Sue Petigru Bowen - The Actress in High Life

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"She gathered flowers, partly white and red,
To make a subtle garland for her head,
And as an angel, heaven-like she sang."

But she presently returned to her seat, and to her favorite diversion
of exciting Moodie's controversial spirit, by asking him if there was
not something exceedingly impressive in the external religion of the
people they were among?

The term she used was enough to rouse him; but, checking himself, he
sneeringly said, "I think these mummeries are well contrived for their
purpose, to amuse a childish people, and keep them in a state of
childhood."

"And why should they not be amused?" said Lady Mabel, "since you will
view it in that light? The church, their nursing-mother, takes charge
of them, body and soul, and strives to make religion part and parcel
of the occupations of every hour of every day life. By spectacles,
processions, pictures, music, by the lonely way-side cross, by the
crucifix hidden in the bosom, by the neighboring convent bell, chiming
the hour of prayer, the Romanist is reminded forty times a day that he
does not live for this life alone. Does he seek amusement from books?
she takes out of his hands the lewd tale or lying romance, and puts
into it the more wonderful legend of a saint or a martyr. Does any son
of the church neglect the practice of charity? she sends him an humble
penniless friar to remind him of that duty. Does he strive to forget
his sins? she startles his slumbering conscience by duly summoning him
to the confessional. The youths and maidens, taking an evening walk,
led by early habit, stroll toward some neighboring chapel, and suspend
their thoughtless mirth, while they bend the knee to offer up a
prayer, and make the sign of the cross, in emblem of their faith in
Him who died upon it."

Moodie shook his head. "You have well named its external religion. It
is a whited sepulchre, full within of dead men's bones. The Kirk
swept out all that rubbish long ago, and the less it is like Rome the
nearer the pure faith."

"They would be odd Christians," said L'Isle, "who held nothing in
common with Rome. I doubt, too, whether it be possible to preserve the
substance with an utter disregard to form. When inspiration ceased, it
was time to frame liturgies and creeds. But there is one material
point in which the Kirk of Scotland and the Church of Rome still
strongly resemble each other."

Moodie pricked up his ears at this astounding assertion, and
scornfully asked: "What point is that, sir?"

"Their vicarious public worship," answered L'Isle. "They both pray by
proxy. The Papists employ a priest to pray for them in a dead language
which they do not understand, and the Presbyterians a minister to
offer up petitions unknown to his people until after they are uttered,
who stand listening, or seeming to listen, to this vicarious prayer,
which may be, and often is, unfitted to the wants of their hearts, and
the convictions of their consciences."

"And to escape these dangers, more possible than likely, you flee to
those dead formularies you call your liturgy," retorted Moodie.

"To the formalist and the negligent," L'Isle replied, "the liturgy is
but a form; but to the earnest churchman it is a thing of life. Using
it, the Christian congregation, priest and layman, pastor and flock,
join in an united confession of their sins, in the profession of their
common faith, in prayer for mercies needed, in thanksgiving for
blessings bestowed. God's praise is sung, his pardon to repentant
sinners authoritatively pronounced, the sacraments ordained by Christ
are reverently administered, and the whole body of revealed truth and
sacred history systematically recited to the people in the course of
each year--a most profitable teaching to the young and ignorant, who
cannot search the Scriptures for themselves. This is a true Christian
public worship, complete in itself. Nor do we neglect preaching as a
means of instruction and exhortation, without holding it to be an
always essential accompaniment, much less, as you do, the right arm in
the public worship of God."

"And to this form of words, made by man," objected Moodie, "you
attribute a divine character, little, if at all, below that which
belongs to the word of God."

"So far as it consists of the language of Scripture, rightly applied,
it is divine," said L'Isle. "But it is an error to say that our
liturgy, or any other worthy to be named, was made by a man, or the
men of any one age. It has a more catholic origin than that. The
spiritual experience of devout men of many centuries of Christianity,
realizing the needs of sinful humanity in its intercourse with its
Maker and Redeemer, and the comforting Spirit, have helped to build it
up, and thus adapted it, in its parts of general application, to the
spiritual wants, at all times, of every child of Adam."

"You speak up finely for your formal service, sir," said Moodie; "and
I may not be scholar enough to answer you. But every spiritual minded
man knows that it only fetters the spirit in prayer."

