Charms of Tarragona—Dream of the past—Quasimodo comes not—Of another world—Host's offer—Francisco inconsolable—A mixed sorrow—No more holidays—List of grievances—Fair scene—Luxuriance of the South—Hospitalet—Pilgrims of the Middle Ages—Amposta—Centre of lost centuries—Historical past—Here worked St. Paul—Our fellow-travellers—Undertones—Enter old priest—Draws conclusions—Love's young dream—Impressions and appearances—Not always a priest—Fool's paradise—Youth and age—Awaking to realities—Driven out of paradise—Was it a judgment?—Calmness returns—Judging in mercy—Nameless grave—"Writ in water"—Withdrawing from the world—Entering the church—Busy life—Romances of the Confessional—"To Eve in Paradise"—Tortosa—Garden of Spain—Vinaroz—Wise mermen—Cradle of history and romance—Gibraltar of the West—A race apart—Benicarlo—Flourishing vineyards—"If the English only knew"—Eve recognises priest—"I am that charming daughter"—Lovely cousin engaged—Count Pedro de la Torre—Mutual recognitions—Congratulations—Breaking news to H. C.—Despair—"To Adam in Hades"—Gallant priest—Saved from temptation.
Charms of Tarragona—Dream of the past—Quasimodo comes not—Of another world—Host's offer—Francisco inconsolable—A mixed sorrow—No more holidays—List of grievances—Fair scene—Luxuriance of the South—Hospitalet—Pilgrims of the Middle Ages—Amposta—Centre of lost centuries—Historical past—Here worked St. Paul—Our fellow-travellers—Undertones—Enter old priest—Draws conclusions—Love's young dream—Impressions and appearances—Not always a priest—Fool's paradise—Youth and age—Awaking to realities—Driven out of paradise—Was it a judgment?—Calmness returns—Judging in mercy—Nameless grave—"Writ in water"—Withdrawing from the world—Entering the church—Busy life—Romances of the Confessional—"To Eve in Paradise"—Tortosa—Garden of Spain—Vinaroz—Wise mermen—Cradle of history and romance—Gibraltar of the West—A race apart—Benicarlo—Flourishing vineyards—"If the English only knew"—Eve recognises priest—"I am that charming daughter"—Lovely cousin engaged—Count Pedro de la Torre—Mutual recognitions—Congratulations—Breaking news to H. C.—Despair—"To Adam in Hades"—Gallant priest—Saved from temptation.
WITHsorrowful hearts we turned our backs one morning upon Tarragona.
Though bound for Valencia, Tarragona the delightful possessed charms Valencia could never rival. Not again should we meet with such a cathedral, such cloisters, or even so original and enthusiastic a sacristan. We were leaving all that wonderful historical atmosphere that made this exceptional place a Dream of the Past, and great was our regret.
We had stood near the tomb of the Scipios and fancied ourselves back in the days when our own era was dawning. Before us the ever-changing yet changeless sea looked just as it must have looked when they, loving it, decided to sleep within sound of its waters. In a last moonlight visit to the cathedral wehad waited and listened in hope of hearing Quasimodo's footsteps, seeing his quaint and curious form approaching.
He never came. No unseen talisman whispered to him our desire. Perhaps it was as well. A second experience is never the same as the first. The subtle charm of the new and the strange, the unexpected, the unprepared, is no longer there. Quasimodo now dwelt in our minds as a being spiritual, intangible, of another world. That he belonged to the highest order in this, is certain. The influence of his music haunted us, haunts us still. In waking and sleeping dreams we live over and over again the weird charm and experience of that wonderful night; see the moonbeams falling in shafts of clear-cut light across pillars and aisles and arches; hear and feel the touch, as of a passing breath, of the ghostly visitants from Shadow-land. All the marvellous music steals into our soul. There can be but one Quasimodo in the world. We doubt if there was ever another at any time endowed with his marvellous faculty. It was pain and grief to feel that we should see and hear him no more.
Our very host added slightly to our reluctant leaving by declaring that if we would only stay another week he would charge us half-price for everything: nay, we should settle our own terms. Francisco was inconsolable, but perhaps a little selfishness was mixed with his sorrow.
"No more holidays," he cried. "No more excursions to Poblet; no escape from French lessons. And yet, señor, there are other places besides Poblet, and every one of them would have delighted you. Think of all the lost luncheons; all the first-class compartments that will now be empty. There are lovely excursions, too, by sea." The boy's catalogue of grievances was as long as Don Giovanni's list of transgressions.
But time the inexorable refused to stand still, and when the final hour struck, the relentless omnibus carried us away.
Francisco accompanied us to the station, having an idea that without his help we should inevitably go wrong. He was a witness to the abominably rude station-master, who in this respect has not his equal in Spain, according to our experience. Finally we moved off.
