"It must be a gala day," said Madame de la Torre, listening for a moment to the swelling clamour.

"It is for your arrival, madame," returned the priest gallantly. "They wish to do you honour."

Our fair Eve laughed. "Monsieur de Nevada," she cried, "you were never intended for a priest. It was a mistaken vocation. You ought to have married, and your wife would have been your idol."

Under the circ.u.mstances it was a somewhat unfortunate speech. The drama in de Nevada's life had taken place long before her birth. She evidently knew nothing of the story. But the priest had outlived his sorrow, and was of an age to sit loosely to the things of earth. A momentary shadow pa.s.sed over his face, gone as soon as seen.

"Madame," he laughed in clear tones, "if I were forty years younger and Mademoiselle de Costello were not Madame de la Torre, she would almost induce me to forget my vows. As it is, all is well. I am saved from temptation. Valencia at last! Never did journey pa.s.s so quickly and pleasantly."

A well-appointed omnibus was in waiting. We filled it comfortably, and in a few moments found ourselves at the Hotel Espana. The manager settled us in admirable quarters, and having some time to spare before dinner we went out to survey the fair city by evening light.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.

First impressions--Devoted to pleasure--Peace-loving--Climate makes gay and lively--New element--Few traces of the past--Old palaces--Steals into the affections--City of the Cid--Ecclesiastical attractions--Archbishopric--University--Homer must nod sometimes--Comparative repose--De Nevada carries us off--Admirable host--Conversational--Grave and gay--Mercy, not sacrifice--Library--At Puzol--Exacting a promise--The hour sounds--Count Pedro appears--Fragrant coffee--Served by magic--Specially prepared temptation--Perverting facts--Land flowing with milk and honey--Inquiring mind--Mighty man of valour--Cid likened to Cromwell--Retribution--Ibn Jehaf the murderer--Reign of terror--The faithful Ximena--Cid's death-blow--Priest turns schoolmaster--"Beware!"--Earthly paradise--Land of consolation--System of irrigation--Famous council--Poetical Granada--No appeal--Apostles' Gateway--Earth's fascinations--Picturesque peasants--Pretty women--Countess Pedro shakes her head--Leave-taking--Next morning--Quiet activity--Market day--Splendours of flower-market--Lonja de Seda--Vanishing dream--Audiencia--San Salvador--Antiquity yields to comfort--Convent of San Domingo--Miserere--Impressive ceremony--City of Flowers--Without the walls--Famous river--Change of scene.

Valencia proved more modern and bustling than we had imagined. After the quiet streets of Tarragona it appeared to us the most crowded place we had ever been in; tramcars ran to and fro; there was much noise and excitement. Half the crowd was composed of the student cla.s.s. All seemed in an uproar, but it was only their natural tone and manner. The Valencians, especially the lower cla.s.ses, are devoted to pleasure; the work of the day over, they live for enjoyment.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ANCIENT GATEWAY: VALENCIA.]

Involuntarily we were reminded of our old days in the Quartier Latin; but there, excitement often meant revolutionary mischief. The Valencians are peace-loving, and their climate forces them to be gay and lively.

Though pa.s.sionate and hasty, like a violent tornado the rage soon pa.s.ses. This evening, in spite of much movement, a constant buzzing of voices, an excitement that filled the air, everything was in order.

Laughter and chatter abounded, far more so than we had found in most Spanish towns. Until now the character of the Spaniard on ordinary occasions had seemed rather given to silence: in Valencia we came upon a new element, approaching the French or Italian.

The city has lost much of its ancient interest. As late as 1871, the wonderful old walls, ma.s.sive and battlemented, were pulled down to find work for the poor. Twelve gates admitted to the interior: and what the walls were may be judged by the few gates that remain.

Within the city the air is close and relaxing, the skies are brilliant, the sun intensely hot, the streets narrow and densely packed with houses. This was designed to keep out the heat, but also keeps out air and light. The houses in the side-streets are tall, ma.s.sive and sombre-looking, and here some of the wonderful old palaces remain. The princ.i.p.al thoroughfares are commonplace; one has, as it were, to seek out the beauties. It is in its exceptional features that Valencia shines, and gradually steals into your affections. Not, however, as Tarragona the favoured. The pure air, stately repose and dignified charm of that Dream of the Past is very opposed to the noisy unrest and crowded thoroughfares, constant going to and fro, and confined atmosphere of this ancient city of the Cid.

