That day, when we climbed up in the supper-room to take our coffee,
where they had already placed a number of chairs, benches, and rustic
tables, the yew was more attractive than ever. A fresh breeze coming up
from the estuary made the branches gently sway; the sun, striking full
on the tree’s top, gilded it, and drew out that penetrating, somewhat
resinous odor, which increases in our hearts the rapture of life. The
height at which we found ourselves suspended might indeed make us fancy
that we were birds; to me, it seemed that the birds would have a
pleasant abode in the bosom of that colossus; and suddenly, as if nature
took pleasure in inspiring me with one of those desires, impossible to
gratify, with which she makes sport of mortals, I felt a desire, or,
rather, an eager longing to fly, to lose myself in those blue spaces,
pure and unfathomable, which we could see through the openings in the
branches. When I perceived that I was envying the sea-gulls, which, far
off, were swooping down upon the cliffs of San Andrés, I took myself to
task for my folly, and, making an effort, I gave my attention to the
conversation.
As usual, Father Moreno had the lead, and was once more assuring his
hearers that he always felt better in Morocco than in Spain, better
among the Moors than among the Christians, “of the kind they had there.”
“Don’t think,” he hastened to add, “that we friars have an easy time in
Africa. If I did feel more contented there, it was because those poor
people do their best to serve one, and treat him with great
consideration. I learned the Arabic, if not as well as my brother,
Father Lerchundi, at least enough to make myself understood. If you only
knew how useful it was to me! Our garb recommends us to those poor
creatures. They call us in their language saints and wise men--precisely
as is done here!”
“You could not say more clearly that you would like to become a Moor,”
observed Don Román.
“I was a Moor,” said the friar, vivaciously. “That is,” he added,
modifying his assertion, “as you will understand, I did not become a
Mohammedan; and I didn’t say Mohammedan or a follower of Mohammed, but
Moor, which means a son of Africa, an inhabitant of Morocco.”
“Of course, we know that you did not renounce your faith,” exclaimed my
prospective aunt, in the tone of gentle and affectionate jesting which
she always adopted in addressing the father.
“No, my child, I did not renounce my religion; thanks to divine
compassion, I did not go so far.”
“But tell us in what way you were a Moor.”
“Oh, goodness! Why, it scarcely needs to be told,--and it’s a very long
story. It went the rounds of the papers; the _Revista Popular_ of
Barcelona had an article about it.”
“Oh, do tell us!”
The friar was well pleased to do so, to judge by the complacency with
which he commenced his tale. He first took out his handkerchief from
his sleeve, and wiped from his lips the liquor he had just been
drinking.
“Well, you see it was a little while before the Restoration, when
politics were in a bad way here, and Spain was all stirred up by the
Republic. I was then in Tangiers, feeling very happy, because, as I have
told you, I am very fond of Africa. But we have taken a vow of
obedience, and suddenly I received the disagreeable order to leave for
Spain, to go to Madrid itself, and it was not possible for me to wear my
habit; fine times for habits those were! ‘Listen, Moreno,’ said I to
myself, ‘it is time to cast off your friar’s garb and become a fine
little gentleman.’ You know that they allow us to let our beards grow
while we are in Africa, and that is a great aid in disguising a friar,
because one of the things which betrays a priest dressed as a layman is
his smooth face. The tonsure we were not very careful to shave, so all I
had to do was to let my hair grow for a few days before the journey, and
get it even with the rest, and there I was. I ordered my clothes from
the best tailor there. And the accessories,--because a gentleman’s
attire has a thousand accessories,--of those the ladies of my circle of
acquaintance insisted on taking charge, particularly the ladies in the
English Consul’s family. These ladies liked me very much, and understood
all about the elegancies of the toilette and how a gentleman fixes
himself up. They got me silk embroidered stockings, neckties, ruffled
shirts, and even handkerchiefs marked with my initials. But they
especially wanted to see me with all my finery on. ‘Father Moreno, after
you are dressed you must come and show us.’ ‘Father Moreno, we must give
you the last touch, or you’ll go away looking like a scarecrow.’ ‘Father
Moreno, don’t deprive us of that pleasure.’ But I was obstinate. ‘Am I a
monkey to show off my tricks? No, indeed, nobody shall laugh at me. You
shall not see me dressed up. If you like that, well and good; but if you
don’t, we’ll no longer be friends.’ The day arrived, and I decked myself
out, head to foot; not the slightest detail was lacking--not even
sleeve-buttons, for they had made me a present of some. I dressed at
the convent, and went through the most retired streets to take a boat
which was to put me on board. Well, will you believe it? In spite of all
that, those ladies made out to see me! When they heard that the steamer
was going to weigh anchor, they stationed themselves on their balconies,
well provided with spy-glasses, and while I was taking my ease on the
bridge, they all looked at me as much as they chose. They say that I
seemed like another man to them. I should say so! I carried a cloak, had
my traveling-bag, wore my hat on one side, and had two-buttoned gloves
on my hands.”
