"I dare say that many of these poor fellows," observed Lady Mabel, "though they are but common soldiers, enjoy a stroll into the country as much as we do. In a rude way they admire picturesque beauty, and observe with interest, bird, beast and plant of a country so different from their own."
"I suspect," said Mrs. Shortridge, "they look chiefly for the picturesque spots frequented by the pigs and poultry of the peasants, and have a keen eye to detect where the fruits of the orchard are stored, and where the wine skins hang."
Lady Mabel was indignant at this suggestion. "It is a libel on the British army in general, and on our brigade in particular. They are soldiers, not robbers; and the king's troops are too well cared for to be driven to plunder for a living."
"But they may rob from love of mischief, of excitement, of excess, from mere idleness, or old habits," said L'Isle. "In recruiting we adopt a physical, and not a moral standard. A sound body, five feet some inches long, is all we look for, and we are glad to get it. A great many rogues fulfil these requisites, and get into the ranks; and though we charge ourselves with the moral as well as the physical training, we are not always successful. The sack of Badajoz, and of Ciudad Rodrigo bear witness to this."
They reached Elvas without further incident, and this proved but the first of many excursions made from time to time to points around that place. Thus, altogether with a view to her profit and pleasure, L'Isle contrived to withdraw Lady Mabel frequently from the military throng at headquarters, and, with Mrs. Shortridge's aid, appropriate her to himself.
By this adroit manoeuvre, L'Isle did not gain the good will of some of his brother officers, who found their share of her ladyship's society much curtailed. What cared L'Isle for that? No more than colonels usually care for the inclinations of subalterns. Many were the pleasant morning rambles on horseback and on foot that he took with the two ladies; and this mode of life agreed with him wonderfully well. Before long he recovered strength and activity to achieve some tall climbing after rare plants among the rocks and crags, which would have gained him great credit in an escalade. Occasionally too, while Mrs. Shortridge prudently, or indolently, kept the more level ground he would contrive to lead Lady Mabel to some elevated and perilous spot—and she boldly putting herself into difficulties, and not always seeing the way out of them, had to rely on his aid, and the supporting arm he delighted to afford her. And they gave to love for botany the credit of it all.
The zeal with which Colonel L'Isle followed up this new study, did not escape Colonel Bradshawe's watchful eye. So his satirical tongue had many a comment to make on the change in L'Isle's habits. To his own cronies Bradshawe dubbed him the bushman, not as being neighbor to the Hottentots, but from his often riding into Elvas, equipped like one of Malcolm's soldiers, marching from Birnam wood to Dunsinane.
"Our would be Achilles, laden with that huge bunch of materials for Lady Mabel'shortus siccus, thinks himself like Hercules with the distaff. To me he looks like a florist's apprentice, selling his flowers at a penny a bunch. It must be confessed though that the fellow has talents and tact. How completely has he contrived to shut out rivalry, by availing himself of my lady's weakness in imagining herself a great botanist, and providing her with a zealous and admiring pupil in his own person. And then to use so adroitly his accommodating temporary female friend in decoying his lawful love into the trap. She is certainly the finest girl of her day, and acres are good things, even though they be Scotch acres; for in the same proportion they are broader as well as more barren than English acres. The whole thing is admirable. It is a combination of means to a combination of ends, evincing genius of high order. Were I at the head of the war office, I would promote him on the spot."
"Poor Shortridge!" sighed Colonel Bradshawe, dropping at once from a tone of the highest admiration to one of deep commiseration, "can he possibly be blind to what is going on? And what is Lord Strathern dreaming of! What a pity one cannot interfere in these little matters, and put our friends on their guard! But Shortridge is so obtuse, and my Lord so self-willed and wrong-headed, that it would only make matters worse. Indeed, it is too late to help Shortridge, poor fellow! and we must console ourselves with the wise conclusion of the great bard:
"He that is robbed, not wanting what is stolen,Let him not know it, and he's not robbed at all."
Whanne that April with his shoures soteThe droughte of March hath perced to the rote,And bathed every veine in swiche licour,Of which vertue engendred is the flour;Whan Zephirus eke with his sote brethe,Enspired hath in every holt and hetheThe tendre croppes, and the yonge sonneHath in the Ram his half cours yronne,And smale foules maken melodieThat sleepen all night with open eye,So pricketh hem nature in hir corages;Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages,And palmeres for to seken strange strondes,To servo halwes couthe in sondry londes.Prologue to Canterbury Tales.
"Why,Ma belle, you are an indomitable excursionist!" exclaimed Lord Strathern one evening, when the botanical party, after a hard day's work in pleasure-hunting, returned to a late dinner at headquarters. "I wonder Mrs. Shortridge is not worn out in accompanying you."
"I take it easily, my Lord," said Mrs. Shortridge, "keeping the broadest and smoothest path I can find, like the wicked in Scripture, while Lady Mabel rambles about on either hand, having, I think, a liking for rough ground. Like the mountain goat, if she will forgive the comparison, she prefers the crag to the plain. If your Lordship saw the hardihood with which she puts herself into all sorts of perilous situations, until, at times, it needs all the aid Colonel L'Isle can give to extricate her, I fear you would put a stop to our jaunts."
"As yet my wardrobe has been the only sufferer," said Lady Mabel. "I have just taken off the third dress I have damaged past remedy."
"If you had been a boy,Ma belle, instead of a girl, you would have made a rare sportsman!"
"A sportsman, indeed! By this time I would have held a commission in his Majesty's service. Why, papa, I am a year older than ensign Wade, have almost as much beard to my chin, and, but for my sex, would make quite as good a soldier."
"I am content, however, to have you as you are, and would not exchange you for a regiment of the best boys in England."
"Better one daughter than a thousand sons," said Lady Mabel, "for they would make a cumbersome family."
"You are a cumbersome baggage yourself," said Lord Strathern. "Just see the endless litter of flowers, leaves, yea, branches of trees, with which you cumber the house. We will have to apply to the quartermaster for the use of a returning supply-train to convey your botanical treasures to Lisbon, and we will have to charter a vessel there to carry them home. Dr. Graham's study will not contain all you collect for him. You must have exhausted the neighborhood."
"In one sense I am afraid we have. Colonel L'Isle tells me that we have explored almost every part of the country immediately around Elvas."
"I am sorry we are tied down to this one spot," said her father. "As you have never been from home before, I would wish you to see as much as possible of this country. But I must stick close to the brigade, at hand for orders at any moment."
"I must be content," said Lady Mabel. "And, after all, it is better to see one place thoroughly, than to take a hasty glance at a dozen in the style of common-place travelers."
"I confess I am but a common-place traveler," said Mrs. Shortridge, "and would like to see a new place every day; though I have, I own, found more variety and amusement in exploring the neighborhood than I expected."
"You will shortly have an opportunity, Mrs. Shortridge," said L'Isle, "of visiting a very striking place by merely accompanying the commissary. He thinks of going to Evora to purchase cattle and grain for the troops, and Evora is well worth seeing, as well as the country you pass through in going thither."
"Ah! I would like the jaunt very much. But I did not know that the commissary was going thither."
"He is going, and you might accompany him," said L'Isle. "You could not indeed make the journey in your coach if you had one, for off this high road, from Lisbon to Madrid, there is scarcely a carriage-road in the country. But you are now quite at home, on the back of your sure-footed mule."
