Glories of Spain Part 27

She looked if anything more terrible than last night. Her cavernous mouth was wide open, but no sound came forth, though her capacious jaws moved up and down and her eyes rolled in a fine frenzy. Her sleeves were tucked up above the elbow, revealing a muscular arm that would not have disgraced a prize-fighter. She was evidently primed for another field day at the wash-tub. When we went in she was smiling sweetly upon H. C.

"What does it all mean?" we asked. "Surely you have not been offering to elope with the Dragon?"

"I simply want my boots," said H. C. unromantically. "I rang away at the bell just as we knocked at the door last night, and with the same result. The place _must_ be bewitched. Then I opened the door and clapped my hands, and the Dragon suddenly sprang out upon me from a dark cupboard close by, right into my very arms. I nearly had a fit of convulsions. And now when I ask for my boots all she does is to mouth and shake her head. What's to be done? Is it a plot to keep us here?

Have we fallen into the hands of the Philistines?"

Being in a more advanced stage of toilet than H. C., we marched forth in search of the landlord on what we hoped would not prove a bootless errand. He was in his counting-house counting out his money--and arranging his dinners. On making anxious inquiries we discovered that in Lerida boot-cleaning was considered one of the fine arts. There was a Boot-cleaner in Ordinary to the town, who took the inns in turn and was paid according to his work. People had to wait his pleasure. That morning he had not yet arrived; we had risen early.

Fortunately he appeared at the moment: an old, grey-bearded man with a fine presence, who looked almost past boot-cleaning or any other occupation. We found him quite above his humble employment. He was a Frenchman by birth, but had lived in Spain for nearly seventy years--was now verging on ninety, and his old wife, he told us, was eighty-seven, and two years ago had gone blind. He had not forgotten his native language, which he still spoke very purely. In his last days he was supporting himself and his old wife by cleaning boots. It was the custom of the town. The hotels would do anything for you but clean boots. As far as he was concerned he just managed to keep the wolf from the door, and that after all was all they wanted.

He went off to his task, and returning to H. C. we found a change had come over the spirit of his dream. He sat hilarious and comforted before an empty tray of rolls and coffee, our own share as well as his having disappeared, whilst the Dragon had departed to adorn other realms.

In due time the old man arrived with his boots, was duly paid for his work, and we presently found ourselves under the blue skies of Lerida.

CHAPTER XX.

THE STORY OF A LIFE.

Lerida by daylight--Second city in Catalonia--Past history--Days of the Goths--And Moors--Becomes a bishopric--Troublous times--Brave people--Striking cathedral--Splendid outlines--Desecration--The new cathedral--Senseless tyranny--One of the most interesting of towns--Crowded market-place--Picturesque arcades and ancient gateways--Wine-pressers--Good offer refused--Another revelation--Wonderful streets--Amongst the immortals--Our Boot-cleaner in Ordinary again--Thereby hangs a tale--His story--Blind wife--Modest request--Nerissa--Charming room--Little queen in the arm-chair--Faultless picture--Renouncements but no regrets--"All a new world"--Time to pa.s.s out of life--Back to the quiet streets--H. C. contemplative--Proposes emigration to Salt Lake City--Lerida glorified by its idyll.

A greater contrast than Lerida in the morning and Lerida at midnight could not be imagined. Last night had by no means prepared us for the charms of to-day.

Little as one hears of it, it is the second city in Catalonia, with an historical and eventful past that has submitted to constant wars and sieges. In the far-off days it was occupied by the Romans, and the present bridge is built on Roman foundations. It was held by Pompey in the first century B.C. and these were unsettled times for Ilerda, as it was then called. In very early days it became a university town, but so little esteemed that the students of Rome were sent here when rusticated. As the centuries rolled on it grew in favour, though the trail of the rusticated Romans must have remained upon it, for two of its most famous students were Vicenti Ferrer the inquisitor and Calixtus III. the wicked pope.

The Goths had much to do with Lerida, and in 546 it became a Bishopric.

It fell under the influence of the Moors, but was destroyed by the French at the end of the eighth century.

For the next 400 years little is heard of Lerida; but in 1150 it was restored by Ramon Berenguer, and quickly became popular and important.

In the seventeenth century during the great Catalonian revolt, Lerida chose Louis XIII. for king; upon which Philip IV. came down upon them and defeated La Mothe, causing him to raise the siege. Four years afterwards, in 1644, the French again tried to take it but were again defeated. The Grand Conde opened another siege, and caused a number of violins to play before the town to encourage his soldiers. But this also had the effect of encouraging brave Gregorio Brito, the Portuguese Governor, who sallied forth with his army, silenced the fiddlers and put the French to the rout.

In the War of Succession Lerida was again besieged by the French, who behaved with great treachery and cruelly sacked the town after capitulation. Retaliation came in 1710, when Stanhope routed Philip V.

at Almenara. The French fled before the English bayonets, and Philip himself, in these early days of his long reign, nearly lost his life. He would have been spared many troubles.

