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Hodson bowed and went out. Ames continued his meditations. “Lucile already has Gannette pretty well wound up in his Venezuelan speculations––and they are going to smash––Lafelle has fixed that. And I’ve bought her notes against Mrs. Hawley-Crowles for about a million––which I have reinvested for her in Colombia. Humph! She’ll feed out of my hand now! La Libertad is mine when the trap falls. So is C. and R. And that little upstart, Ketchim, goes to Sing Sing!”
He turned to the morning paper that lay upon his desk. “I don’t like the way the Colombian revolution drags,” he mused. “But certainly it can’t last much longer. And then––then––”
His thoughts wandered off into devious channels. “So Josè de Rincón is––well! well! Things have taken an odd turn. But––where on earth did that girl come from? Lord! she was beautiful last night. All religion, eh? Ha! ha! Well, she’s young. There’s a lot of experience coming to her. And then she’ll drop a few of her pious notions. Lucile says––but Lucile is getting on my nerves!”
Monsignor Lafelle found Mrs. Hawley-Crowles and her ward awaiting him when his car drove up at two that afternoon. Carmen had not left the house during the morning, for Elizabeth Wall had telephoned early that a slight indisposition would necessitate postponement of the contemplated ride.
“Well,” reflected Carmen, as she turned from the ’phone, “one who knows that God is everywhere can never be disappointed, for all good is ever present.” And then she set about preparing for the expected call of Monsignor Lafelle.
When that dignitary entered the parlor Mrs. Hawley-Crowles graciously welcomed him, and then excused herself. “I will leave her with you, Monsignor,” she said, indicating Carmen, and secretly glad to escape a presence which she greatly feared. Lafelle bowed, and then waved Carmen to a seat.
“I have come to-day, Miss Carmen,” he began easily, “on a mission of vastest importance as concerning your welfare. I have been in Cartagena. I have talked with the acting-Bishop there, who, it seems, is not wholly unacquainted with you.”
“Then,” cried Carmen eagerly, “you know where Padre Josè is? And the others––”
“No,” replied Lafelle. “I regret to say I know nothing of their present whereabouts. Leave them with God.”
“I have long since done that,” said Carmen softly.
“It is of yourself that I wish to speak,” continued Lafelle. “I have come to offer you the consolation, the joy, and the protection156of the Church. Your great benefactress, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, has found peace with us. Will you longer delay taking a step toward which you are by race, by national custom, and by your Saviour admonished? I have come to invite you to publicly confess your allegiance to the Church of Rome. You belong to us. A Catholic country gave you birth. Your parents were Catholic. Your best friend, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, is one of us. Come,” he said, extending his hands. “We need you. And you, my daughter, now need the Church,” he added with suggestive emphasis.
Carmen was not surprised. Mrs. Hawley-Crowles had hinted the probable mission of the churchman, and the girl was prepared.
“I thank you, Monsignor,” she replied simply. “But it is impossible.”
“Impossible?” He arched his fine brows. “My child, it is quite necessary!”
“Why, Monsignor?”
“For your eternal salvation,” he replied.
“But I have my salvation, ever present. It is the Christ-principle.”
“My dear child, do not lean upon your pretty theories in the hope that they will open the door of heaven for you. There is no salvation outside of the Church.”
“Monsignor,” said Carmen gently, “such talk is very foolish. Can you prove to me that your Church ever sent any one to heaven? Have you any but a very mediaeval and material concept of heaven? To me, heaven is right here. It is the consciousness of good only, without a trace of materiality or evil. And I enter into that consciousness by means of the Christ-principle, which Jesus gave to the world. It is very simple, is it not? And it makes all your pomp and ceremony, and your penance and rites quite unnecessary.”
Lafelle eyed her narrowly. He had certain suspicions, but he was not ready to voice them. Carmen went on:
“Monsignor, I love my fellow-men, oh,somuch! I want to see every one work out his salvation, as Jesus bade us all do, and without any hindrance from others. And I ask but that same privilege from every one, yourself included. Let me work out my salvation as my Father has directed.”
Lafelle smiled paternally. “I have no wish to hinder you, child. On the contrary, I offer you the assistance and infallible guidance of the Church. You are very young. We are very old. Beginning nineteen centuries ago, when we were divinely appointed custodian of the world’s morals, our history has been a glorious one. We have in that time changed a pagan world into one that fears God and follows His Christ.”
