XVI
Nevill had not sent word to Josette Soubise that he was coming to seeher. He wished to make the experiment of a surprise, although heinsisted that Stephen should be with him. At the door in the high whitewall of the school-garden, he asked an unveiled crone of a porteress tosay merely that two gentlemen had called.
"She'll suspect, I'm afraid," he muttered to Stephen as they waited,"even if her sister hasn't written that I thought of turning up. But shewon't have time to invent a valid excuse, if she disapproves of thevisit."
In three or four minutes the old woman hobbled back, shuffling slipperedfeet along the tiled path between the gate and the low whitewashedhouse. Mademoiselle requested that ces Messieurs would give themselvesthe pain of walking into the garden. She would descend almost at once.
They obeyed, Nevill stricken dumb by the thought of his cominghappiness. Stephen would have liked to ask a question or two about theschool, but he refrained, sure that if Nevill were forced into speech hewould give random answers.
This was being in love--the real thing! And Stephen dimly envied hisfriend, even though Caird seemed to have small hope of winning the girl.It was far better to love a woman you could never marry, than to beobliged to marry one you could never love.
He imagined himself waiting to welcome Margot, beautiful Margot,returning from Canada to him. He would have to go to Liverpool, ofcourse. She would be handsomer than ever, probably, and he couldpicture their meeting, seven or eight weeks from now. Would his facewear such an expression as Nevill's wore at this moment? He knew wellthat it would not.
"She is coming!" said Nevill, under his breath.
The door of the schoolhouse was opening, and Nevill moved forward as atall and charming young woman appeared, like a picture in a dark frame.
She was slender, with a tiny waist, though her bust was full, and herfigure had the intensely feminine curves which artists have caused to beassociated with women of the Latin races; her eyes were like those ofher elder sister, but larger and more brilliant. So big and splendidthey were that they made the smooth oval of her olive face seem small.Quantities of heavy black hair rippled away from a forehead which wouldhave been square if the hair had not grown down in a point like a MarieStuart cap. Her chin was pointed, with a deep cleft in the middle, andthe dimples Nevill had praised flashed suddenly into being, as if a rayof sunshine had touched her pale cheeks.
"Mon bon ami!" she exclaimed, holding out both hands in token ofcomradeship, and putting emphasis on her last word.
"She's determined the poor chap shan't forget they're only friends,"thought Stephen, wishing that Caird had not insisted upon his presenceat this first meeting. And in a moment he was being introduced toMademoiselle Josette Soubise.
"Did I surprise you?" asked Nevill, looking at her as if he could nevertear his eyes away, though he spoke in an ordinary tone.
"Ah, I know you want me to say 'yes'," she laughed. "I'd like to tell awhite fib, to please you. But no, I am not quite surprised, for mysister wrote that you might come, and why. What a pity you had this longjourney for nothing. My Kabyle maid, Mouni, has just gone to her home,far away in a little village near Michelet, in la Grande Kabylia. She isto be married to her cousin, the chief's son, whom she has alwaysloved--but there were obstacles till now."
"Obstacles can always be overcome," broke in Nevill.
Josette would not understand any hidden meaning. "It is a great pityabout Mouni," she went on. "Only four days ago she left. I gave her theprice of the journey, for a wedding present. She is a good girl, and Ishall miss her. But of course you can write to ask her questions. Shereads a little French."
"Perhaps we shall go ourselves," Nevill answered, glancing at Stephen'sdisappointed face. "For I know Miss Ray can't be here, or you would havesaid so."
"No, she is not here," echoed Josette, looking astonished. "Jeanne wroteabout the American young lady searching for her sister, but she did notsay she might visit Tlemcen."
"We hoped she would, that's all," explained Nevill. "She's left herhotel in Algiers in a mysterious way, not telling where she meant to go,although she assured us she'd be safe, and we needn't worry. However,naturally we do worry."
"But of course. I see how it is." The dimples were gone, and thebrightness of Josette's eyes was overcast. She looked at Nevillwistfully, and a flash of sympathetic understanding enlightened Stephen.No doubt she was generously solicitous for the fate of Victoria Ray, butthere was something different from solicitude in her darkening eyes.
"Good! she's jealous. She thinks Nevill's heart's been caught in therebound," he told himself. But Nevill remained modestly unconscious.
"Miss Ray may arrive yet," he suggested. "We'd better stop to-day,anyhow, on the chance; don't you think so, Stephen? and then, if there'sno news of her when we get back to Algiers, go on to interview the bridein Grand Kabylia?"