The truth was, L'Isle had himself suggested to the commissary that the country south of Evora was rich and productive, and that prices had not been raised there by the vicinity of the troops, and the demands of their market. At the same time he gave Shortridge to understand that he wished to get up a party to visit Evora, and Lady Mabel must be included in it.
"I will ask the commissary to-night when he is going," said Mrs. Shortridge; "and to take me with him, if he can."
Lady Mabel had listened with silent interest so far; but here she broke in upon their conference, just as L'Isle desired.
"Why, Mrs. Shortridge," she exclaimed, with a well-feigned air of one deeply wronged, "do you mean to desert me? After partaking of my pleasant excursions and botanical instructions (but I find you a very dull scholar), do you mean to go traveling about, in search of adventures and rare sights, without even asking me to be of the party?—I, who am afflicted with a mania for traveling which can only be cured by being gratified? But such is woman's friendship."
"My dear Lady Mabel, how do you know that my lord would trust you so far under my care?
"So far!" said Lady Mabel, scornfully. "Did I not come from Scotland hither, braving the perils of the sea and of the wilderness, the stormy Bay of Biscay, and the desert of Alemtejo, teeming with robbers and wild beasts? With no guardian but old Moodie, whose chief merit is that of being a suspicious old Scot, with the fidelity and snappishness of a terrier."
"I am surprised now that I sent for you," said Lord Strathern, "considering the difficulties in the way of your coming. But you are here, and I thank God for it. But you would find it a long, rough ride to Evora, and the weather grows hotter every day."
"Rough roads are nothing to us who travel on horseback," Lady Mabel said, with the air of a cavalier; "and as for the distance, it is not much over a morning's ride. Colonel L'Isle, could not you ride there in a morning?"
"With relays of good horses, and good luck to my neck," said L'Isle, with a laugh. "It is about fifty miles; but one need not go the whole way in one day."
"Of course not," she answered. "We will not ride post, but take our ease, and see the country at our leisure."
"I see you intend going,ma belle," said Lord Strathern; "so I may as well give my consent with a good grace. But is the commissary able and willing to take charge of more than one lady, Mrs. Shortridge, who has a will of her own? I trust, too, L'Isle, that after giving these ladies a taste for rambling, you do not mean to desert them now. They may need your escort. Small parties are never safe traveling about this country. Our friends just hereabouts, especially, (I am sorry to say it of them), are apt to fall in love with other men's goods, and have a strong throat-cutting propensity."
"Oh, there is nothing to fear, papa," said Lady Mabel. "Our troops occupy the country, and, if necessary, we will take Colonel L'Isle with us for further protection. Pray, Colonel L'Isle, how many robbers could you defend us from?"
"I would try to defend you against a hundred."
"But pray," said Mrs. Shortridge, "carry at least two servants, well armed."
"Certainly," said Lady Mabel; "we will do the thing effectually. They shall carry no baggage, but stuff their valises full of loaded pistols, as antidotes to Mrs. Shortridge's fears."
"I will join the party with pleasure, my lord. I suppose I can be spared from this post for a few days?" said L'Isle, well pleased to be urged to join in an excursion, secretly and ingeniously contrived by himself.
The ladies, delighted at the prospect of a pleasant journey and new scenes, were at once full of plans and preparations for their outfit on the road. Nor did they reckon without their host; for the commissary assented to their joining him the moment it was proposed. Colonel Bradshawe might amuse himself and his cronies by expressing astonishment at his blindness or complaisance, but Shortridge had good reasons for what he did. Since he had made money, both his wife and himself felt a strong craving for social promotion; and Colonel L'Isle and Lady Mabel were just the persons to lend them a helping hand in their efforts to ascend the social ladder. But with Shortridge this was just now but a secondary matter. The commander-in-chief had been lately giving a rough overhauling to the officials of the commissariat. Their numberless peculations, and short-comings at critical moments, had exasperated him into a conviction that they were necessary evils, and rascals to a man by right of office, and only to be dealt with as such. And Sir Rowland Hill, to whose division the brigade belonged, had learned this, among other lessons, from his great commander. Now L'Isle was known to have the ear of Sir Rowland, and the commissary was of opinion that, while Lord Strathern commanded the brigade, Lady Mabel commanded him, so that the good opinion and good word of those parties might avail him much on certain emergencies. If a friend at court be a good thing, two are still better; so he was all compliance, and let the ladies fix the next day but one for the journey.
Early on that morning, accordingly, the party assembled at headquarters, and their horses and mules crowded the little court of the monastic building. L'Isle had provided anarrierofor a guide, with his three mules for their baggage. The kind, and quantity, too, of provision he had prepared for their journey, was a reflection on the resources and hospitality of the country they were to pass through. Nor had the commissary been negligent of creature comforts.
Lord Strathern placed his daughter in the saddle. "Remember,ma belle, your blood is not used to this feverous climate, and even your pretty neck may get broken in a mountain path."
Lady Mabel listened with dutiful attention to the warnings of experience against the dangers from the noonday sun, the chilly night wind, and fast riding over rough paths; but, full of anticipated pleasure, she perhaps did not remember them an hour after.
"You are much encumbered with baggage, L'Isle," said Lord Strathern; "and your party larger than I expected."
"My party, papa," said Lady Mabel, with an air of asserting her position. "I like to travel in good style. This is my retinue, and a very complete one it is. Colonel L'Isle is my dragoman, and interprets for me among the barbarous natives. The servants, armed to the teeth, are my guards. The commissary is my purveyor, and," she added, glancing at his rotund figure, "I have no fear of starving in his company. Mrs. Shortridge, though she does not look sour enough for the office, is my duenna, punctilious and watchful—" Here she suddenly broke off her discourse, and fixed her eyes on old Moodie, who now entered the court, leading in a powerful horse of her father's, with a pair of huge holsters at the saddle-bow. Being a small and an old man, he climbed stiffly and with some difficulty into the saddle; but, when seated there, his earnest face and resolute air made him look a hero of the covenant quitting the conventicle for the battle-field.
After watching him in silent surprise, she exclaimed: "Why, Moodie, are you going too? I did not know that you were so fond of traveling, and so inquisitive about these idolatrous foreigners and their country."
"I would gladly turn my back on them and their country; but my duty forbids it."
"But how will papa do without you?"
"Better than your ladyship can."
"But you have made yourself so useful, indeed necessary, as steward in this house, which needed one sadly."
"Perhaps, so, my lady. But I know where I am most needed. I do not mean to lose sight of you for twenty-four hours, until you are safe at Craiggyside."
Lady Mabel looked exceedingly provoked and much out of countenance at thesurveillancehe assumed over her. Did he think her still a child now, when she felt herself a woman? It was well she did not askhimthat question, for Moodie thought this the time when she needed most watching. She was about to forbid his following her, but her father, laughing at her discomfiture, said, "Moodie told me last night that he would have to be of the party. He got his general orders before he left Scotland, and in this case my sister is commander-in-chief."
The party was now ready, and rode out of the court, L'Isle putting himself by Lady Mabel's side.
"What special part does this old man fill in your father's household?"
"Properly, none; though he has made himself steward by an act of usurpation. Just at this time he belongs to my household," said she, with mock dignity. "And, when at home, he is a very important person at Craiggyside, a place unknown to your geography, but a very important and delightful place, notwithstanding."
