Glories of Spain Part 23

Once we were persuaded an unearthly form stood near us; to this day we think it. We were wide awake, and when we sat up it was still there. The form of a monk in cloak and cowl. A strange phosphoric light seemed to emanate from it, making it distinctly visible. The face was pale, sad and hopeless. Large dark eyes were full of an agony of sorrow and disappointment. It was evidently the ghost of a monk who had repented his vows and learned too late that even a convent cell cannot bring peace to the soul. A strange thrill pa.s.sed through us as we gazed, yet of fear or terrors we felt nothing. The sadness and beauty of the face held us spell-bound. We found courage to address it. "Spirit of the dead and gone, wherefore art thou here? Why wander in this unrest? Can we do aught to ease thee of thy burden? Will our earthly prayers and sympathy avail thee in thy land of shadows?"

No doubt there was a slight suspicion of rhythm in the words that would have become H. C. rather than our more sober temperament; but they came of their own accord, and we did not wait to turn them into better prose.

We listened and longed for a reply, but none came. Nothing but a deep-drawn sigh more expressive of sorrow than all the words that ever were coined. The singular part of it was that whilst the apparition was visible, all the mysterious sounds and echoes in the pa.s.sages ceased, and began again when it disappeared.

As disappear it did. No word was spoken; no sign was made. For one instant a mad thought had pa.s.sed through our brain that perhaps it was about to conduct us to some buried treasure: some Aladdin's lamp, whose possession should make us richer than Solomon, more powerful than the kings of the earth. But the strange light grew faint, the outlines shadowy, until all faded into thin air. The room was once more empty; and we held no treasure. It was a long and troubled night. Rest we had none. Yet next morning H. C.--whose poetical temperament should have made him susceptible to all these influences--informed us that he had slept the dreamless sleep of the just. He had heard and seen nothing.

This seemed unfair, and was not an equal division of labour.

Before daylight we were up and ready for our pilgrimage. It required some courage to turn out, for the world was still wrapped in Egyptian darkness. In the east as yet there was not the faintest glimmer of dawn.

In the house itself a ghostly silence still reigned. Apparently throughout the little settlement not a soul stirred. Nevertheless it was the end of the night, and before we were ready to sally forth there were evidences of a waking world. We went down through the dark pa.s.sages carrying a light, which flickered and flared and threw weird shadows around.

We opened the door and pa.s.sed out into the clear, cold morning. The stars still shone in the dark blue sky. Through the gloom, pa.s.sing out of the quadrangle, we discerned a mysterious figure approaching: a cowled monk with silent footstep. It was Salvador, true to his word.

"We are both punctual," he said, joining us. "I think the morning will be all we could desire."

It had been arranged that breakfast should be ready at the restaurant.

Salvador had refused to dine with us, he did not refuse breakfast. The meal was taken by candle-light, and he added much to the romance of the scene as he threw back his cowl, his well-formed head and pale, refined face gaining softness and beauty in the subdued artificial light.

Salvador had the square forehead of the musician, but eyes and mouth showed a certain weakness of purpose, betraying a man easily influenced by those he cared for, or by a stronger will than his own. Perhaps, after all, he had done wisely to withdraw from temptation.

This morning his monkish reticence fell from him; he came out of his sh.e.l.l, and proved an agreeable companion with a great power to charm.

Once more for a short time he seemed to become a man of the world.

"You make me feel as though I had returned to life," he said. "It is wonderful how our nature clings to us. I thought myself a monk, dead to all past thoughts and influences; I looked upon my old life as a dream: and here at the first touch I feel as though I could throw aside vows and breviary and cowl and follow you into the world. Well for me perhaps that I have not the choice given me. Why did you not leave me yesterday to my solitude and devotions, and pa.s.s on, as others have done? You are the first who ever stopped and spoke. To-day I feel almost as though I were longing once more for the pleasures of the world."

[Ill.u.s.tration: MONS SERRATUS IN CLOUDLAND.]

We knew it was only a momentary reaction. He had the musician's highly nervous and sensitive organisation. Our meeting had awakened long dormant chords, memories of the past; but the effect would soon cease, and he would go back to his monkish life and world of melody, all the better and stronger for the momentary break in the monotony of his daily round.

