Sue Petigru Bowen - The Actress in High Life

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"He has a varied sphere of duty," said L'Isle, "and seems accustomed
to have his own way. He does not wait for your orders, nor, indeed,
seems to be very amenable to them. In short, notwithstanding the
official title you have bestowed on Mrs. Shortridge, it is plain to me
that the real duenna does not wear petticoats."

"His presumption is equal to any thing," said Lady Mabel, provoked at
the suggestion. "But I will make him repent it shortly. He shall long
remember this journey. But enough of him for the present. Let us make
the most of this delightful morning hour. It will be hot enough by
noon. I am now in the traveler's happiest mood, enjoying at once the
feeling of adventure with the sense of security, which, you must
admit, is a rare and difficult combination of emotions."

L'Isle was quite as well pleased as Lady Mabel with the prospect
before him. He had, at Lord Strathern's request, assented to join a
party, which he alone had gotten up, solely that he might put himself
in the relation of companion and protector to Lady Mabel. The
commissary and his wife were convenient screens, not at all in his
way. Whether the part of guide, philosopher, and friend to such a
pupil suited a man of four-and-twenty, he was yet to learn. No doubts
of this kind troubled him, however, as the _arriero_ led his mules
down the hill, and the party followed the music of their bells, all in
high spirits, except old Moodie, who, though a volunteer, continued to
be a grumbler.

Two hours' riding carried them beyond the point to which the botanical
excursions had led them in that direction. They were leaving the
valley, and entering on the high and broken uplands, when Lady Mabel
spied a low cross by the roadside. Though rudely formed, it was of
stone, and not of wood, like most of those in such places, and a short
inscription was carved upon it. Faintly cut, badly spelt, and with
many abbreviations, it was an enigma to her scholarship, and L'Isle
had to decipher it for her: "Andreo Savaro was murdered here. Pray for
his soul." "It is only one of those monumental crosses," said he, "of
which you see so many along the roads throughout the peninsula."

"Do they always add murder to robbery here?" she asked.

"Too often, but not always," answered L'Isle. "Nor is robbery the only
motive which leads to the taking of life. A solitary cross by the
roadside is usually in memory of the victim of robbers, or,
occasionally, of fatal accident; but when you see crosses, two or
three together, in villages or towns, or their immediate neighborhood,
they oftener mark the scene of some deed of bloodshed prompted by
revenge, not lucre."

"They are certainly very numerous," said she, "and form a shocking
feature on the face of the country, indicating a dreadful state of
society."

"I wonder these people persist in putting them up," said the
commissary, "for they are of no manner of use."

"Use!" said Lady Mabel, "what is the use of a tomb-stone?"

"If you mean real use, I am sure I don't know," said Shortridge.

"I see that you are a thorough utilitarian," she replied; "and since
these people will continue to commit murder on the high road, I
suppose you would have them do it at regular intervals, so that by aid
of these monumental crosses we might measure our journey by murders
instead of miles. Come, Mrs. Shortridge, road-side murder is rife
here, so the less we loiter on our way the better."

This remark had the effect mischievously intended. Mrs. Shortridge,
turning somewhat pale, and twitching her bridle convulsively, urged
her mule close up to the party.

They went on some miles across a desolate country, covered with heath,
rosemary, and gum cistus, more fragrant than the many rank bulbous
plants, which disputed possession of the soil with them. The road was
rough with slaty rock, the air became beaming hot, and L'Isle told the
guide to lead them to some place of shelter from the noon-day
sun. Before them lay a high open plain, on which a large flock of
sheep, dusky, and many of them black in hue, were feeding, and filling
the air with their bleatings. On the right, beyond the plain, there
was a grove of the _Quercus Ilex_, rugged, stunted, thirsty-looking
trees, yet whose evergreen boughs gave promise of at least a partial
shade. The _arriero_ led the party toward it, but just as they
approached the wood, several large and savage dogs flew out, and
charged them with a ferocity that might have cost a solitary traveler
his life. They were busy repelling this assault, when five or six men
showed themselves from behind a thicket. Dark, sunburnt, smoke-dried
fellows they were, with shaggy hair, and rudely clad, each man having
a sheep-skin thrown over his shoulders, and most of them grasping
long, rusty guns in their hands.

Mrs. Shortridge called out "robbers!" and entreated L'Isle to fire
upon them. The commissary, too, but more coolly, pronounced them to be
robbers, "when they find an opportunity to follow that calling; but,
just now, they are watching their flocks."