Stephen had not the heart to dispute the wisdom of this decision, thoughhe was sure that, since Victoria was not in Tlemcen now, she would nevercome.
"So you think we've made a long journey for nothing, MademoiselleJosette?" said Nevill.
"But yes. So it turns out."
"Seeing an old friend doesn't count, then?"
"Oh, well, that can seem but little--in comparison to what you hoped.Still, you can show Monsieur Knight the sights. He may not guess howbeautiful they are. Have you told him there are things here as wonderfulas in the Alhambra itself, things made by the Moors who were inGranada?"
"I've told him about all I care most for in Tlemcen," returned Nevill,with that boyish demureness he affected sometimes. "But I'm not acompetent cicerone. If you want Knight to do justice to the wonders ofthis place, you'll have to be our guide. We've got room for severallarge-sized chaperons in the car. Do come. Don't say you won't! I feelas if I couldn't stand it."
His tone was so desperate that Josette laughed some of her brightnessback again. "Then I suppose I mustn't refuse. And I should likegoing--after school hours. Madame de Vaux, who is the bride of a Frenchofficer, will join us, I think, for she and I are friends, and besides,she has had no chance to see things yet. She has been busy settling inher quarters--and I have helped her a little."
"When can you start?" asked Nevill, enraptured at the prospect of a fewhappy hours snatched from fate.
"Not till five."
His face fell. "But that's cruel!"
"It would be cruel to my children to desert them sooner. Don't forget Iam malema--malema before all. And there will be time for seeing nearlyeverything. We can go to Sidi Bou-Medine, afterwards to the ruins ofMansourah by sunset. Meanwhile, show your friend the things near by,without me; the old town, with its different quarters for the Jews, theArabs, and the Negroes. He will like the leather-workers and the bakers,and the weavers of haicks. And you will not need me for the GrandeMosquee, or for the Mosquee of Aboul Hassan, where Monsieur Knight willsee the most beautiful mihrab in all the world. When he has looked atthat, he cannot be sorry he has come to Tlemcen; and if he has regrets,Sidi Bou-Medine will take them away."
"Has Sidi Bou-Medine the power to cure all sorrows?" Stephen asked,smiling.
"Indeed, yes. Why, Sidi Bou-Medine himself is one of the greatestmarabouts. You have but to take a pinch of earth from his tomb, and makea wish upon it. Only one wish, but it is sure to be granted, whatever itmay be, if you keep the packet of earth afterwards, and wear it nearyour heart."
"What a shame you never told me that before. The time I've wasted!"exclaimed Nevill. "But I'll make up for it now. Thank Heaven I'msuperstitious."
They had forgotten Stephen, and laughing into each other's eyes, wereperfectly happy for the moment. Stephen was glad, yet he felt vaguelyresentful that they could forget the girl for whose sake the journey toTlemcen had ostensibly been undertaken. They were ready to squanderhours in a pretence of sightseeing, hours which might have been spent ingetting back to Algiers and so hastening on the expedition to GrandKabylia. How selfish people in love could be! And charming as
JosetteSoubise was, it seemed strange to Stephen that she should stand forperfection to a man who had seen Victoria Ray.
Nevill was imploring Josette to lunch with them, chaperoned by Madame deVaux, and Josette was firmly refusing. Then he begged that they mightleave money as a gift for the malema's scholars, and this offer sheaccepted, only regretting that the young men could not be permitted togive the _cadeau_ with their own hands. "My girls are so pretty," shesaid, "and it is a picture to see them at their embroidery frames, orthe carpet making, their fingers flying, their eyes always on thecoloured designs, which are the same as their ancestresses used acentury ago, before the industry declined. I love them all, the dearcreatures, and they love me, though I am a Roumia and an unbeliever. Iought to be happy in their affection, helping them to success. And now Imust run back to my flock, or the lambs will be getting into mischief.Au revoir--five o'clock. You will find me waiting with Madame de Vaux."
At luncheon, in the bare, cool dining-room of the hotel, Nevill was likea man in a dream. He sat half smiling, not knowing what he ate, hardlyconscious of the talk and laughter of the French officers at anothertable. Just at the last, however, he roused himself. "I can't help beinghappy. I see her so seldom. And I keep turning over in my mind what newarguments in favour of myself I can bring forward when I propose thisafternoon--for of course I shall propose, if you and the bride willkindly give me the chance. I know she won't have me--but I always dopropose, on the principle that much dropping may wear away a stone."
"Suppose you break the habit just for once," ventured Stephen.