At the moment we felt a distinct mental wrench. Tarragonawas indeed over. To our right was the harbour with its little crowd of fishing-boats; out on the sea lovely white-winged feluccas glided to and fro. The whole journey was one of extreme beauty. Very soon we had the sea on our left, and often the train skirted the very waves as they rolled over their golden sands. The coast was broken and diversified, now rising to hills and cliffs, now falling to a level with the shore. Where we passed inland the country was rich and fruitful, showing more and more the luxuriance of the South.
Many of the towns had historical interests or remains to make them remarkable. At Hospitalet we found ourselves on the site of a House of Refuge for pilgrims from Zaragoza who in the Middle Ages were wont to cross the mountains in caravans after visiting the scene of some miraculous pillar or image. Near this we skirted a fishing village, where the train was almost washed by the sea that, blue and flashing, stretched far and wide. The little fleet was moving out of the small harbour as we passed, each followed by its shadow upon the water. Picturesque Amposta was the centre and atmosphere of the lost centuries. It existed long before the Romans, who, on taking it, made it one of their chief stations. Here came Hercules, and after him St. Paul, who did much work and ordained a bishop to carry on his labours. Later came the Moors, when it reached the height of its glory. In 809 Louis le Débonnaire, son of Charlemagne, besieged it, was repulsed, returned in 811 and conquered. The Moors quickly retook it, but the disorganised inhabitants had become nothing better than pirates. So in 1143 the Templars came down upon them, and inspired by the late victory at Almeria, aided by the Italians, conquered in their turn: only to be turned out again the following year by the inevitable Moors.
Everywhere the eye rested upon a lovely scene of river, sea and land, intensely blue sky and brilliant sunshine. In our carriage we had a very interesting bride and bridegroom. She seemed to worship the very ground he trod upon, and both were evidently in paradise. At the same time he accepted the worship rather too much as his due—gracefully and graciously, but still distinctly his right. They were in the mood to admire lovely scenery, and undertones of delight were frequent.
Presently an old priest entered the carriage, sat himself down beside us, and they quickly fell under his eye. He looked on with a smile of amusement at the silent unmistakable worship. We thought he drew his conclusions as one who observes a scene in which he has no part or lot.
"Love's young dream," he said to us under cover of the rattle of the train. "My experience tells me it is only a dream, varying in length according to the constancy of the dreamers. You think I have no right to give an opinion? Then, señor, I should tell you that, like the world in general, you judge by appearances and judge too hastily. That is the difference between impressions and appearances. Of first appearances beware; of first impressions be assured. They have never failed me."
We agreed with the old priest, but made no remark.
"You think I have no business to judge of these matters?" he continued with a smile; "and you are mistaken. I was not always a priest clad in black robe and beaver hat, separated from the world by the barrier of the Church. In early life I took up law, pleaded, and generally won my cause. Then I pleaded my own cause with a beautiful woman, won her and married her. I, too, dwelt in my fool's paradise; thought the world all sunshine, the hours all golden. I was young and in those days handsome. Never can I reconcile the ugly, grey-headed man one becomes in age, with the charm and elegance of one's youth. But time has no mercy. However, the fact remains that in those days I was young and handsome."
The old priest was handsome still; but again we were silent.
"Then one fine morning I awoke to realities," he went on. "The angel with the flaming sword had come and driven me out of my paradise. Yet I had not transgressed. It was the woman, whom I fondly hoped heaven had given me as a life-long companion. She was beautiful; there was an indescribable charm about her; but she was frivolous and inconstant. She left me one day with one whom I had thought my friend. He was rich and free to roam. I heard of them in other countries: wandering to and fro like spirits ill at ease.
"Finally they went to Rome. Was it a judgment upon the wife who had proved faithless to her husband, the man who hadbetrayed his friend? Both took the fever at the same time and died within a week of each other. They were buried side by side in a small cemetery near to the Eternal City. Some years after I went to Rome. I had lived down my life's tragedy and could gaze upon their graves with calmness. As I did so, and realised the certainty of retribution, I prayed that I might judge in mercy. They had blighted my life, but looking on those nameless graves I felt for the first time that I could forgive. Yes, the graves were nameless, for no stone had been placed over them. This I did. By way of inscription I merely recorded the initials on each: and the text 'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us.'
"That very same day I was wandering about the English cemetery in Rome, and came upon the text 'Here lies one whose name was writ in water;' doubtless the expression of one whose life had been a failure or disappointment. 'My friend,' I thought, 'you are not to be pitied half so much as those whose names are writ in Sin.'
"It was about this time that I determined to enter the Church. Since that terrible blow I had grown to hate the world, withdrew more and more from society. I had no near ties on earth. Again and again I thanked heaven that no child had been born to me. As soon as I had made the resolution I put it in force, and cannot say that I ever regretted it. Gradually all morbidness left me. I lead a busy life; I delight in society; people consider me a very jovial old priest. But I never lift a finger to promote a marriage; I never solemnise one without a sigh and a wonder as to what will be the end of it. And let me tell you a secret. I never hear in the confessional that love is on the wane between husband and wife, without pouring out upon them the sternest vials of my wrath, threatening them with all the terrors of purgatory if so much as a breath of inconstancy of mind or thought is whispered. Oh, if I were not pledged to silence, what Romances of the Confessional could I not tell you!"
