Montserrat, not far off as
the eagle flew. Here too everything was veiled in a thin mist.
The rock on which the church stood consisted of a series of hollows,
where grew lovely hanging gardens and flowering trees. The church with
its striking outlines looked massive enough to defy the ages. It was of
the true fourteenth century Catalan type, and took the place of a church
that had existed here in the tenth century. Its buttresses are
especially large and prominent. The lofty tower stands over the north
aisle. Four arched stone ribs crown the steeple, within which a bell is
suspended. A fine Romanesque doorway leads into the modern uninteresting
cloister. Other fine doorways lead into the interior of the church. Its
great size, high and wide, is impressive, but the details are trivial.
The capitals of the enormous octagonal columns are poor, and the arches
they support, thin and almost contemptible, take immensely from the
general effect.
Here also, there was no need to remain long. With the charms of
Barcelona cathedral lingering in the mind as a dream and a world's
wonder, the collegiate church of Manresa, with all its loftiness and
expanse, was cold and lifeless, without sense of beauty or devotion. In
its striking situation lies the chief merit of the town.
[Illustration: MANRESA FROM THE HILL-SIDE: EVENING.]
We went down the banks, stood on the shallows and watched the deep red
waters rushing through the bridge. Beyond it was a slight fall over
which the waters poured in a crimson stream. Near the bridge stood a
large, ancient crucifix. On the farther bank of the river rose the
outlines of the Cave of Ignatius Loyola. Above the cave has now been
built a great church, and the cave itself, reached by a short passage in
its north-east corner, has been turned into a votive chapel, to which
pilgrims flock at stated times.
Manresa is of course for ever associated with the name of Loyola. He had
been staying some time at the Monastery of Montserrat, preparing his
mind for the great change he intended to make in his life. As he
wandered about the mountain in his cavalier's dress, he must have looked
far more fitted to lead an army than to become a member of the Church
militant.
One of his most frequent visits was to the Hermitage of St. Dismas, high
up amongst the rocks. Here dwelt a saintly priest, Juan Chanones, who
gave Loyola much holy counsel. It must needs be that Loyola earnestly
weighed the cost of what he contemplated; impossible but there were
moments when the tempter placed before him in the strongest colours
imaginable the allurements of the life he was renouncing. When the final
die was cast there must be no turning back, no lingering regrets. Loyola
was one of the last men to be vacillating or lukewarm; with him it was
ever one thing or the other; and so in the quiet monastery, far out of
the world, he considered well his decision.
Chanones was the very man for such a crisis. The hermit was one who
imposed upon himself every possible penance. He fasted, wore a hair
shirt, and spent many hours of the twenty-four in long prayers and
devotions. Loyola had begun by confessing to him the whole of his past
life, and confiding his hopes and aspirations for the future: how he
wished to become a monk and devote his days to religion. He was already
a mystic, full of ecstasies, seeing visions and dreaming dreams.
Chanones strengthened his resolutions and fired him yet more with the
spirit of mysticism.
Under his influence, the night before leaving the monastery he hung up
his sword and dagger beside the image of the Virgin as a sort of votive
offering, declaring that henceforth he had done with the world and with
wars. His only warfare should be spiritual: fighting against the powers
of darkness and the influence of evil. He spent the whole night in
prayer before the altar; where according to his mystic moods, visions
and revelations had been vouchsafed to him.
But earlier in the evening a slight event had happened.
It was the eve of the Annunciation, in the year 1522. Loyola had come
down from the hermit's cave dressed in the rich garb of a cavalier which
as yet he had not thrown off. In the Hospederia of the monastery were
many poor pilgrims; beggars dressed in rags. Meeting one of these,
Loyola persuaded him to exchange his rags for his own splendid dress.
Disguised in his sackcloth gown and girdle, few would have recognised
the once magnificent knight. His head, accustomed to a helmet, was now
bare. His left foot was unshod, on his right he wore a sandal of grass.
He was lame from that wound in his leg which had been the turning-point
of his career. Never perfectly healed, of late it had become inflamed
and painful. In this garb he spent his last night at Montserrat.
Next morning he went forth at daybreak with a few companions, one of
whom was Juan Pascual. They had not proceeded many miles before they
were overtaken by a hasty messenger who asked Loyola if it was he who
had presented a beggar with the rich dress of a cavalier. The story had
been doubted and the man put into confinement. Loyola declared that it
was true, lamented the trouble he had brought upon the beggar, and
prayed he might be liberated; adding that he had made the exchange from
motives of penance and religion, as well as disguise. The messenger
returned to the convent, and the little band of pilgrims continued on
their way.
They journeyed slowly, but the distance was not great. At noon they were
overtaken by the mother of Pascual, who in company with others, was
returning from celebrating the Feast of the Annunciation at Montserrat.