"Yet we might infer," said L'Isle, "from a passage in the Revelations
of St. John, that a liturgy is used by the four and twenty elders who
stand before the throne."

"You and Moodie do not seem to get any nearer to each other," said
Mrs. Shortridge, "in your rambles through the mazes of controversy."

"We only need here a well-trained son of Rome," answered L'Isle, "to
make confusion worse confounded. Luckily, Moodie and I can fight out
our duel in quiet, without having a dexterous adversary come in as
thirdsman, and kill us both."

The muleteer, who had shown signs of impatience unusual with him, now
pointed to the sun; in a few minutes they were again on the road,
which was but a bridle-path, and the country promised less and less as
they rode on. Their guide looked around doubtingly, and at length
turned aside to a half ruinous cottage, the only habitation they had
seen for miles, where he closely questioned an old woman whom he found
there as to the way before them. Little satisfied with her directions,
he presently stopped an idiotic looking fellow, with a huge head, whom
they met driving some milch goats toward the hovel, and questioned
him. The goatherd stood staring at the party with open mouth, and gave
little heed to him. But, at length, being pressed for an answer, he
gave one in a harsh voice with great volubility, and much action, as
if drawing in the air a map of the whole country around. The muleteer
seemed satisfied, and they again moved on over a waste of low, rolling
hills, without a tree upon them. Unlike the heaths of the north of
Europe, it was covered with a false show of fertility, displaying a
variety of plants; among them several species of heath, one six feet
high, and entirely covered with large red flowers, another, smaller
indeed, but with flowers of a yet more lively red. Here, too, were the
yellow-flowered _cisti_, and many other plants with blossoms of many
hues, perfuming the air while they delighted the eye. But the stunted
juniper bushes, and the myrtles, not luxuriant and beautiful, like
those growing on the banks of the rivulets, but dwarfish to the humble
size of weeds, told of a land of starvation under this wilderness of
sweets.

Lady Mabel, much as she loved flowers, was sated here, and owned that
no profusion of them could make a landscape. "There is a dreary
monotony in a scene like this, that words cannot express. The sky of
brass over our heads, and this treeless, lifeless sea of sandy
hillocks around us, excite a feeling of desolation and solitude, which
forces me to look round on our party to convince myself that I am not
alone in the world."

The muleteer, who was some way ahead, now stopped short. Riding up,
they saw that the path here divided into two, and heard him heaping
curses on the huge head of the simpleton, who had forgotten to tell
him which to follow. But, on L'Isle's asking what they should do now,
he dismounted, and stepped up to consult his wisest mule, which he did
by slipping the bridle from his head. At once, sure instinct came to
faltering reason's aid; the beast turned complacently into the right
hand path, and moving briskly on, jingled his bells more cheerily than
before, as if he already saw the open stable door, and snuffed his
evening meal. Their path bending westward, they now saw clouds
mustering on the heights before them, and one of April's sudden
showers drawing near.

Within less then a mile, they came upon a hedge of American aloes,
which, with their close array of massive leaves, each ending in a
sharp point, protected an orchard. Following its course a few rods,
they came to a rude gateway, which admitted them into a small
cattle-yard, and a low, unpretending farm-house stood before them.

CHAPTER XII.

First, for thy bees a quiet station find,
And lodge them under covert from the wind;
For winds, when homeward they return, will drive
The loaded carriers from their evening hive;
Far from the cows' and goats' insulting crew,
That trample down the flowers and brush the dew,
The painted lizard and the bird of prey,
Foes to the frugal kind, be far away--
The titmouse and the pecker's hungry brood,
And Procne with her bosom stained with blood:
These rob the trading citizens, and bear
The trembling captives through the liquid air,
And for their callow young a cruel feast prepare.
* * * * *
Wild thyme and savory set around their cell,
Sweet to the taste and fragrant to the smell:
Set rows of rosemary with flowering stem,
And let the purple violet drink the stream.

Dryden's _Virgil_.

