THE CANON'S HOSPITALITY.
El Pilar by day--In the old cathedral--The canon reproachful--Equal
to the occasion--No pressure needed--_Un diner maigre_--Dream of
forty years--True to time--Juanita--Fruits of long
service--Exploring Juanita's domains--House of magic--"Surely not a
fast-day"--Artistic dreams--Who can legislate after death?--Canon's
abstinence--Juanita withdraws--Our opportunity--Canon earnest and
sympathetic--Eugenie de Colmar--Canon's surprise--An old
friend--Truth stranger than fiction--"You will forget the old
priest"--Ingratitude not one of our sins--A _rivederci_--Canon's
letter--End of Eugenie's story--En route for Tarragona--Landlord
turns up at Lerida--Missing keys--Skeletons floated out to
Panama--Domestic drama--Dragon again to the
front--Tarragona--Matchless coast scene--Civilised inn--Military
element--Haunted house--Mystery unsolved--Distinct elements--Roman
and other remains--Dream of the past--Green pastures and sunny
vineyards.
It was the next day. We had again been standing on the farther bank of
the river watching the flowing waters. They were dark and deep, a mighty
stream that swept through the seven arches of the wonderful bridge
reflecting its outlines. We had contemplated for the twentieth time the
marvellous effect of the domes and towers of El Pilar rising like an
eastern vision against the clear sky, had asked ourselves over and over
again where we should find a fairer and a more striking view, and found
the question difficult to answer. We had strolled over that same bridge
back into the town, where the charm of outline and ancient atmosphere so
strangely disappeared; had passed the fine old Exchange, crossed the
square with its plashing fountain and ever-changing group of chattering
women filling their artistic pitchers.
Finally we had found ourselves within the cathedral, also, for the
twentieth time, lost in this architectural splendour; this wonder of a
bygone age, where all the fret of every-day life had no room for
existence.
As we looked, we noticed a portly figure hurriedly crossing the aisles
in our direction. At the first moment he did not see us. An expression
of intense amiability and benevolence "was upon the large round face,
that would otherwise have been so ugly, and by its aid was made so
beautiful. He raised his eyes and came down upon us as an eagle to its
prey.
"You are here!" he cried. "I have been wondering all the morning why I
did not come across you, in what ancient nook you had buried yourselves.
I was now on my way to your hotel to ask whether you had departed to
other fields, and to find out why you did not come to me last night.
To-night I shall make sure of you. You shall dine with me--I will take
no refusal. For once the old priest's frugal fare must suffice you. It
shall be a fast-day. Abstinence from flesh-meat occasionally is good,
even for travellers. Tell me you will come. Do not pain me by refusing,
or make me guilty of pressing you too much. Juanita, my old housekeeper,
tells me she is quite equal to preparing you _un diner maigre_."
Pressure was not needed; we were too glad to accept the good priest's
invitation. He was given to hospitality in the best sense of the word,
and we readily promised to dine with him. For us, the diner maigre had
no terrors.
"That is good," he replied, in his rich round voice. "I shall expect you
at seven o'clock, though we shall not dine until eight. So you are still
lost in amazement at this architectural dream. The oftener you see it,
the more beautiful it becomes. With few interruptions I have looked upon
it daily for forty years, and every morning its charm seems new and
strange to me. Well, since I have seen you I shall not go to your hotel.
I have sundry visits to pay to poor sick folk. Until the infirmities of
old age become too strong for me I will not give them up. And before
that happens I trust a merciful Creator will remove me to scenes where
there is neither age nor infirmity nor sick poor in need of
consolation."
He hurried away, leaving us to the marvellous interior. We were glad to
go to the old canon's, and felt it would be our opportunity for laying
before him that interesting but unhappy case.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF CATHEDRAL, SHOWING CORO AND ORGAN: ZARAGOZA.]
As the clock struck seven we rang the bell. The drooping handle was
in itself an object of art: a wonderful specimen of iron work cunningly
wrought. We were not privileged to use the hidden spring, which moreover
we could not discover. The bell was immediately answered by Juanita in
grey hair, placid face and black silk gown; a picture of high
respectability. She greeted us with a serene smile and assured us that
we were welcome: tones and manner a reflection of her master's: the
fruits of long and faithful service. Hers was a face to be taken on
trust.
As we entered, the canon came out of his dining-room.
