Doctor Pablo went back a lonely man, to his old mother, in France,
after having passed twenty years in the Philippines.--
He did so. We can vouch thus much for the correctness of _Household
Words_ of the 6th inst., whence the above-named quotation is copied. And
as the subject of it is a remarkable personage, and this unexpected
meeting with him in print has revived in us not a few pleasant
recollections, we will take the liberty of informing our readers how we
came to have personal knowledge of Don Pablo--for this, and not Doctor
Pablo, was his cognomen, at least amongst his friends.
Embarking at Bombay, many a long year since, in the East India Company's
steamer _Atalanta_, for passage up the Red Sea, we soon fell into
acquaintance with a party of foreigners, partially isolated as they were
from the crowd of Anglo-Indians--men, women, and children--returning by
the over-land route to their native country. They (the foreigners) were
five in number, two Frenchmen, two Dutchmen, and a Spaniard. Of the
three last-mentioned we have small recollection. Of the Frenchmen, one
was Don Pablo.
The other, who headed the whole party, was Monsieur Adolphe Barrot, a
brother of Odilon and Ferdinand Barrot, whose names are familiar to
those conversant with recent French history. He was at the time bound to
Paris, on leave, from his post of Consul-General at Manilla. At an early
period of his career he had been attached to the French Legation at
Washington, or at least had travelled through this country.
Subsequently, when Consul at Carthagena, he distinguished himself by his
resolute and humane interposition on occasion of a certain revolutionary
outbreak. After his return from the East, he served as French Minister
to Naples and to Lisbon, and now, we believe, holds the same appointment
at Brussels. Between this man of cultivated mind, polished manners, and
companionable qualities, and Don Pablo, whose exterior smacked but
little of intercourse with "the world," there was evidently a bond of no
common sort. Blunt, earnest, truthful, with quick perceptions and
impulses of the kindest nature, there was something very fresh and
irresistibly attractive in the character of Don Pablo. We did not wonder
at the intimacy. Opposites are drawn together. In friendly and social
intercourse the time sped away.
At that period, the steamers bound from Bombay to Suez touched at
Cosseir, a port two days' sail South of Suez, and about 150 miles East
of Thebes on the Nile. The object was to land passengers who cared to
cross the intervening Desert, as the quickest mode of gaining Upper
Egypt. To Cosseir we were ourselves destined; our new friends being on
their way direct to France, _via_ Suez, Cairo, and the Mediterranean,
and having made none of the ordinary provision for the less-frequented
route. But we plied them strongly with argument and entreaty, to divert
them from their intended limited course; not forgetting the threat of
ridicule in a Parisian drawing-room, where a man who had missed such a
chance would never be able to hold up his head. Finally, they consented.
After a voyage of sixteen days, the coaling process at Aden included,
three groups of travellers landed at Cosseir. We had dealings with two
of them.
For although we had persuaded Mr. Barrot, Don Pablo and their
associates, to take our route, we could not precisely undertake to
accompany them. We were to travel over the same ground, but not
together; for we had engaged, ere we left Bombay, to join fortunes with
a small party of veterans and valetudinarians who had made elaborate
preparations for the journey, and were not sorry to have the aid of one
who did not belong to either class, but who was perhaps for that very
reason more competent than they themselves to take charge of their
caravan. And then there was a lady, and a lady's maid, and a valet, and
the thousand and one encumbrances that are incidental to such
appendages. What scenes we had with the camel-drivers! What tons of
baggage to be loaded! what irritations! what drollery! what delay!
Landing early in the morning, the preparations for a start occupied us
till a late hour in the afternoon; nor had we ever a more laboursome
time of it. Lightly cumbered, and with only a twentieth part of the
fuss, Don Pablo and the others had preceded us; but as the same
camping-places in this five days' journey are generally frequented, we
hoped to see them from time to time. Fortune kindly ordained that we
should join them permanently.
It was on a Saturday afternoon that we started from Cosseir, with a
train "too numerous to mention." Night had fallen, ere we pitched our
tents--the writer sharing that of Sir C. M. At day-light on the
following morning, we strolled off to the French encampment; were again
pressed to join its occupants; were again compelled reluctantly to
refuse. Away they went. We returned to our own quarters, where to our
horror, in place of hearing "boot and saddle" sounded, the edict was
issued from my lady's tent, that there was to be no marching that day.
Bah! how provoking! we could not ask for an honourable discharge; but
how we longed to desert! Matters fell out, however, more pleasantly then
we had a right to expect. Breakfast was served, with the elaborateness
of a _fete champetre_, at eleven o'clock; and as the hostess gracefully
poured out the coffee, the talk turned upon those who had sped onward.
Presently, by a lucky chance, it occured to her, or to the nominal head
of the party, that dawdling away a Sunday on a barren speck of
Mahommedan sand was not in itself the essential duty of a plain
Christian, nor specially agreeable to a man whose thoughts were keenly
set upon the marvels of Luxor and Karnac. In short, it was mildly
suggested to us that, as the organization and first move of the
caravan--the real and only difficulties--were accomplished, there would
be nothing ungallant in leaving the party to its more orthodox or more
leisurely progress. Our coyness may be imagined; but we consented at
length to take this view of the matter, and at noon called up our
camels. Soon were our trunks and slender stock of kettles and sauce-pans
slung upon one; ourselves astride of a second; and on a third, the Arab
driver, with whom there was no communicating but by signs. A twelve
hours' ride brought us at midnight to the tent of our friends--they
having luckily found one available at Cosseir. We raised the canvas from
the pegs, and saluted Don Pablo with a "Here I am!" Many years have
elapsed since that night, but we can fancy now that we hear his genial
rejoinder, "I knew you'd come!" In less time than it takes to tell it,
we had edged in our bedding upon the sand, and were one of the
Seven--no, six--Sleepers.
Had not a _Howadji_ of this Western hemisphere made the Desert and the
Nile so peculiarly his own, that it is presumption for a common pen to
follow in his track, we might be tempted still further to ransack our
memory for pleasant recollections of Don Pablo. Let it suffice to say,
that with these pleasant companions we roughed it across the
camel-track, in a style of discomfort and good humour rarely surpassed;
explored the wonders of Thebes and the Tombs of the Kings; floated down
to Cairo; clambered the Great Pyramid; smoked pipes with Pashas; and
finally embarked at Alexandria, on the blue waters of the
Mediterranean. The farewell was said at Syra, one of the islands of the
Aegean. The "five we supped with yesternight" were bound to Malta and
Marseilles--we to Athens and Constantinople. As we shook hands at
parting with Don Pablo, he quietly remarked, with that cheerful gravity
that so well became him, and in allusion to a young lady who had been
our three days' acquaintance on board the steamer--"_Adieu, mon cher;
vous epouserez Mademoiselle._"
We never saw Don Pablo, but once afterwards. Several months had elapsed.
His prophecy had been fulfilled. The lady in question was on our arm, as
in sauntering under the arcades of the Palais Royale in Paris, we met
our old associate. There was a hearty greeting; but when we reminded him
of his prediction and formally introduced him, we remember that he cut
the colloquy abruptly short (as it then seemed to us), and turned away
with an expression of face for which we were at a loss to account, being
ignorant of all the details of his history. Did the memory of the
Peninsula of Iala-Iala, and of the loving wife whom he had buried there,
fall too suddenly and too sadly upon his sensitive and affectionate
spirit?--We cannot say; but this was the beginning and the ending of our
knowledge of Doctor Pablo, until we unexpectedly met him in print.