A little later on, in 1810, during the Peninsular War, it was taken by Suchet, and the inhabitants men, women and children were so cruelly treated that the governor, unable to bear the sight of so much suffering, capitulated. Since then Lerida has enjoyed more or less tranquil days. She would now hardly be thought worth taking.

It was during some of these troublous times, in 1707, that her beautiful cathedral was desecrated, and remains to this day a prominent ill.u.s.tration of the barbarities of war. It towers 300 feet above the town, a magnificent outline against the clear blue sky. The first church existed here as far back as the sixth century. This in time gave place to the present church, of which the first stone was laid by Pedro II. in 1203. It is one of the finest specimens in Europe of the early-pointed style and its desecration was a world's regret. Nevertheless, its style is a little contradictory, for the windows are for the most part round-headed.

Perched on the summit of an almost perpendicular rock, it looks even higher and larger than it really is. Its fine octagonal steeple stands out a bold and conspicuous object over many a mile of plain and country. As the sun declines, its shadow falls upon the houses of the town sleeping below, and creeps over the surface of the river. Near it is a building now used as a powder magazine, but in the Middle Ages was a palace given up to the rude scenes of splendour of which those days were typical, and before that it had been a Moorish castle and a Christian temple. Its walls have defied the centuries, but nothing is left of its Moorish beauty and refinement.

In 1707 the French turned the great church into a fortress, and it was never restored to its sacred uses. Peace fell upon Lerida, but the fat old canons had learned to s.h.i.+rk the steep climbing of the rocks in all seasons and all weathers. They agitated for a new cathedral within the town, and had their wish. A hideous Corinthian building arose, and the magnificent church upon the hill after five hundred years of faithful service was shorn of its glory.

Yet its outlines are as fine and as striking as ever, and the columns, stonework and tracery that remain, still bear witness to its ancient splendour. It is, however, with the greatest difficulty that admission is obtained, a senseless piece of tyranny. The interior is to the last degree interesting to the lover of ancient architecture, and there are no military or other secrets to be carried away. But say what one will, courtesy is not one of the virtues of the Spanish, and in this matter the Catalonians perhaps take the lead. They are abrupt and uncivil, and unwilling to stir hand or foot to oblige you unless something is to be gained by it.

Sallying forth this morning, we had these magnificent outlines in full view. We have said that the tenebrous darkness of last night had not prepared us for the charms of to-day. Lerida proved one of the most interesting of Spanish towns. This morning it was full of life and movement. The market-place was crowded with buyers and sellers; men and women still wearing a certain amount of picturesque costume. The air seemed full of sound. Fruit and flower-stalls were splendid, and large quant.i.ties of each could be bought for a very small sum.

As we had discovered last night, the town consisted of one long street running parallel with the river. It was narrow and straggling, full of lights and shadows. Now and then you came upon short arcades that were singularly picturesque, whilst every here and there a fine old gateway led to the river-side. These gateways form part of the fortifications of the town, for Lerida is strongly protected.

Making way through this long street, we presently came upon a wine-pressing machine in the very middle of the road, worked by strong, stalwart men; a very southern and picturesque scene. We watched them pile up the grapes, that had already once been pressed, until the machine was full. Then adjusting it by means of long poles, they turned the press and the rich red grape-juice poured itself into a vat placed for the purpose. The air was full of the scent of muscatel. The men looked as though the red juice ran in their veins and inspired them with energy.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LERIDA MULES.]

As the vat filled, it was emptied with a great ladle into a larger barrel that stood inside the archway of the adjoining house. The sight was novel, and the men seemed amused at our interest. They offered us of the juice in a small vessel, declaring it excellent; but there was a suspicious want of cleanliness about the whole thing--it might have been fancy--and we civilly declined the attention; upon which, possibly to set us a good example, they emptied the vessel themselves, smacked their lips and p.r.o.nounced it very good.

Narrow streets led upwards from the main street to the old cathedral, a steep, rough climb. It was a place to revel in, full of wonderful perspectives and artistic groupings, as much the result of accident as of purpose. The eye was arrested by a bewildering acc.u.mulation of wrought-iron balconies, cas.e.m.e.nts and sunblinds, all sparkling in suns.h.i.+ne and shadow, whilst above one could trace a long succession of ancient gabled roofs, clear-cut against the blue sky, the projecting water-spout of every house looking like a grinning gargoyle and adding much to the quaint antiquity of the place. Through the old gates we watched the mules pa.s.sing in their rich and curious trappings.

Very distinctly we felt that Lerida was a revelation and a discovery; a town by no means to be pa.s.sed over when searching out the glories of Spain.

We found the narrow thoroughfare in which last night we had almost come to grief; so tortuous and ill-paved, we wondered how we had escaped destruction. Here and there small houses of the meanest description broke the continuity of dead grey walls. At the door of the cottage H.

