WHEN the car reached the summit, the priest stepped out, and the boys followed.
“Here,” he said, stepping up to the parapet and making a sweep around the horizon with one arm, “you have one of the grandest views in Europe. It is not as extensive as the view from the Eiffel Tower in Paris, and of course there is not such a wilderness of buildings around us. But here you have what is lacking there, a great body of water for a background. You do not see much of the Mediterranean from this terrace, because the remainder of the hill is in the way; we still have a considerable part of the hill to climb, you know. But from the level of the church there is a grand view of the sea.”
“There could hardly be a better view of the city, sir, than there is from here,” Kit answered. “The entire place seems to be just below us, and the hills by which it is enclosed. The Old Port looks from here like a little pond. But I can make out our ship very plainly, though she looks like a toy boat from this distance. It is the third steamer from the end, on this side, sir.”
“Ah, then you are sailors, are you?” the priest asked. “And I know from your manner of speech that you are Americans.”
“Not exactly sailors, sir,” Harry said, thinking it time for him to take a little part in the conversation. “Mr. Silburn is supercargo of that steamer he showed you, the North Cape, and I am the cabin boy.”
“Then you have a great opportunity to see many parts of the world,” the priest answered. “But in all your travels you will hardly see anything more unusual than the church we are about to visit. There are other churches on hilltops, but none with as many curious phases as this. I have remained for several weeks in Marseilles solely for the sake of becoming well acquainted with it.”
“Then you do not live in Marseilles, sir?” Kit asked. “I suppose that according to the custom of the country we ought to call you ‘father’; but we are Americans and Protestants, and not accustomed to such things.”
“It is not of the least consequence,” the priest answered, with a smile. “I would not have you depart from what you believe to be right. It is not a good plan to be Protestant in America and a Catholic in Europe and a Mohammedan in Turkey, and a Confucian in China. Whatever you are, stick to it wherever you go. No,” he went on, “I do not live in Marseilles. My home overlooks this same beautiful blue sea, but it is many leagues from here. I live in Rome.”
“We need not linger here,” the priest continued, “for the view is much broader from the church. Come this way, and we will ascend to the summit.”
He led the way under a heavy stone arch to a long, broad stone viaduct, like a bridge, extending from the column of masonry to the hill beyond. Then the wide stone walk went up, up, with occasional flights of five or six steps. At the further end of this was a longer flight of stone steps, then a turn and another flight, and they were in front of the entrance to a solid stone fort, with a soldier on guard at the gate. At this level the gale was so strong that they could hardly keep their feet. But still they kept on, up more stone steps, till they came to the portico of the church.
“We seem to be the only visitors this afternoon,” the priest said, “though generally there are a number of persons here. I suppose they do not like the high wind.”
Instead of ascending the last flight of steps, leading to the interior of the church, they turned to the left on a broad stone promenade extending around the building. On one side of this was a low stone house with several doors, and over one of the doors a sign bearing the words, “Café, chocolat, vins fins et ordinaire, spiriteaux, tabac.”
“Look at the gin-mill!” Harry exclaimed. “Who ever heard of a—” But he recollected himself before he went any further, and stopped suddenly.
“Do not stop on my account,” the priest said, with a low, pleasant little laugh. “It looks odd to you, I know, to see a liquor shop attached to a church. But every country has its own customs, you know. And here the conditions are very unusual. This is not only a church, but a fort too, as well as a signal station. All the ships that enter the harbor are signalled from the poles on the other side of the building.”
When they turned the corner, they had a beautiful view of the Mediterranean for many miles, and the harbor with its forts and breakwater, and the long range of minor hills and valleys lying between the city and its encircling mountains.
“This little house, I believe,” the priest said as they turned again, pointing to a small stone building that stood on the edge of the promenade, almost overhanging the precipice, “is for the use of the clergy attached to the church. But I have not made the acquaintance of any of them, so I cannot take you in. Perhaps we had better go up now into the church.”