Nevertheless it has its ecclesiastical attractions in the way of churches: some with interesting towers, though few with fine interiors.

It is an archbishopric, therefore has a cathedral. It possesses a university, and most of the crowd we saw evidently thought that the bow cannot always be strung and Homer must sometimes nod. They fill the cafes and theatres, go mad with excitement in the bull-ring when the Sunday performance is given, and occasionally have a free fight amongst themselves; when some of them get locked up by way of warning to the many rather than as a punishment to the few. After such an outbreak, never very desperate, peace reigns for a time: peace that is never seriously broken.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A STREET IN VALENCIA.]

It was a relief that first evening to return to the comparative repose of the hotel. When the hour for dinner had struck, de Nevada in clerical garments came to our rooms and carried us off to his own sitting-room where dinner was served. We seemed fated to fall in with the clerical element in Spain, and as yet had certainly not regretted it. De Nevada was evidently well known and highly considered by the hotel people, who exerted their best efforts in his favour, which also fell to our portion. His conversation was a mixture of grave and gay, with much wit and humour. He had outlived his sorrows, it may be, yet their influence remained. Every now and then a chance word or allusion seemed to vibrate some long-silent chord in heart or memory. A momentary shadow would pa.s.s over his face as a small cloud pa.s.sing over the sun for an instant overshadows the earth. It was over in a flash, and he would at once be his genial, jovial self, full of strong spirits toned down by excellent breeding and the thought of what was due to his cloth. Probably we saw more of his inner character than if we had dined with the de la Torres.

We had him to ourselves, his undivided attention, and amongst various topics he gave us a great insight into many of the by-ways of the Spanish Church. "It is a subject in which I am deeply interested," he said. "I am writing a book thereon, and devoting considerable s.p.a.ce to the vexed argument of the Inquisition. It has never been properly handled, and I am not afraid to say that it was a serious blot, if not on the characters, at least on the judgment of Ferdinand and Isabella.

Souls were never yet gained nor religions established by cruelty and torture. It is partly for that reason that I am here. The Archbishop has a magnificent library, and I want a week of reference amongst the books.

We are as brothers, and I should take up my quarters in the palace, only that I like to be independent. To-day he is at Puzol, where he has a country house. When here I generally dine with him; was to have done so to-morrow night; but it is an informal engagement, and if you will promise to meet me again at the same hour, we will dine here together.

And now the hour sounds for the de la Torres. Let us be punctual, as we must be so in leaving. Did you ever see so charming, so devoted a couple? Who would not dwell in such a fools' paradise?"

He sent our maitre-d'hotel to inquire if it would be agreeable to them to receive us, and in response Count Pedro appeared upon the scene. All our rooms adjoined.

"We are more than ready," he cried. "I am quite sure," laughing, "that you think we spend all our time sitting hand-in-hand and looking into each other's eyes. My dear Nevada, we are quite a sober couple, with a great deal of matter-of-fact sense about us."

"Which only proves how difficult it is for people to know themselves,"

laughed the priest. "But now for the sunshine of madame's presence."

In their sitting-room all banqueting signs had been removed. On the table steamed fragrant coffee, with a decanter of Chartreuse, side by side with cigars and cigarettes. The most fastidious woman in Spain will never object to smoking in her presence. Countess de la Torre had exchanged her becoming travelling-dress for a still more becoming evening costume. She looked dazzlingly beautiful, her pure white neck and arms decorated with jewels. As she rose and received us with a high-bred, bewitching grace, we thought we had seldom seen a fairer vision.

"Ah!" cried de Nevada, glancing at the table. "Your feast of orange blossoms and b.u.t.terflies' wings was served by magic. In fact I am not aware that we are told Adam and Eve in Paradise ate anything. Life was eternal and needed no renewing."

"You forget," laughed Madame de la Torre. "They ate fruit, or how could Eve have tempted Adam with an apple?"

"I have always held that as a specially prepared temptation," said the priest. "They had never eaten anything until then, and the danger lay in the new experience."

"Monsieur de Nevada, you must go to school again," laughed Countess Pedro. "Or you are wilfully perverting facts to suit your purpose. I shall have to inform against you to the Archbishop. We are going to see him to-morrow morning. Are you not in his jurisdiction?"

