Read Ebook: The Bath Keepers; Or Paris in Those Days v.2 (Novels of Paul de Kock Volume VIII) by Kock Paul De

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INDEX 64

FACING PAGE

THE ISLE OF MAN

THE ISLAND AS A WHOLE

Either Ruskin or Wordsworth--I forget for the moment which--says somewhere that the English Lake Country begins where its mountains first become visible over the sands of Morecambe Bay. This, indeed, is a proper rebuke to the foolish modern tendency--so entirely subversive of all real aesthetic appreciation--which wishes always to hurry us into the very heart of a beautiful district, instead of encouraging us to approach it by insensible gradations, thus allowing its beauties to work up gradually to their natural and proper climax. Luckily this mistake is impossible in the case of the Isle of Man, which is necessarily approached by water. It is astonishing, indeed, from what great distances its mountains are visible over the Irish Sea. On any fine evening they are plainly conspicuous from anywhere along the level strip of land that constitutes the south-west coast of Cumberland; it is not necessary, in fact, to climb to the summit of Black Comb in order to see

Main ocean, breaking audibly, and stretched Far into silent regions blue and pale-- And visibly engirding Mona's Isle.

The prospect thus afforded is one of singular distant attractiveness, though the Isle of Man presents no such splendid group of huddled peaks as the Cumberland fells present, in their turn, as seen from the Isle of Man. Only North Barrule, indeed, towards the north end of the island, rises to a distinct and graceful cone.

The Isle of Man has suffered, if we may say so without paradox, from the excess of its own popularity. For many years past it has been the favourite touring ground of holiday-makers from the crowded manufacturing district of South Lancashire; and this, perhaps, has rather tended to discourage those quiet lovers of Nature who, though not exactly addicted to taking their pleasures sadly, at any rate prefer to enjoy occasional solitude, and do not always appreciate the joys of a noisy crowd. Douglas, indeed, in the season is crowded with merry trippers, who pour into it from steamer after steamer, and tax its accommodation to the breaking point. And what is true of Douglas is perhaps also true, in a modified degree, of Ramsey, and even of Port Erin and Peel. These, of course, are centres from which brakes and char-?-bancs and waggonettes perambulate every corner of the island; even the culminating summit of Snaefell itself is now climbed by a double line of electric railway, and crowned by a huge hotel. "Pretty as the island is," says Mr. Haskett Smith, "its hills are nothing more than hills, except where they are also railways or tea-gardens." Tea-gardens, no doubt, are abundantly in evidence; and there is scarcely a glen in the whole island that is not rigorously kept under lock and key, and only to be opened at a price. The tripper element, again, in the Isle of Man is probably responsible for the absence of the old-fashioned mountain inns--like Wastdale Head, in Cumberland, or Penygwryd, near Snowdon--that form so pleasant a feature among the mountains of England and Wales. There even was once a dancing saloon in the lonely recesses of Injebreck; and no one who loves mountains tolerates dancing in their secret recesses, unless indeed it be the fairies dancing their "ringlets to the whistling wind."

Most people indeed who love Nature will avoid Mona in the "season"; but luckily the "season" is short. From October to Easter the lodging houses are empty, and the island lives its own peculiar life. It is remarkable, indeed, how little permanent harm has been done to its pleasant landscapes by this yearly incursion of the southern Goths and Vandals. Fashion has not dotted its hills with villas, as Windermere has been dotted, and to some extent Ambleside and Coniston. The two streams of life that meet here in summer flow together for a time side by side, but do not seem to commingle. Go there in spring when the fields are full of lambs, and the hedgerows are yellow with primroses. Climb the rolling moorlands that are still red with winter bents, and wander along the hills that drop into the sea so steeply between Peel and Bradda Head. Linger in the old churchyards at Kirk Maughold and Kirkmichael among the immemorial cross-slabs of a long since vanished race; sit among the ruins of St. Patrick's Island--broken cathedral and broken castle, old, mysterious round tower, and ruined pre-Conquest church--till the place is peopled again with dead voices and dead faces, and till the whole island

Glows as if the Middle Age Were gorgeous upon earth again.

You will receive no rude shock in the course of your wandering, nor necessarily encounter a single "tripper." In this way most certainly, but in this way alone, you will "pluck out the heart of mystery" of pleasant, green "Ellan Vannin."