There was a burst of laughter among his hearers, as they imagined how
Father Moreno must have looked in such elegant attire.
“And afterward, what happened then?” asked Carmen, greatly interested.
“I landed in Gibraltar--what a fury I was in to see the English flag
floating there! From that place I took ship again for Malaga. Nothing of
much account happened except that I met two English Catholic priests,
and conversed with them in Latin--because I knew no English--about the
great strides Catholicism was making in England. From Malaga I went to
Granada. To tell the truth, I was very anxious to see that beautiful
city, so celebrated all over the world, and to visit the Alhambra and
the Generalife. As soon as I went out in the street, what did I do but
meet a friend of mine, a judge whom I had known in the Canary Isles! He
looked at me in amazement, doubting the evidence of his senses. I
addressed him, and he finally recognized me. I explained matters to him,
he invited me to take coffee, and we agreed to meet the following day to
go to see the Alhambra in company with some friends of his at the hotel.
I begged him not to tell them that I was a friar. He promised that he
would not, and was better than his word, as you shall see. In fact, when
we met the next day he brought with him two army officers, two medical
students, and a priest; and as soon as he saw me, he began to shout,
feigning great surprise, ‘Hello, Aben Jusuf, you here! By Jove, who
could think of meeting you at such a place and at such an hour!’ I
replied, comprehending his object, ‘By Allah, when I left Morocco I did
not expect to enjoy the pleasure of seeing you.’ His companions, already
excited, whispered to my friend: ‘Why, is this gentleman really a Moor?’
My friend, in order not to tell a barefaced falsehood, replied: ‘You
might know that by his name. I called him Aben Jusuf.’ ‘And is he a
friend of yours?’ ‘Yes, I met him in the Canary Isles, when I went to
take sea-baths.’ ‘I say, just invite him to come with us to visit the
Alhambra, to see what he’ll say.’ ‘Agreed.’ I accepted the invitation,
of course, seeing I had already done so the night before. My friend,
drawing near me, held out his hand, and said: ‘Aben Jusuf, I would ask
you to come with us to visit the Alhambra, but I am afraid of arousing
your unpleasant feelings.’ I replied that it must be, indeed, unpleasant
for a son of the desert to visit the monuments erected by his
forefathers, which they no longer possess, but that, in order not to
incommode him and those gentlemen, I would willingly accompany them.”
“Did they keep on thinking that you were a Moor?” inquired Señor Aldao.
“Of course. And such a Moor; a Moor of the Moors! I played my part with
all seriousness. I overheard one of them say to the others, ‘He looks
like all of his race.’ At every door, every window, and every court, I
would stop as though sad and depressed, uttering broken phrases, like
groans of pain; in short, just as I imagined a Moor might express his
feelings there. Once I stroked my beard----”
“Oh, Father Moreno, how I would have liked to see you with a beard!”
cried Carmen.
“_Naranjas!_ It is true, you have not seen me!” exclaimed the friar,
breaking off the thread of his discourse. “Wait, my girl, I think I must
have it here.” Reaching up his sleeve, he brought out an old
pocket-book, and took from it a card-photograph, which in a moment went
the rounds of the crowded gathering in the second story of the tree. The
women uttered exclamations of admiration and Candidiña cried
mischievously, “How handsome you were, Father Moreno!”
I could not help thinking to myself that he really was handsome. His
long hair and heavy beard brought out more forcibly the friar’s manly
appearance.
“Well, I stroked that big beard that you see there, and exclaimed
seriously, ‘If Spain goes on in the road she has been traveling for a
few years past, Allah will again lead Arabian horsemen to these plains,
which they still recall in their homes in the desert.’ Then turning to
those present, without looking at my friend, who was desperately
striving not to laugh, I resumed: ‘Pardon, gentlemen, a son of the
desert; these opinions have escaped me without my being able to prevent
it.’ You should have seen these men, charmed with my outburst. ‘No, no,
it is all very well. Hurrah for the agreeable Moors!’ they cried, with
other sayings of the same nature. But my trouble began when they
commenced to question me about what they supposed was my religion, and
the customs of my alleged country. One inquired whether it was true that
the laws of Mohammed authorized having many wives. Then another, a
cavalry officer, burst out, ‘By Jove, that is the best thing in the
laws of Mohammed.’”
This part of the story caused a great sensation. My uncle frowned. Señor
Aldao compressed his waist; Serafín hiccoughed; Carmen laughed heartily,
and I joined in.
“How did you get out of the scrape, Father Moreno? Let us hear it, for
that must be entertaining.”