The building before them had low, thick walls, of undressed stones,
and a heavy roof over it covered with tiles. The door was shut, and
the travelers could see nothing of the household; but the sharp, angry
challenge of the canine sentinels within, who did not pause to listen
for an answer, proved that the place was not without a garrison. Some
premonitory drops began to fall from the cloud, which now overhung
them. Tired of waiting, L'Isle was about to complete the investment by
sending the muleteer round to the other side of the house, when he
perceived two young round faces peeping out at a square hole in the
wall that served for a window; a man's voice was heard quieting the
dogs, and a pair of sharp eyes were detected peering over the door,
made too short for the doorway, perhaps for that purpose. The
governor was evidently reconnoitering carefully the party outside.
The result seemed, at length, to prove satisfactory, the presence of
the ladies probably removing any fears of violence.

The door was thrown open, and one, who seemed to be the master of the
house, stepped out with an air of frank hospitality to receive their
request for shelter. Begging them to alight, he called out for
"Manoel! Manoel!" who soon showed himself in the shape of a young
clown, crawling out from behind a heap of straw in a neighboring shed,
and who was ordered to assist in unloading the mules and taking care
of the horses.

Tired and thirsty, and glad to find shelter, the ladies entered the
house, where they were met by two young women, unmistakably the
daughters of the host. Their sparkling eyes and coal-black hair, their
round faces and regular features, were like his; and they were only
less swarthy, from being less exposed to the sun. Their dress was in
fashion, but commonly worn by the peasant women--the jacket and
petticoat--but smarter, and of more costly stuffs than usual. Their
feet, too, were bare, but small and well-formed, betraying little
indurating familiarity with the rough paths around them.

Had they preserved their pedigree, this family would have found many
an ancestor among the Lusitanian Moors, and afforded the most striking
among the many proofs the travelers had met with, that many a
Mohammedan, when the crescent waned before the cross, had preferred
his country to his faith. The girls were for a while abashed at the
presence of the strangers; but, with a hospitality spurred on by
curiosity, soon recovered themselves, and encumbered the ladies with
their attentions. Strangers they seldom saw, and these outlandish
ladies were as strange to them as if they had dropped from the moon.
Under pretence of assisting the travelers to rid themselves of their
outer garment of dust, they examined the texture and fashion of their
dresses, veils and gloves, spread out Lady Mabel's shawl to admire the
pattern, and asked more questions than she could answer or understand.
They were closely inspecting the rings on her fingers, and wondering
at the whiteness of her hand, when their father coming in, rebuked
their obtrusiveness. He made them gather up the pile of flax, with the
spindles and distaffs now lying idle on the floor, and invited the
ladies to take possession of the cushions, which, after a Moorish
custom still lingering here, the girls had used as seats.

L'Isle coming in and finding father and daughters bestirring
themselves to make their guests comfortable, suggested that their most
urgent want was water. One of the girls at once brought a cup, and
one from among several jars, and, while the ladies were drinking,
L'Isle called their attention to the peculiarities of the vessel, of
so porous a nature, that the water, always oozing through it, kept the
outside wet, the constant evaporation of a part cooling what remained
within. He pointed out, too, the peculiar fashion of the jar--its
beautiful and classic mould indicating that, amidst the corruption of
taste and the loss of arts, in pottery at least, the antique type of
form had been faithfully handed down from the time of the Roman. But
the ladies were too busy with the water to bestow much thought on the
jar, and L'Isle's lesson in _vertu_ was pretty much lost on them.

The house consisted of several small rooms, besides the larger
apartment, in which, after a while, the whole party was collected,
including the servants and muleteer. The girls called in an old woman
to assist them in their household duties, and she employed herself at
the smoky fire-place in cooking some sausages, which, by the perfume
they soon diffused through the room, proved that in stuffing them the
genus _allium_ had not been forgotten. To give a classic flavor to the
fumes, L'Isle found himself quoting the lines:

"Thestylis et rapido fessis messoribus aestu
Allia serpyllumque herbas contundit olentes."

But, if this sweetened the smell to him, it was lost on the ladies,
and Thestylis was still to them a smoky old woman, frying,
marvelously, ill-odored sausages. Their host disappeared for a few
minutes, and then returned, no longer in dishabille, but in full
dress, as if going to the next town on some high festival. This was
evidently in honor of his guests. It was growing dark, and he now lit
a lantern hanging against the wall. Within the lantern, and behind the
lamp, a little image of some saint was seen shedding his benignant
influence over the household. The hastily prepared meal was now
ready. This was no time or place for nice distinctions of rank, and,
urged by their host, the whole party sat down together. Besides the
overpowering sausages, preserved fruits, honey, and black and white
bread covered the table, with a pile of oranges just gathered from the
boughs. These last vanished rapidly before the thirsty travelers.
Their host seemed to think his more substantial fare neglected; and
L'Isle took care to attribute it to their having dined too lately and
heartily, to have yet recovered their appetites.

