Glories of Spain

by Charles W. Wood

All about us were deep, shuddering crevices, into which one scarcely gazed for horror. Immense boulders jutted out on every hand; some of them seeming ready to fall and shake the earth to its centre. Wild and barren rocks gave foothold to trees and undergrowth more beautiful than the most cultivated garden; nothing lovelier than the ferns and wildflowers that abounded.

As the sun rose higher, warmth and brilliancy increased until the air was full of light. We breathed a magic atmosphere.

"This is what I delight and revel in," cried Salvador the monk. "This lifts me out of myself. It is one of the glories of Spain, and makes me feel a new being with one foot on earth and one in heaven. Can you wonder that I should like to inhabit yonder cave? Day by day I should watch the sun rise and the sun set, all the hours between given to happiness and contemplation. As I look on at these effects of nature my soul seems to go out in a great apocalypse of melody. The air is filled with celestial music. Yet no doubt our Principal is right, and in the end the influence would not be good for me. I am a strange contradiction. There are moments when I feel that I could go back to the world and take my place and play my part in all its rush and excitement; other moments when I could welcome the solitude of the desert, the repose of the grave."

It was almost impossible to turn away from the scene, undoubtedly one of the great panoramas of the world. Here, indeed, we seemed to gaze upon all its kingdoms and glories. Without the least desire to become hermits, we would willingly have spent days upon the mountain. As that could not be we presently commenced our long descent, winding about the mountain paths, gathering specimens of rare wildflowers, and gazing upon the world below. We made many a halt, rested in many a friendly and verdant nook, and took in many an impression never to be forgotten. On returning to the settlement we felt we had been to a new world where angels walked unseen. It was difficult to come back to the lower levels of life. We had quite an affection for our patient mule, that looked at us out of its gentle eyes as though it knew quite well the service rendered was as valued as it was freely given.

Salvador joined us at luncheon: we would not be denied.

"It is a fast-day," he said; "how can I turn it into a feast?"

"You are a traveller, and as such are permitted an indulgence."

He smiled. "It is true," he returned. "I perceive that you know something of our rules." Nevertheless he was abstemious almost to fasting. "And yet it has been indeed a feast compared with my daily food," he said when it was over. "Now would you like to go into the church and have some music? My soul is full of the melody I heard on the mountain."

So it happened that presently we were listening to such strains as we never shall hear again. Once more we were lifted to paradise with melody that was more heavenly than earthly. Again his very soul seemed passing out in music. Had he gone on for hours we should never have moved. But it came to an end, and silence fell, and presently we had to say farewell.

"I cannot say it," he cried in a voice slightly tremulous. "It has been a day of days to me, never to be repeated. Another glimpse of the world, and a final leave-taking thereof. I will never again repeat this experience—unless you return and once more ask me to guide you up Mons Serratus."