"I blush to acknowledge my ignorance. Pray put an end to it by telling me what sort of a place Craiggyside is."
"It is a villa and farm, the home of my aunt, with whom I live. There old Moodie fulfills his round of duties. He manages the farm, sells the crops, tasks the ploughmen, overlooks the shepherd, scolds the dairymaid, bullies the servants, and regulates all that come near him. He can be charged with no shortcomings, for he overdoes all he undertakes. Not content with controlling our secular concerns, he would gladly take upon him the cure of souls. But there he meets with stubborn resistance."
"He has a varied sphere of duty," said L'Isle, "and seems accustomed to have his own way. He does not wait for your orders, nor, indeed, seems to be very amenable to them. In short, notwithstanding the official title you have bestowed on Mrs. Shortridge, it is plain to me that the real duenna does not wear petticoats."
"His presumption is equal to any thing," said Lady Mabel, provoked at the suggestion. "But I will make him repent it shortly. He shall long remember this journey. But enough of him for the present. Let us make the most of this delightful morning hour. It will be hot enough by noon. I am now in the traveler's happiest mood, enjoying at once the feeling of adventure with the sense of security, which, you must admit, is a rare and difficult combination of emotions."
L'Isle was quite as well pleased as Lady Mabel with the prospect before him. He had, at Lord Strathern's request, assented to join a party, which he alone had gotten up, solely that he might put himself in the relation of companion and protector to Lady Mabel. The commissary and his wife were convenient screens, not at all in his way. Whether the part of guide, philosopher, and friend to such a pupil suited a man of four-and-twenty, he was yet to learn. No doubts of this kind troubled him, however, as thearrieroled his mules down the hill, and the party followed the music of their bells, all in high spirits, except old Moodie, who, though a volunteer, continued to be a grumbler.
Two hours' riding carried them beyond the point to which the botanical excursions had led them in that direction. They were leaving the valley, and entering on the high and broken uplands, when Lady Mabel spied a low cross by the roadside. Though rudely formed, it was of stone, and not of wood, like most of those in such places, and a short inscription was carved upon it. Faintly cut, badly spelt, and with many abbreviations, it was an enigma to her scholarship, and L'Isle had to decipher it for her: "Andreo Savaro was murdered here. Pray for his soul." "It is only one of those monumental crosses," said he, "of which you see so many along the roads throughout the peninsula."
"Do they always add murder to robbery here?" she asked.
"Too often, but not always," answered L'Isle. "Nor is robbery the only motive which leads to the taking of life. A solitary cross by the roadside is usually in memory of the victim of robbers, or, occasionally, of fatal accident; but when you see crosses, two or three together, in villages or towns, or their immediate neighborhood, they oftener mark the scene of some deed of bloodshed prompted by revenge, not lucre."
"They are certainly very numerous," said she, "and form a shocking feature on the face of the country, indicating a dreadful state of society."
"I wonder these people persist in putting them up," said the commissary, "for they are of no manner of use."
"Use!" said Lady Mabel, "what is the use of a tomb-stone?"
"If you mean real use, I am sure I don't know," said Shortridge.
"I see that you are a thorough utilitarian," she replied; "and since these people will continue to commit murder on the high road, I suppose you would have them do it at regular intervals, so that by aid of these monumental crosses we might measure our journey by murders instead of miles. Come, Mrs. Shortridge, road-side murder is rife here, so the less we loiter on our way the better."
This remark had the effect mischievously intended. Mrs. Shortridge, turning somewhat pale, and twitching her bridle convulsively, urged her mule close up to the party.
They went on some miles across a desolate country, covered with heath, rosemary, and gum cistus, more fragrant than the many rank bulbous plants, which disputed possession of the soil with them. The road was rough with slaty rock, the air became beaming hot, and L'Isle told the guide to lead them to some place of shelter from the noon-day sun. Before them lay a high open plain, on which a large flock of sheep, dusky, and many of them black in hue, were feeding, and filling the air with their bleatings. On the right, beyond the plain, there was a grove of theQuercus Ilex, rugged, stunted, thirsty-looking trees, yet whose evergreen boughs gave promise of at least a partial shade. Thearrieroled the party toward it, but just as they approached the wood, several large and savage dogs flew out, and charged them with a ferocity that might have cost a solitary traveler his life. They were busy repelling this assault, when five or six men showed themselves from behind a thicket. Dark, sunburnt, smoke-dried fellows they were, with shaggy hair, and rudely clad, each man having a sheep-skin thrown over his shoulders, and most of them grasping long, rusty guns in their hands.
Mrs. Shortridge called out "robbers!" and entreated L'Isle to fire upon them. The commissary, too, but more coolly, pronounced them to be robbers, "when they find an opportunity to follow that calling; but, just now, they are watching their flocks."
"Shepherds! those ruffians, shepherds!" exclaimed Lady Mabel; "O! shades of Theocritus and Virgil, what a satire upon pastoral poetry!"
Shepherds, however, they were, who called off their dogs, after reconnoitring the party. Thearrieroinquired of them where water was to be found, and they pointed to a little hollow in the wood, an hundred yards off. He was leading the party that way, when L'Isle said to the ladies, "let us have a talk with these fellows."
"Certainly," said Lady Mabel, and she turned her horse's head toward them.
"Certainly not," said Mrs. Shortridge, and she reined her mule back, "I am too near them already. I will not dare to take my siesta with these fellows in the neighborhood, for fear of waking up in another place than Portugal." And she followed her melting husband, who was hastening out of the sun, in the hope of regaining his solidity in the shade at hand.
L'Isle and Lady Mabel rode close up to the shepherds. They had been resting under an oak, and the cooking utensils, some baggage, and two asses near at hand, looked as if they, too, were travelers. L'Isle addressed a tall, dark man, of middle age, who seemed to be the head of the party. As soon as these men heard their own language from the mouth of a foreigner, so fluently and correctly spoken, their faces lightened up with interest and intelligence. They gave ready answers to all inquiries, and L'Isle had to reply in turn to many a question as to himself, his companions, and the news of the war. The chief shepherd was particularly anxious to know the condition of the province of Beira, and what were the chances of a visit there from the French during the coming summer. His flock, he said, was one of those which winter on the heaths and plains of Alemtejo, and, to avoid the droughts which make them a desert in summer, are driven across the Tagus in the spring, into theSerra Estrella, when the snow has melted, and vegetation again covers that range of mountains.
One of his companions offered for sale two rabbits and some partridges he had shot on the moors, which L'Isle bought, like a provident traveler, who does not rely too much on the larder of the next inn.
Lady Mabel, with attentive ear, had gathered the sense of much that had been said, and L'Isle had interpreted what puzzled her. But being a woman, she was unwilling to remain a mere listener; so, elaborately framing a question in Portuguese, she addressed the head shepherd, seeking to know how far the migrations of these flocks resembled the Spanish mesta. The dark man gazed at her admiringly and attentively, repeating some of her words, but unable to make out her meaning. She bit her lip, while he, shaking his head, turned to L'Isle, and said, "what a pity so lovely a lady cannot speak Portuguese. She looks just like our 'Lady of Nazareth,' at Pederneira, only her hair is brighter, and her eyes are blue."