This lady, Inez, directed him to the hospital of Santa Lucia, where he
would obtain relief for his leg, which threatened to become troublesome
if not dangerous. Inez quickly discovered that Loyola was no ordinary
pilgrim, and supplied him with food from her own table during the five
days he remained in the hospital.
The day after his arrival he went up to the great church of La Seo, and
remained in prayer for five hours, seeking direction for his movements.
At the end of five days he left the hospital for a room found him by
Inez. Here he at once adopted that spirit of fasting and penance which
knew no moderation and with him became fanaticism. The food sent by Inez
he gave away, and lived upon black bread and water. He constantly went
bare-headed and bare-footed, wore a hair shirt like Chanones, and
occasionally added to his sufferings by putting on a girdle made of the
leaves of the prickly gladiole. He neglected himself in every way, never
cutting his nails or combing his hair and beard; so that he who had once
been the most fastidious of cavaliers now became a byword to those who
met him and gazed in contempt and derision. He spent much time at the
hospital nursing the sick, devoting himself to the most forbidding
cases.
This life continued for four months, and then he withdrew to the cave
which he declared had been miraculously revealed to him. It overlooked a
valley called by the people the Vale of Paradise, and its existence was
known to few.
The cave was dark and small and belonged to a friend of Loyola's who
lived to be a century old. Here he existed in great seclusion, spending
seven hours of every day in prayer, and often remaining on his knees all
night. It was here that he chiefly composed his "Spiritual Exercises,"
which contain so much beauty and devotion. Here also came to him the
first idea of the Order of Jesus, which he afterwards founded. But it
must be remarked that the Jesuit Society as framed by Ignatius Loyola
was a more simple and unworldy institution than it afterwards became.
His own rules seem to have been very pure and without guile or worldly
ambition; his mind embraced only heaven and the things which concerned
heaven. If Loyola were to return to earth, he would be the first to
condemn many of its principles and practices and to say: "These are none
of mine."
That he became spiritual as perhaps has been given to few cannot be
doubted by any one who had read his writings and studied his life. We
of another creed cannot be in touch with him on many points, but all
must profoundly admire his absolute death to self, the perfect
resignation of all his thoughts and wishes to the Divine guidance.
In Manresa, we have said that his penances amounted to fanaticism. His
prayers and fastings so weakened the body, that frequently for hours and
sometimes for days he would lose consciousness, and fall into death-like
swoons. He retired to his cave and was tormented by a morbid
recollection of his past sins. For many months he was filled with horror
and knew nothing of peace of mind or spiritual consolation. He was
haunted by terrible voices and visions; and it was only after body and
soul had, as it were, been torn asunder, and he had gone through all the
agonies of a living spiritual death, that at last peace and light, the
certainty of pardon and the Divine favour, came to him.
After that his past life seems to have been placed behind him and knew
him no more. He became a teacher of men; a great spiritual healer in
whom the heavy-laden found comfort and encouragement; a profound reader
of the human heart, to which he never ministered in vain. Perhaps one of
his greatest weapons was humility, by which he placed himself on a level
with all who came to him, and which enabled him to apply in the right
way all the deep and earnest sympathy that was in him.
His visions, the voices he heard, the so-called miracles he witnessed,
were no doubt delusions due to the highly wrought imagination and
ecstatic state of the mystic; but with Loyola they did not end here.
They bore fruit. He was practical as well as theoretical: and dead as he
became to self, a little of the sensible, matter-of-fact discipline of
his early training must have clung to him to the last. His after life
was full of activity and action. It would be difficult to say where he
did not go, what countries he did not visit with practical issues, in
days when men could not easily run to and fro on the earth as they do
now.
Loyola died as he had lived, full of faith and hope. He had caught the
malarial fever in Rome, and was not strong enough to fight against it.
In August, 1556, the end came, when he was sixty-five years old; but in
everything except years he might have gone through a century of time.
His physical powers were worn out with hard work and abstinence; and
perhaps the greatest miracle in connection with Ignatius Loyola was the
fact that he lived long after the vital forces should have ceased to
hold together. After his death the doctors found it impossible to
discover what power had kept him alive during his later years, but
agreed that it was nothing less than supernatural.
Thus Manresa is for ever connected with the name and fame of Ignatius
Loyola the saint.
* * * * *
Crossing the bridge and winding through a very ancient and dilapidated
part of the town, we presently reached the church, which struck us as
being new and gaudy, with very little to recommend it. But we had come
to see what had once been the cave, and wished we could have found it in
its original state. Certainly the saint himself would never recognise it
as the old earthy cavern, nine feet by six, whose mouth was concealed by
brier bushes, and where he was wont to pass long days and nights in
prayer and penance. The walls are now lined with marble; a light burns
before the altar; some poor sculpture represents Loyola writing his book
and performing his first miracle.
