THE BRIGANDS' HOME
It was a strange, wild, magnificent spot. A deep gorge running inland
from the sea, only avoided cutting into the precipice which we were
carefully avoiding, by a strip of turf a few yards wide, along which we
passed, and by which alone access could be obtained to our destination.
It curled in a zig-zag position, sometimes wider, sometimes narrower,
towards a low promontory fronting the sea--for the gorge seemed to take
a complete circle. As we neared this hill I could see that it was a
far more fertile one than most of the country around. Up one side
stretched a vineyard, and little knolls of olive and cypress trees were
dotted about on the summit, which seemed enclosed by a thick hedge of
wild aloes. A keen, piercing whistle greeted our approach, to which my
father at once replied. Then there was silence.
We climbed right up the side and passed over the summit of the hill
without seeing a sign of any human being or habitation. I looked at my
father inquiringly, but he only smiled.
"Follow me carefully, Hugh," he said, walking on as though to descend
the promontory on the other side. I did so, along a winding, narrow
path covered with loose stones, until suddenly, as we reached a sharp
corner, I came to a standstill, and could not repress a cry of
admiration. Just below was a wide, natural plateau jutting out until
it seemed to stand sheer over the violet sea, and around it at regular
distances, close to the side of the hill, and overhung by a luxurious
out-growing plantation of cypress-trees, were a number of rudely
constructed brown tents. Lying about on the turf were several men
dressed in a picturesque medley of bright-hued garments, smoking long
cigarettes and drinking wine from horn cups. It reminded me of a scene
from the _Spanish Student_, only it was far more beautiful.
A tall, dark man of swarthy complexion and black eyes, but who was far
from ill-looking, came forward languidly to meet us. My father spoke
to him rapidly apart for a moment or two, and then he turned towards me.
"This is Monsieur José, Hugh, whose guest I am."
Monsieur José took off his feathered hat, and made me a sweeping bow.
"The son of my friend, the Englishman is very welcome," he said,
speaking in French. "You would wish to rest, no doubt? If monsieur
will seek his tent, I will order refreshments to be sent."
We entered one of the curiously-shaped habitations, and I glanced
wonderingly around. There was a small chest, a gun, a little pile of
books, a bed of dried leaves and heath pressed together in a compact
form, which gave forth an aromatic, agreeable smell, and very little
else.
"Not much furniture, you see," my father remarked. "Now come outside
again."
A white cloth had been spread out on the turf, and wooden dishes of
olives, aloes, magnificent grapes, and some sort of dried meat had been
arranged on it. Two long-necked bottles of wine and a couple of horn
mugs were also brought, and then the man who had been making these
preparations bowed clumsily and withdrew.
I flung myself on the turf by my father's side, and, for the first time
for many years, we ate and drank together. Afterwards we lit long
paper cigarettes, of which there seemed to be no lack, and I stretched
myself out with a sense of dreamy satisfaction. The warm, balmy air,
heavily laden with the exquisite perfume of wild-flowers and the
odorous scent of the vineyard, seemed to lull my senses into a sweet,
satisfied stupor, and for hours we both lay there, scarcely exchanging
half-a-dozen sentences.
"Father," I said, suddenly, "a man might be happy here."
He sighed. "It would not be impossible," he assented.
I thought of London at night, with its endless whirl of excitement and
hurry; its flaming gas-lights, its heated theatres, its hurrying, eager
crowds, and its hideous vice, and I drew a deep, satisfied breath.
"One is happiest out of the world, I think, after all. How could any
man be miserable in a place like this?"
My father smiled sadly.
"A certain amount of philosophy is necessary to appreciate solitude,"
he said. "You are too young to have imbibed it. You would be longing
to be back in the world again before long."
I shook my head.
"Not I. There is nothing in England to compare with this. As for
London, the little time I spent there seems like a bad dream. To live
in a great city seems to me the greatest mistake a man can make. All
the town people I met were artificial in their manners, and in their
nature too, I believe. The struggle for existence seems to stunt them,
and to check their development."
"Yet contact with one another sharpens their wits and energy," my
father remarked.
"I doubt whether it improves them morally," I answered. "But perhaps I
am prejudiced. I hate towns, and I love the country."