"What says he about my language andNossa Senhora de Nazareth?" said Lady Mabel. "Tell him that I speak better Portuguese than she ever did, for all her black eyes and tawny skin."
"By no means," said L'Isle, smiling. "As you will have no opportunity to evangelize the man, it will do no good to outrage his idolatrous veneration forNossa Senhora de Nazareth?You might shake his superstition, yet not purify his faith, but merely drive him to a choice between the church and infidelity."
They now left the shepherds to join the party. "I am provoked," said Lady Mabel, "to find how little progress I have made in speaking Portuguese. But it is not surprising what a complete mastery the rudest and most illiterate people here have over their tongue."
"And how polite and sociable they are," said L'Isle. "Unlike the unmannered and almost languageless English peasant, they are unembarrassed and social, fluent, and often eloquent."
"Yet these men," said she, "in habits, though not in race, are but nomadic Tartars at the western extremity of Europe."
"They differ too," said L'Isle, "from their immediate neighbors, the Spaniard, in being far more sociable and communicative. For instance, I have got much more out of my Portuguese shepherd than a certain French traveler got out of his shepherd of Castile."
"What do you allude to?" she asked.
"A French traveler, it is said, as he entered Castile, met a shepherd guiding his flock. Curious to know all the circumstances which give to the Spanish wool its inimitable qualities, he asked the shepherd an hundred questions: 'If his flock belonged to that district? What sort of food was given it? Whether he was on a journey? From whence he came? Whither he was going? When he would return?' In short, he asked every question a prying Frenchman could think of. The shepherd listened coldly to them all. Then, in the sententious style of a true Castilian, replied, 'aqui nacen,aqui pacen,aqui mueren,' (here they breed, here they feed, here they die,) and went his way without a word more."
The party spent some time here, dining and resting under the shade of these prickly oaks, the tree that yields the famousbotolas, so largely used for food by men and swine, and on tasting which we are less surprised that in "the primal age,"
"Hunger thenMade acorns tasteful; thirst each rivuletRun nectar."
Mrs. Shortridge had contrived to snatch a short siesta, in spite of her fears. Their horses were led up, ready for them to mount and proceed on their journey, when Lady Mabel, plucking a twig from a branch overhead, observed on it several specimens of thekermes. She could not resist this opportunity of displaying her scraps of scientific lore, and detained the party while she delivered a discourse on thecoccus arborum, "which," she said, "infests this tree; thequercus cocci. This furnishes what the ignorant-learned long called grains of kermes, looking like dried currants, which they mistook for the fruit of a tree, while it is, in truth, the dried body of an insect. It affords a vermilion dye, not so brilliant, but far more durable than the cochineal of Mexico. There are in the Netherlands," she continued, "rich tapestries dyed with kermes, known to be three hundred years old, which still retain their pristine brilliancy of color. Only think, Mrs. Shortridge, of having carpets, shawls and cloaks of such unfading hues!"
"They would be of no use to me," yawned Mrs. Shortridge, "I would be even more tired of myself than of my cloak, before the end of three hundred years."
"Why," exclaimed L'Isle, "this indestructible dye must be the very stuff with which the old lady of Babylon dyed her petticoat; for it has not faded in the least since she first put it on, as we may see in this country, where she wears it openly, without even a decent piece of lawn over it, to suppress the brightness of its hues."
"As our lives are not so lasting as the dye Lady Mabel talks of," said the commissary, "let us make the most of them by taking horse at once, and hastening on, for we must pass through Villa Vicosa, and sleep several miles beyond it to-night."
Returning to the road, they presently reached a cultivated valley, and passed through a hamlet, scarcely seen before it was entered, so completely were the low stone walls of the houses hidden by the olive, orange, almond, and other fruit-trees surrounding them. The only inhabitants visible were two or three squalid children, playing in the road, and a woman lounging at her door, eyeing the party with mingled curiosity and suspicion, while a stout yearling calf pushed unceremoniously past her into the house, thus asserting his right as a member of the family.
L'Isle paused before the little church, just beyond the village, and pointed out to Lady Mabel a curious cross, the first of the kind she had met with, though common enough in the peninsula. It was composed of human skulls, on a pedestal of thigh bones, the whole let into the wall, and secured by a rough kind of stucco.
"Certainly these people have curious ways of exciting devotional fervor, and keeping death in memory," said Lady Mabel.
"One might suppose them to have remarked the grave-digger, who deals habitually with the moldering remains of humanity, to be the most God-fearing of men," said L'Isle; "so they seek to afford to every one the devotional incentives peculiar to the grave-digger. Yet their symbols serve rather to familiarize us with material death in this world, than to remind us of a spiritual life in the world to come. They often teach no better lesson than 'Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die.'"
"I have been told," said Lady Mabel, "that in spite of these pious devices, the people have lost much of their devotional ardor and fullness of faith."
"Not the rustic population," said L'Isle; "the church still retains full sway over them."
"I cannot say," observed Lady Mabel, as they turned to proceed on their way, "that the Romish system is very attractive to me. But, viewing it as a sensuous worship, if ever I become a convert, it will be through the influence of its music." And dropping the reins on her horse's neck, she, with clasped hands and upturned eyes, began to chant:
"O Sanctissima! O Purissima!Ora, Ora, pro nobis," etc.
Music at once so sweet and orthodox from a heretic mouth, attracted the muleteer's attention, and turning, he sat sideways in his saddle to listen. This exciting old Moodie's suspicion, he pushed his horse close up to Lady Mabel's, and as soon as she paused, said: "My lady, what is that you are singing?"
"A hymn to the Virgin."
"A hymn to the Virgin!" he repeated, horror-struck.
"Yes; it is in Latin, you know. Have you never been to any of the churches in Elvas, to 'assist' at the service and enjoy the music?"
"God forbid that I should countenance any of their idolatrous rites."
"Their music, however, is excellent, and has a grandeur suited to the worship of God. You lose much in not hearing it, and may, at least, let me amuse myself by singing a Popish hymn."
"You may amuse yourself by turning Papist in time. What begins in jest often ends in earnest; and yours, my lady, will not be the first soul that has been caught by such gear as the sweet sounds and glittering shows of idolatry."
"But," said Lady Mabel, coolly, with a provoking insensibility to her danger, "there are, not only in Latin, but in Spanish and Portuguese, many of these hymns to the Holy Virgin—for, doubtless, she was a holy virgin—exquisitely happy, both in words and music. A devout nation has poured its heart into them."
"They are all idolatrous, every one of them. There is not a word of authority for the worship of her in Scripture, and the texts of God's book are our only safe guide."
Lady Mabel, while fanning a fire that never went out, was gazing around on the landscape. Suddenly she said: "You are a great stickler, Moodie, for the words of Scripture, yet these idolatrous people often stick to it more closely than you do."
"I will trouble you, my lady, to name an instance," Moodie answered, in a defiant tone.
"Do you see those men in that field, with three yoke of oxen going round and round on one spot?"
"I see them. But what of them?"
"While you and other heretic Scots are racking your brains to devise how to thresh corn by machines, these pious people, in simple obedience to the injunction, 'Muzzle not the ox that treadeth out the corn,' are treading out their corn with unmuzzled oxen. What think you of that, Mr. Stick-to-the-text?"