We did not linger over breakfast. At the door a mule stood ready saddled. This also went with us in case of need. H. C. and the monk were capable of all physical endurance. Like Don Quixote they would have fought with windmills or slain their Goliaths. Nature had been less kindly to us, and the mule was necessary.

It would be difficult to describe that glorious morning. When we first started, the path was still shrouded in darkness. We carried lighted lanterns, and Miguel, following behind with the mule, looked a weird, picturesque object as he threw his gleams and shadows around. Our path wound round the mountain, ever ascending. One by one the stars were going out; in the far east the faintest glimmer was creeping above the horizon. This gradually spread until darkness fled away and light broke.

We were high up, approaching St. Michael's chapel, when the sun rose and the sky suddenly seemed filled with glory.

It was a scene beyond imagination. The vast world below us was shrouded in white mist. Under the influence of the sun this gradually rolled away, curling about the mountain in every fantastic shape and form, and finally disappeared like a great sea sweeping itself from the earth. The whole vast plain lay before us. Towns and villages unveiled themselves by magic. Across the plains the Pyrenees rose in flowing undulations, their snow-caps standing out against the blue sky. The winding river might be traced in its course by the thin line of vapour that hung over it like a white shroud. The whole Catalonian world, all the sea coast from Gerona to Tarragona, came into view, with the blue waters of the Mediterranean sleeping in the suns.h.i.+ne. In the far distance we thought we discerned our lovely and beloved Majorca, and were afterwards told this was possible.

All about us were deep, shuddering crevices, into which one scarcely gazed for horror. Immense boulders jutted out on every hand; some of them seeming ready to fall and shake the earth to its centre. Wild and barren rocks gave foothold to trees and undergrowth more beautiful than the most cultivated garden; nothing lovelier than the ferns and wildflowers that abounded.

As the sun rose higher, warmth and brilliancy increased until the air was full of light. We breathed a magic atmosphere.

"This is what I delight and revel in," cried Salvador the monk. "This lifts me out of myself. It is one of the glories of Spain, and makes me feel a new being with one foot on earth and one in heaven. Can you wonder that I should like to inhabit yonder cave? Day by day I should watch the sun rise and the sun set, all the hours between given to happiness and contemplation. As I look on at these effects of nature my soul seems to go out in a great apocalypse of melody. The air is filled with celestial music. Yet no doubt our Princ.i.p.al is right, and in the end the influence would not be good for me. I am a strange contradiction. There are moments when I feel that I could go back to the world and take my place and play my part in all its rush and excitement; other moments when I could welcome the solitude of the desert, the repose of the grave."

It was almost impossible to turn away from the scene, undoubtedly one of the great panoramas of the world. Here, indeed, we seemed to gaze upon all its kingdoms and glories. Without the least desire to become hermits, we would willingly have spent days upon the mountain. As that could not be we presently commenced our long descent, winding about the mountain paths, gathering specimens of rare wildflowers, and gazing upon the world below. We made many a halt, rested in many a friendly and verdant nook, and took in many an impression never to be forgotten. On returning to the settlement we felt we had been to a new world where angels walked unseen. It was difficult to come back to the lower levels of life. We had quite an affection for our patient mule, that looked at us out of its gentle eyes as though it knew quite well the service rendered was as valued as it was freely given.

Salvador joined us at luncheon: we would not be denied.

"It is a fast-day," he said; "how can I turn it into a feast?"

"You are a traveller, and as such are permitted an indulgence."

He smiled. "It is true," he returned. "I perceive that you know something of our rules." Nevertheless he was abstemious almost to fasting. "And yet it has been indeed a feast compared with my daily food," he said when it was over. "Now would you like to go into the church and have some music? My soul is full of the melody I heard on the mountain."

So it happened that presently we were listening to such strains as we never shall hear again. Once more we were lifted to paradise with melody that was more heavenly than earthly. Again his very soul seemed pa.s.sing out in music. Had he gone on for hours we should never have moved. But it came to an end, and silence fell, and presently we had to say farewell.

"I cannot say it," he cried in a voice slightly tremulous. "It has been a day of days to me, never to be repeated. Another glimpse of the world, and a final leave-taking thereof. I will never again repeat this experience--unless you return and once more ask me to guide you up Mons Serratus."

This was very improbable, and he knew it. He grasped our hand in silence, essayed to speak, but the farewell words died unuttered. Then he silently turned, drew up his cowl and left us for ever. We watched him disappear within the shadows of the church, heard a distant door closed, and knew that in a moment he would have regained the solitude of his cell.