We had listened without interruption. Sitting side by side it was easy to talk without being overheard. The train clattered and beat and throbbed on its way. The happy pair were at the other end of the carriage. H. C., who sat opposite to us, insteadof giving his undivided attention to the scenery, was composing a sonnet to the fair lady, which he headed, "To Eve in Paradise"—a questionable compliment. Tortosa, with its narrow streets and gloomy palaces, its strong walls, ancient castle and bridge of boats, all visible from the train, had passed away. One lovely view gave place to another.
"It is indeed a rich country through which we are travelling," said the priest, "the very Garden of Spain, which appears to me to find its culminating point round about Valencia. Our whole progress is marked by historical footsteps. I never visit Tortosa without thinking of St. Paul, and a little of his amazing energy seems to fall upon me. He becomes a real presence to me. An influence he must and will be in all places and in all ages. Then comes Vinaroz with its crumbling walls—one of the loveliest spots in the whole province. I always think its people are like mermen, neither one thing nor the other. They fish the sea and plough the land by turns. Both occupations yield them good fruit, so perhaps they are wise. The fish are abundant, the lampreys excellent. It was here the Duc de Vendôme died from a surfeit of fish, of which he was passionately fond. But for this, Philip V. would probably never have entered upon his long and eventful reign. Look at those white-winged boats gliding upon the blue waters! Where is there another sea like the Mediterranean? It is the very cradle of history and romance; scene of half the mighty events of the world. Were I an idle man I would spend my life upon its surface."
"What is that distant object?" indicating an enormous perpendicular rock some five miles away, that stood a picturesque, castle-crowned islet, round which the sea was breaking in faint white lines.
"We call it Gibraltar of the West," replied the priest. "An interesting place to visit, and larger than you would imagine, with its 3000 inhabitants. They are curious people: in some things almost a race apart. It is neither an island nor yet part of the mainland. You cannot gain entrance by water, though surrounded by the sea. The only passage to it is a narrow strip of sand reaching to the shore. It was here that Pope Benedict XIII. took refuge after the Council of Constancehad pronounced against him. And here comes Benicarlo with its old walls," he continued, as the train drew up at the small station. "The ancient town is worth a visit. Its people, poor and wretched, might be flourishing and well-to-do, for the neighbourhood is wonderfully productive. The vineyards are amongst the best in Spain; the luscious wines are sent to Bordeaux to mix with inferior clarets, which find their way to the English market. Ah! the English little know what adulterated articles are sold in England that the French would never look at."
At this moment our fair Eve, who for the last few minutes had come out of paradise, looked attentively at the priest, hesitated a moment, then spoke.
"From the singular likeness," she said, "I think you must be related to the Duke de Nevada in Madrid? Forgive me if I am mistaken."
"Señora," replied the old priest with a polite bow, "Juan de Nevada is my elder and much-loved brother, though we seldom meet—for Madrid is the one place I never visit. I am gratified that you see in me the least resemblance to that truly noble and great man."
"Have you never heard him speak of the Señor de Costello?" continued the lady.
"Without doubt," returned the priest. "They are neighbours in Madrid. I have heard him mention a very charming daughter, and also very charming cousin who lives in Gerona."
"I am that charming daughter," laughed the fair Eve; "but the term applies much more correctly to my lovely cousin. Her beauty has created a furore in Madrid. We are great friends, and she stays with us part of every year. She has just become engaged to your brother's eldest son, and therefore some day will be Duchess de Nevada—though I trust the day is far distant. You have doubtless heard of the engagement?"
"Indeed, yes," returned the priest. "Only last week I wrote my nephew a long letter congratulating him upon his good fortune. But how comes it, madame, if I may be so indiscreet, that my fair travelling companion should not herself eventually have become Madame de Nevada?"
"For the excellent reason that sits opposite to me," quicklyreplied this lovely Eve, laughing and blushing in the most bewitching manner. Upon which she introduced her husband to the priest as Count Pedro de la Torre.
The name explained what had puzzled us for some time. We were haunted by a feeling of having met this young man in a previous state of existence, but now discovered that we had really met him in Toledo. He was amongst the group who had sat that first night of our arrival at the other end of the table, smoking and drinking wine and coffee. He it was who had come forward to speak to the man in the sheepskin, and then handed him a bumper of wine. He had left the very next day, and we had seen less of him than of the others.
We recalled the circumstance to his memory.
"I recognised you at once," he said, "but thought you had forgotten me. That man in the sheepskin was my father's head huntsman, a privileged being who was born and brought up on the estate, gave us our first lessons in sport and looks upon us as his own children. My father's place—my own, I fear, before long—is near Toledo. If you ever visit it again we should be delighted to show you hospitality. We live with my father when not in Madrid. He is old, in failing health, and could not bear the idea of my leaving home. On my part I was too glad to remain in the dear old nest."