"I think, my lady," he answered, doggedly, "that you had better read your Bible to profit by it; not to puzzle an old man less learned than yourself. But all things are ordered." Yet he loitered behind the party, to gaze with mingled curiosity and pity at these people, at once so benighted in theology and farming, the two points on which he felt himself strongest.
They had not ridden much further, when they drew near to the ruinous walls of a considerable town, situated in a fertile and delightful region, and retaining amidst its dilapidation many marks of grandeur. Entering through a ruinous gateway, they paused in the grandpraça. "This," said L'Isle, "is Ville Viçosa, 'the delightful city.' What a pity we have but time to take a hasty glance at this ducal seat of the house of Braganza. Two sides of thepraça, as you see, are occupied by the classic and imposing front of the palace in which the dukes of Braganza lived during the sixty years of the Spanish usurpation, before the heroism of the nation restored the royal line to the throne."
"Even in its declining fortunes," said Lady Mabel, "Villa Viçosa has not forgotten its connection with Portuguese royalty and nationality. Was it not the first place in Alentejo to resist the French robbers, who were lording it over them?"
"Yes. But it was neither loyalty nor patriotism that spurred them on. You must not look to the royal palace before you, nor even to that ancient and noble church, founded by the illustrious Constable, Alvarez Pereira, which you see yonder, aspiring to heaven, nor to the associations immediately connected with them, for the impulse which at length stirred up these people to resist the oppressor. You must rather seek it in that chapel, devoted to 'Nossa senhora dos Remedios,' and containing her miraculous image. They had submitted to robbery, insult, and outrage without stint. They had seen Portuguese soldiers seized on by regiments, and marched off to serve under French eagles. They had heard Junot's insolent order to their priests, commanding them to preach submission. They had witnessed the utter degradation of their country. They had just seen the plate of the churches, and the plunder of individuals, collected throughout the neighboringcomarcas, escorted through the town, and, though groaning in spirit, they stood by with folded arms. But when the godless French soldiers went so far as to offer insults and indignities toNossa Senhora dos Remedioson her own holy day, on which she yearly displays her miraculous powers, it was more than Portuguese nature could bear. They broke out into open resistance, at first successful—but which here and elsewhere led to woful slaughter of the patriotic but half-armed mob."
"Heretic as you are," said Lady Mabel, "you must admit, that as 'Our Lady of the Pillar' proved a tower of strength to the Saragossans in their first siege, so here, either the patron saints of the Portuguese, or their faith in them, has often done them yeoman's service."
"And often brought disaster upon them," L'Isle replied. "For instance, St. Antony is the patron saint of Portugal. I am not going to deny that he may have done them good service at times. But when the archduke, Charles of Austria, commanded the army, about 1700, the soldiers became exceedingly unruly, and demanded a native general. The king sent them St. Antony, in the shape of a wooden image. He was received with all the honors due to his rank. By royal decree a regular commission was made out, appointing him generalissimo of all the forces of Portugal, and he continued long in command; but, though an excellent saint, Antony proved a very bad general, and repeatedly brought the kingdom to the brink of ruin. They have lately been compelled to displace him. Now that Beresford does their fighting, St. Antony has full leisure to devote himself to intercession on their behalf, and, between the two, with some help from us, they are getting on pretty well."
The commissary now hinted that they had before them all that was worth seeing in "this musty old place," and the party passing out of the opposite gate pushed on as fast as they could over a rough road, running across a succession of hills, the off-shoots of Serra d'Ossa.
"Traveling in this country," said Lady Mabel, as she paused with L'Isle, to let the rest of the party come up, "is like sailing over rough waters, a perpetual up and down, neither speedy nor safe."
"Few countries exhibit a greater variety of surface than Portugal," said L'Isle; "it may be likened to the ocean the day after a storm, when a change of wind has intersected the mountain billows with every variety of little waves. The language, accordingly, is rich in terms expressive of these variations of surface. It hasMonte, a mountain;Montezhino, a little mountain;Outeiro, a hill;Outeirinho, a hillock;Serra, a lofty mountain, with various inequalities of surface;Serrania, a cluster of mountains;Penha, a rocky precipice. So that you can hardly be at a loss for a word to express the character of any elevation. Meanwhile, let us hasten up thisMontezhino, for both the sun and our night's quarters are on the other side of it, and the former will not wait for us there."
They presently caught sight of what seemed at first to be a very tall woman; but they soon perceived that it was a friar, who, with the hood of his black cloak thrown back on his shoulders, and the skirts of his dingy grey frock girded up under St. Francis' cord, was making such good time on his up-hill path, that they overtook him with difficulty at the top of the hill. He grasped in his hand what had a marvelous resemblance to thecajado, a seven-foot staff, pointed at one end, and with a heavy knob at the other, with which the Portuguese peasant always goes armed; and a formidable weapon it is in his skillful hands. The shortened skirt of the friar exposed a pair of muscular calves, that bore him well over the mountain road.
He turned to look at them as they drew near, and they saw that he was a young man, not much over twenty, tall and strong, and remarkably well made and good-looking.
Old Moodie cast a sinister look on him, and longed to strip him of his frock, and put him between the stilts of a plough.
"This is a noble specimen," the commissary remarked, "of that useless army the country maintains at free quarters. His ration would more than feed one English or two Portuguese soldiers for its defence."
"I would like to turn him loose on a Frenchman," said L'Isle, "armed, like himself, only with thecajado. What a recruit Beresford lost when this young fellow put on the uniform of St. Francis' brigade!"
L'Isle exchanged greetings with the young friar as he rode up abreast of him, and entered into conversation with him at the suggestion of Lady Mabel, who, partly to annoy her crusty watchman behind her, affected to be much interested in this young limb of the church.
The able bodied servant of St. Francis proved intelligent and sociable, and, while he eyed the travelers, particularly Lady Mabel, with much interest, let them know that he had left his conventual home at Villa Viçosa, on a visit to his mother, who lived at a village al, and that he would pass the night at near Ameixial, and that he would pass the night at thevendanear the bottom of the hill. They being also bound thither, he joined them without ceremony, keeping up with them with ease, while he drew out the news by a number of questions, which showed that he was truly an active young friar, disposed to gather ideas as well as alms on his perambulations.
When late arriving at our inn of rest,Whose roof exposed to many a winter sky,Half shelters from the wind the shivering guest,By the pale lamp's dreary gloomI mark the miserable room,And gaze with angry eyeOn the hard lot of honest poverty,And sickening at the monster broodWho fill with wretchedness a world so good.Southey.
Itwas twilight when they reached thevenda, a large but somewhat ruinous building, surrounded by a few scattered trees, on the sloping ground near the foot of the hill. Thearrieroled his mules through the archway which formed the only entrance, and the travelers following found themselves beside and almost in a large apartment, which served at once as kitchen, parlor and dining-room to thishouse of refuge, which betrayed by many signs, that if it had ever done a thriving business, that day had long gone by. Dismounting here, their horses were led on into the stable under the same roof, and imperfectly separated from the kitchen by a rude wall.