They stopped, however, in front of the church door while the priest pointed out the moat, crossed by a heavy drawbridge, which they had come over without noticing.
“On account of the fort it was necessary to make the church capable of defence also,” he explained. “In case of need the church could make a very strong defence, with the bridge drawn up. I think you have no fortified churches in your country?”
“No, sir,” Kit replied; “I never saw one before. There are a great many things in Europe that we do not have in America.”
“Ah, but you are modest about it!” the priest laughed. “You have also a great many things there that we do not have here.”
As they ascended the inner steps they found a little shop on each side of the entrance, kept by elderly women who were evidently sisters of some order, as they were clad from head to foot in white nuns’-cloth. The goods they sold were crosses, medallions, strings of beads, pictures of the church, and other sacred emblems. And just outside, in full view, was the office where masses for the repose of the souls of the dead could be arranged for and the bills paid, and where large and small candles for church use were also sold.
A big doorway on the first landing opened into a crypt or lower chapel; but the iron gate across was locked, and they went up another flight of steps to the church proper—a church of no unusual size, but one of the handsomest and most artistic in France, with walls and pillars of marble, red jasper, and other costly materials. Near the doors were two large stands with innumerable holders for candles, in which many were burning, some as tall as a man, others not much larger than the ordinary household candles.
The priest had pointed out the curious toy ships hanging from the ceiling, all offerings from mariners who had been delivered from peril; the hundreds of tablets on the walls, “like peppermint lozenges with blue borders,” as Harry whispered to Kit; and the costly altar decorations, when he suddenly stopped and looked at his watch.
“I think we had better go out a moment,” he said, “and learn how late the ascenseurs run. It would be awkward to be left up here after they had made their last trip for the night.”
When they reached the stone promenade they saw several men running at great speed toward the ascenseurs; but whether something had happened or whether the men were trying to catch the car, was more than they could tell. The priest, however, asked the attendant who sat near the church door, and so learned the truth.
“There is some trouble with the ascenseurs,” he explained, after a short conversation in French with the attendant. “Not exactly an accident, but some part of the engine was broken down, and they cannot run till it is repaired. They think all will be in order again in half an hour, so we need give ourselves no uneasiness about it.”
“That is a capital illustration of the fallibility of all things human,” he continued, as they stepped back out of the wind. “Those ascenseurs are supposed to be as nearly perfect as such mechanism can be made. It was thought that nothing could possibly happen to them. They operate on what is known as the ‘water balance’ system. As one car goes down the other goes up; and there is a water tank under each car. Before a car starts from the top, its tank is filled with water by an engine that forces the water up through a pipe, and the added weight of the water makes it so much heavier that it easily draws the other car up. Then there are four large wire cables attached to each car, besides the usual devices for bringing the cars to a stop in case the cables should break. That looks as if every possible danger had been guarded against, doesn’t it? Yet some trifling thing about the engine gives way, and the whole beautiful mechanism is for the time made useless. You will find all through life, my boys, that no matter how carefully you lay your plans, they will sometimes miscarry. It is only those things that the great Creator arranges for us that always go right. This solid church may crumble, but the skies above it will still be as blue, the wind still sweep as furiously across the summit of this hill. Remember that, my children. Whether you follow the faith that I love, or the newer forms that I hope you love equally well, you must find in the end that all rests upon the one foundation, the great Creator who makes no mistakes, whose love is eternal, who doeth all things well.”
Kit looked up in surprise to hear a priest speak in this way. There were few Catholics in his part of Fairfield County, and he had never given the subject much attention; but from what he had heard of them he rather imagined that they—well, not that they would eat him exactly, or insist upon burning candles in front of his face, but that at any rate they would not be likely to see good in any religion except their own. But this man was very different from the hazy ideas he had had of Catholic priests. He did not look or speak like a bigot. As Kit examined his face more closely he thought it one of the most kindly and most intellectual faces he had ever seen. And certainly he was a man of great knowledge. Whatever subject came up in the conversation, he was familiar with. He had even talked about the management of a steamship as knowingly as if he had been a sailor. He spoke English and French with equal ease; as a priest he must also speak Latin; and as a resident of Rome he must speak Italian. Kit noticed, too, that although his outer clothing was shaped in the usual priestly fashion, it was made of very fine materials. His boots were delicate and highly polished.