CONCERNING PEEL

There is hardly a pleasanter spot in the island from which to explore its beauties than Peel. Situated on its west coast, at a point sufficiently equidistant from its north and south extremities, and as much out of reach of the corrupting influence of Douglas as any centre well can be in an island of such insignificant dimensions, Peel is not merely an admirable centre from which to make excursions, but in itself is one of the quaintest and most picturesque of little towns. Castletown, in fact, is its only possible Manx rival, and Castletown ranks below it by a very long interval. The inland parts of the town, no doubt, are dull, as new parts of most towns are apt to be everywhere; but the ancient nucleus of the place, at the exact point where the little River Neb flows out into the sea, and St. Patrick's Island , are as picturesque and old-fashioned as anyone can wish. St. Patrick's Island, indeed, whether viewed at close quarters from the little pier on the opposite side of the harbour--where sometimes at night one almost stumbles over piles of freshly caught fish that are left there to glimmer and glint in the moonlight--or seen from a distance from the coast to the north of Peel Bay, is probably the most striking object in the whole Kingdom of Man. Possibly the Rock of Cashel, which the writer has never seen, is crowded with points of interest as many and as diverse: nowhere else, he fancies, in the range of the British seas is it possible to discover such variety of interest concentrated in a space so diminutive as this. Here is an old castle and a ruined palace, a round tower, a roofless cathedral, and an old pre-Conquest church. None by itself is of great importance, but the aggregate is imposing in its "infinite variety." The round tower, of course, has analogies in Ireland, and at Abernethy, Egilsay, and Brechin, in Scotland; but is absolutely without parallel in England. Much learning has been expended on the meaning of these structures, which were possibly nothing more or less than places of refuge, strange as their shape may appear for this purpose, for people to take shelter in times of sudden scare. The Peel round tower, however, differs from its Scottish and Irish neighbours in being of one uniform diameter from bottom to finish, not tapering like the others towards its top. The cathedral of St. Germain, now derelict and roofless, exhibits more distinctive architectural features than any other old church in the island. Parts of it date from the thirteenth century; and many bishops of Sodor and Man have been buried inside its walls. One of these, Samuel Rutter, who died in 1662, is commemorated still by an inscription so quaint--it is easy to believe that it was written by himself--that we may be pardoned for setting out most of it at length: "In hac domo quam A vermiculis accepi confratribus meis, spe Resurrectionis ad vitam, Jaceo Sam, Permissione divina Episcopus Hujus Insulae. Siste Lector vide ac ride palatium episcopi. Obiit XXX? die mensis Maij anno 1662." This is very wittily Englished thus in Black's guide-book:

In this abode I lying am, Bishop of this island, Sam; Fraternal little worms remain My comrades till I rise again. Stay, reader, and inspect awhile A Bishop's Palace; look and smile!

Not all these lords do vex me half so much As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife: She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife.

To the Isle of Man; There to be us'd according to your state.

But none of all the astonished train Was so dismayed as Deloraine! His blood did freeze, his brain did burn, 'Twas feared his mind would ne'er return; For he was speechless, ghastly, wan, Like him of whom the story ran, That spake the spectre-hound in Man.

But as loud and noisy as he had been at leaving them, he was now become sober and silent enough, for he was never heard to speak more; and though all the time he lived--which was three days--he was entreated by all who came near him either to speak, or, if he could not do that, to make some signs by which they could understand what had happened to him, yet nothing intelligible could be got from him, only that, by the distortion of his limbs and features, it might be guessed that he died in agonies more than are common in a natural death. The Mauthe Dhoo was, however, never seen after in the castle, nor would anyone attempt to go through that passage--for which reason it was closed up, and another way made. This accident happened about threescore years since, and I heard it attested by several, but especially by an old soldier, who assured me he had seen it oftener than he had then hairs on his head."

TYNWALD HILL AND THE NORTHERN PARTS OF THE ISLAND

On the present occasion we propose to make our way from Peel to Ramsey by neither of the two alternatives that have briefly been sketched above. We propose, on the contrary, to take a composite route--partly through the lowland, but mostly over hill--which will introduce us alike to Kirkmichael, and Bishop's Court beyond it, and carry us over the top of Snaefell--provided always that it be autumn, spring, or winter, and that the electric tramway is not running.

"Dear Ambroisine! what torment, what trouble I cause you!"