"Shepherds! those ruffians, shepherds!" exclaimed Lady Mabel; "O!
shades of Theocritus and Virgil, what a satire upon pastoral poetry!"

Shepherds, however, they were, who called off their dogs, after
reconnoitring the party. The _arriero_ inquired of them where water
was to be found, and they pointed to a little hollow in the wood, an
hundred yards off. He was leading the party that way, when L'Isle said
to the ladies, "let us have a talk with these fellows."

"Certainly," said Lady Mabel, and she turned her horse's head toward
them.

"Certainly not," said Mrs. Shortridge, and she reined her mule back,
"I am too near them already. I will not dare to take my siesta with
these fellows in the neighborhood, for fear of waking up in another
place than Portugal." And she followed her melting husband, who was
hastening out of the sun, in the hope of regaining his solidity in the
shade at hand.

L'Isle and Lady Mabel rode close up to the shepherds. They had been
resting under an oak, and the cooking utensils, some baggage, and two
asses near at hand, looked as if they, too, were travelers. L'Isle
addressed a tall, dark man, of middle age, who seemed to be the head
of the party. As soon as these men heard their own language from the
mouth of a foreigner, so fluently and correctly spoken, their faces
lightened up with interest and intelligence. They gave ready answers
to all inquiries, and L'Isle had to reply in turn to many a question
as to himself, his companions, and the news of the war. The chief
shepherd was particularly anxious to know the condition of the
province of Beira, and what were the chances of a visit there from the
French during the coming summer. His flock, he said, was one of those
which winter on the heaths and plains of Alemtejo, and, to avoid the
droughts which make them a desert in summer, are driven across the
Tagus in the spring, into the _Serra Estrella_, when the snow has
melted, and vegetation again covers that range of mountains.

One of his companions offered for sale two rabbits and some partridges
he had shot on the moors, which L'Isle bought, like a provident
traveler, who does not rely too much on the larder of the next inn.

Lady Mabel, with attentive ear, had gathered the sense of much that
had been said, and L'Isle had interpreted what puzzled her. But being
a woman, she was unwilling to remain a mere listener; so, elaborately
framing a question in Portuguese, she addressed the head shepherd,
seeking to know how far the migrations of these flocks resembled the
Spanish mesta. The dark man gazed at her admiringly and attentively,
repeating some of her words, but unable to make out her meaning. She
bit her lip, while he, shaking his head, turned to L'Isle, and said,
"what a pity so lovely a lady cannot speak Portuguese. She looks just
like our 'Lady of Nazareth,' at Pederneira, only her hair is brighter,
and her eyes are blue."

"What says he about my language and _Nossa Senhora de Nazareth?_" said
Lady Mabel. "Tell him that I speak better Portuguese than she ever
did, for all her black eyes and tawny skin."

"By no means," said L'Isle, smiling. "As you will have no opportunity
to evangelize the man, it will do no good to outrage his idolatrous
veneration for _Nossa Senhora de Nazareth?_ You might shake his
superstition, yet not purify his faith, but merely drive him to a
choice between the church and infidelity."

They now left the shepherds to join the party. "I am provoked," said
Lady Mabel, "to find how little progress I have made in speaking
Portuguese. But it is not surprising what a complete mastery the
rudest and most illiterate people here have over their tongue."

"And how polite and sociable they are," said L'Isle. "Unlike the
unmannered and almost languageless English peasant, they are
unembarrassed and social, fluent, and often eloquent."

"Yet these men," said she, "in habits, though not in race, are but
nomadic Tartars at the western extremity of Europe."

"They differ too," said L'Isle, "from their immediate neighbors, the
Spaniard, in being far more sociable and communicative. For instance,
I have got much more out of my Portuguese shepherd than a certain
French traveler got out of his shepherd of Castile."

"What do you allude to?" she asked.

"A French traveler, it is said, as he entered Castile, met a shepherd
guiding his flock. Curious to know all the circumstances which give to
the Spanish wool its inimitable qualities, he asked the shepherd an
hundred questions: 'If his flock belonged to that district? What sort
of food was given it? Whether he was on a journey? From whence he
came? Whither he was going? When he would return?' In short, he asked
every question a prying Frenchman could think of. The shepherd
listened coldly to them all. Then, in the sententious style of a true
Castilian, replied, '_aqui nacen_, _aqui pacen_, _aqui mueren_,' (here
they breed, here they feed, here they die,) and went his way without a
word more."