"And we see that we have to offer you our congratulations," bowing as in duty bound to his lovely partner.
De la Torre laughed. "You make me your debtor," he replied. "But however profound your congratulations, they can never equal those I offer to myself. I am indeed far more blest than I merit."
"Wait until I show you my true character," laughed madame, "take the reins of government into my own hands, and leave you with no will of your own—a henpecked husband. At present I tender you a velvet hand; presently it may turn into——"
"If it changed into a cloven foot," he interrupted gallantly, "I should still say it was perfect."
"Ah, you are in paradise," cried the old priest with a sigh; "in paradise. Try to remain there. Do not summon the angel with the flaming sword. Be ever true and tender to each other.Talk not of cloven feet. Let it ever be the velvet hand, the glance of love, the gentle accents of forbearance. You have every good gift that heaven and earth can give you. Be worthy of your fate."
We interpreted as gently as possible to H. C. the sad news of the engagement of the beauty of Gerona, the lovely Señorita de Costello. It was a great shock. He turned deathly pale and remained for a time staring at vacancy. Then with a profound sigh he tore up his half-finished sonnet, "To Eve in Paradise," and began another self-dedicated, "To Adam in Hades." He keeps it in a sacred drawer, enshrined in lavender and pot-pourri.
"All this rencontre is very à propos," said the old priest. "Again the world is smaller than it seems. And we are getting on. Here is Castellon de la Plana already, with its fine fruit and flower gardens and picturesque peasants. Alas, we see less costume everywhere than of old. The taste of the world is not improving."
Very pleasantly passed the remainder of the journey, through a country beautiful and fertile. Everywhere we saw traces of vineyards and cultivated lands. Here and there oxen were ploughing. Often we saw them thrashing out the rice. Many an old and picturesque well stood out surrounded by trellis-work covered with vine-leaves. But the vines were not festooned after the picturesque manner of North Italy, where you walk under the trellis and pluck the grapes that hang in rich clusters. Here the vines are trained on sticks or grow like currant bushes, and as in Germany, lose their beauty.
A single field will produce at the same time fruit-trees, almond or olive, corn and grapes, all mingling their beauty and perfume. We passed a multitude of orange and lemon groves with all their deep, rich, sheeny verdure. Nuts and olives, almonds and carobs abounded. Many a palm-tree added its Oriental grace to the landscape. The whole country seemed to revel in sunshine and blue skies. At Saguntum, that town of the ancients, the heights were crowned by walls, fortresses and castles, imperishable outlines grey with the lapse of centuries.
As it chanced we were all bound for Valencia. Ourinteresting bride and bridegroom were staying there one night and continuing their journey the next day. The priest was to spend a week there.
"I have a proposal to make," said de la Torre, as we neared the capital. "We telegraphed for rooms and ordered dinner in our sitting-room. You three gentlemen must join us. It will only be adding three covers—an effort the chef will be equal to."
"Let me add my persuasions," added Countess de la Torre graciously and gracefully. "Remember we have been united a whole week and are quite an old married couple. You would give us great pleasure."
But this, strongly supported by de Nevada the priest, we felt bound to decline. It would have been cruel to intrude so long upon a tête-à-tête which just now must form the delight of their existence.
"I must be obdurate," said the priest. "In the first place your delicate paradise food—which no doubt consists of crystallised fruits and butterflies' wings—would be wasted upon three hungry travellers dwelling without the enchanted gates. But let us compromise. We are all staying at the same hotel. We three unappropriated blessings will dine together, and after that we will come and take our coffee and Chartreuse with you, remaining exactly one hour by the clock: not a moment more."
So it was settled.
Soon after this all the church towers and steeples of Valencia came into view. Across a stretch of country, we saw the blue sea sparkling in the evening sunshine. In the air, above the rush of the train, there was a sound of ringing bells.
"It must be a gala day," said Madame de la Torre, listening for a moment to the swelling clamour.
"It is for your arrival, madame," returned the priest gallantly. "They wish to do you honour."
Our fair Eve laughed. "Monsieur de Nevada," she cried, "you were never intended for a priest. It was a mistaken vocation. You ought to have married, and your wife would have been your idol."
Under the circumstances it was a somewhat unfortunatespeech. The drama in de Nevada's life had taken place long before her birth. She evidently knew nothing of the story. But the priest had outlived his sorrow, and was of an age to sit loosely to the things of earth. A momentary shadow passed over his face, gone as soon as seen.
"Madame," he laughed in clear tones, "if I were forty years younger and Mademoiselle de Costello were not Madame de la Torre, she would almost induce me to forget my vows. As it is, all is well. I am saved from temptation. Valencia at last! Never did journey pass so quickly and pleasantly."
A well-appointed omnibus was in waiting. We filled it comfortably, and in a few moments found ourselves at the Hotel España. The manager settled us in admirable quarters, and having some time to spare before dinner we went out to survey the fair city by evening light.