"Will you be kind enough not to say that? I tell you once more that your not being in your father's house now is my fault. If it had not been for that infernal idea of mine of taking you to see the Fire of Saint-Jean, you would still be on Rue Dauphine, working by your mother's side. As I am the prime cause of the trouble, the least that I can do is to try to repair it."

Ambroisine left the house, walked very fast, did not stop on the way, and reached Place Royale in less than half an hour. She asked at a shop where the H?tel de Marvejols was; it was pointed out to her, and in a moment the girl saw the heavy gate leading into the courtyard swing open before her.

"What do you want?" cried the concierge, in a rough voice, and without leaving the large armchair in which he sat at the back of his lodge.

"I would like to speak to Monsieur le Comte L?odgard de Marvejols."

"He is not in."

"Will you have the kindness to tell me at what hour I can find him?"

"Never!"

"What! never?"

"No; monsieur le comte no longer lives here, he doesn't sleep in monsieur le marquis his father's house, and he never comes here; so, you see, you will never find him here."

"Then, monsieur le concierge, will you kindly tell me where monsieur le comte lives now, and I will go there."

"I don't know where monsieur le comte lives; besides, it is none of my business to give his address!"

"But, monsieur, I must speak with monsieur le comte; it is absolutely necessary!"

"That is none of my business."

And the concierge closed the door of his lodge with a most unamiable air.

Ambroisine remained in the courtyard, in despair at the unsuccess of the step she had taken, and unable to make up her mind to go away. At that moment old Hector, the marquis's valet, came from a porch at the rear and crossed the courtyard. He saw Ambroisine, and as beauty always exerts a charm, even over old men, he approached the comely girl and said, observing her distressed look:

"What is the matter, my pretty maid? Do you wish something here?"

"Yes, monsieur; I hoped to find someone, and I am told that he is no longer here."

"Whom do you seek, my child?"

"I desire to see the young gentleman of the house, monsieur--Comte L?odgard."

"My master's son!" rejoined old Hector, with a profound sigh. "Ah! this is no longer the place to look for him; Monsieur le Comte de Marvejols is no longer to be found under his father's roof. Nearly a month ago he ceased entirely to come to the house; and monsieur le marquis, although he tries not to show it, is deeply grieved, I can see."

"But, monsieur, if monsieur le comte no longer lives here, he must live somewhere, unless--mon Dieu!--unless he has left Paris--France?"

"No, no, my child, don't be alarmed!" replied the old servant, compressing his lips with an expression in which there was a faint suggestion of cunning; "monsieur le marquis's son has not left Paris. Oh! he leads too merry a life here to have any idea of going away!--And are you so very anxious to see him, my pretty maid?"

"Yes, monsieur, it is so important! A certain person's repose, her happiness, is at stake. I have a letter to give to Monsieur L?odgard; and your concierge will not tell me where I can find him."

"But I do not believe that he knows. Since monsieur le comte ceased to live with his father, monsieur le marquis never speaks of his son, and he will never hear his name mentioned. But I, who, without making any pretence, know what goes on in my master's heart, have made inquiries without saying anything to him about it; I talked with the valet of one of Monsieur L?odgard's friends, and I learned from him that monsieur le comte occupies a very pretty, elegant house a long way from here--in Rue de Bretonvilliers. It is close by Ile Saint-Louis--a new street recently laid out, in a very deserted quarter. But it seems that that does not prevent monsieur le comte from enjoying himself immensely in his new abode, where he gives f?tes, or rather orgies! for our young gentlemen do not know how to amuse themselves in any other way. Probably fortune, which used to treat Monsieur L?odgard so ill, has ceased to be adverse to him. Well, well! card playing has its chances; there are times when luck favors you as much as it has been against you. If monsieur le comte is lucky now, so much the better; for his father would never pay his debts again.--But I stand chattering here, and my master may need my services."

"Rue de Bretonvilliers, you said? Thanks, thanks, monsieur!"

"I don't know the number, but there are very few houses on that street as yet, and it will be easy for you to find it."

"Oh! yes, monsieur, yes, I will find it; thanks for your kindness."

"Go, my child; I hope that you will not make a useless journey!"

Ambroisine left the H?tel de Marvejols and started off again; but she reflected on what the old servant had just told her. If the young count, since he had ceased to live with his father, led a more dissipated life than ever, of course he had entirely forgotten poor Bathilde.

That thought weighed heavily on Ambroisine's heart; she had never had any confidence in the oaths which the count had sworn to her friend; but it shook neither her resolution nor her courage.

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