Nevill looked anxious. "Why, do you think the case is hopeless?"
"On the contrary. But--well, I can't help feeling it would do you moregood to show an absorbing interest in Miss Ray's affairs, this time."
"So I have an absorbing interest," Nevill protested, remorsefully. "Idon't want you to suppose I mean to neglect them. I assure you----"
Stephen laughed, though a little constrainedly. "Don't apologise, mydear fellow. Miss Ray's no more to me than to you, except that Ihappened to make her acquaintance a few days sooner."
"I know," Nevill agreed, mildly. Then, after a pause, which he earnestlyoccupied in crumbling bread. "Only I'm head over ears in love withanother woman, while you're free to think of her, or any other girl,every minute of the day."
Stephen's face reddened. "I am not free," he said in a low voice.
"I beg your pardon. I hoped you were. I still think--you ought to be."Nevill spoke quickly, and without giving Stephen time to reply, hehurried on; "Miss Ray may arrive here yet. Or she may have found outabout Mouni in some other way, and have gone to see her in GrandKabylia--who knows?"
"If she were merely going there to inquire about her sister, why shouldshe have to make a mystery of her movements?"
"Well, it's on the cards that whatever she wanted to do, she didn't careto be bothered with our troublesome advice and offers of help. Ourinterest was, perhaps, too pressing."
"Mademoiselle Soubise is of that opinion, anyhow--in regard to you,"remarked Stephen.
"What--that angel _jealous_? It's too good to be true! But I'll relieveher mind of any such idea."
"If you'll take one more tip from me, I'd leave her mind alone for thepresent."
"Why, you flinty-hearted reprobate?"
"Well, I'm no authority. But all's fair in love and war. And sometimesan outsider sees features of the game which the players don't see."
"That's true, anyhow," Nevill agreed. "Let's _both_ remember that--eh?"and he got up from the table abruptly, as if to keep Stephen fromanswering, or asking what he meant.
They had several empty hours, between the time of finishing luncheon,and five o'clock, when they were to meet Mademoiselle Soubise and herchaperon, so they took Josette's advice and went sightseeing.
Preoccupied as he was, Stephen could not be indifferent to theexcursion, for Tlemcen is the shrine of gems in Arab architecture, onlyequalled at Granada itself. Though he was so ignorant still of easternlore, that he hardly knew the meaning of the word mihrab, the archedrecess looking towards Mecca, in the Mosque of the lawyer-saint AboulHassan, held him captive for many moments with its beauty. Itsornamentation was like the spread tail of Nevill's white peacock, or thespokes of a silver wheel incrusted with an intricate pattern in jewels.Not a mosque in town, or outside the gates, did they leave unvisited,lest, as Nevill said, Josette Soubise should ask embarrassing questions;and the last hour of probation they gave to the old town. There, as theystopped to look in at the workshops of the weavers, and the bakers, orstared at the hands of Fatma-Zora painted in henna on the doors of Jewsand True Believers, crowds of ragged boys and girls followed them,laughing and begging as gaily as if begging were a game. Only this bandof children, and heavily jewelled girls of Morocco or Spain, withunveiled, ivory faces and eyes like suns, looked at the Englishmen, asStephen and Nevill passed the isolated blue and green houses, in frontof which the women sat in a bath of sunshine. Arabs and Jews walked byproudly, and did not seem to see that there were strangers in theirmidst.
When at last it was time to go back to the hotel, and motor to the EcoleIndigene, Josette was ready, plainly dressed in black. She introducedher friends to the bride, Madame de Vaux, a merry young woman, blonde bynature and art, who laughed always, like the children in the Arab town.She admired Knight far more than Caird, because she liked tall, darkmen, her own husband being red and stout. Therefore, she would have beendelighted to play the tactful chaperon, if Josette had not continuallybroken in upon her duet with Stephen, ordering them both to look at thisor that.
The country through which they drove after passing out of the gate inthe modern French wall, might have been the south of England inmidsummer, had it not been peopled by the dignified Arab figures whichnever lost their strangeness and novelty for Stephen. Here, in the westcountry, they glittered in finery like gorgeous birds: sky-blue jacket,scarlet fez and sash glowing behind a lacework of green branches nettedwith flowers, where a man hoed his fields or planted his garden.