The people of the house, an old man and two women, sat staring at them without making any hospitable demonstrations. So L'Isle made the first advances, and, addressing them with a studied courtesy that seemed ironical to the ladies, awakened them somewhat to a sense of their duty to the wayfarers. Seats were got for the ladies on one side of the huge fire-place, in which some embers were smouldering, and L'Isle placed two cork stools to raise their feet above the damp pavement of flat stone. On the young friar's now coming forward (for with a modesty rare in his order he had hitherto kept in the background), L'Isle resumed his sociable conversation with him, and accepted the proffered pinch of snuff, that olive-branch of the Portuguese. This evidently had a good effect on their hosts; while Shortridge was surprised to see the colonel, whosehauteurhe had himself felt, demean himself by familiarity with these low people. He did not know that a proud man, if his be generous pride, is apt to keep it for those who assume superiority, or at least equality, with himself.
That was not the commissary's way. So he began to question abruptly, in very bad Portuguese, as to the state of her larder, the elder woman, who, ugly and blear-eyed, with ragged, scanty dress, and bare feet, yet wore a necklace of beads and earrings of gold. She answered tartly, that it being a fast-day, there was no flesh in the house. They hadbacalhaoandsardinhas, and garlic, and pepper, and onions, and oil; and everything that Christians wanted on a fast-day. She forgot to say that the house was without flesh many more days than the church commands. L'Isle, with more address, applied to the younger woman with better success, inquiring after accommodations for the ladies. He so moved her that she snatched up the only lamp in the room, and, leaving the rest of the party in the growing darkness, ushered the ladies up the ladder, like stairs, to the only two chambers where they could be private.
Shortridge, meanwhile, finding out the desolate state of the larder, let the woman know that they had not come unprovided with a stock of edibles of their own. He urged her to make preparations for cooking it; so rousing the old man from his chimney corner, she carried him out with her, and they soon returned with no small part of a cork-tree; and when Lady Mabel and Mrs. Shortridge came down, a cheerful blaze had brought out more fully the desolation of the room in dispelling half its gloom.
"I trust you have found a habitable chamber over head," said L'Isle to Lady Mabel.
"I were a heretic to complain," she answered. "It is true the room has no window; but it has a square hole in the wall to let in the light and let out the foul air. The bed is hard and not over tidy. But what is wanting in cleanliness is made up in holiness; for the bedstead has an elaborate crucifix carved at its head, and I shall sleep under its immediate protection. On the slightest alarm, by merely throwing my arms upward, I can lay hold on the cross, and nothing will be wanting to the sense of security but faith in this material symbol of my faith. I shall have saintly company, too. On the wall to the right is a print of St. Christopher carrying the infant Christ over a river, and a bishop, in full canonicals, waiting on the other side, with outstretched arms, to receive him; on the left, is a picture of St. Antony, of Padua, preaching to the fishes. Religion is truly part and parcel of this people's every day life; and the reality of their devotion, and the falsehood and frivolity of many of its objects, make a contrast truly painful to me."
Old Moodie, the muleteer, and the servants, having seen after their horses and mules, now came straggling into this hall, common to all the inmates of the house. Here they accommodated themselves with such seats as they could find, or contrive out of the baggage; and one of L'Isle's servants produced the rabbits and partridges purchased on the road, with some other provisions brought from Elvas. These he gave to the woman of the house to cook for the travelers, and no objection was started as to cooking flesh, that other people might commit the sin of eating it on a fast day. The whole party sat in a large semi-circle around the fire, conversing and watching the cooking of their supper; but no sooner did the savory fumes diffuse themselves through the building than another personage joined them. A stout pig, evidently a denizen of the house, came trotting and grunting out of the stable, and pushed his way into the interior of the social circle. Though he received some rude buffets, he persisted in keeping within it, until, trenching on Lady Mabel's precincts, she made such an application of her riding-wand that he was glad to seek refuge again among his four-legged companions.
"It would seem," Lady Mabel remarked, "that theseVendasare caravansaries, providing only shelter for the traveler, who is expected to bring his own food."
"This is so true, that it is a blessing there are no game laws in the peninsula," said L'Isle. "The traveler would often starve at the inn but for the game purchased on the road. And it is well to travel prepared to shootone's owngame, as you are perpetually threatened with famine or robbers. The cookery, too, of this country is peculiar, and if you ladies watch the process closely, you may carry home some valuable hints in what some people think the first of the arts."
They accordingly closely watched the cooking, of the rabbits particularly. Each was spitted on a little spit, which had four legs at the handle, the other end resting on a piece of the fuel. When one side was roasted, the other was turned to the fire. To know when they were done, the woman cracked the joints; laying them by until cool, she then tore them to pieces with her fingers; and afterward fried the already over-roasted meat with onions, garlic, red pepper, and oil, which is always rancid in Portugal, from the custom of never pressing the olives until they are stale.
The commissary knew too much about Portuguese cookery to trust to it. He had provided himself before leaving Elvas with the commissary's cut, which is always the best steak from the best bullock. He now produced from among his baggage that implement so truly indicative of the march of English civilization—the gridiron; and not until the large table, at the other side of the room, had been spread, and supper was ready, did his man proceed to dress it skillfully and quickly, under the vigilant superintendance of the commissary himself.
They were sitting down to supper when L'Isle, seeing that the young friar remained by the fire, pointed out a vacant seat, and asked him to join them. But he shook his head.
"You are eating flesh. I must fast to-day."
"Because the Scriptures bid you?" L'Isle inquired.
"Because the Church commands me."
"You are aware, then, that there is no absolute injunction in Scripture to fast on particular days."
"Yet the Church may have authority—it doubtless has authority to appoint such days," the young friar answered, seeming at once to stifle a doubt and his appetite.
Cookery must be judged of by the palate, and not by the eye. So Lady Mabel made a strong effort to try the rabbits by the latter test—having had ocular proof that they were not cats in disguise. But, after persevering through two or three mouthfuls, the garlic, red pepper, and rancid oil, and the fact of having witnessed the whole process of cooking and fingering the fricassee, proved too much for her; and she was fain to be indebted to the commissary for a small piece of his steak, reeking hot, and dripping with its natural juices.
The woman of the house now placed on a bench before the friar, somebroa, or maize bread, and a piece ofbacalhao, fried in oil. From the size of the morsel, the stock in the larder seemed to have run low, even in this article, which is nothing but codfish salted by British heretics for the benefit of the souls and bodies of the true sons of the Church. The friar eat alone and in silence, less intent on his meal than in watching and listening to the party at the table.
"They are, every one of them, eating flesh, and this day is a fast," said the elder woman to the friar, in a tone of affected horror.
"And they eat it almost raw," answered the friar, as Shortridge thrust an ounce of red beef into his mouth. "But I know not that the Church has prohibited that."
The ladies and the commissary retired soon, fatigued with their long day's ride. The friar was devoutly telling his beads, and L'Isle sat musing by the fire, while the servants, in turn, took their places at the supper table. Presently the friar, having got through his devotions, rose as if about to retire for the night; but, as he passed L'Isle, he loitered, as if wishing to converse, perhaps for the last time, with this foreigner, whose position, character, and ideas, differed so much from his own, and who yet could make himself so well understood. As L'Isle looked up, he said:
"Men of your profession see a great deal of the world."
"Yes. A soldier is a traveler, even if he never goes out of his own country."
"But the soldiers of your country visit the remotest parts of the world, the Indies in the east and west, and now this, our country, and many a land besides."