The greater part of the half-hour they spent in examining the curious objects in the church, and what the boys did not understand the priest explained to them. He was an invaluable guide and a pleasant companion, and they were sorry when he said that they had better go out again to see whether the ascenseurs were yet running.
They were surprised to find that it was pitch dark when they went out into the air, for the church was lighted with gas. And the wind had increased and was blowing even a worse gale than before. They groped their way down the steps as far as the entrance to the fort, and the priest held a short conversation with the guard.
“He says the break has proved more serious than was thought,” their guide said, “and the ascenseurs will not be able to move for several hours. But workmen are busy making repairs, and they will be in running order again some time during the evening. So under the circumstances I think it will be safer for us to wait. Of course there is a path down the hill, as I know to my cost, for I walked down it a few days ago, lost my way, and had to do more climbing than I have done since I was about your age. But it would be extremely difficult and dangerous in this darkness, and on such a night. We cannot well wait so long in the church; but if you will come with me, I will see whether I cannot induce the authorities to give us more comfortable quarters.”
“You must not put yourself to any trouble on our account, sir,” Kit answered, though he was rather pleased at the idea of spending a few hours more with so agreeable a companion, as well as with having another little adventure on his second night in Marseilles. “We can get along very well in any sheltered place; and as you are a stranger here it might put you to some inconvenience.”
“I am not a stranger in any church dedicated to the Holy Mother of God,” the priest answered; and from the movement of his hands the boys imagined that he was crossing himself, though it was too dark for them to see. And he spoke as if he felt as sure of finding a welcome there as though he were about to open the door of his own house.
The priest led the way up the steps again to the church door, and said a few words in French to the attendant, which of course the boys did not understand. But as he drew a silver card-case from an inner pocket and handed a card to the man, they rightly judged that he was inquiring for the clergyman in charge, and sending his card to him.
“I did not intend to introduce myself in Marseilles,” he said, after the man had disappeared with the card; “but my poor old throat is too weak to risk long exposure on such a night, and I must find shelter. And you shall share it with me, for I am your guide, philosopher, and friend on this occasion. You need not be surprised at anything you may see. You are in the house of God, and in company of one of the humblest of his servants.”
Kit would have given a great deal for a chance to exchange a few words with Harry. But as that was impossible he had to do his own thinking unassisted. He began to feel somehow as if he was on the brink of another adventure, perhaps stranger even than the night in Louis-Philippe’s cell. This was no ordinary priest, he was sure. Instead of acting like a man asking for shelter, he seemed rather to be waiting for something that he was entitled to.
And what could he mean by telling them not to be surprised at anything they might see? Surprised! the boys were surprised enough already. Their weird surroundings thrilled them. The hill of Notre-Dame, with all its strange accessories, is thrilling under the broad noonday sun; but on this night of inky darkness, with the lights of Marseilles twinkling far beneath them, and the church walls, though solid as the fort itself, trembling under the thundering blasts of the gale, it was enough to stir the blood of older men than Kit or Harry, without the addition of a mysterious priest warning them against surprise.
In a few minutes they heard footsteps coming down one of the long, gloomy aisles, and the attendant returned, accompanied by a priest dressed precisely like their companion, except that he carried no hat. He looked around for a moment in the semi-darkness, this second priest, approached the little group, and immediately dropped upon his knees before the stranger. As he did so, the latter put out both hands as if to help him rise, and the boys noticed that their companion had removed his gloves, that his hands were beautifully small and white, and that upon one of his fingers was a large and sparkling seal ring. The kneeling priest took the hands in his and either kissed one of them or kissed the ring, it was impossible to tell which.
The boys disobeyed instructions at once. They were both surprised already.