The view from his cave must have been magnificent even in his day. There
in front of him ran the famous river, and there stood the old bridge.
Beyond it rose the rock with its hollows and gardens; and towering above
were the splendid outlines of the collegiate church. Beyond all in the
distance rose the chain of the Pyrenees, undulating and snow-capped;
whilst in one distant spot, standing alone, cleaving the sky with their
sharp outlines, appeared the peaks and pinnacles of Mons Serratus; the
monastery resting half way down on its plateau, far more beautiful and
perfect than it is to-day. Upon this the hermit Loyola--as he might at
that time be called--would fix his eyes for hours day after day, seeking
inspiration for his "Exercises," perhaps occasionally dreaming of the
days when he still wore his cavalier's dress, and had not yet renounced
all the pomps and vanities of the world. But as we have said, he was not
a man of two minds; having put his hand to the plough, as far as we
know he never turned back even with the faintest regret or longing for
the pleasures deliberately placed from him.
Sebastien our guide was evidently a good Catholic, having a great
reverence for Loyola, with whom he was more familiar than with Esau. He
watched us narrowly as we entered the chapel, and was evidently
disappointed at the little impression made upon us: expecting a
drop-down-deadness of manner, when we stood before the effigy of the
saint, which unfortunately only excited a feeling of irritation at the
badness of its workmanship.
So we were not sorry to find ourselves once more under the skies, dark
and lowering though they were. Here indeed the magnificent view, the
splendid outlines of Manresa, all slightly veiled in that charming mist,
might well appeal to all one's sense of the beautiful and the sublime,
and raise emotions the poor votive chapel could never inspire.
As we went back into the town, for the moment it seemed very much
haunted by the presence of Loyola. Passing a picturesque little house in
the centre of a small garden, Sebastien suddenly stopped in front of it
and gave a peculiar call, whilst a flush of expectation rose to his
face. Surprised at the movement we waited for the sequel. This quickly
followed in the opening of a casement, at which appeared the charming
head of a young woman.
"Sebastien!" she cried, clasping her hands in ecstasy. "Have you come to
see me?"
"Yes, since I see you now," returned Sebastien. "But I cannot come in,
Anita. I am guiding these gentlemen through the town, and have to show
them everything; they would be lost without me. We have just been to the
chapel of the saint, where I said a short prayer for our speedy
marriage. Ah! when will it be?"
"Patience, patience!" cried the fair Anita. "I am getting on well, and
you must make el padrone advance you to the dining-room. Oh, it will all
come right. Then we are both young and can afford to wait."
We thought it a pity so interesting a conversation should be carried on
in a public thoroughfare, and at a tantalising distance, and offered
Sebastien five minutes' interval if he liked to go in and pay his
respects to his ladye-love. But he declined, and wafting a warm salute
to the fair vision of the casement, intimated he was again at our
service.
"She is the sweetest girl in Manresa," said Sebastien quite openly, "and
I am a lucky fellow to have won her. Unfortunately we are both poor. But
Anita is with a dressmaker, and will soon be able to start on her own
account: we shall not have much difficulty in getting on, if the padrone
will only advance me--as indeed I deserve."
We congratulated Sebastien upon his good fortune and wished him
promotion and success: and looking at his straight-forward open face, so
singularly free from guile, we thought the fair Anita was by no means to
be condoled with, however humble their prospects.
Then we made way into the upper part of the town, and presently
Sebastien turned into a chapel attached to a convent.
It was a small building of no pretension, but with a marvellous repose
and quietness about it. A screen divided the body of the church from the
altar, and immediately before the altar, separated from us by the
screen, was a strange and striking vision.
Two young girls who might have been some eighteen years old, knelt side
by side at the foot of the steps, motionless as carven images and
dressed in white. Their veils were thrown back, but their faces, turned
towards the altar, were invisible. Their posture was full of grace, and
their dress, whether by accident or design, was becomingly arranged and
fell in artistic folds. All the time we looked they moved neither hand
nor foot, and might have been, as we have said, carved in stone. We
almost felt as though gazing upon a vision of angels, so wonderfully did
the light fall upon them as they knelt: whilst in the body of the church
we were in semi-obscurity.
Presently a bell tinkled, a side door opened, and two other young girls
very much of the same age and dressed in exactly the same way, entered.
The two at the altar rose, made deep, graceful curtsies, and veiling
their faces, passed out of the chapel. Those who entered at once threw
back their veils. In the obscurity we were not observed. We had full
view of their charming faces, far too charming to become the nuns for
which Sebastien said they were qualifying.
"They are White Ladies," he whispered, "and very soon will be cloistered
and never see the world again. It is enough to break one's heart."
"You don't approve, Sebastien?"