Lady Mabel, seeing Moodie at the end of the table, with his back to
the dim light, eating almost in the dark, urged him to change his
seat, and take one opposite to and close under the lamp. Moodie looked
askance at the saint, who was bestowing a benediction on those before
him, and grumbled out, "Better to eat in the dark, than by the light
of Satan's lantern."

"You are over scrupulous," said Mrs. Shortridge: "if these illuminated
saints be one of Satan's devices, I think it meritorious to turn them
to a useful purpose, as was successfully done by a friend of mine
residing in Lisbon. Finding the lamp he had put before his door
repeatedly broken--for the Lisbon rabble love darkness better than
light--he bought a little image of St. Antony, and put it up behind
it, and the saint's presence seemed to paralyze the arms of the evil
doers."

"There is an inward and an outward light," said Moodie, sententiously:
"your friend, wanting that inward light, chose, for a little personal
convenience, to countenance a shining idolatry." Their host, gathering
from their looks and gestures that they wanted more light, now brought
in another lamp, which the ladies soon used to light them to the
chamber allotted to them. The girls went with them; and Lady Mabel,
finding them loiter there, full of curiosity, and examining every
article of dress and baggage with prying eyes, deliberately unpacked
every thing she had with her, and induced Mrs. Shortridge, sleepy as
she was, to do so too; then, giving them to understand that there was
nothing more to be seen, politely turned them out of the room, that
she might make more profitable use of the remaining hours of the
night. A chamber and bed were found for L'Isle, but Moodie and the
servants had no better accommodations than mats spread on the floor of
the larger room. They had no sooner lain down than the rats overhead
commenced their gambols, racing each other over the reeds which laid
on the joists, formed the only ceiling to the room. Their gymnastic
sports brought down showers of dust and soot on the would-be sleepers
below, who were already beset by certain rejoicing tribes, which
seized the occasion to hold their carnival.

The whole household were afoot early next morning and, while waiting
for breakfast, Lady Mabel took the opportunity to survey the
premises. Cleanliness is not essential to Portuguese comfort; but,
within the house, there was not the squalor and poverty which here
usually characterises the peasant's home. Without, a small orchard,
and one narrow field, a few goats, and two or three stout asses,
seemed to comprise the farmer's possessions.

On sitting down to an abundant breakfast, she expressed to L'Isle her
wonder, how these people lived in such plenty, without flocks, or
herds, or fields.

"You are mistaken," said L'Isle. "Our host has flocks so numerous,
that it would startle you to hear their numbers told. The whole
country for miles around is pastured by them. He is a farmer, or
rather grazier, on a grand scale. Not to puzzle you longer, he is a
bee-farmer, having many hundred hives. This land of flowers yields him
two harvests a year. His income is derived from wax and honey, and his
rustic talk is not of bullocks, but of bees. After breakfast, we will
get him to show us something of the economic arrangements of his
farm."

During this meal, the two girls seemed anxious to make the most of
their guests, who were so soon to leave them. They had this morning
put on their best clothes, and all their trinkets. Their animated and
inquisitive conversation, addressed chiefly to L'Isle as spokesman and
interpreter, scarcely allowed him time to eat. Their restless,
sparkling black eyes, excited the admiration of the ladies. "Do you
think black eyes the most expressive?" said Lady Mabel to L'Isle; and,
with a natural coquetry, she turned her own blue orbs full upon
him. How else could he judge, but by a comparison?

"There is a liquid lustre in the full black eye," L'Isle answered,
looking into those of the girl who was sitting, very sociably, close
beside him, "which powerfully expresses languishing tenderness. It is
capable, too, of an angry and fierce expression. But from its dark
hues you cannot distinguish the pupil from the surrounding part, and
lose all the varying beauty of its dilation and contraction. There are
eyes of lighter and more heavenly hues," here he looked full in Lady
Mabel's, while describing them, "which have an unlimited range of
expression, embracing every shade of feeling, every variety of
sentiment. They are tell-tale eyes, that would betray the owner in any
attempt to play the hypocrite."