"At one time the soldiers of Portugal did the same," said L'Isle.
"Yes; there was a time when we conquered and colonized many a remote land, where the banner of no other European nation had ever been seen. We still have our colonies, but, some how or other, they do not seem to do us any good."
"But men of your profession," said L'Isle, "have been as great or even greater travelers than soldiers. They are few regions, however remote or inaccessible, which the priests of the Church of Rome, and members of your own order, have not explored."
The friar was silent and thoughtful for a moment, and then said: "What you say is true; yet it seems to me, that is no longer the case, or, at least, that our order here has been remiss in sending forth missionaries to foreign lands. Here most of us follow through life the same dull round. It is, however, the round of our duties. But, perhaps, to find one's self in a strange country, surrounded by new scenes, an unknown, perhaps heathen people, with difficulties to struggle with, obstacles to overcome, might awaken in a man powers that he did not know were slumbering in him, and enable him to do some good, perchance great work, he never would have accomplished at home." And the young friar drew himself up to his full height, while his frame seemed to expand with the struggling energies that were shut up unemployed within him.
Visions of travel, toil, adventure, perhaps martyrdom, seemed to float before his eyes, and without another word, he strode off with a step more like that of a soldier than a Franciscan.
L'Isle gazed after him with interest and pity, then ordering the table to be cleared, stretched himself on it for the night, wrapped in his cloak, rather than rely on the accommodations of the large room up stairs, common to wayfarers of every grade, and populous with vermin.
When at morn the muleteer,With early call announces day,Sorrowing that early call I hearThat scares the visions of delight away;For dear to me the silent hour,When sleep exerts its wizard power.Southey.
"I trustyou rested well last night, under the protection of your saintly guardians," L'Isle said to Lady Mabel, when she made her appearance down stairs, before the sun was yet up.
"Do not speak of last night," she said, throwing up her hands in a deprecatory manner, "let it be utterly forgotten, and not reckoned among the number of the nights. It was one of penance, not repose! Never will I speak lightly of the saints again. I can only hope that that and all my other sins are expiated, if I can infer any thing from the number of my tormentors."
"Were they so numerous?" L'Isle asked, in a tone of sympathy.
"And various!" emphasized Lady Mabel. "Whole legions of various orders, light and heavy armed. I could have forgiven the first, were it only for their magnanimous mode of making war, always sounding the trumpet, and giving fair warning before they charged; and the attack being openly made, I could revenge myself on some of them by the free use of my hands, and protect my face by covering it with my veil, at the risk of being smothered. But the next band were so minute and active, and secret in their movements, that I never knew where to expect them. But the last slow, heavy legion which came crawling insidiously on, were the most tormenting and sickening of all. To be tortured by such a crowd of little fiends was enough to produce delirium. But I will not recall the visions of the night. It was worse than dreaming of being in purgatory!"
"I am sorry to hear that you had such shocking dreams," said Mrs. Shortridge, who, as she came down the stairs, heard Lady Mabel's last words, "I would have been thankful to be able to dream; but the mule bells jingling under us all night were a trifling annoyance compared to the mosquitos, fleas, and bugs, which scarcely allowed me a wink of sleep."
"Sleep!" Lady Mabel exclaimed, "they murdered sleep, and mine were waking torments."
"It is all owing to the filthy habits of the nation," continued Mrs. Shortridge. "The very pigs and asses are as much a part of the family as the children of the house."
"The fraternization of the human race with brutes, which prevails here," L'Isle remarked, "certainly, promotes neither comfort nor cleanliness. Indeed, it is curious, that as you go from north to south, cleanliness should decline in the inverse ratio with the need of it. Compared with ourselves, the French are not a cleanly people, but become so when contrasted with their neighbors, the Spaniards, who are, in turn, less filthy than the Portuguese, whose climate renders cleanliness still more necessary."
"By that ratio, what standard of cleanliness will you find in Morocco?" asked Lady Mabel.
"Perhaps a prominent and redeeming feature in their religion," said L'Isle, "may exalt the standard there. Mahomedan ablutions may avail much in this world, though little in the next."
"I am afraid," said Lady Mabel, "that their cleanly superstition will make me almost regret the expulsion of the Moors."
The commissary was now bustling about, hurrying the preparations for breakfast, and L'Isle went to see if the servants were getting ready for the journey; but Mrs. Shortridge, full of the annoyances she had suffered, continued to denounce their small enemies. Her talk was of vermin.
Lady Mabel, thinking the subject had been sufficiently discussed, interrupted her, saying, "you do not take the most philosophical and poetical view of the subject. Is it not consolatory to reflect, that while men, on suffering a reverse of fortune, too often experience nothing but ingratitude and desertion from their fellows, and sadly learn that
"'Tis ever thus: Those shadows we call friends,Attend us through the sunshine of success,To vanish in adversity's dark hour."
"Yet there are followers that adhere to them in their fallen fortunes with more than canine fidelity, sticking to them like their sins, clinging to their persons, cleaving to their garments, with an attachment and in numbers that grow with their patron's destitution."
"But I maintain," Mrs. Shortridge replied, "that it is not only the poor and destitute that here support such a retinue. I have repeatedly seen in Lisbon, and elsewhere, young ladies, and among others a young widow of high rank, the sister of the Bishop of Oporto, lying with her head in the lap of her friend, who parted the locks of her hair to search—"
"Stop!" said Lady Mabel, laying her hand on Mrs. Shortridge's mouth, "you need not chase those small deer any further through the wood. Leave that privileged sport to the natives."
Breakfast was now ready, and Shortridge called to the ladies to lose no time. L'Isle, seeing the young friar in front of thevenda, brought him in and seated him beside him. He pressed upon him many good things, which the house did not furnish; and this being no fast-day, the friar eat a meal better proportioned to his youth, his bulk, and his health, than his last night's meagre fare. He showed his patriotism by his approval of one of those hams of marvelous flavor, the boast of Portugal, the product of her swine, not stuffed into obesity in prison, but gently swelling to rotundity while ranging the free forest, and selecting thebolotas, and other acorns, as they drop fresh from the boughs. The friar was not so busy with his meal but what he continued to observe his new friends closely, and while the servants were getting their breakfast, he seized the leisure afforded to converse with L'Isle, and with Lady Mabel through him. After many questions asked and answered, the friar became thoughtful and abstracted, as if he had been brought in contact with a new class of persons and ideas, which he could not at once comprehend.
L'Isle now asked him, "When and why he had put on St. Francis' frock?"
"I do not remember when I wore any other dress. I was not four years old when I was seized with a violent sickness, and soon at the point of death. My mother vowed that if St. Francis would hear her prayer, and spare me, her only son, she would devote me to his service. From that moment, as my mother has often told me, I began to mend. As soon as a dress of the order could be made for me, I put it on. From that day I grew and strengthened rapidly, and have not had a day's sickness since. When old enough I was sent to school, and then served my noviciate in the Franciscan convent in Villa Viçosa. I am now on leave to visit my mother and sisters, who live near Ameixial."
"If you had chosen for yourself," L'Isle suggested, "perhaps you would not have been a friar."
