MONSIEUR VIOLET (FISCLE PART-IV) by FREDERICK MARRYAT (leveled readers txt) 📕

And Kind-Hearted set Of Fellows, Funny, Yet Moral, Thundering against

Vice And Love, And Yet Giving Light Penances And Entire Absolution.

These Franciscans Were Shown Out Of Doors By The Government Of Mexico,

Who Wished to Possess Their Wealth. It Was Unfortunate, As For The Kind,

Hospitable, And Generous Monks, The Government Substituted agents And

Officers From The Interior, Who, Not Possessing any Ties At Monterey,

Cared little For The Happiness Of The Inhabitants. The Consequence Is,

That The Californians Are Heartily Tired of These Agents Of Extortion;

They Have A Natural Antipathy Against Custom-House Officers; And, Above

All, They Do Not Like The Idea Of Giving Their Dollars To Carry On The

Expenses Of The Mexican Wars, In which They Feel No Interest. Some

Morning (And They Have Already Very Nearly Succeeded in so Doing) They

Will Haul Down The Mexican Flag From The Presidio, Drive Away The

Commissaries And Custom-House Receivers, Declare Their Independence Of

Mexico, And Open Their Ports To All Nations.

Monterey Contains About Three Thousand Souls, Including The Half-Breeds

And Indians Acting as Servants In the Different Dwellings. The

Population Is Wealthy, And Not Having any Opportunity To Throw Away

Their Money, As In the Eastern Cities (For All Their Pleasures And

Enjoyments Are At No Expense), They Are Fond Of Ornamenting Their

Persons, And Their Horses And Saddles, With As Much Wealth As They Can

Afford. A Saddle Of 100_L_. In value Is A Common Thing among The Richer

Young Men, Who Put All Their Pride In their Steeds And Accoutrements.

The Women Dress Richly And With An Admirable Taste; The Unmarried girls

In White Satin, With Their Long Black Hair Falling Upon Their

Shoulders; Their Brows Ornamented with Rich Jewels When At Home, And

When Out, Their Faces Covered with A Long White Veil, Through Which

Their Dark Eyes Will Shine Like Diamonds.

The Married women Prefer Gaudy Colours, And Keep Their Hair Confined

Close To Their Head, By A Large Comb. They Have Also Another Delightful

Characteristic, Which Indeed the Men Share With Them; I Mean A Beautiful

Voice, Soft And Tremulous Among The Women, Rich, Sonorous, And Majestic

Among Their Lords. An American Traveller Has Said: "A Common

Bullock-Driver On Horseback, Delivering a Message, Seemed to Speak Like

An Ambassador To An Audience. In fact, The Californians Appear To Be A

People On Whom A Curse Had Fallen, And Stripped them Of Everything But

Their Pride, Their Manners And Their Voices."

There Is Always Much Amusement In monterey; And What Betwixt

Cockfighting, Racing, Fandangoing, Hunting, Fishing, Sailing, And So

Forth, Time Passes Quickly Away. Its Salubrity Is Remarkable; There Has

Never Been Any Disease--Indeed sickness Of Any Kind Is Unknown. No

Toothache Nor Other Malady, And No Spleen; People Die By Accident Or

From Old Age; Indeed the Montereyans Have An Old Proverb, "El Que Quiere

Morir Que Se Vaya Del Pueblo"--That Is To Say, "He Who Wishes To Die

Must Leave The City."

While Remaining There I Had Rather A Perilous Adventure. I Had Gone With

Some Of My Friends To A Great Fishing Party At The Entrance Of The Bay,

Which, By-The-Bye, Is One Of The Finest In the World, Being Twenty-Four

Miles In length And Eighteen In breadth. The Missionary, Padre Marini,

Not Being Very Well, Had An Idea That The Sea-Air Would Do Him Good, And

Joined our Company. We Had Many Boats; The One In which The Padre And I

Embarked was A Well-Shaped little Thing, Which Had Belonged to Some

American Vessel. It Was Pulled with Two Oars, And Had A Small Mast

And Sail.

