The Velvet Glove Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  PILGRIMSIt is not often that nature takes the trouble to stir the heart of maninto any emotion stronger than a quiet admiration or a peaceful wonder.Here and there on the face of the earth, however, the astonishing work ofGod gives pause to the most casual observer, the most thoughtlesstraveler.

  "Why did He do this?" one wonders. And no geologist--not even a Frenchgeologist with his quick imagination and lively sense of thepicturesque--can answer the question.

  On first perceiving the sudden, uncouth height of Montserrat the travelermust assuredly ask in his own mind, "Why?"

  The mountain is of granite, where no other granite is. It belongs to noneighbouring formation. It stands alone, throwing up its rugged peaksinto a cloudless sky. It is a piece from nothing near it---from nothingnearer, one must conclude, than the moon. No wonder it stirred theimagination of mediaeval men dimly groping for their God.

  Ignatius de Loyola solved the question with that unbounded assurancewhich almost always accompanies the greatest of human blunders. It is theself-confident man who compasses the finest wreck, Loyola, wounded in thedefense of that strongest little city in Europe, Pampeluna--wounded,alas! and not killed--jumped to the conclusion that God had reared upMontserrat as a sign. For it was here that the Spanish soldier, who wasto mould the history of half the world, dedicated himself to Heaven.

  Within sight of the Mediterranean and of the Pyrenees, towering above thebrown plains of Catalonia, this shrine is the greatest in Christendomthat bases its greatness on nothing but tradition. Thousands of pilgrimsflock here every year. Should they ask for history, they are given alegend. Do they demand a fact, they are told a miracle. On payment of asufficient fee they are shown a small, ill-carved figure in wood. Themonastery is not without its story; for the French occupied it and burntit to the ground. For the rest, its story is that of Spain, torn hitherand thither in the hopeless struggle of a Church no longer able to meetthe demands of an enlightened religious comprehension, and endeavouringto hold back the inevitable advance of the human understanding.

  To-day a few monks are permitted to live in the great houses teachingmusic and providing for the wants of the devout pilgrims. Without themonastery gate, there is a good and exceedingly prosperous restaurantwhere the traveler may feed. In the vast houses, is accommodation forrich and poor; a cell and clean linen, a bed and a monastic basin. Themonks keep a small store, where candles may be bought and matches, andeven soap, which is in small demand.

  Evasio Mon arrived at Montserrat in the evening, having driven in opencarriage from the small town of Monistrol in the valley below. It was thehour of the table d'hote, and the still evening air was ambient withculinary odours. Mon went at once to the office of the monastery, andthere received his sheets and pillow-case, his towel, his candle, and thekey of his cell in the long corridor of the house of Santa Maria de Jesu.He knew his way about these holy houses, and exchanged a nod ofrecognition with the lay brother on duty in the office.

  Then this traveler hurried across the courtyard and out of the great gateto join the pilgrims of the richer sort at table in the dining-room ofthe restaurant. There were four who looked up from their plates and bowedin the grave Spanish way when he entered the room. Then all fell to theirfish again in silence; for Spain is a silent country, and only babbles inthat home of fervid eloquence and fatal verbosity, the Cortes. It isalways dangerous to enter into conversation with a stranger in Spain, forthere is practically no subject upon which the various nationalities areunable to quarrel. A Frenchman is a Frenchman all the world over, andpolitics may be avoided by a graceful reference to the Patrie, for whichRepublican and Legitimist are alike prepared to die. But the Spaniard maybe an Aragonese or a Valencian, an Andalusian or a Guipuzcoan, andpatriotism is a flower of purely local growth and colour.

  Thus men, meeting in public places have learnt to do so in silence; and atable d'hote is a wordless function unless the inevitable Andalusian--hewho takes the place of the Gascon in France--is present with his babbleand his laugh, his fine opinion of himself, and his faculty for making asacrifice of his own dignity at that over-rated altar--the shrine ofsociability.