"I like this punctuality," he cried, "and you are doubly welcome. As our
frugal dinner is not ready, I will take you through my little house
whilst a glimmer of daylight lasts. Let us first lay siege to Juanita's
regions--my good old housekeeper who has been with me or mine for fifty
years--ever since she was a maiden of ten. We will explore the mysteries
of her preparations for our benefit. I always feel like a child when
gazing upon her handiwork."
A long passage panelled in old dark oak led from the dining-room to the
kitchen. Here, indeed, we found ourselves in fairyland. The room was far
larger than the dining-room. Latticed windows looked out upon a small
courtyard, half conservatory, where bloomed a profusion of
sweet-smelling flowers. The kitchen itself was a picture; walls were
panelled, the ceiling was of oak; everything bore the unmistakable tone
of age. Facing the windows were hooks and shelves bearing the brightest
of brass pots and pans. The latticed windows, the flowers beyond all,
here found their reflections multiplied. Every brass implement was of
the most artistic description. At right angles with this, other shelves
bore a small but special dinner-service of old Spanish ware, the only
example of its kind we had ever seen. Below this was an old dresser on
which the silver used by the canon was displayed, with here and there an
artistic water-pot and cooler.
In the centre of the spacious kitchen was a large, solid, substantial
oak table. At one end lay some work at which Juanita had evidently
lately been busy. At the other end was a small pile of the curious
Spanish-ware plates, evidently on their way to the dining-room.
Under one of the latticed windows was Juanita's help-mate: a young woman
busily engaged in preparing a dish of olives. One could have lived in
this room with the greatest pleasure, and never asked for anything more
artistic or luxurious. A savoury smell, as of frying of eggs with sweet
herbs, was in the air; yet were there no signs of stove or cooking. A
huge chimney-place there was, in which half a dozen people might have
comfortably found seats; but nothing was to be seen excepting a couple
of old-fashioned dogs on which some lighted wood and peat sparkled and
crackled, whilst the blue smoke went curling up the wide opening.
"Wonderful!" we cried, taking in the incomparable effect of the whole
room. "This is a house of magic."
"Very simple magic," laughed the old canon. "I fear that in sleight of
hand Juanita and I would be failures. Her magic lies in preparing simple
dishes."
"But where are they prepared?" we said. "There is neither sign nor sound
of cooking here."
"Come and see," laughed the canon; and crossing the kitchen, he led the
way through a further door down a short passage into a small,
whitewashed room beyond. Here on a large stove Juanita and her
hand-maiden conducted their mysteries. A dozen brass pans stood upon the
stove, and every one of them seemed in use.
"Surely these are not for dinner!" we cried. "It was to be a fast-day."
"A fast-day as far as flesh is concerned," laughed the canon. "That does
not absolutely mean that you are to starve. I know no more than you what
Juanita has prepared. If I intruded upon her province with the faintest
suggestion, she might retaliate by sending us empty dishes. I fear our
faces would lengthen before them--that is if anything could lengthen
mine," he gurgled, turning his large, round, delightful countenance full
upon us. "I see signs of approaching readiness in those steaming
saucepans. Let us continue our inspection. Daylight dies; nothing
remains but the afterglow."
We passed again through the charming old kitchen, where the logs on the
great hearth blazed and crackled.
"Summer and winter, Juanita will have a fire," said the old canon,
pointing to the crackling logs. "She declares that she is growing old
and shivery, and the bright flames chase the vapours from her mind."
We passed up the old oak staircase. Everywhere we came upon the same
signs of age; the same artistic old panelling; bedrooms with ancient oak
furniture, oak ceilings finely carved. A perfect house of its kind, and
much larger than it appeared from the outside. One room was the canon's
own sanctum, fitted up with book-shelves, where reposed many a precious
volume. Amongst his treasures he produced some ancient illuminated
manuscripts of rare value. The desk at which he sat and worked was
placed near a latticed window in a corner of the room, through which one
just caught sight of the tower of La Seo.
Again we exclaimed that so perfect a house should be found in Zaragoza.
"Mine by inheritance," said the canon. "Early in the sixteenth century
it belonged to a far-away ancestor, who was Bishop of Zaragoza. Dying,
he left it to his brother and his children, of whom I am a direct
descendant. The singular thing is that between the bishop and myself
there has not been a single ecclesiastic in the family. When I die, the
direct line of nearly four centuries will be broken. The house will pass
to my nephew, who is mixed up with Court life, and has married a Court
beauty. He is already nearly middle-aged, with sons and daughters
growing up. As far as possible I have ordained that the house shall
never be altered. But who can legislate for what shall happen after
death?"