Our Fishing Being Successful, We Were All In high Glee, And We Went On

Shore To Fry Some Of Our Victims For Our Afternoon'S Meal. During The

Conversation, Somebody Spoke Of Some Ancient Ruins, Fifteen Miles North,

At The Entrance Of A Small Creek. The Missionary Was Anxious To See

Them, And We Agreed that Our Companions Should Return To Monterey While

He And I Would Pass The Night Where We Were, And Proceed the Next

Morning On An Exploring Expedition To The Ruins. We Obtained from

Another Boat A Large Stone Jug Of Water, Two Blankets, And A

Double-Barrelled gun. As Soon As Our Companions Quitted us, We Pulled

The Boat Round To The Northern Point Of The Bay, And Having Selected

Proper Quarters For The Night, We Made A Kind Of Shelter On The Beach

With The Oars, Mast And Sail, And Lighted a Fire To Make Ourselves More

Comfortable. It Was One Of Those Beautiful Mild Evenings Which Can Be

Found Only In the Bay Of Monterey; The Gentle And Perfumed breeze Softly

Agitated the Foliage Around And Above Us, And As Night Came On, With Its

Myriads Of Stars And Its Silvery Moon, The Missionary Having, For Some

Time, Raised his Eyes Above In silent Contemplation, Reverted to Scenes

Of The Past, And Of Other Climes.

He Spoke Of Hurdwar, A Far Distant Mission In the North Of India, Close

To The Himalayas. The Hindoos Call It The "City Of A Thousand Palaces;"

They Say It Was Built By The Genii On The Very Spot Where Vishnu Had

Reposed himself For A Few Weeks, After One Of His Mystic Transmutations,

In Which He Had Conquered siva, Or Sahavedra, The Spirit Of Evil. Though

Not So Well Known, Hurdwar Is A Place Still More Sacred than Benares;

People Assemble There Once A Year From All Parts, And Consecrate Several

Days To Their Ablutions In the Purifying Waters Of The Ganges. In this

Noble City Is Also Held One Of The Greatest Fairs Of India, Indeed of

All The World; And As Its Time Is Fixed upon The Same Month As That In

Which The Hindoo Devotees Arrive At The City, Numerous Caravans From

Persia, Arabia, Cashmere, And Lahore, Repair To The Spot, And Erect

Their Bazaars Along The Banks Of The River, Forming a Street Of Many

Miles. The Concourse Collected at These Times Has Been Ascertained to

Number More Than One Million Of Souls.

There The Padre Marini Had Remained as A Missionary For Some Years, All

Alone. His Flock Of Converts Was But A Small One; He Had Little To Do,

And Yet His Mind Could Not Be Arrested by The Study Of All The Wonders

Around Him; His Heart Was Sad; For Years He Had Had A Sorrow Which

Weighed heavily Upon Him, And He Was Wretched. Before He Had Embraced

The Solitude Of A Monastic Life, He Had With Him A Younger Brother, Of

Whom He Was Very Fond. The Young Man Was A Student In medicine, With

Fair Capacity And An Energy Which Promised to Advance Him In his

Profession. When Marini Entered the Convent, His Brother Went To Turkey,

Where Men Of His Profession Were Always Certain Of A Good Reception,

And For A Long Time Was Never Heard Of. At Last, When The Missionary Was

Ready To Start For A Distant Mission, He Learned that Which Proved so

Destructive To His Peace Of Mind. From Constantinople, His Brother Had

Gone To Persia, Where He Was Residing In easy Circumstances; But,

Ambitious Of Advancement, He Had Abjured the Faith Of His Fathers And

Become A Follower Of Mahommed.

It Was A Melancholy Intelligence, And Many Were The Tears Of The Good

Monk. The First Year Of His Arrival At Hurdwar, He Met With A Jewish

Merchant Who Had Accompanied a Persian Caravan. That Man Knew His

Brother, The Renegade, And Informed the Padre That His Brother Had

Fallen Into Disgrace, And As A Punishment Of His Apostacy, Was Now

Leading a Life Of Privation And Misery.

Deep And Fervent Were Now The Monk'S Prayers To Heaven; He Implored

Forgiveness For His Brother, And Offered penance For Him. Poor Man! He

Thought If He Could But See Him And Talk To Him, He Would Redeem Him

From His Apostacy; But, Alas! His Duty Was In hurdwar, He Was Bound

There And Could Not Move. One Day (It Was During The Fair) He Had

Wandered at A Distance From The River, That He Might Not Witness The

Delusions Of Paganism, And His Mind Was Intensely Absorbed in prayer.