Hung with a tapestry of roses, immense brown walls lay crumbling--ruinedgateways, and shattered traces of the triple fortifications whichdefended Tlemcen when the Almohades were in power. By a clear rill ofwater gushing along the roadside, a group of delicate broken archesmarked the tomb of the "flying saint," Sidi Abou Ishad el Taiyer, anearly Wright or Bleriot who could swim through the air; and though inhis grave a chest of gold was said to be buried, no one--not even thelawless men from over the border--had ever dared dig for the treasure.Close by, under the running water, a Moor had found a huge lump ofsilver which must have lain for no one could tell how many years,looking like a grey stone under a sheet of glass; nevertheless, theneighbouring tomb had still remained inviolate, for Sidi Abou Ishad elTaiyer was a much respected saint, even more loved than the marabout whosent rain for the gift of a sacrificed fowl, or he who cured sore eyesin answer to prayer. Only Sidi Bou-Medine himself was more important;and presently (because the distance was short, though the car hadtravelled slowly) they came to the footpath in the hills which must beascended on foot, to reach the shrine of the powerful saint, friend ofgreat Sidi Abd el Kader.
Already they could see the minaret of the mosque, high above the meanvillage which clustered round it, rising as a flame rises against awindless sky, while beneath this shining Giralda lay half-ruined housesrejuvenated with whitewash or coats of vivid blue. They passed up anarrow street redeemed from sordidness by a domed koubbah or two; andfrom the roofed balconies of cafes maures, Arabs looked down on themwith large, dreamy eyes like clouded stars. All the glory and pride ofthe village was concentrated in the tomb and beautiful mosque of thesaint whose name falls sweet on the ear as the music of a summer storm,the tinkle and boom of rain and thunder coming together: SidiBou-Medine.
Toddling girls with henna-dyed hair, and miniature brown men, likeblowing flower-petals in scarlet, yellow, and blue, who had swarmed upthe street after the Roumis, stopped at the portals of the mosque andt
he sacred tomb. But there was a humming in the air like the song ofbees, which floated rhythmically out from the zaouia, the school in themosque where many boys squatted cross-legged before the aged Taleb whotaught the Koran; bowing, swaying towards him, droning out the words ofthe Prophet, some half asleep, nodding against the onyx pillars.
In the shadow of the mosque it was cool, though the crown of theminaret, gemmed with priceless tiles from Fez, blazed in the sun's raysas if it were on fire. Into this coolness the four strangers passed,involuntarily hushing their voices in the portico of decorated walls andhanging honeycombs of stucco whence, through great doors of ancient,greenish bronze (doors said to have arrived miraculously from across thesea), they found their way into a courtyard open to the sky, where afountain waved silver plumes over a marble basin. Two or three dignifiedArab men bathed their feet in preparation for the afternoon prayer, andtired travellers from a distance slept upon mats of woven straw, spreadon tiles like a pavement of precious stones, or dozed in the littlecells made for the students who came in the grand old days. The sons ofIslam were reverent, yet happy and at home on the threshold of Allah'shouse, and Stephen began to understand, as Nevill and Josette alreadyunderstood, something of the vast influence of the Mohammedan religion.Only Madame de Vaux remained flippant. In the car, she had laughed atthe women muffled in their haicks, saying that as the men of Tlemcenwere so tyrannical about hiding female faces, it was strange they didnot veil the hens and cows. In the shadowy mosque, with its five naves,she giggled at the yellow babouches out of which her little high-heeledshoes slipped, and threatened to recite a French verse under thedelicate arch of the pale blue mihrab.
But Stephen was impressed with the serene beauty of the Moslem temple,where, between labyrinths of glimmering pillars like young ash trees inmoonlight, across vistas of rainbow-coloured rugs like flower-beds, theworshippers looked out at God's blue sky instead of peering throughthick, stained-glass windows; where the music was the murmur of runningwater, instead of sounding organ-pipes; and where the winds of heavenbore away the odours of incense before they staled. He wondered whethera place of prayer like this--white-walled, severely simple despite theveil-like adornment of arabesques--did not more tend to religiouscontemplation than a cathedral of Italy or Spain, with its bloodstainedChrists, its Virgins, and its saints. Did this Arab art perhaps moretruly express the fervour of faith which needs no extraneouselaborations, because it has no doubts? But presently calling up avision of the high, dim aisles, the strong yet soaring columns, all themysterious purity of gothic cathedrals, he convinced himself that, afterall, the old monkish architects had the real secret of mysticaspirations in the human heart.