“Listen,” said the friar, when the merriment had a little subsided. “I
became serious, without any appearance of having taken offense, and said
in a natural tone: ‘Gentlemen, although they call us barbarians and
fanatics, we know how to acknowledge the defects of our legislation. I
have traveled a great deal, and have studied the inner constitution of
many different forms of society, and I assure you that nothing charms me
more than a family consisting of one man and one woman, who have vowed
to love each other and to protect the fruit of their love. Neither the
heart of man, nor the quiet and security of the family, nor the dignity
of woman, can be exalted and strengthened by polygamy. Not even sensual
passions are satisfied, for, as you know, sensuality is a sort of moral
dropsy, which finally engenders tedium and disgust.’”
“Bravo, Father Moreno!”
“Excellent, and what did they reply?”
“They remained dumbfounded and abashed to hear me express myself in that
way. The officer looked at me, his mouth stretched from ear to ear, and
what do you think he burst forth with, the rogue, as soon as he
recovered his equanimity? He faced me, and said very politely: ‘And you,
Aben Jusuf, how many wives have you?’”
His hearers again gave free rein to their laughter.
“What a joke!”
“Ah, he hit the mark.”
“And what did you reply?”
“The truth is, I was slightly confused at first, but an idea came to me
like a flash, and you’ll see how I parried his thrust. ‘That gentleman
knows my tastes,’ I said, pointing to my friend; ‘I am a man who does
not care to sacrifice his fondness for travel and his independence, to
the duty of sustaining a wife and family. I want to be free as a bird,
and for that reason I long ago resolved never to marry.’”
“Were they satisfied with your reply? Didn’t they ask more questions?”
“Not on that subject,” said the friar.
“The conversation no longer turned upon women. They talked about
politics, and there my road was still more unobstructed. The medical
students and the two officers, who were more liberal than Riego himself,
began to praise the beneficial results of the revolution. Then I
answered that perhaps I, being a Moor, had a different conception of
liberty from theirs. ‘Pardon me, for I am a stranger here, and explain
to me how it happens that although you have so much liberty for all the
world, here, you will not allow some men, whom we esteem greatly over
yonder--a kind of Christian saints, who wear gray tunics and have no
shoes on their feet, and are called--are called--’ ‘Friars!’ the officer
shouted. ‘Nice scamps they are! If they are among the Moors, let them
stay there!’ Without paying any attention to him, I went on: ‘They are
greatly respected in Morocco, and they help to inspire us with love for
this land, which we regard as our other country. I am amazed that here
(according to your history, which I have read because I am fond of
reading) they barbarously massacred a number of them in the year 1834 in
Madrid, and in 1835 in Vich, Zaragoza, Barcelona, and Valencia, burning
their convents. Am I mistaken, or was it so? We don’t do so in Morocco
to inoffensive people devoted to praying and fasting.’ They kept as
still as the grave. One nudged the other, and I heard him say, ‘See how
well-informed he is.’ ‘He has squelched us!’ replied the other. That was
what he said, ‘squelched.’”
“Well, what was the final result of your Moorish escapade?”
“Bah! You can fancy how it ended. On our return to Granada, while going
through the winding streets, near my hotel, I suddenly turned toward
them, and said with great seriousness: ‘Gentlemen, all that about my
being a Moor was a joke. I am only a poor Franciscan friar, who, thanks
to the liberty which reigns in Spain, has been obliged to disguise
himself in order to revisit his native land. I now salute you in my true
character.’ I then turned and went off, leaving them more astonished
than ever.”
The friar’s adventures, told with spirit and grace, made us wish to
learn the outcome of his journey. Father Moreno then went on to tell
about his stay at the baths of Lanjarón; his discussion with an
impudent, saucy-tongued young gentleman, whom he silenced at the _table
d’hôte_, leaving him as quiet as a mouse; of his trip to Madrid in a
second-class car, always playing the part of a Moor, and availing
himself of his foreign dress to censure the abuses of the time in Spain.
“As those were remarks made by a Moor,” observed the father, “they did
not take offense, but were even impressed by my assertions. If they had
discovered that I was a friar, they would have sent me off flying. In
fact, I felt immensely dissatisfied not to be able to cry out, ‘Friar I
am, friar I shall be, and friar I shall die, God willing!’ But as I was
not going to Madrid to enjoy myself, but because I had been sent there,
I had to champ the bit and play the Moor. So well did I do it, that I
never once betrayed myself by making any movement peculiar to a friar. I
never searched for my handkerchief in my sleeve, but in the left pocket
of my cloak. It even seems to me that my Moorish appearance and my great
beard gave those gentlemen a bit of apprehension, so that they didn’t
like the idea of getting into a quarrel with Aben Jusuf.”
It was already getting dark when we left the supper-room. Carmen was
full of animation, commenting so gayly on the father’s story that a
suspicion flashed through my mind regarding the Abencerrage with a
friar’s gown. I tried to dismiss it from my thoughts, but, finally,
giving form to the fancies which stirred in my brain, I came to the
conclusion, “It can’t be with the father that she is in love--but as for
my uncle, she isn’t with him either.”