First impressions—Devoted to pleasure—Peace-loving—Climate makes gay and lively—New element—Few traces of the past—Old palaces—Steals into the affections—City of the Cid—Ecclesiastical attractions—Archbishopric—University—Homer must nod sometimes—Comparative repose—De Nevada carries us off—Admirable host—Conversational—Grave and gay—Mercy, not sacrifice—Library—At Puzol—Exacting a promise—The hour sounds—Count Pedro appears—Fragrant coffee—Served by magic—Specially prepared temptation—Perverting facts—Land flowing with milk and honey—Inquiring mind—Mighty man of valour—Cid likened to Cromwell—Retribution—Ibn Jehaf the murderer—Reign of terror—The faithful Ximena—Cid's death-blow—Priest turns schoolmaster—"Beware!"—Earthly paradise—Land of consolation—System of irrigation—Famous council—Poetical Granada—No appeal—Apostles' Gateway—Earth's fascinations—Picturesque peasants—Pretty women—Countess Pedro shakes her head—Leave-taking—Next morning—Quiet activity—Market day—Splendours of flower-market—Lonja de Seda—Vanishing dream—Audiencia—San Salvador—Antiquity yields to comfort—Convent of San Domingo—Miserere—Impressive ceremony—City of Flowers—Without the walls—Famous river—Change of scene.
First impressions—Devoted to pleasure—Peace-loving—Climate makes gay and lively—New element—Few traces of the past—Old palaces—Steals into the affections—City of the Cid—Ecclesiastical attractions—Archbishopric—University—Homer must nod sometimes—Comparative repose—De Nevada carries us off—Admirable host—Conversational—Grave and gay—Mercy, not sacrifice—Library—At Puzol—Exacting a promise—The hour sounds—Count Pedro appears—Fragrant coffee—Served by magic—Specially prepared temptation—Perverting facts—Land flowing with milk and honey—Inquiring mind—Mighty man of valour—Cid likened to Cromwell—Retribution—Ibn Jehaf the murderer—Reign of terror—The faithful Ximena—Cid's death-blow—Priest turns schoolmaster—"Beware!"—Earthly paradise—Land of consolation—System of irrigation—Famous council—Poetical Granada—No appeal—Apostles' Gateway—Earth's fascinations—Picturesque peasants—Pretty women—Countess Pedro shakes her head—Leave-taking—Next morning—Quiet activity—Market day—Splendours of flower-market—Lonja de Seda—Vanishing dream—Audiencia—San Salvador—Antiquity yields to comfort—Convent of San Domingo—Miserere—Impressive ceremony—City of Flowers—Without the walls—Famous river—Change of scene.
VALENCIAproved more modern and bustling than we had imagined. After the quiet streets of Tarragona it appeared to us the most crowded place we had ever been in; tramcars ran to and fro; there was much noise and excitement. Half the crowd was composed of the student class. All seemed in an uproar, but it was only their natural tone and manner. The Valencians, especially the lower classes, are devoted to pleasure; the work of the day over, they live for enjoyment.
ANCIENT GATEWAY: VALENCIA.ANCIENT GATEWAY: VALENCIA.
Involuntarily we were reminded of our old days in the Quartier Latin; but there, excitement often meant revolutionary mischief. The Valencians are peace-loving, and their climate forces them to be gay and lively. Though passionate and hasty, like a violent tornado the rage soon passes. This evening, in spite of much movement, a constant buzzing of voices, an excitement that filled the air, everything was in order. Laughter and chatter abounded, far more so than we had found in most Spanish towns. Untilnow the character of the Spaniard on ordinary occasions had seemed rather given to silence: in Valencia we came upon a new element, approaching the French or Italian.
The city has lost much of its ancient interest. As late as 1871, the wonderful old walls, massive and battlemented, were pulled down to find work for the poor. Twelve gates admitted to the interior: and what the walls were may be judged by the few gates that remain.
Within the city the air is close and relaxing, the skies are brilliant, the sun intensely hot, the streets narrow and densely packed with houses. This was designed to keep out the heat, but also keeps out air and light. The houses in the side-streets are tall, massive and sombre-looking, and here some of the wonderful old palaces remain. The principal thoroughfares are commonplace; one has, as it were, to seek out the beauties. It is in its exceptional features that Valencia shines, and gradually steals into your affections. Not, however, as Tarragona the favoured. The pure air, stately repose and dignified charm of that Dream of the Past is very opposed to the noisy unrest and crowded thoroughfares, constant going to and fro, and confined atmosphere of this ancient city of the Cid.
Nevertheless it has its ecclesiastical attractions in the way of churches: some with interesting towers, though few with fine interiors. It is an archbishopric, therefore has a cathedral. It possesses a university, and most of the crowd we saw evidently thought that the bow cannot always be strung and Homer must sometimes nod. They fill the cafés and theatres, go mad with excitement in the bull-ring when the Sunday performance is given, and occasionally have a free fight amongst themselves; when some of them get locked up by way of warning to the many rather than as a punishment to the few. After such an outbreak, never very desperate, peace reigns for a time: peace that is never seriously broken.