  There was no Andalusian at this small table to serve at once as a link ofsympathy between the quiet men, who would fain silence him, and a meansof making unsociable persons acquainted with each other. The five menwere thus permitted to dine in a silence befitting their surroundings andtheir station in life. For they were obviously gentlemen, and obviouslyof a thoughtful and perhaps devout habit of mind. A keen observer who hashad the cosmopolitan education, say, of an attache, is usually able toassign a nationality to each member of a mixed assembly; but there was asubtle resemblance to each other in these diners, which would have madethe task a hard one. These were citizens of the world, and their likenesslay deeper than a mere accident of dress. In fact, the most remarkablething about them was that they were all alike studiously unremarkable.

  After the formal bow, Evasio Mon gave his attention to the fare setbefore him. Once he raised his narrow gaze, and, with a smile ofrecognition, acknowledged the grave and very curt nod of a man seatedopposite. A second time he met the glance of another diner, a stout,puffy man, who breathed heavily while he ate. Both men alike avertedtheir eyes at once, and both looked towards a little wizened man, doubledup in his chair, who ate sparingly, and bore on his wrinkled face andbent form, the evidence of such a weight of care as few but kings andministers ever know.

  So absorbed was he that after one glance at Evasio Mon he lapsed againinto his own thoughts. The very manner in which he crumbled his bread andhandled his knife and fork showed that his mind was as busy as a mill. Hewas oblivious to his surroundings; had forgotten his companions. His mindhad more to occupy it than one brief lifetime could hope to compass. Yethe was so clearly a man in authority that a casual observer couldscarcely have failed to perceive that these devout pilgrims, from Italy,from France, from far-off Poland, and Saragossa close at hand inCatalonia, had come to meet him and were subordinate to him.

  It was probably no small task to command such men as Evasio Mon--and theother four seemed no less pliable behind their gentle smile.

  When the dessert had been placed on the table and one or two hadreflectively eaten a baked almond, more from habit than desire, thelittle wizened man looked round the table with the manner of a ratherabsent-minded host.

  "It is eight o'clock," he said in French. "The monastery gate closes athalf-past. We have no time to discuss our business at this table. Shallwe go within the monastery gates? There is a seat by the wall, near thefountain, in the courtyard--"

  He rose as he spoke, and it became at once apparent that this was a greatman. For all stood aside as he passed out, and one opened the door as toa prince; of which amenities he took no heed.

  The monastery is built against the sheer side of the mountain, perched ona cornice, like a huge eagle's nest. The buildings have no pretense toarchitectural beauty, and consist of barrack-like houses built around aquadrangle. The chapel is at the farther end, and is, of course, thecentre of interest. Here is kept the sacred image, which has survived somany chances and changes; which, hidden for a hundred and fifty years ina cavern on the mountainside, made itself known at last by a miraculousillumination at night, and for the further guidance of the faithful gaveforth a sweet scent. It, moreover, selected this spot for its shrine byjibbing under the immediate eye of a bishop, and refusing to be carriedfurther up the mountain.

  The house of Santa Maria de Jesu has the advantage of being at the outerend of the quadrangle, and thus having no house opposite to it, faces asheer fall of three thousand feet. A fountain splashes in the courtyardbelow, and a low wall forms a long seat where the devout pass the eveninghours in that curt and epigrammatic conversation, which is more peacefulthan the quick talk of Frenchmen, and deeper than the babble of Italy.

  It was to this wall that the little wizened man led the way, and hereseated himself with a gesture, inviting his companions to do
the same.Had any idle observer been interested in their movements he would haveconcluded that these were four travelers, probably pilgrims of the betterclass, who had made acquaintance at the table d'hote.

  "I have come a long way," said the little man at once, speaking in therather rounded French of the Italian born, "and have left Rome at a timewhen the Church requires the help of even the humblest of her servants--Ihope our good Mon has something important and really effective this timeto communicate."

  Mon smiled at the implied reproach.

  "And I, too, have come from far--from Warsaw," said the stout man,breathing hard, as if to illustrate the length of his journey. "Let ushope that there is something tangible this time."