When Josette and Nevill led the way out of the mosque, Stephen was inthe right mood for the tomb of that ineffable saint of Islam, Shaoib ibnHusain el Andalousi, Sidi Bou-Medine. He was almost ready to believe inthe extraordinary virtue of the earth which had the honour of coveringthe marabout's remains. It annoyed him that Madame de Vaux should laughat the lowness of the doorway under which they had to stoop, and thatshe should make fun of the suspended ostrich eggs, the tinselledpictures and mirrors, the glass lustres and ancient lanterns, the spiltcandle-wax of many colours, or the old, old flags which covered thewalls and the high structure of carved wood which was the saint's lastresting-place.
A grave Arab who approved their air of respect, gave a pinch of eartheach to Stephen and Nevill, wrapped in paper, repeating Josette'sassurance that their wishes would be granted. It would be necessary, headded, to reflect long before selecting the one desire of the soulwhich was to be put above all others. But Nevill had no hesitation. Hewished instantly, and tucked the tiny parcel away in the pocket nearesthis heart.
"And you, Monsieur?" asked Madame de Vaux, smiling at Stephen. "It doesnot appear easy to choose. Ah, now you have decided! Will you tell mewhat you wished?"
"I think I mustn't do that. Saints favour those who can keep secrets,"said Stephen, teasingly. Yet he made his wish in earnest, after turningover several in his mind. To ask for his own future happiness, in spiteof obstacles which would prove the marabout's power, was the mostintelligent thing to do; but somehow the desire clamouring loudest atthe moment was for Victoria, and the rest might go ungranted.
"I wish that I may find her safe and happy," he said over the pinch ofearth before putting it into what Josette named his "poche du coeur."
"As for me," remarked Madame de Vaux, "I will not derange any of theirMoslem saints, thank you. I have more influential ones of my own, whomight be annoyed. And it is stuffy in this tomb. I am sure it is full ofmicrobes. Let us go and see the ruined palace of the Black Sultan who,Josette says, founded everything here that was worth founding. Thatthere should be a Black Sultan sounds like a fairy tale. And I likefairy tales next to bon-bons and new hats."
So they made their pilgrimage to the third treasure of the hill-village;and then away to where the crumbling walls of Mansourah, and that greattower, which is one of the noblest Moorish relics in all Algeria, riseout of a flowering plain.
Cherry blossoms fell in scented snow over their heads as the car ranback to Tlemcen, and out once more, through the Moorish Porte de Fez,past the reservoir built by a king for an Arab beauty to sail her boatsupon. Sunset was near, and the sky blazed red as if Mansourah burnedwith ten thousand torches.
The way led through vast blue lakes which were fields of periwinkles,and along the road trotted pink-robed children, whose heads were wrappedin kerchiefs of royal purple. They led sheep with golden-gleamingfleece, and at the tombs of marabouts they paused to pray, among groupsof kneeling figures in long white cloaks and turbans. All the atmosphereswam with changing colours, such as come and go in the heart of afire-opal.
Very beautiful must have been the city of Mansourah, named aftermurdered Sultan el Mansour, the Victorious, who built its vastfortifications, its mosques and vanished palaces, its caravanserais andbaths, in the seven years when he was besieging Tlemcen. And still areits ruins beautiful, after more than five centuries of pillage anddestruction. Josette Soubise loved the place, and often came to it whenher day's work was done, therefore she was happy showing it to Nevilland--incidentally--to the others.
The great brown wall pricked with holes like an enormous wasp's nest,the ruined watch-towers, and the soaring, honey-coloured minaret withits intricate carvings, its marble pillars, its tiles and inset enamelsiridescent as a Brazilian beetle's wing, all gleamed with a splendourthat was an enchantment, in the fire of sunset. The scent of aromaticherbs, such as Arabs love and use to cure their fevers, was bitter-sweetin the fall of the dew, and birds cried to each other from hidden nestsamong the ruins.
"Mussulmans think that the spirits of their dead fly back to visit theirown graves, or places they have loved, in the form of birds," saidJosette, looking up at the minaret, large marguerites with orangecentres embroidering her black dress, as she stood knee-deep in theirwaving gold. "I half believe that these birds among the lovely carvingsof the tower are the priests who used to read the Koran in the mosque,and could not bear to leave it. The birds in the walls are the soldierswho defended the city."
As she spoke there was a flight of wings, black against the rose andmauve of the sunset. "There!" she exclaimed. "Arabs would call that anomen! To see birds flying at sundown has a special meaning for them. Ifa man wanted something, he would know that he could get it only by goingin the direction the birds take."
"Which way are they flying?" asked Stephen.
All four followed the flight of wings with their eyes.
"They are going south-east," said Nevill.