A STREET IN VALENCIA.A STREET IN VALENCIA.
It was a relief that first evening to return to the comparative repose of the hotel. When the hour for dinner had struck, de Nevada in clerical garments came to our rooms and carried us off to his own sitting-room where dinner was served. We seemed fated to fall in with the clerical element in Spain, and as yet had certainly not regretted it. De Nevada was evidentlywell known and highly considered by the hotel people, who exerted their best efforts in his favour, which also fell to our portion. His conversation was a mixture of grave and gay, with much wit and humour. He had outlived his sorrows, it may be, yet their influence remained. Every now and then a chance word or allusion seemed to vibrate some long-silent chord in heart or memory. A momentary shadow would pass over his face as a small cloud passing over the sun for an instant overshadows the earth. It was over in a flash, and he would at once be his genial, jovial self, full of strong spirits toned down by excellent breeding and the thought of what was due to his cloth. Probably we saw more of his inner character than if we had dined with the de la Torres. We had him to ourselves, his undivided attention, and amongst various topics he gave us a great insight into many of the by-ways of the Spanish Church. "It is a subject in which I am deeply interested," he said. "I am writing a book thereon, and devoting considerable space to the vexed argument of the Inquisition. It has never been properly handled, and I am not afraid to say that it was a serious blot, if not on the characters, at least on the judgment of Ferdinand and Isabella. Souls were never yet gained nor religions established by cruelty and torture. It is partly for that reason that I am here. The Archbishop has a magnificent library, and I want a week of reference amongst the books. We are as brothers, and I should take up my quarters in the palace, only that I like to be independent. To-day he is at Puzol, where he has a country house. When here I generally dine with him; was to have done so to-morrow night; but it is an informal engagement, and if you will promise to meet me again at the same hour, we will dine here together. And now the hour sounds for the de la Torres. Let us be punctual, as we must be so in leaving. Did you ever see so charming, so devoted a couple? Who would not dwell in such a fools' paradise?"
He sent our maître-d'hotel to inquire if it would be agreeable to them to receive us, and in response Count Pedro appeared upon the scene. All our rooms adjoined.
"We are more than ready," he cried. "I am quite sure," laughing, "that you think we spend all our time sitting hand-in-handand looking into each other's eyes. My dear Nevada, we are quite a sober couple, with a great deal of matter-of-fact sense about us."
"Which only proves how difficult it is for people to know themselves," laughed the priest. "But now for the sunshine of madame's presence."
In their sitting-room all banqueting signs had been removed. On the table steamed fragrant coffee, with a decanter of Chartreuse, side by side with cigars and cigarettes. The most fastidious woman in Spain will never object to smoking in her presence. Countess de la Torre had exchanged her becoming travelling-dress for a still more becoming evening costume. She looked dazzlingly beautiful, her pure white neck and arms decorated with jewels. As she rose and received us with a high-bred, bewitching grace, we thought we had seldom seen a fairer vision.
"Ah!" cried de Nevada, glancing at the table. "Your feast of orange blossoms and butterflies' wings was served by magic. In fact I am not aware that we are told Adam and Eve in Paradise ate anything. Life was eternal and needed no renewing."
"You forget," laughed Madame de la Torre. "They ate fruit, or how could Eve have tempted Adam with an apple?"
"I have always held that as a specially prepared temptation," said the priest. "They had never eaten anything until then, and the danger lay in the new experience."
"Monsieur de Nevada, you must go to school again," laughed Countess Pedro. "Or you are wilfully perverting facts to suit your purpose. I shall have to inform against you to the Archbishop. We are going to see him to-morrow morning. Are you not in his jurisdiction?"
"No, madame," replied the priest. "I hold no preferment in the province of Valencia. This Garden of Spain blooms not for my pleasure. Yet, how can I say so, for who enjoys it more when fate brings me here?"
"It is indeed the Garden of Spain," said de la Torre. "I often wished we were as favoured in the neighbourhood of Toledo—though we have little to complain of."
"Valencia is a land flowing with milk and honey," said deNevada. "You must not hope for two Canaans so near each other."
"Tell me," said Madame de la Torre, as she poured out coffee with a graceful hand, "why this town is called Valencia del Cid. I thought the Cid had only to do with Burgos. I fear I am exposing my ignorance."