The party spent some time here, dining and resting under the shade of
these prickly oaks, the tree that yields the famous _botolas_, so
largely used for food by men and swine, and on tasting which we are
less surprised that in "the primal age,"

"Hunger then
Made acorns tasteful; thirst each rivulet
Run nectar."

Mrs. Shortridge had contrived to snatch a short siesta, in spite of
her fears. Their horses were led up, ready for them to mount and
proceed on their journey, when Lady Mabel, plucking a twig from a
branch overhead, observed on it several specimens of the _kermes_. She
could not resist this opportunity of displaying her scraps of
scientific lore, and detained the party while she delivered a
discourse on the _coccus arborum_, "which," she said, "infests this
tree; the _quercus cocci_. This furnishes what the ignorant-learned
long called grains of kermes, looking like dried currants, which they
mistook for the fruit of a tree, while it is, in truth, the dried body
of an insect. It affords a vermilion dye, not so brilliant, but far
more durable than the cochineal of Mexico. There are in the
Netherlands," she continued, "rich tapestries dyed with kermes, known
to be three hundred years old, which still retain their pristine
brilliancy of color. Only think, Mrs. Shortridge, of having carpets,
shawls and cloaks of such unfading hues!"

"They would be of no use to me," yawned Mrs. Shortridge, "I would be
even more tired of myself than of my cloak, before the end of three
hundred years."

"Why," exclaimed L'Isle, "this indestructible dye must be the very
stuff with which the old lady of Babylon dyed her petticoat; for it
has not faded in the least since she first put it on, as we may see in
this country, where she wears it openly, without even a decent piece
of lawn over it, to suppress the brightness of its hues."

"As our lives are not so lasting as the dye Lady Mabel talks of," said
the commissary, "let us make the most of them by taking horse at once,
and hastening on, for we must pass through Villa Vicosa, and sleep
several miles beyond it to-night."

Returning to the road, they presently reached a cultivated valley, and
passed through a hamlet, scarcely seen before it was entered, so
completely were the low stone walls of the houses hidden by the olive,
orange, almond, and other fruit-trees surrounding them. The only
inhabitants visible were two or three squalid children, playing in the
road, and a woman lounging at her door, eyeing the party with mingled
curiosity and suspicion, while a stout yearling calf pushed
unceremoniously past her into the house, thus asserting his right as a
member of the family.

L'Isle paused before the little church, just beyond the village, and
pointed out to Lady Mabel a curious cross, the first of the kind she
had met with, though common enough in the peninsula. It was composed
of human skulls, on a pedestal of thigh bones, the whole let into the
wall, and secured by a rough kind of stucco.

"Certainly these people have curious ways of exciting devotional
fervor, and keeping death in memory," said Lady Mabel.

"One might suppose them to have remarked the grave-digger, who deals
habitually with the moldering remains of humanity, to be the most
God-fearing of men," said L'Isle; "so they seek to afford to every one
the devotional incentives peculiar to the grave-digger. Yet their
symbols serve rather to familiarize us with material death in this
world, than to remind us of a spiritual life in the world to
come. They often teach no better lesson than 'Eat, drink, and be
merry, for to-morrow we die.'"

"I have been told," said Lady Mabel, "that in spite of these pious
devices, the people have lost much of their devotional ardor and
fullness of faith."

"Not the rustic population," said L'Isle; "the church still retains
full sway over them."

"I cannot say," observed Lady Mabel, as they turned to proceed on
their way, "that the Romish system is very attractive to me. But,
viewing it as a sensuous worship, if ever I become a convert, it will
be through the influence of its music." And dropping the reins on her
horse's neck, she, with clasped hands and upturned eyes, began to
chant:

"O Sanctissima! O Purissima!
Ora, Ora, pro nobis," etc.

Music at once so sweet and orthodox from a heretic mouth, attracted
the muleteer's attention, and turning, he sat sideways in his saddle
to listen. This exciting old Moodie's suspicion, he pushed his horse
close up to Lady Mabel's, and as soon as she paused, said: "My lady,
what is that you are singing?"

"A hymn to the Virgin."

"A hymn to the Virgin!" he repeated, horror-struck.

"Yes; it is in Latin, you know. Have you never been to any of the
churches in Elvas, to 'assist' at the service and enjoy the music?"

"God forbid that I should countenance any of their idolatrous rites."

"Their music, however, is excellent, and has a grandeur suited to the
worship of God. You lose much in not hearing it, and may, at least,
let me amuse myself by singing a Popish hymn."