"Ah, senor, I shudder at the thought. It occurs to me what a terrible
thing it would be if Anita were to turn nun instead of becoming my happy
wife--at least I shall do all I can to make her happy. But these poor
girls--think for a moment of the humdrum life they are taking up;
nothing to look forward to; no change, no pleasure of any sort. They
might as well be buried alive at once and put out of their misery."
As the door opened to admit the two novices--if novices they were--we
had caught sight of others in the passage; some eight or ten, as we
fancied. An elderly nun, equally dressed in white, was going amongst
them, almost, as it seemed, in the act of benediction. She was evidently
counselling, encouraging, fortifying those to whom she ministered. One
might have thought that passing through that doorway was renouncing an
old life and taking up a new one; an irrevocable step and choice from
which there was no recall and no turning back.
H. C. was taken with a lump in his throat as the young fair women
unveiled and moved towards the altar. One of them was certainly very
beautiful. Large wistful blue eyes stood out in contrast with the ivory
pallor of her oval face, than which the spotless veil was not more pure
and chaste.
It was too much for H. C.'s equanimity. He coughed and betrayed himself.
She turned hurriedly; and seeing a face that corresponded to her own in
pallor, and eyes that were quite as wistful, gave him an appealing,
imploring glance which seemed to say that she would be saved from her
present fate.
For an instant we trembled. The case was so hopeless. There was the
dividing screen. There was the nun on guard beyond the closed door.
There was the drenching rain outside. An escape in a deluge would not
have been romantic--and where could they escape to? It was one of those
agonising moments of helplessness that sometimes drive men insane.
H. C. grasped the screen. There was an instant when we thought he would
have torn it down come what might. He looked reckless and desperate and
miserable. Then we placed our hand on his arm as we had done that night
at the opera in Gerona, and he calmed down.
We turned to leave the chapel. As we did so, a louder bell rang out, the
door opened, and in walked the Mother-Superior at the head of her little
army of novices.
They quickly grouped themselves round the altar, moved in utter silence
like phantoms and subsided into graceful attitudes, apparently absorbed
in devotion. The sight was as charming as it was painful: for who could
say how many of these young girls were voluntarily renouncing the world,
or in the least realised what they were doing?
Before passing out we gave a last look at this angelic vision. Quiet as
we were we did not move exactly like phantoms. The meaning of our slight
stir penetrated beyond the screen. It was too great a temptation for the
fair young novice we have described. She felt that her last hope was
dissolving, and she turned towards H. C. with a gaze that would have
moved a stone.
Fortunately his eyes were buried in his handkerchief, or it is certain
that we should never have left the chapel in the state in which we found
it. The screen would have gone; the Mother-Superior defied, there would
have been rout and consternation, the alarm bell rung, and perhaps--who
knows?--a priest would have appeared upon the scene and married this
romantic Romeo and Juliet. The novices would have turned into
bridesmaids, and the Mother-Superior have given away her spiritual
daughter. A lovely transformation scene indeed! Slighter currents have
before now changed the course of nations.
The door closed upon us without tragic event or catastrophe. Through the
deluge we waded to the hotel.
The long dining-room was now empty. The waiter brought us coffee and
cognac, ordered to restore H. C.'s nervous system; we paid our bill,
which was by no means as modest as the pretensions of the inn; and under
the faithful and unfailing pilotage of Sebastien, departed for the
railway station. The poor fellow looked melancholy.
"Oh, senor, I wish you were going to stay a week," he cried. "I did hope
you would be here for at least four days."
"The fates forbid!"--horrified at the bare thought. "A week here in such
weather would make one desperate, Sebastien. Remember that we have no
fair Anita to turn all our thistles to roses, dull streets into a
paradise."
Sebastien sighed. "To-morrow the sun will shine, senor. You would not
know Manresa again under a blue sky."
"But our poet friend declares the rainy season has begun. This deluge is
to last many days, if not weeks, Sebastien."
"It is a mistake," said Sebastien. "We have no rainy season. You will
see that to-morrow there will be no rain, no clouds. Then if you had
stayed, I am sure you would have spoken to the padrone for me, and got
him to promote me to the dining-room. And then we could have been
married."
Sebastien, like everyone else, was building his castles and dreaming his
dreams; and it certainly caused us a slight regret that we could not
help to lay them on a solid foundation. All we could do was to give him
our best wishes, and tell him that if sufficiently earnest and
persevering he would certainly gain the desire of his heart. It only
depended on himself.
This prophecy seemed to inspire him with hope and courage; and our last
reminiscence of Manresa was that of a young man, strong, handsome, fresh
coloured, standing hat in hand on the platform, and begging us "with
tears in his voice" to stay at least two days in Manresa the next time
we passed that way and formally petition the landlord in a deputation of
one for his promotion.[B]