  He spoke with the gaiety and lightness of a Frenchman; for this was thatFrenchman of the North, a Pole.

  Mon lighted a cigarette, with a gay jerk of the match towards the lastspeaker, indicative of his recognition of a jest.

  "Something," continued the Pole, "more than great promises--somethingmore stable than a castle--in Spain. Ha, ha! You have not taken Pampelunayet, my friend. One does not hear that Bilboa has fallen into the handsof the Carlists. Every time we meet you ask for money. You must arrangeto give us something--for our money, my friend."

  "I will arrange," answered Mon in his quiet, neat enunciation, "to giveyou a kingdom."

  And he inclined his head forward to look at the Pole through the upperhalf of his gold-rimmed glasses.

  "And not a vague republic in the region of the North Pole," said thestout man with a laugh. "Well, who lives shall see."

  "You want more money--is that it?" inquired the little wizened man, whoseemed to be the leader though he spoke the least--a not unusualcharacteristic.

  "Yes," replied the Spaniard.

  "Your country has cost us much this year," said the little man, blinkinghis colourless eyes and staring at the ground as if making a mentalcalculation. "You have forced Germany and France into war. You have madeFrance withdraw her troops from Rome, and you gave Victor Emmanuel thechance he awaited. You have given all Europe--the nerves."

  "And now is the moment to play on those nerves," said Mon.

  "With your clumsy Don Carlos?"

  "It is not the man--it is the Cause. Remember that we are an ignorantnation. It is the ignorant and the half educated who sacrifice all for acause."

  "It is a pity you cannot buy a new Don Carlos with our money," put in thePole.

  "This one will serve," was the reply. "One must look to the future. Manyhave been ruined by success, because it took them by surprise. In case wesucceed, this one will serve. The Church does not want its kings to becapable--remember that."

  "But what does Spain want?" inquired the leader.

  "Spain doesn't know."

  "And this Prince of ours, whom you have asked to be your king. Is notthat a spoke in your wheel?" asked the man of few words.

  "A loose spoke which will drop out. No one--not even Prim--thinks that hewill last ten years. He may not last ten months."

  "But you have to reckon with the man. This son of Victor Emmanuel isclever and capable. One can never tell what may arise in a brain thatworks beneath a crown."

  "We have reckoned with him. He is honest. That tells his tale. No honestking can hope to reign over this country in their new Constitution. Itneeds a Bourbon or a woman."

  The quick, colourless eyes rested on Mon's face for a moment, and--whoknows?--perhaps they picked up Mon's secret in passing.

  "Something dishonest, in a word," put in the Pole.

  But nobody heeded him; for the word was with the leader.

  "When last we met," he said at length, "and you received a large sum ofmoney, you made a distinct promise; unless my memory deceives me."

  He paused, and no one suggested that his memory had ever made slip orlapse in all his long career.

  "You said you would not ask for money again unless you could showsomething tangible--a fortress taken and held, a great General bought, aProvince won. Is that so?"

  "Yes," answered Mon.

  "Or else," continued the speaker, "in order to meet the very justcomplaint from other countries, such as Poland for instance, that Spainhas had more than her share of the common funds--you would lay before ussome proposal of self-help, some proof that Spain in asking for help isprepared to help herself by a sacrifice of some sort."

  "I said that I would not ask for any sum that I could not double," saidMon.

  The little man sat blinking for some minutes silent in that absolutestillness which is peculiar to great heights--and is so marked atMontserrat that many cannot sleep there.

  "I will give you any sum that you can double," he said, at length.

  "Then I will ask you for three million pesetas."

  All turned and looked at him in wonder. The fat man gave a gasp. Withthree million pesetas he could have made a Polish republic. Mon onlysmiled.

  "For every million pesetas that you show me," said the little man, "Iwill hand you another million--cash for cash. When shall we begin?"

  "You must give me time," answered Mon, reflectively. "Say six monthshence."

  The little man rose in response to the chapel bell, which was slowlytolling for the last service of the day.

  "Come," he said, "let us say a prayer before we go to bed."