Before rising the priest received the benediction from the newcomer, and in another moment they were conversing in Latin; not, it seemed to Kit, like equals talking together, but more like an inferior speaking to a superior. The conversation lasted for some minutes; and at its conclusion the priest of the church, with a profound bow, led the way down the steps, across the stone promenade, and into the small house in which, as their guide had told them, the clergy made their headquarters. It was not, as the boys soon saw, a place where the priests lived, but simply where they could sit and read and make themselves comfortable while waiting for the numerous services during the day and evening; and an adjoining room, the door of which stood open when they entered, was evidently devoted to the uses of the sisters in white.
The room was in darkness at first, but the priest began to light the wax candles that seemed to be kept more for ornament than use, and it was soon bright as day. He drew up chairs for the visitor and his companions, and then, with many low bows, excused himself and went out. The apartment looked somewhat bare, but its scant furniture was heavy and solid.
“This will answer our purpose while we are detained here,” their friend said when they were alone. “I have asked them to let us have a fire, for the wind makes the air chilly.”
In an incredibly short time, the priest returned with a number of attendants, each bearing a load of some kind—attendants, who were evidently young men in training for the priesthood, for they all wore semi-priestly costumes. Two of them carried a large and handsomely carved armchair from the church. Another had a large purple cloth over his arm. Another bore a footstool, and still another brought an armful of wood.
Surprising as all this was, the boys were still more surprised to see that each person as he entered the room immediately dropped upon his knees, and rose only when their guide motioned them to do so, which he did immediately. The two with the big chair had to set it down before they could kneel; but the young man with the armful of wood had the hardest time getting down and up again.
The big chair was placed by the side of the hearth, and with the heavy purple cloth thrown over it, and the footstool in front, it began to look, the boys thought, very much like a throne. But their guide seated himself in it as readily as if a throne was his customary seat, and talked in Latin again with the priest, while one of the young men started a blazing fire. When the priest withdrew again, as he did in a few minutes, accompanied by the young men, it was with many low bows, and walking backward toward the door.
“Some of them are going to break their necks if this thing keeps on,” Harry said to himself. He was fairly tingling for a chance to talk to Kit, but that was still impossible. “But I’d like to know what sort of a Grand High Panjandrum this is we’re travelling with. It must be an awful nuisance to be such a big gun that people have to get down on their knees to you. Why, I don’t believe you have to kneel when you go to see the Governor of Connecticut; no, nor the President.”
“They are going to bring us some trifling refreshment,” their guide said, “as we shall lose our dinners through this accident to the ascenseurs.” Then seeing that the boys hardly knew how to conduct themselves in what was for them a very awkward situation, he skilfully led them into conversation. How long had they been in Marseilles, and what had they seen?
Kit was soon started with the story of their visit to the Castle d’If and what befell them there, in which their friend was very much interested. Then he was led on and on, almost without knowing it, to tell something of his own history; and that took him naturally to the disappearance of his father, and the possibility that he might be the strange man in the New Zealand hospital.
“It is a great trial to be kept in such suspense,” their guide said; “but whatever comes of it you must always feel that it is for the best. I am glad to know that I may perhaps be of a little assistance to you in such a matter. We may never meet again, but I shall be happy if I can give you cause to remember your visit to Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde with the stranger from Rome. I have a very dear friend in New Zealand who may be of the greatest assistance to you in identifying the man in the hospital, or in providing suitably for him if he proves to be your father—as indeed I hope he may. I will give you a line to my friend, and you must not hesitate to use it if occasion arises.”
He took from an inner pocket, as he spoke, a small letter-case with silver clasp and corners, opened it, and with the fountain pen it contained wrote a brief letter, resting the case upon his knee, enclosed it in an envelope which he addressed, and handed it to Kit.
“If you should go to New Zealand to make inquiries for yourself,” he said, “do not fail to present it, or if you send it by mail, write a letter of your own to accompany it, explaining the case. You will find it of use to you.”