"It would be difficult to know what the Cid had not to do with and where he did not go," returned de Nevada. "He was a mighty man of valour, according to his lights: also a great barbarian. In those days we might all have been the same. In my own mind, I have always likened him to the English Cromwell; and if Cromwell was in any way better than he, it is that he lived six centuries later. They were equally determined and unscrupulous. What a wonderful passage is that in the history of England! But the Cid had much to do with Valencia. He came here in 1094, and after a siege of twenty months took the town. It is remarkable how retribution follows a man, as surely as shadow follows the substance. 'Be sure your sin will find you out.' Never was truer proverb What says Shakespeare?" continued the priest, turning to us:
"I don't know that I quote correctly, and my English is barbarous," he laughed. "Never could I master that fine language; perhaps for the reason that I never dwelt long enough in your country. Few and short have my visits been. It was in 1095 that the Cid took Valencia. Ibn Jehaf the murderer was on the throne, having killed Yahya, whom Alonso VI. had placed there. This act brought the Cid down upon them. The first thing he did was to burn Jehaf alive on the great square that you will see to-morrow when you go to the Archbishop: act worthy of the tyrant. He ruled here for five years. His will was law; it was a small reign of terror. Then he died, and his faithful wife Ximena endeavoured to hold the reins. Those were not times when a woman could rule easily, and in 1101 the Moors brought hers to an end and banished her from the province. It is said that when the Cid captured Valencia he took his wife and daughter to a height to show them therichness of the country; and promised his favourite daughter that if she pleased him in her marriage that fair prospect from the boundaries of the Saguntum Hills on the north to the confines of the sea on the east should be her dowry: a promise never to be fulfilled. Within three years the daughter died unwedded; a death so violent that it is said to have struck a death-blow to the Cid, and to have brought home to him many of his perfidious acts. Certain it is that he was never the same man afterwards. Another two years brought his own life to a close. But, madame, you are beguiling me into a history, and turning the old priest into a schoolmaster."
Our fair hostess laughed.
"You make me your debtor," she replied. "I shall take greater interest in what I see to-morrow, and look at everything through the eyes of the past. Has the Archbishop any relics of the Cid?"
"Not only of the Cid, but of many other historical persons and events," said de Nevada. "You must especially notice the library with its fine collection of books. I may be there at the moment, and if so will promote myself to the honour of Librarian-in-chief to Countess Pedro de la Torre."
"Beware!" laughed madame. "Countess Pedro has a thirst for knowledge. Your office will be no sinecure."
"My labour of love will at least equal madame's diligence, though the climate is hardly favourable to very hard work," smiled the priest. "Even Nature conspires to indolence in the people. The ground brings forth abundantly, and almost unaided. The Moors thought it an earthly paradise—as it is. I am not sure but they considered it the scene of the first paradise. Heaven, they said, was suspended immediately above, and a portion of heaven had fallen to earth and formed Valencia. To the sick and sorrowing it is a land of consolation. In its balmy airs—far more healing than those of Italy—the former recover strength; in the brilliance of its sunshine, the blueness of its skies, the splendour of its flowers and vegetation, the troubled mind finds peace and repose."
"Its system of irrigation—to descend to the commonplace," laughed de la Torre—"is perfect. Does the council still sit in the Apostles' Gateway?"
"Indeed it does," replied the priest. "And far from being commonplace, the idea to me, surrounded by its halo of the past, is full of picturesque romance."
"What is that?" asked madame. "It is dangerous to make these remarks before an inquiring mind."
"The matter is simple," said de Nevada. "Valencia is the most perfectly irrigated province in Spain, not excepting Granada. Especially is that the case in the surrounding neighbourhood. You must have noticed narrow channels running through the fields as you passed in the train. The system presents infinite difficulties. Not one of the least is that all shall share alike in the fertilizing streams. In Granada a good deal is done by signals, and occasionally in the night-silence you may hear the silver bell sounding upon the air and carried from field to field: token that the dams are opened and the water flows. In Valencia they have nothing so poetical. The tribunal was instituted centuries ago by the Moors. It has been handed down from generation to generation and still continues. Being perfect, the system works well. Every Thursday morning seven judges sit in the great doorway of the cathedral, and hear all complaints relating to irrigation. These judges choose each other from the yeomen and irrigators of the neighbourhood. They pronounce sentence, and against that sentence there is no appeal. The judges are integrity itself. It is their motto, and it seems as impossible for them to go wrong as for a Freemason to betray the secrets of his craft. I think the system might with advantage be adopted by other tribunals."
"I should like to see and converse with these judges," said madame, "and decorate them with the order of the Golden Fleece. Surely they deserve it?"
"That order, I fear, is reserved for those of higher rank," replied the priest. "Yet I have often myself thought they should wear an order of Distinguished Merit: a sort of Cross of the Legion of Honour—after the French idea—open to all ranks and classes. But as you proceed on your journey to-morrow evening, you will not be here on a Thursday. The judges are indeed to be condoled with."
"I have slightly changed our plans," said Count Pedro, "and we leave the day after to-morrow by the early train. It will beless fatiguing for Isabel. We shall also see more of the country. I never tire of gazing upon the beauties of nature, and fortunately my wife is in sympathy with me. Seas, mountains, forests, vast territories, cultivated plains or sandy deserts, all alike fill me with a delight and rapture nothing else can equal. I hope to spend some of the first years of our married life in becoming intimate with the best points of many lands."
"You will find few more charming spots than Valencia," returned the priest. "Its rich plains never fail. No sooner has one harvest been gathered than another appears. Did you notice the peasants in the fields as we came along, sitting at work with their knees up to their ears? How picturesque they look walking down a road in their short white linen trousers and jackets and scarlet mantles, coloured handkerchiefs wound round the head like a turban, and blue scarves tied round the waist. I have watched them many a time. You will see nothing of this in the town itself."