"You may amuse yourself by turning Papist in time. What begins in jest
often ends in earnest; and yours, my lady, will not be the first soul
that has been caught by such gear as the sweet sounds and glittering
shows of idolatry."

"But," said Lady Mabel, coolly, with a provoking insensibility to her
danger, "there are, not only in Latin, but in Spanish and Portuguese,
many of these hymns to the Holy Virgin--for, doubtless, she was a holy
virgin--exquisitely happy, both in words and music. A devout nation
has poured its heart into them."

"They are all idolatrous, every one of them. There is not a word of
authority for the worship of her in Scripture, and the texts of God's
book are our only safe guide."

Lady Mabel, while fanning a fire that never went out, was gazing
around on the landscape. Suddenly she said: "You are a great stickler,
Moodie, for the words of Scripture, yet these idolatrous people often
stick to it more closely than you do."

"I will trouble you, my lady, to name an instance," Moodie answered,
in a defiant tone.

"Do you see those men in that field, with three yoke of oxen going
round and round on one spot?"

"I see them. But what of them?"

"While you and other heretic Scots are racking your brains to devise
how to thresh corn by machines, these pious people, in simple
obedience to the injunction, 'Muzzle not the ox that treadeth out the
corn,' are treading out their corn with unmuzzled oxen. What think you
of that, Mr. Stick-to-the-text?"

"I think, my lady," he answered, doggedly, "that you had better read
your Bible to profit by it; not to puzzle an old man less learned than
yourself. But all things are ordered." Yet he loitered behind the
party, to gaze with mingled curiosity and pity at these people, at
once so benighted in theology and farming, the two points on which he
felt himself strongest.

They had not ridden much further, when they drew near to the ruinous
walls of a considerable town, situated in a fertile and delightful
region, and retaining amidst its dilapidation many marks of
grandeur. Entering through a ruinous gateway, they paused in the grand
_praca_. "This," said L'Isle, "is Ville Vicosa, 'the delightful city.'
What a pity we have but time to take a hasty glance at this ducal seat
of the house of Braganza. Two sides of the _praca_, as you see, are
occupied by the classic and imposing front of the palace in which the
dukes of Braganza lived during the sixty years of the Spanish
usurpation, before the heroism of the nation restored the royal line
to the throne."

"Even in its declining fortunes," said Lady Mabel, "Villa Vicosa has
not forgotten its connection with Portuguese royalty and
nationality. Was it not the first place in Alentejo to resist the
French robbers, who were lording it over them?"

"Yes. But it was neither loyalty nor patriotism that spurred them
on. You must not look to the royal palace before you, nor even to that
ancient and noble church, founded by the illustrious Constable,
Alvarez Pereira, which you see yonder, aspiring to heaven, nor to the
associations immediately connected with them, for the impulse which at
length stirred up these people to resist the oppressor. You must
rather seek it in that chapel, devoted to '_Nossa senhora dos
Remedios_,' and containing her miraculous image. They had submitted to
robbery, insult, and outrage without stint. They had seen Portuguese
soldiers seized on by regiments, and marched off to serve under French
eagles. They had heard Junot's insolent order to their priests,
commanding them to preach submission. They had witnessed the utter
degradation of their country. They had just seen the plate of the
churches, and the plunder of individuals, collected throughout the
neighboring _comarcas_, escorted through the town, and, though
groaning in spirit, they stood by with folded arms. But when the
godless French soldiers went so far as to offer insults and
indignities to _Nossa Senhora dos Remedios_ on her own holy day, on
which she yearly displays her miraculous powers, it was more than
Portuguese nature could bear. They broke out into open resistance, at
first successful--but which here and elsewhere led to woful slaughter
of the patriotic but half-armed mob."

"Heretic as you are," said Lady Mabel, "you must admit, that as 'Our
Lady of the Pillar' proved a tower of strength to the Saragossans in
their first siege, so here, either the patron saints of the
Portuguese, or their faith in them, has often done them yeoman's
service."

"And often brought disaster upon them," L'Isle replied. "For instance,
St. Antony is the patron saint of Portugal. I am not going to deny
that he may have done them good service at times. But when the
archduke, Charles of Austria, commanded the army, about 1700, the
soldiers became exceedingly unruly, and demanded a native general. The
king sent them St. Antony, in the shape of a wooden image. He was
received with all the honors due to his rank. By royal decree a
regular commission was made out, appointing him generalissimo of all
the forces of Portugal, and he continued long in command; but, though
an excellent saint, Antony proved a very bad general, and repeatedly
brought the kingdom to the brink of ruin. They have lately been
compelled to displace him. Now that Beresford does their fighting, St.
Antony has full leisure to devote himself to intercession on their
behalf, and, between the two, with some help from us, they are getting
on pretty well."