We returned to the dining-room, where we soon found that our fast was to
be in reality a light, refined and delicate feast. Fish of more kinds
than one, dressed to perfection; eggs and sweet herbs in many forms and
disguises; choice fruits. And from his cellar the canon brought forth
exquisite wines--priceless Johannisberg and Chambertin; whilst with our
coffee he gave us Chartreuse fifty years old. Yet he himself passed over
all delicacies, limiting his dinner to eggs and sweet herbs, with which
he drank coffee.
"You censure others by the dignity of excelling," we said. "Though
crowding upon us these indulgences, you abstain from all."
"I believe in St. James, who said, 'Use hospitality one to another
without grudging,'" returned the canon. "I delight in doing this. Heaven
has blessed me with means; how can they be better employed than in
ministering to others, whether rich or poor? As for myself, do not think
I am exercising self-denial. Habit is second nature. Did I not tell you
that the pleasures of the table had nothing to do with my physical
rotundity. But heaven be praised, I can still manage to roll over the
ground without trouble."
Juanita waited upon us with unruffled ease, her comely face looking the
delight she evidently felt in dispensing luxuries. Her hands were
clothed in black silk mittens; her black silk gown rustled with a gentle
dignity as she quietly moved about, taking plates and dishes from her
hand-maiden, who stood outside the door. Some wonderful old silver
adorned the table and everything from first to last showed the ruling
hand and head of one born and bred in an atmosphere of refinement.
We had not sat down to table until eight o'clock, and when coffee was
served the old clock on the oak mantelpiece had chimed nine, and its
last vibrations had long died upon the air. Yet the time had passed with
lightning rapidity, for the canon in giving us some of the experiences
of his long life, and in telling us many legends of Zaragoza, had
engaged our whole interest and attention.
When Juanita had handed us coffee, and left the charming old silver
coffee-pot steaming upon the table dispensing its aromatic fumes, she
made us collectively a court-curtsey at the door and withdrew.
Then came our opportunity, and we related to the canon our previous
day's adventure, with all its sadness and its apparently hopeless
element. He listened with earnest attention and sympathy.
"The world is full of these instances," he cried with a profound sigh,
when we had ended. "Do you wonder at my frugal living when I hear of
these wrecked lives? I have seen so much of this terrible vice. I know
how hard it is to conquer, how seldom the victory is gained. It requires
daily care on the part of one stronger than the tempted, and too often
even that fails. But who is this frail creature? She must and shall be
rescued if human aid, under divine help, can avail. For heaven will not
always save us in spite of ourselves. 'My Spirit shall not always strive
with men.'"
Her name and domestic history had been withheld to the last. We now
explained who she was, who her father had been, his position under
Government, his sudden death from grief. and we gave him her card, which
bore both her married and her maiden name--the latter written in pencil:
Eugenie de Colmar.
The canon quite started as we spoke it, and threw himself back in his
chair.
"Is it possible!" he cried. "Is it possible! But life is full of these
coincidences. Verily the Divine hand holds the threads of the world's
human actions; and what we call coincidences are the silent drawing
together of these threads for ordained purposes. De Colmar was my
intimate friend, though many years my junior. He would come and spend a
week at a time with me here, but his visits were not frequent. I knew
little of his wife, still less of his child, whom I saw but once when
she was about ten years old. I was told of his death; had heard of a
tragedy; but the full details I now learn for the first time. It is one
of the saddest stories I ever listened to. For the sake of the father I
must make every effort to save the child. It will be a hard task, but
only needing the more courage. To-morrow I will seek her out. She must
be taken from this unwholesome life and excitement. I will tell her that
she owes it to the memory of her father, in atonement for the wrong she
did him, to place herself in my hands; to give up her will to mine. She
shall come into this house and take up her abode with us for a time. Her
reform shall be my daily care. Juanita, for all her placid face, has
plenty of good sense and decision; she is quite equal to being her
companion and to watching over her. It shall be done. I have seldom
failed in what I earnestly took in hand, and I must not fail now."
This was good news. A load was taken from our mind. Surely all this
would bear fruit. There seemed every hope that this poor creature would
be rescued and restored. When we got up to leave, it was with a light
heart. The time had passed quickly and the hands on the old clock
pointed to eleven.