Anon, Unusual Sounds Broke On His Ears; Sounds Well Known, Sounds

Reminding Him Of His Country, Of His Beautiful Italy. They Came From A

Little Bower Ten Steps Before Him; And As Past Scenes Rushed to His

Memory, His Heart Beat Tremulously In his Bosom; The Monk Recognized a

Barcarole Which He Had Often Sung In his Younger Days: But Although The

Air Was Lively, The Voice Which Sung It Was Mournful And Sad. Stepping

Noiselessly, He Stood At The Entrance Of The Bower. The Stranger Started

And Arose! Their Separation Had Been A Long One, But Neither The

Furrowed cheeks And Sallow Complexion Of The One, Nor The Turbaned head

Of The Other, Could Deceive Them; And The Two Brothers Fell In each

Others Arms.

On Its Return, The Persian Caravan Had One Driver The Less, For The

Apostate Was On His Death-Bed in the Humble Dwelling Of His Brother.

Once More A Christian, Again Reconciled to His God, He Calmly Awaited

His Summons To A Better World. For Two Weeks He Lingered on, Repenting

His Error And Praying For Mercy. He Died, And In the Little Jessamine

Bower Where He Had Met With The Mussulman, The Monk Buried the

Christian; He Placed a Cross Upon His Grave And Mourned him Long; But A

Heavy Load Had Been Removed from His Breast, And Since That Time He Had

Felt Happy, Having No Weight On His Mind To Disturb Him In the Execution

Of His Sacred ministry.

Having Narrated this Passage In his History, The Padre Marini Bid Me

Good Night, And We Prepared to Sleep. I Went To The Boat, Where,

Stretching Myself At The Bottom, With My Face Turned towards The

Glittering Canopy Above, I Remained pensive And Reflecting Upon The

Narrative Of The Monk, Until At Last I Slept.

I Felt Chilly, And I Awoke. It Was Daylight. I Stood On My Feet And

Looked around Me. I Found Myself Floating On The Deep Sea, Far From The

Shore, The Outline Of Which Was Tinged with The Golden Hues Of Morn. The

Rope And Stick To Which The Boat Had Been Made Fast Towed through The

Water, As The Land-Breeze, Driving Me Gently, Increased my Distance From

The Land. For Some Moments I Was Rather Scared; The Oars Were Left On

Shore, And I Had No Means Of Propelling My Little Skiff.

In Vain Did I Paddle With My Hands And The Stick Which I Had Taken On

Board. I Turned and Turned again Round To All The Points Of The Compass,

But To No Purpose. At Last I Began To Reflect. The Sea Was Smooth And

Quiet; So I Was In no Immediate Danger. The Padre, When He Awoke In the

Morning, Would Discover My Accident, And Perhaps See The Boat; He Would

Hasten To Town, But He Would Not Arrive Till The Evening; For He Was An

Old Man, And Had To Walk Twenty-Five Miles. Boats Would Be Despatched

After Me; Even The Mexican Schooner Which Lay In the Bay. The Next

Morning I Was Certain To Be Rescued, And The Utmost Of My Misfortune

Would Amount To A Day Of Fast And Solitude. It Was No Great Matter; So I

Submitted to My Fate, And Made A Virtue Of Necessity.

Happily For Me, The Boat Belonged to An American Exceedingly Fond Of

Fishing; And Consequently It Contained many Necessaries Which I Had

Before Overlooked. Between The Foremost Thwart And The Bow There Was

Half A Barrel Filled with Ashes, Some Pieces Of Charcoal, And Some

Dried wood; Under The Stern-Sheets Was A Small Locker, In which I

Discovered a Frying-Pan, A Box With Salt In it, A Tin Cup, Some Herbs

Used instead Of Tea By The Californians, A Pot Of Honey, And Another

Full Of Bear'S Grease. Fortunately, The Jar Of Water Was Also On Board

As Well As My Lines, With Baits Of Red flannel And White Cotton. I Threw

Them Into The Water, And Prepared to Smoke My Cigarito. In these

Countries No One Is Without His Flint,