"I don't quite like the type of face," objected de la Torre. "It is too African. The sun has grilled them to a colour that is almost mahogany. And they are superstitious and revengeful."
"But their imagination is lively and keeps them in almost constant good humour," returned the priest, "so they seldom think of revenge. How well they sing theirfiera, how jovially they dance therondella. It is quite a pleasure to look at this abandonment of happiness, this existence utterly free from care. Believe me, they have their virtues. And how pretty the women are! Few women in Spain equal those of Valencia. They are singularly graceful and their walk is perfect. Notice a congregation of women in church. You will hardly find elsewhere an assemblage so conspicuous for beauty of face and grace and nobility of form."
Countess Pedro shook her head. "Oh!" she cried, raising her clasped hands. "I shall have more and more to tell to the Archbishop. Monsieur de Nevada, you are not supposed to know that female beauty exists, and here you are describing it with an eloquence which comes from the heart."
RENAISSANCE TOWER: VALENCIA.RENAISSANCE TOWER: VALENCIA.
"With humble deference to your opinion, madame, I disagree with you," laughed the priest. "All things beautiful areto be appreciated; above everything else a beautiful woman, the noblest work of God. We worship the stars in the heavens, though we can never attain to them. Do you imagine that I could be in this room and remain insensible to such charms as few women possess?"
Our fair hostess blushed with pleasure. No woman is insensible to a compliment of which she can easily judge the sincerity. Every woman also likes to be praised before the husband to whom she is devoted. The age of de Nevada permitted him to be candid in expressing his admiration, whilst the in some sort family connection that would take place at the marriage referred to, had paved the way to an immediate and friendly intimacy.
In spite of the priest's emphatic determination to leave punctually, the hour had long struck when we reluctantly took our departure. Both de la Torre and his fair wife were charming, refined and intellectual, and the moments had passed all too quickly.
Next morning the crowded streets had thinned. Most of the people had disappeared, reserving themselves for the evening. Yet there was a constant, quiet activity going on, which gave the city a lively and prosperous air. It was market-day; the most picturesque market we had yet seen in Spain; thronged with buyers and sellers, piled up with all the fruits and vegetables of the South. Figs, grapes and pomegranates abounded at very small prices. The market-place was full of colouring, in part due to the bright handkerchiefs and scarves worn by men and women.
All was as nothing compared with the splendour and perfume of the covered flower-market. For a few halfpence one carried away sufficient to decorate a palace. For ninepence one woman offered us a bouquet more than a yard round. We had never seen anything like it and wondered if it was meant to grace some foreign Lord Mayor's banquet. This sum was asked with some hesitation, seeing that we were strangers: she was prepared to take half the amount. The roses were far lovelier than those that grow in the gardens of Italy and find their way across the Channel. We gave a few halfpence for alarge handful of tuberoses and pinks, and the woman was so charmed at the liberal payment that she presented us with a great bunch of sweet verbena. We possess some of the leaves now, and the scent—rare above all other scents—hangs round them still. Each morning we renewed our purchase. The flowers were always there. For them it was market-day all the year round.
The market-place was a charming three-cornered square; on one side a Renaissance church that for its style was really picturesque and formed an admirable background to the women and stalls. The interior, all gilt and glitter, set one's teeth on edge, but that did not alter the outward effect.
Opposite was a far lovelier building—the Lonja de Seda, or ancient Silk hall—of exquisitely beautiful and refined fifteenth-century Gothic.
The immense rooms were ornamented with fluted columns without capitals, that spread out like the leaves of a palm-tree and lost themselves in the roof. Behind it was an old garden, with wonderful architectural surroundings. A long stone staircase ended in a Gothic doorway of graceful outlines and deep rich mouldings. Windows filled with half-ruined tracery looked on to the garden with its trees and flowers. The upper part was an open Gothic arcade with rich ornamentations and medallions, above which rose a massive square tower with a round Norman turret.
This dream-building was vanishing under the hands of the restorer. The court was filled with workmen, and the exquisite tone of age, the rounded, crumbling outlines were beginning to disappear. We were just in time to see it at its best.
MARKET PLACE, VALENCIA.MARKET PLACE, VALENCIA.
From this we made our way to the cathedral, of which little need be said. After the architectural dreams of Catalonia, it was terribly unsatisfactory. The interior gave out no sense of grandeur, repose or devotion. On Sunday, during service, it gained a certain solemn impressiveness from the kneeling crowd, but that was all. Begun in the thirteenth century, and originally Gothic, few traces of the first building remain. Certain portions of the exterior are beautiful and striking; especially the magnificent north doorway—the Apostles' Gateway; deep and richly ornamented, though many of its statueshave disappeared. It is here that the Tribunal of the Waters sits in judgment, to which we have heard de Nevada allude.