"Alas, you are going away. When shall we meet again?" said the canon,
in tones as melancholy as we felt sure ever fell from his lips. Not his
to look on the sad side of life. He passed his days shedding light and
warmth around him like a substantial sunbeam, distributing favours with
both hands.
"When shall we meet again?" he repeated. "Perhaps never! Even the
splendours of La Seo may fail to draw from you a second visit; whilst
the welcome awaiting you from the old priest will be altogether
forgotten."
We assured him that ingratitude was not one of our sins. The delightful
evening he had given us would be remembered for ever; we truly declared
it a privilege and a pleasure to know him; a sorrow to say farewell.
"It is a word I never utter," quickly returned the canon. "With me it is
ever _au revoir_; if not in this world then in the next. And we have now
a bond of sympathy between us in this poor creature whom I am going to
save and rescue whether she will or no. She is our joint protegee; I
shall write and keep you posted up in her welfare. Be sure that if any
power can possibly reclaim her, she is saved. _Au revoir_--let us leave
it at this. Heaven be with you--and peace."
Full of peace indeed was the night as we passed out into the darkness.
The stars seemed to shine down upon the world with a serene benediction.
Much of the pain we had felt last night was removed. Surely no chance
hand had guided us. The work begun to-night was destined to succeed.[C]
Before turning in, we went once more round to our favourite spot. It was
our last look by starlight upon the deep, dark flowing river, the
wonderful old bridge, the faint outlines of El Pilar rising beyond.
To-night all was shadowy and indistinct; a dream vision; and the only
sound to be heard was the swirling of the waters through the seven
arches of St. Peter's bridge.
The next morning we left Zaragoza by an early train for Tarragona: a
long roundabout journey. Again we had to pass through Lerida, where we
had twenty minutes to wait. As chance would have it, our landlord was on
the platform, speeding parting guests. We went up to him and drew him
apart.
"Tell us," we said; "what about the dragging of the well? Has it been
done?"
Our late host threw up his hands. "Oh, senor, I shiver and shake at the
very thought of it. I had it done the very day after you left. And what
do you think came up?"
"Two skeletons?"
"The keys, senor: the missing keys and a pair of slippers--very much
down at heel."
"And the skeletons?"
"Not a vestige, senor; not a single bone. I told you the well
communicated with the river, and the river with the sea. They must have
floated out, and probably are now reposing in the Panama Canal."
"But why the Panama Canal?"
"Everything bad must drift there, senor. I lost a large sum in the
wretched affair."
"And have you seen no ghost since we left?"
"No ghost, senor, and no mysterious sounds. All the same we have had a
domestic drama."
"The Dragon?"
"Exactly, senor. Your penetration is wonderful. As she was leaning over
her wash-tub, the waiter came behind and ducked her head in the
soapsuds. Her mouth--you know her mouth--was wide open, and she
swallowed a great gulp of soapy water; upon which, presto! quick as
lightning, she up with her washing-pin and hit him on the head. Such a
crash! Down went the waiter, and the Dragon was stooping over him with
wet locks like a dripping mermaid, gloating and mouthing upon the
ruin."
"And the waiter?"
"In the hospital, senor, with a broken head. That is why I am here. I
have to come to the station myself, and be my own porter, and see my
guests off. Servants are the bane of one's life. Like the flies, they
were invented for our torment. But, senor, these troubles are nothing
compared with the relief of finding that the skeletons had cleared out
to sea."
Our train came up and we went our way, leaving Lerida behind us with its
fine outlines, and the landlord to the difficult task of managing his
womenkind.
So far we had travelled on the line before, but now branched off towards
Tarragona. We did not again see Manresa, but even a comparative approach
to its neighbourhood brought all the splendid and imposing outlines, the
blood-red river, vividly before us. Once more we saw Mons Serratus with
its jagged, fantastic peaks: lived through our haunted night in the
Hospederia; again Salvador the monk and his wonderful music took
possession of our spirit and Serratus itself appeared enveloped in
harmony and romance. We were glad not to pass through the station, where
possibly Sebastien would have been on the watch for passengers; and we
should have left a heart-broken expression behind us at the very thought
of our not staying a couple of days to see Manresa under sunshine.