The commissary now hinted that they had before them all that was worth
seeing in "this musty old place," and the party passing out of the
opposite gate pushed on as fast as they could over a rough road,
running across a succession of hills, the off-shoots of Serra d'Ossa.

"Traveling in this country," said Lady Mabel, as she paused with
L'Isle, to let the rest of the party come up, "is like sailing over
rough waters, a perpetual up and down, neither speedy nor safe."

"Few countries exhibit a greater variety of surface than Portugal,"
said L'Isle; "it may be likened to the ocean the day after a storm,
when a change of wind has intersected the mountain billows with every
variety of little waves. The language, accordingly, is rich in terms
expressive of these variations of surface. It has _Monte_, a mountain;
_Montezhino_, a little mountain; _Outeiro_, a hill; _Outeirinho_, a
hillock; _Serra_, a lofty mountain, with various inequalities of
surface; _Serrania_, a cluster of mountains; _Penha_, a rocky
precipice. So that you can hardly be at a loss for a word to express
the character of any elevation. Meanwhile, let us hasten up this
_Montezhino_, for both the sun and our night's quarters are on the
other side of it, and the former will not wait for us there."

They presently caught sight of what seemed at first to be a very tall
woman; but they soon perceived that it was a friar, who, with the hood
of his black cloak thrown back on his shoulders, and the skirts of his
dingy grey frock girded up under St. Francis' cord, was making such
good time on his up-hill path, that they overtook him with difficulty
at the top of the hill. He grasped in his hand what had a marvelous
resemblance to the _cajado_, a seven-foot staff, pointed at one end,
and with a heavy knob at the other, with which the Portuguese peasant
always goes armed; and a formidable weapon it is in his skillful
hands. The shortened skirt of the friar exposed a pair of muscular
calves, that bore him well over the mountain road.

He turned to look at them as they drew near, and they saw that he was
a young man, not much over twenty, tall and strong, and remarkably
well made and good-looking.

Old Moodie cast a sinister look on him, and longed to strip him of his
frock, and put him between the stilts of a plough.

"This is a noble specimen," the commissary remarked, "of that useless
army the country maintains at free quarters. His ration would more
than feed one English or two Portuguese soldiers for its defence."

"I would like to turn him loose on a Frenchman," said L'Isle, "armed,
like himself, only with the _cajado_. What a recruit Beresford lost
when this young fellow put on the uniform of St. Francis' brigade!"

L'Isle exchanged greetings with the young friar as he rode up abreast
of him, and entered into conversation with him at the suggestion of
Lady Mabel, who, partly to annoy her crusty watchman behind her,
affected to be much interested in this young limb of the church.

The able bodied servant of St. Francis proved intelligent and
sociable, and, while he eyed the travelers, particularly Lady Mabel,
with much interest, let them know that he had left his conventual home
at Villa Vicosa, on a visit to his mother, who lived at a village al,
and that he would pass the night at near Ameixial, and that he would
pass the night at the _venda_ near the bottom of the hill. They being
also bound thither, he joined them without ceremony, keeping up with
them with ease, while he drew out the news by a number of questions,
which showed that he was truly an active young friar, disposed to
gather ideas as well as alms on his perambulations.

CHAPTER VIII.

When late arriving at our inn of rest,
Whose roof exposed to many a winter sky,
Half shelters from the wind the shivering guest,
By the pale lamp's dreary gloom
I mark the miserable room,
And gaze with angry eye
On the hard lot of honest poverty,
And sickening at the monster brood
Who fill with wretchedness a world so good.

Southey.

It was twilight when they reached the _venda_, a large but somewhat
ruinous building, surrounded by a few scattered trees, on the sloping
ground near the foot of the hill. The _arriero_ led his mules through
the archway which formed the only entrance, and the travelers
following found themselves beside and almost in a large apartment,
which served at once as kitchen, parlor and dining-room to this _house
of refuge_, which betrayed by many signs, that if it had ever done a
thriving business, that day had long gone by. Dismounting here, their
horses were led on into the stable under the same roof, and
imperfectly separated from the kitchen by a rude wall.

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