We went back to the world. As we crossed the quadrangle the little lay brother who had first received us caught sight of and skipped towards us.

"Welcome to Montserrat. I am most happy to see you," he cried. "So you have been to the top of the mountain to see the sun rise. And our good Salvador has been your guide. He is lucky to get so many indulgences, but he deserves them. What would the school do without him?--lose half its pupils. And what would the convent do without the school?--starve.

Did you sleep comfortably in your beautiful rooms?"

We thought it hardly worth while to relate our ghostly visitations, and left him with the impression that, like H. C., we had slept the sleep of the just.

"And now you are going back to Barcelona," he said. "Well, there is nothing more to be seen. After looking upon the beautiful black Virgin and sunrise from St. Michael's chapel, you may depart in peace."

And in peace we departed when the time came, wondering whether we should ever again look upon this little world and listen to the divine harmonies of Salvador of Montserrat.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A STUDY IN GREY.

Manresa--Tropical deluge--Rash judgment--Catalan hills and valleys--Striking approach--Taking time by the forelock--Primitive inn--Strange a.s.sembly--Unpleasant alternative--Sebastien--Manresa under a cloud--Wonderful outlines--Disappointing church--Sebastien leads the way--Old-world streets--Picturesque and pathetic--Popular character--"What would you, senor?"--Sebastien's Biblical knowledge at fault--Lesson deferred--A revelation--La Seo--Church cold and lifeless--Cave of Ignatius Loyola--Hermitage of St. Dismas--Juan Chanones--Fasting and penance--Visions and revelations--Spiritual warfare--Eve of the Annunciation--Exchanging dresses--Knight turns monk--Juan Pascual--Loyola comes to Manresa--Fanaticism--Vale of Paradise--"Spiritual Exercises"--Founding the Jesuit Order--Dying to self--The fair Anita--In the convent chapel--Two novices--Vision of angels--The White Ladies--Agonising moment--Another Romeo and Juliet--Back to the hotel--Sebastien disconsolate--"To-morrow the sun will s.h.i.+ne"--Building castles in the air--A prophecy fulfilled.

Only a few miles from Montserrat and within sight of some of its mountain peaks, you find the wonderful old town of Manresa. Thither we wended our way one gloomy morning.

From the skies came a constant downpour of almost tropical rain. We were well sheltered and comfortably housed in Barcelona, but H. C. declared Joseph's friend was a true prophet after all, the rainy season had set in, and if we waited for the weather, we might wait for ever.

Acting upon this rash judgment we departed under lowering skies. Water ran down the streets like small rivers, and the omnibus waded to the station.

"Such days have their beauty," said H. C. in his best artistic style.

"The effect of atmosphere is very fine. And after all we are not made of sugar."

"We need be to bear this infliction calmly," was the reply; a sarcasm lost upon H. C. who was diligently studying the clouds.

The very train seemed to struggle against the elements as it made way through the Catalan hills and valleys, and we certainly acknowledged a peculiar charm as we saw them half veiled through the mist and the rain that yet was distinctly depressing. On nearing Manresa, it lightened a little: the clouds lifted and the rain ceased, but only for a short respite.

Nothing could be more striking than the approach to the old town.

Perched on a hill, outlined against the grey sky was the famous old cathedral, rising upwards like a vision. Far down at the foot of the hill ran the rapid river, winding through the country between deep banks. A splendid old bridge added much to the impressive scene, about which there was a wildness that seemed very much in harmony with the grey and gloomy skies.

As we crossed the bridge outside the railway station, a young man, well built, handsome, with a fresh colour and honest face, came up and offered to bring us a carriage or personally conduct us to the hotel.

Few people visit Manresa; omnibuses are unknown, and carriages only come out when ordered. We chose to walk, in spite of the rain, which was coming down again with vengeance. The services of the guide were accepted, and we soon found that he filled the important office of general factotum to the hotel.

"Ah, senor," taking us into his confidence in the first five minutes, "if you would only pet.i.tion the padrone in my favour and get him to promote me to the dining-room! As it is, I fetch and carry all day long and scarcely earn money enough to pay for the boots I wear out."

We certainly thought no time was being lost in enlisting our sympathies, and mildly suggested the padrone might not thank us for meddling with his own affairs.