"Monsieur is very wise."
I turned my head, and saw Monsieur José's tall figure standing out
against the sky.
"Monsieur is very wise," he repeated. "I, too, have lived in towns,
but I love best the country, else I should not be here. Monsieur is
young to have attained to so much wisdom."
I laughed. "Isn't it a matter of taste rather than a matter of
wisdom?" I remarked.
He shrugged his shoulders, and leaned forward on the long gun which he
was carrying.
"With monsieur's permission," he said, "I will tell him a short story.
It is my own."
"Delighted," I murmured, lighting a fresh cigarette, and my father
gravely bowed his head.
"I was born and brought up in the country," Monsieur José commenced,
"in a small village, about fifty miles south of Paris. When I was
sixteen years old my father and mother both died, and I was left alone
in the world, in possession of a small farm. I had to work hard, but I
loved the place, and I was able to make a good living. I was happy
enough, too, until Marie Marteuil came to live in our village, and I
fell in love with her. I trust monsieur will never know what it is to
be in love with a heartless coquette! It was my lot, and a miserable
lot it was! One day she would single me out from all the rest and talk
to me only, and at another she would scarcely speak to me at all. It
was Paris which had done it. Before she went up there to stay with an
aunt for a while, she was as quiet, and simple, and sweet as ever a
maiden could be, but when she returned she was, as I say, a confirmed
coquette. I bore patiently with all her vagaries, and put up with all
her saucy speeches, for more than a year. Then, when I asked her to
marry me, she laughed in my face. What, marry a little country farmer!
Not she. She would marry no one, she said, who did not live in Paris,
or who could not take her there. If I could do that she would have me.
"Well, I sold the farm on which I was born, every field of which I
loved, and with a light heart went up to Paris. They call Paris a gay
city! I found it a cruel one! I had no idea how to set about making a
living there, and gradually my little stock of money dwindled away
until it was nearly all gone. But I would succeed, I swore, for was
not Marie waiting for me? At last, in despair, I turned blacksmith; I
worked night and day until my cheeks lost their colour, and I began to
stoop. But I got on very well, and at last I got a forge for myself
and took a little house and furnished it. Then I went down to my old
home, happy and exultant, to fetch Marie. I went to her house and saw
her, but when I would have embraced her she drew back as though she had
forgotten me. I was pained, but I thought that she was playing with
me, and I commenced to tell her my story, and all that I had done, and
how I had worked for her sake, and about the house I had furnished.
And when I had told her everything, what do you think she did? She
burst out laughing in my face. 'The idea of her marrying a
blacksmith!' she exclaimed, tossing her pretty little head. 'It was
ridiculous.' Besides, she had changed her mind about living in Paris.
I had better get some one else to go and live with me in the house I
had furnished; and when I commenced to plead to her, she shut the door
in my face. Next week she was married to the man to whom I had sold my
farm. Does monsieur wonder that I, too, detest the cities, and love
best the country?"
I looked up at him sympathisingly, for though he had told his story
lightly, there was a deep vein of sadness underlying his assumed
manner, and his dark eyes had a sorrowful look.
"Perhaps it was as well for you that you didn't marry her," I remarked.
"She must have been a heartless coquette."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"If our love came from our head, that would be very good consolation.
I wish messieurs a very good night," he added, bowing. Then he turned
somewhat abruptly upon his heel and walked away to his tent.
One by one the men around us left the central group, and, curling
themselves up in their cloaks, threw themselves down to sleep--some
inside their tents, some on the threshold, and others where they had
been sitting. The golden moon had risen high above the gleaming,
sparkling surface of the still sea and shone down upon the strange
little scene with a full, soft light. I looked round at the slumbering
forms of the brigands in the fantastic dress, and at the dark
cypress-trees which stood out in strange shapes against the clear,
star-bespangled sky. I watched the fire-flies around the aloe hedge,
until my eyes ached with following their erratic course. Then I
thought of Maud--wondered whether she was at that moment waltzing with
Lord Annerley in some heated London ballroom, wondered whether she ever
thought of me, whether she knew that I loved her!
And then I closed my eyes, and the sweet, intoxicating perfume which
floated about on the heavy southern air lulled me to sleep.