C. had charged sat an evil-looking dog that growled and showed its teeth as we pa.s.sed and evidently connected us with the midnight raid. Whether the owner of the blunderbuss had killed himself with his own weapon or was only absent on business remained uncertain; he did not appear.

Continuing upwards we presently came out upon the open s.p.a.ce surrounding the old cathedral.

The precincts were certainly not ecclesiastical. We seemed to have reached the poorest part of the town, and the houses were quite picturesque in their shabbiness. A splendid doorway admitted to the interior of the semi-religious fortress, before which a sentinel with gun and bayonet kept watch and ward. No one pa.s.sed him without a special permission from the churlish old commandant of the town, who, after tracing your pedigree back to Adam, bestowed the simple favour as though conferring upon you the dignity of Spain's high order of the Saint Esprit.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LERIDA.]

Strangers and especially Englishmen, evidently visit Lerida at long intervals, and wherever we went we found ourselves attracting an amount of attention that might have confused more bashful minds. As in most other places, the people were especially interested in our little kodak, and seemed to think the honour of being taken equal to canonisation. In the market-place men and women threw themselves into groups and att.i.tudes, set out their stalls to the best advantage, and begged the favour of being made immortal.

But as the day wore on the crowd dispersed and disappeared, the market-place grew empty, arcades lost their loungers; the afternoon shadows lengthened; there were not so many sun-flashes in the air; outlines mellowed as the sky behind them grew less dazzling; the river lost some of its jewels.

We were gazing at the latter, at the wonderful outlines of the town rising gradually upon its rock, crowned by that magnificent fortress with its imposing and impressive tower, when a voice suddenly said beside us: "We hope, senor, you have spent a happy day in Lerida and seen the interior of the old cathedral--now nothing but a useless barrack. The commandant suffers from dyspepsia and is capricious. No one ever knows beforehand whether he will grant or withhold permission. It entirely depends upon his digestion."

We turned and saw our Boot-cleaner in Ordinary standing meekly and humbly beside us. Noting his fine face--it was really dignified in spite of his office--his white hair, his nearly ninety years, we thought humility should have been on our side.

"How is it that you, a Frenchman, come to be living on Spanish ground?"

we asked.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WINE-PRESSERS: LERIDA.]

"Ah, senor, thereby hangs a tale. If I am to give you my reason, I must go back seventy years in my life, for it dates from that time. And that, you see, will take us very nearly to the days of Waterloo. All my people were respectable and well-to-do, some even distinguished: there was a prosperous life before me. I was in the French army, serving my time. I had been unfortunate and drawn a low number in conscription; besides which, soldiers were wanted and few escaped. Napoleon in devastating other countries had not spared his own. It was then I committed the one great folly of my life, which has ever since been one of repentance. I fell in love with a beautiful Norman girl of gentle blood and breeding; so madly, so desperately, that I think for the time being I lost the balance of my mind. Every consideration faded before the strength of my pa.s.sion. This beautiful girl seemed equally in love with me. I was young, they told me I was good-looking, and in my uniform I dare say I was not unattractive. Then came my error. I obtained a week's leave of absence, and deserted. We fled together to Spain, and of course I was outlawed. I sacrificed home, country and honour; I ruined all my worldly prospects; and for what? For a pair of bewitching eyes. Nay, she had more than that; she was a good woman and has made me a good wife; but had she been twice favoured, my folly would have been equally vast. For years and years I was possessed of a fever--that of mal du pays: all I had deliberately thrown away gained a hundred-fold in charm, haunted my mind by day, coloured my dreams. But there was no place for repentance.

Now it has all pa.s.sed away. Senor, my great-nephew is a French count, rich and well spoken of, one of the high ones of the land. He does not even know of my existence. Life has only one thing left me--death! But I pray I may live to close the sightless eyes of my wife, and then follow her speedily, that we may rest in one grave."

"Has your wife long been blind?" we asked in sympathy.

"Only two years, senor. You would not know it to look at her. In spite of her eighty-seven years, her eyes are still soft and bright, though closed to the world. I have now not only to earn the daily bread, but to buy it and manage the household. We have many good neighbours who help the old couple, and look in upon the wife when I am at work. Ah, senor, it is delightful to find one to whom I can talk in my own tongue. Surely the senor is French too?"

"Land of our birth," we confessed; "nevertheless we are English, and would have it so."

The old man hesitated; we saw there was something upon his mind; it came out at last.

"Would the senor deign to come and see the wife, and talk to her a little of France and the French? She still speaks it perfectly, and she too has often longed for the country and privileges that for her sake I threw away. Such a visit would colour the remaining of her days. It is but a few steps."

Who could resist such an appeal? We turned and accompanied the patriarch, who in spite of his nearly ninety years, still walked with a certain amount of vigour. The few steps grew into a good many, as the old man pa.s.sed under the gateway and turned to the left down the long narrow street.