Glories of Spain

by Charles W. Wood

"But I did not forget my vow. The Abbé treated me to many an argument and disquisition upon the subject. He showed me the life of an ecclesiastic in all its lights and shadows; the sacrifice of domestic happiness it entailed; the constant self-denials if I would do my duty in the spirit as well as letter. He pointed out how by nature and position I was eminently fitted to take my part in the world; to marry; become the ruler of a little kingdom, as it were; the father of sons and daughters. He was growing old, he declared, and certainly in the last year had greatly changed. An expression on his face told me he was not far from heaven. He felt his own end approaching.

"All this only strengthened my resolve. If anything could have made me more in favour of a religious life, it was the quiet ecstasy with which he contemplated passing to celestial regions. Nothing could be more saintly and beatific than his last days. He was in perfect happiness, and frequently said so. I was permitted to be with him when his eyes looked their last upon the world. I was the last object they rested on; my name was on his lips as his soul winged its flight to heaven. For the fourth time the hand of affliction was laid upon me. My last link with the world was severed. I stood alone.

"In due time I took upon myself the vows of the Church. Never for a moment had I contemplated the cloister. Mine must be a life of energy and activity. Whether it be a weakness or not, I have ever loved to command; to rule mankind; to have the ordering of things. There I feel in my element. I have a capacity for organisation which will not lie dormant. It has been my lot to have it more or less fully exercised. With all humility, and giving the sole glory to Heaven, I may say that I have succeeded in every work or mission I ever undertook; advanced every cause in which I have been concerned. The great moral, the great secret of my life, is this: I have first of all been convinced of the soundness of my intentions; I have held decided views; I have never entered upon a single act of importance without first placing it under the guidance of Heaven, as Hezekiah went up into the Temple and spread the letter before the Lord. And then I have gone forward, nothing doubting. Paul may plant and Apollos may water in vain, if they trust to their own strength. That has been my rule and conviction through life. I have constantly endeavoured to have no will of my own; no personal ends and aims and prejudices; but to obey the great Master, whose I am and Whom I serve."

Here Delormais rapidly sketched his life in the Church. He described every office he had held in succession; the difficulties he had contended with; the evils he had suppressed; the reforms he had made; the manner in which he had once fought with and at length convinced the Consistory of Rome. Through all he spoke with the utmost humility, recognising himself an agent, not a principal to whom any credit was due.

Over this portion of his life we draw a discreet veil. It was disclosed under secrecy. Partly to prevent identification; partly because other names were inevitably introduced, some of which were as household words in the world of the French Church.

The time had passed unconsciously. There was a singular charm and attraction about Delormais. His fine presence and high breeding, his animated way of talking and graphic powers of description, all carried you beyond yourself. Everything was forgotten but the man before you. For the moment you were lost in the scenes he portrayed so vividly. Underlying all, running through all like a fine silken warp, his sympathetic nature was evident. Strong, decided, commanding, loving to rule, he was yet singularly lovable. When was this ever otherwise where sympathy was the keynote of the disposition? He was a man to come to for advice and consolation. Broad-minded above all the small views and judgments of human nature, if he chastised with the one hand, he took care to heal with the other. No one need dread his condemnation. We had been so recently under the influence of both men it was impossible to help contrasting this strong, admirable nature with the calm, retiring, almost celestial beauty of Anselmo: each perfect in its way. We mentioned him to Delormais as a type.

"Ay, I know him well," he replied: "have known him always. The Canon who was his protector and left him a portion of his wealth, was one of my few intimate friends. A purer spirit than Anselmo's never breathed. He might be advanced to high places in the Church, but is better and happier where he is. In all my wide experiences I have never met his equal. Of course I know his story, and his love for Rosalie—hers for him: an idyll almost too perfect for earth. I know her well also, and all her saintliness. Such love and faith are rare: a consistency worth all the sermons that ever were preached. How different was my fevered love from theirs; my rash, unreflecting impulse in that Algerian paradise. And yet, Heaven be praised, nothing but good came of it. All is ordained; all is for the best if only our heart's desire is to do well. All comes right in the end. I have never known it otherwise. If ever I feel in the slightest degree discouraged, if ever my faith in human nature is unduly tried, I immediately think of these two saintly people, and courage revives."

Once more he paused, and seemed lost in thought. Whether it was given to Anselmo and Rosalie, or whether to retrospection, we could not tell. The clock ticked its faint warning of the passing of time. All else was profound silence. But he soon roused himself to the present, and again turned to us with an expression in which humour was mixed with kindliness.

"And now," said Delormais, with that peculiar smile that had puzzled us at the beginning of our interview, "I am going to surprise you. Life is full of the strangest coincidences and combinations, which would be laughed to scorn in fiction. It is the unexpected which happens. You remarked some time ago that my palace would be known as a shining light, if I ever were made a bishop. I shall never be made a bishop," he laughed, "and for this reason."

Here he quietly took an official-looking document out of a capacious side pocket, and placed it in our hands. It was an intimation of his elevation to the See of X.—— a place we knew by heart, and loved.