“Thank you very much, sir,” Kit answered, as he took the letter. “I cannot tell what will be best to do till we hear from the consul there.”
The letter-case was hardly restored to its place before the priest returned, bringing again several attendants who carried a large tray loaded with silver eating and drinking utensils, a silver urn of steaming tea, bread, meats, cakes, fruit, nuts, and cheese. Again they all went through the kneeling process; and they were shortly followed by several more priests, who were duly introduced to the distinguished visitor.
While they were eating, all the priests and attendants withdrew; and the “they” included the boys as well as the stranger, for he had thoughtfully asked for food for his friends as well as for himself. After a suitable interval the priests returned, kneeling as before, the tray was removed, and the priests, at the stranger’s bidding, drew up chairs, and a conversation followed, sometimes in Latin, sometimes in French.
The boys could easily see that they were as much of a mystery to the priests as the whole thing was to them. Here were two young men, whose dress showed that they were not in holy orders, who did not even speak the language of the country, but who sat and talked and ate with the distinguished stranger as if with an equal; who did not kneel to him, did not even bow when they stood before him, but spoke to him and asked him questions as freely as if he had been their father. If the boys could have understood a few words of the conversation, their situation would have been much less awkward; but it was all as bad as Greek to them, and they could do nothing but sit and listen.
For the next hour or two the priests were in and out, bowing themselves out backwards always as they retired, kneeling always as they entered; and in the intervals the boys enjoyed the conversation of their guide, who had been in many countries and had seen many strange things. He had been in America, much to their delight, and could tell them more than they knew about New York and Boston. He had been in Bridgeport, too; but when they asked whether he had been in Huntington he smiled and shook his head.
There was no need now to make inquiries about the repairs to the ascenseurs, for every priest who entered the room had something to say about the progress of the work, and the visitor kept the boys informed in English. They would be running again in an hour; in half an hour; in ten minutes. Then came the news that they were running, but would make a few trips first to be sure of their safety. It was between eleven and twelve o’clock when they were told that all was in readiness for them to descend.
Outside the door of the little house were two young attendants with lanterns; and the priests themselves were there to take their visitor by the arms and help him down through the stormy darkness to the ascenseurs. And four priests went down with them in the car; and in the pavilion at the bottom the whole four fell upon their knees around the stranger to receive his benediction before he left them. And a handsome carriage was waiting (the priests had taken care of that), in which the stranger insisted that the boys should drive with him into the city.
“I am staying at the Hôtel de Louvre et de la Paix,” he said, “so it will be directly in my way to set you down at the Old Port where your ship lies.”
He bade them a fatherly good-by when they got out, and they climbed aboard the North Cape in the darkness.
“Just pinch me, will you, Kit,” Harry said, when they were safely on deck. “I don’t know whether I’m a cabin boy or a sort of graven image on that big altar.”
Captain Griffith was still up and reading, and he called the boys into his room.
“You made a long visit to that church,” he said. “I was getting a little alarmed about you.”
“We have been in good company, sir,” Kit answered. And he briefly told the story of their adventure. “I really don’t feel quite sure yet that we have not been dreaming,” he concluded. “Yes, it must have been real, though, for here is the letter the gentleman gave me.”
He held the dainty envelope down under the light, and read the address:—
“THE MOST REVEREND
THE BISHOP OF NEW ZEALAND
Wellington, N.Z.”
“Well,” the Captain exclaimed, “the letter is not sealed. You can easily tell by the signature who your distinguished friend was.”
Kit took the letter out and tried to read it, but soon gave it up.
“It is all written in Latin, and I can’t make out a word of it,” he said, handing it to the Captain.
“Don’t you see that little scarlet emblem up in the corner?” the Captain asked, as soon as he glanced at it. “That is the emblem of a cardinal, as I thought everybody knew. Yes, certainly. It is signed ‘Galotti.’ You youngsters have been hobnobbing with Cardinal Galotti. Get off to bed, Henry; I can’t have my cabin boy fooling around with Princes of the Church.”