"No, madame," replied the priest. "I hold no preferment in the province of Valencia. This Garden of Spain blooms not for my pleasure. Yet, how can I say so, for who enjoys it more when fate brings me here?"

"It is indeed the Garden of Spain," said de la Torre. "I often wished we were as favoured in the neighbourhood of Toledo--though we have little to complain of."

"Valencia is a land flowing with milk and honey," said de Nevada. "You must not hope for two Canaans so near each other."

"Tell me," said Madame de la Torre, as she poured out coffee with a graceful hand, "why this town is called Valencia del Cid. I thought the Cid had only to do with Burgos. I fear I am exposing my ignorance."

"It would be difficult to know what the Cid had not to do with and where he did not go," returned de Nevada. "He was a mighty man of valour, according to his lights: also a great barbarian. In those days we might all have been the same. In my own mind, I have always likened him to the English Cromwell; and if Cromwell was in any way better than he, it is that he lived six centuries later. They were equally determined and unscrupulous. What a wonderful pa.s.sage is that in the history of England! But the Cid had much to do with Valencia. He came here in 1094, and after a siege of twenty months took the town. It is remarkable how retribution follows a man, as surely as shadow follows the substance.

'Be sure your sin will find you out.' Never was truer proverb What says Shakespeare?" continued the priest, turning to us:

"'Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, The fateful shadows that hang by us still.'

"I don't know that I quote correctly, and my English is barbarous," he laughed. "Never could I master that fine language; perhaps for the reason that I never dwelt long enough in your country. Few and short have my visits been. It was in 1095 that the Cid took Valencia. Ibn Jehaf the murderer was on the throne, having killed Yahya, whom Alonso VI. had placed there. This act brought the Cid down upon them. The first thing he did was to burn Jehaf alive on the great square that you will see to-morrow when you go to the Archbishop: act worthy of the tyrant.

He ruled here for five years. His will was law; it was a small reign of terror. Then he died, and his faithful wife Ximena endeavoured to hold the reins. Those were not times when a woman could rule easily, and in 1101 the Moors brought hers to an end and banished her from the province. It is said that when the Cid captured Valencia he took his wife and daughter to a height to show them the richness of the country; and promised his favourite daughter that if she pleased him in her marriage that fair prospect from the boundaries of the Saguntum Hills on the north to the confines of the sea on the east should be her dowry: a promise never to be fulfilled. Within three years the daughter died unwedded; a death so violent that it is said to have struck a death-blow to the Cid, and to have brought home to him many of his perfidious acts.

Certain it is that he was never the same man afterwards. Another two years brought his own life to a close. But, madame, you are beguiling me into a history, and turning the old priest into a schoolmaster."

Our fair hostess laughed.

"You make me your debtor," she replied. "I shall take greater interest in what I see to-morrow, and look at everything through the eyes of the past. Has the Archbishop any relics of the Cid?"

"Not only of the Cid, but of many other historical persons and events,"

said de Nevada. "You must especially notice the library with its fine collection of books. I may be there at the moment, and if so will promote myself to the honour of Librarian-in-chief to Countess Pedro de la Torre."

"Beware!" laughed madame. "Countess Pedro has a thirst for knowledge.

Your office will be no sinecure."

"My labour of love will at least equal madame's diligence, though the climate is hardly favourable to very hard work," smiled the priest.

"Even Nature conspires to indolence in the people. The ground brings forth abundantly, and almost unaided. The Moors thought it an earthly paradise--as it is. I am not sure but they considered it the scene of the first paradise. Heaven, they said, was suspended immediately above, and a portion of heaven had fallen to earth and formed Valencia. To the sick and sorrowing it is a land of consolation. In its balmy airs--far more healing than those of Italy--the former recover strength; in the brilliance of its sunshine, the blueness of its skies, the splendour of its flowers and vegetation, the troubled mind finds peace and repose."

"Its system of irrigation--to descend to the commonplace," laughed de la Torre--"is perfect. Does the council still sit in the Apostles'

Gateway?"

"Indeed it does," replied the priest. "And far from being commonplace, the idea to me, surrounded by its halo of the past, is full of picturesque romance."

"What is that?" asked madame. "It is dangerous to make these remarks before an inquiring mind."