Lady Mabel, laughing and blushing, expressed great doubts whether any
eyes exercised that controlling guardianship over the integrity of
their owner.

As soon as the meal was over, the farmer, at their request, gladly
undertook to show them some thing of his peculiar husbandry. A hive or
two may be found any where--but a thousand hives! This was a great
proprietor. Going out of the enclosure, he led them to a neighboring
hill, on the south-eastern side of which, well sheltered from the
northern blasts, many lanes, five or six feet wide, had been cut
through the thickets, all leading to a central point, where, well
sheltered by the natural hedge, he had formed one of his numerous
colonies. Last night's shower had refreshed the thirsty vegetation,
washing the dust from the leaves and deepening their green; some
diamond drops still hung sparkling on the foliage; and numberless
blossoms were opening to the early beams of the sun. The citizens of
this thriving commonwealth were literally as busy as bees, and the
region was vocal with their buzz. The ladies shrunk from the well
armed but laborious crowd which surrounded them, going forth light or
returning laden to their homes; but the farmer assured them that the
busy multitude were perfectly tame, and as harmless as sheep, unless
maliciously disturbed.

Though this was but one of several colonies, the hives were too
numerous to be easily counted. They were all cylindrical in shape,
being made of the bark of the cork-tree, which is an excellent
non-conductor of heat, and were each covered with an inverted pan of
earthenware, the edge of which overhung the hive like a cornice. Each
hive was fastened together with pegs of hard wood, so that it could be
easily taken to pieces, and the joints were stopped with peat.

Full of the economy of the industrious tribes, whose habits he had
studied so profitably, the farmer talked long and well on the
subject. From him they learned that the bees would range a league and
more from the hive, if they could not gather honey nearer home. That
he gathered two harvests a year, spring and autumn each yielding one,
while the cold winter and the parched and blossomless summer equally
suspended the profitable labor of his winged workmen. He pointed out
the plants whose blossoms were preferred by the bees, and professed to
be able to distinguish the honey gathered in each month, varying as it
did in qualities according to the succession of flowers which bloomed
through the seasons, and he gave a preference to the product of the
rosemary over all other plants.

Lady Mabel was delighted with the method and the scale of this branch
of rural industry. "We have Moors enough in Scotland. Indeed, I wish
so much of them had not fallen to papa's lot. But when I go home, I
will endeavor to turn these wastes to better account, and rival our
friend here, by establishing a bee farm on a grand scale."

"You must not forget to carry the rosemary and other choice plants
with you," said Mrs. Shortridge, "and some beams of the Portuguese
sun, to secure two seasons of flowers in the year."

While she was yet speaking, a snake glided slowly across her
path. Starting back in terror, she uttered a little scream, and begged
L'Isle to kill it without delay.

"How shall I kill it," he said, laughing at her alarm. "Shall I bruise
the serpent's head with my heel, or shall I draw my sword on a
reptile?"

"In any way you please, so you do kill it," she exclaimed, seeing the
snake stop and raise its head to look at them.

But the farmer now interfered: "Spare his life, this is one of my best
friends. You see that he shows not the least fear. While providing for
himself, he works too for me, destroying the frogs and lizards that
make sad havoc among my bees."

Returning to the house, they found in front of it the mules laden and
the horses saddled for the journey. Observing that Moodie looked
particularly rueful this morning, Lady Mabel asked him what was the
matter, and he admitted that he was very unwell. "But with bad food
and worse water, loss of sleep and worry of mind, a man soon gets worn
out in this unhappy country; You, my lady, look jaded enough, too."

"Oh, never mind my looks," she answered. "I feel perfectly well, and
can travel on until I get tanned as brown as these Moorish girls. But
I am afraid Moodie, you are paying the penalty for last night's insult
to the patron saint of the house. Some saints are at times a little
revengeful, and your troubled mind and aching body you may owe to
him. Pray take the earliest opportunity to make amends."

"Who is the offended saint?" asked Mrs. Shortridge.

"I suppose," said Lady Mabel, "it is St. Meliboeus, the patron saint
of bees and honey."

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