The day was wearing on to evening as we approached Tarragona with its
matchless coast scene. The blue waters of the Mediterranean stretched
far and wide, and the harbour reposed upon them like a sleeping
crescent. As the sun dipped in the west, the waters flashed out its
declining rays, reflected the gorgeous colouring of the sky. The train
landed us in the lower town. We had to reach the upper town, and the
rickety old omnibus rolled and struggled up the steep streets, finally
depositing us at the Fonda de Paris.
We found the inn quite civilised. The landlord was half Italian and
spoke several languages. On the first night of our arrival the cook must
have been in a very amiable mood, for he sent up an excellent dinner.
But to H. C.'s sorrow and surprise the after dinners were a lamentable
falling-off. The cook had been crossed in love, received notice to quit,
or his art failed him: everything was below par. On the evening of our
arrival, the evil had not fallen.
The hotel, like many of the Spanish inns was large and rambling. Our
landlord conducted us to excellent rooms facing the road, and from the
balcony the scene was enchanting. Before us was an old Roman tower. To
our right, far down, 700 feet below our present level, we caught sight
of the sleeping Mediterranean.
It was not quite so pleasant to find ourselves surrounded by the
military element; barracks to right and left of us; sentries in slippers
patrolling up and down; raw recruits, looking as little like soldiers as
anything to be conceived; constant snatches of bugle-calling, which
seemed to end at midnight and begin again at four in the morning. So
far, all was unrest. But we soon found that the charms of Tarragona
soared far above all small and secondary considerations.
Down the long passage behind our rooms we came to the garden of the
hotel. It was after dinner and pale twilight reigned. In the centre of
the garden a splendid spreading palm outlined itself against the evening
sky, in which shone a large, liquid, solitary star. The garden was
surrounded by a white wall, and the scene was quite eastern. Far down
was the wonderful coast-line and crescent harbour. Of late we had had
only rivers, and this broad expanse of sea brought new life to the
spirit.
Returning indoors, we found the inn haunted, but not by spirits of the
dead.
The ghost was unmistakably flesh and blood. The first time we caught
sight of him--it was a masculine ghost, therefore doubly
uninteresting--he was cautiously putting his head into our rooms and
taking a look round. The said rooms were raised above the rest on that
floor by steps that led to our own quarters only. Thus the ghost was
clearly trespassing. He neither looked confused nor apologised as he
took his slow departure. All his time seemed spent in prowling about the
passages in a spirit of curiosity or unrest. Often we found him on our
premises on suddenly coming in, and once or twice, when quietly writing,
on looking up were startled by an evil-looking countenance intruding
itself at the open door, and as quickly withdrawing on finding the room
occupied.
We never discovered the mystery. Whether the ghost was a little out of
its mind, whether it was its peculiar way of taking exercise, or whether
it suffered from kleptomania and had a passion for collecting sticks and
umbrellas, nothing of this was ever learned. We only knew that the ghost
looked like a broken-down dissenting parson, that it dressed in sable
garments, and went about with a pale face and large black eyes that
seemed to glow with hidden fire suggestive of madness, and long,
straight, black hair plastered down each side of its face; a curiously
unpleasant object to encounter at every trick and turn of the gloomy
corridors.
Tarragona possesses two distinct elements, both in an eminent degree.
The town, especially the lower town, is mean and common-place. Ascending
beyond a certain point, you come upon everything refined and beautiful.
It stands on a hill which gradually rises to some seven or eight hundred
feet above the sea-level. At the highest point of all is its mediaeval
cathedral, surpassing most of the cathedrals of Spain or elsewhere--one
of those wonders of architecture that visit us in our dreams, but are
seldom actually found. It does not, however, stand out far and wide in
magnificent outlines, like Manresa or Lerida. Only a close inspection
reveals its charms.
The upper town is surrounded by walls ancient and imposing. Within their
boundaries are many Roman and Christian remains, such as few places
still possess, making of Tarragona a dream of the past crowded with
interest. Outside the walls the views are splendid and extensive.
Looking towards the ever-changing sea, the coast-line is magnificent.
Point after point juts out; hill after hill rises towards the East. Far
down at one's feet lies the little harbour, encircling all the craft
that seek its shelter: steamers from Barcelona with their daily
freights, steamers from Norway and Sweden laden with scented pinewood, a
whole fleet of picturesque fishing boats. Inland, the country is a
succession of rich green pastures and sunny vineyards, whilst on the
sloping hills afar off reposes many a town and village.