"Perhaps not," said the young friar, hesitating. "Indeed, I have been lately told, though I am loath to admit it, that, urgent as the necessity was that gave rise to our order, and great as its services have been, especially in former days, our holy mother, the Church, can be better served now, by servants who assume a more polished exterior, and obeying St. Paul's injunction to be all things to all men, mingle on a footing of equality with men of this world, although they are not of it."
"Who told you this?" asked L'Isle.
"A learned and traveled priest, whom I lately met with. He delighted me with his knowledge, while he startled me by the boldness of some of his opinions."
"But, perhaps," L'Isle persisted, "if left to your own unbiassed choice, you would not have taken orders at all."
The young man paused, evidently unable to shut out the thought, "Are there callings, which, without doing violence to my nature, are compatible with the service of God?" At length he answered, with a reserve not usual to him, "It is not every man whose way of life is, or can be, chosen by himself." Then, crossing himself earnestly, as if stifling the thought, and trampling down the tempting devil within him, he exclaimed, "Imustbelieve that my instant recovery from deadly sickness as soon as I was devoted to St. Francis, proves that he has chosen me for his service and God's."
He said this eagerly and with an air of sincerity, and again made the sign of the cross. Yet the doubting devil seemed to linger about him, and he sunk into silence, seeming little satisfied with himself. Meanwhile, during his conference with L'Isle and Lady Mabel, old Moodie stood near, eyeing him with sinister looks, as if he had been the inventor, not the victim, of the popish system, and all its corruptions rested on his head. The old man now urged them to take horse, and allowed them no respite from his bustling interference until the party was again on the road.
The friar watched their motions with interest; and when, after crossing the valley and ascending the hill before them, Lady Mabel turned to take a last look at the ruinous old venda, she saw him still standing like a statue in the archway, doubtless with eye and thought following their steps.
"I am afraid," said L'Isle, "that our young gownsman will have to undergo a ruinous conflict in the struggle between his nature and his fate. His is the worst possible condition for a man of vigorous character and inquiring mind. He has not arrived at his convictions, but had prematurely thrust upon him the convictions he is professedly bound to hold."
"And you have helped him into the conflict," said Lady Mabel, "without staying to see him through it."
"I trust not. But, anyhow, it would have come. Were he a monk even, seclusion and devotion might protect, study might withdraw him from many temptations. Were he a secular priest, the active and definite duties of a parish, fulfilling and inculcating the obligations of Christian morals, which are the same in every church, might have tasked his energies. But, to be all his life a wandering beggar, in the name of God and St. Francis! If enthusiasts are to be pitied, how much more those who, without being, are compelled to lead the life of enthusiasts! Is it wonderful that many of these men are apostles only of ignorance and profligacy?"
"But this young man has a mind too active and enquiring for contented ignorance," said Lady Mabel. "From his very nature he must go on adding fact to fact, and thought to thought."
"Until he has built up a system of his own," answered L'Isle. "And, a hundred chances to one, that will not coincide with the teachings of St. Francis and of Rome. What must he do, then? He, a professed Franciscan, has lost his faith in St. Francis, in Rome, perhaps in Christ!—known to him only through Rome. Must he persevere? or shall he abjure? Between hypocrisy and martyrdom, he now must choose. Think not, because the fires of theauto da feare extinct, a churchman here can safely abjure his profession and his faith. A man may live a life of martyrdom, although he escape a martyr's death."
They had ridden on some miles, and new scenes had suggested other topics, when they heard a shout behind them, and, looking round, saw the old man of theVendadisplaying unwonted energy. He was vigorously pummeling with his heels the viciousburroon which he followed them, while he held up some article of clothing, and shouted after them at the top of his voice.
They stopped for him to come up, and he handed to Lady Mabel a rich shawl, which she had left behind in her bed-room, and a scrap of dingy white paper. Refusing any reward for his trouble and honesty, he at once took leave and turned back, the ass showing a more willing spirit on his homeward path.
After trying in vain to decipher the scroll, Lady Mabel handed it to L'Isle. "Cito, tute, jucunde peregrineris." "Swift, safe and pleasant may your journey be," said L'Isle, translating it. "This is, doubtless, from the young friar. He is anxious to show you at once his scholarship and his good-will. We must not find fault with his Latin, which is capital—for a friar!"
"Give it to me. I will keep it as a talisman of safety, and as a memorial of our friar. Poor fellow!" continued Lady Mabel, "I suppose the best wish I can return him is, that enthusiasm may carry him, in sincerity and purity, through the path others have chosen for him."
"He is an impudent fellow!" growled out old Moodie. "You set too great store, my lady, by this young vagabond!"
"Vagabond!" she exclaimed, with a look and tone of grave rebuke, "I am afraid, Moodie, if you had met St. Paul wandering through Macedonia without staff or scrip, or the cloak he left behind at Troas, you would have found no better title for him."
"Is this man like St. Paul?" asked Moodie, startled at the profane supposition.
"I do not say so. But the whole order of friars, renouncing worldly objects, devote themselves to the imitation of the seventy disciples in Scripture, who were sent out by two and two to evangelize the Jews."
"I never expected, my lady, to hear you liken these lazy monks to our Lord's disciples."
"They are not monks, but friars," said Lady Mabel quietly, "and, without answering for their practice, I cannot but approve of what they profess. They do not shut themselves up from the world, like the monks, under pretence of escaping contamination, but devote themselves to the mission of traveling about in apostolic poverty from house to house, and, by prayer and preaching, by inculcating charity, and receiving alms, sow every where the seeds of the faith they profess."
"The words old Chaucer puts into the mouth of his friar," said L'Isle, "well express the objects of the order:
"In shrift, in preaching is my diligence,And study in Peter's words and in Paul's;I walk and fish Christian men's souls,To yield my Lord Jesu his proper rent;To spread his word is set all mine intent."
"A truly apostolic aim!" Lady Mabel exclaimed, looking triumphantly round on her old follower.
The descending road here narrowed suddenly, and Moodie reined back his horse, silent in the sad conviction that Lady Mabel had already got beyond that half-way house between the region of evangelical purity and idolatrous Rome.
In the narrow valley, overgrown with shrubs and brushwood at the foot of the hill, they came suddenly on a large number of swine luxuriating in the cool waters, or on the shady banks of a brook. The swine vanished instantly amidst the thickets, though hundreds were still heard grunting and squealing around them, and the travelers might have taken them for wild denizens of the wilderness, had not a fierce growl attracted their attention, and they saw on the opposite bank a man reclining under acarobtree, one hand resting on the neck of a huge dog, who yet showed two savage rows of teeth, and fixed his vigilant and angry eyes on the intruders. The wild air of the master delighted Lady Mabel, for there was mingled with it a savage dignity as he stretched his manly form on the wolf-skin spread out under him, and gazed calmly on the party drawing near. While their horses stopped to drink at the stream, they observed him narrowly—he receiving this attention with stoic indifference. A long gun lay on the ground beside him, and his garments, made chiefly of the dressed skins of animals, defied brier or thorn.
"Are we on the road to Evora?" L'Isle asked, by way of opening a parley; but the man merely waved his hand gently toward the hill and path before them. Resolved to make him speak, L'Isle asked, "What game have you killed to-day?"—for he saw some animal lying in the moss at the foot of the tree. The hunter silently held up a lynx and an otter, which he had lately snared, and seemed to forget the presence of strangers in contemplating his game. Despairing of extracting a word, the travelers rode on.