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“But for nineteen hundred years, Monsignor, the various so-called Christian sects of the world have been persecuting and slaying one another over their foolish beliefs, basing their religious theories upon their interpretations of the Bible. Surely that is not a glorious history!”
“Ah! You unwittingly argue directly for our cause, my child. The result which you have just cited proves conclusively that the Scriptures can not be correctly interpreted by every one. That is perfectly patent to you, I see. Thus you acknowledge the necessity of an infallible guide. That is to be found only in the spiritual Fathers, and in the Pope, the holy Head of the Church of Rome, the present Vicegerent of Christ on earth.”
“Then your interpretation of the Bible is the only correct one?”
“Absolutely!”
“And you Catholics are the only true followers of Christ? The onlyrealChristians?”
“We are.”
She rose. “Come, Monsignor, I will get my coat and hat. We will take your car.”
“Why––where are you going?” he asked in amazement, as he slowly got to his feet.
She stopped and faced him squarely. “Jesus said: ‘He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also.’ I am going to take you over to the home of old Maggie, our cook’s mother. She is sick. You will heal her, for you are a true follower of Christ.”
“Well––but, hasn’t she a doctor?”
“Yes, but he can’t help her. Doctors are not infallible. But you represent the Christ on earth. You should be able to do the works which he did. You can change the wafer and wine into the flesh and blood of Jesus. How much easier, then, and vastly more practical, to cure a sick woman! Wait, I will be back in a minute.”
“But, you impetuous child, I shall go on no such foolish errand as that!”
She stopped again. “If the woman were dying or dead, and you were summoned, you would go, would you not? For she is a Catholic.”
“Why––yes, of course.”
“And if she were dying you would put holy oil on her, and pray––but it wouldn’t make her well. And if she were dead, you would say Masses for the repose of her soul. Monsignor, did it never occur to you that the great works which you claim to do are all done behind the veil of death? You can do but158little for mankind here; but you pretend to do much after they have passed beyond the grave. Is it quite fair to the poor and ignorant, I ask, to work that way? Did it never strike you as remarkable and very consistent that Jesus, whenever he launched a great truth, immediately ratified it by some great sign, some sign which the world now calls a miracle? The Gospels are full of such instances, where he first taught, then came down and immediately healed some one, thus at once putting his teaching to the proof. Do you prove anything? Your Church has taught and thundered and denounced for ages, but what has it proved? Jesus taught practical Christianity. You teach the so-called practical Christianity which makes a reality of evil and an eternal necessity of hospitals and orphan asylums. If you did his works the people would be so uplifted that these things would be wiped out. Your Church has had nineteen hundred years in which to learn to do the works which he did. Now come over to Maggie’s with me and prove that you are a true follower and believer, and that the Church has given you the right sort of practical instruction!”
Gradually the girl’s voice waxed stronger while she delivered this polemic. Slowly the churchman’s face darkened, as he moved backward and sank into his chair.
“Now, Monsignor, having scolded you well,” the girl continued, smiling as she sat down again, “I will apologize. But you needed the scolding––you know you did! And nearly all who profess the name of Christ need the same. Monsignor, I love you all, and every one, whether Catholic or Protestant, or whatever his creed. But that does not blind my eyes to your great need, and to your obstinate refusal to make any effort to meet that need.”
A cynical look came into the man’s face. “May I ask, Miss Carmen, if you consider yourself a true follower and believer?” he said coolly.
“Monsignor,” she quickly replied, rising and facing him, “you hope by that adroit question to confound me. You mean, do I heal the sick? Listen: when I was a child my purity of thought was such that I knew no evil. I could not see it anywhere. I could not see sickness or death as anything more than unreal shadows. And that wonderful clearness of vision and purity of thought made me a channel for the operation of the Christ-principle, God himself. And thereby the sick were healed in my little home town. Then, little by little, after my beloved teacher, Josè, came to me, I lost ground in my struggle to keep the vision clear. They did not mean to, but he and my dearest padre Rosendo and others held their beliefs of evil as159a reality so constantly before me that the vision became obscured, and the spirituality alloyed. The unreal forces of evil seemed to concentrate upon me. I know why now, for the greatest good always stirs up the greatest amount of evil––the highest truth always has the lowest lie as its opposite and opponent. I see now, as never before, the unreality of evil. I see now, as never before, the marvelous truth which Jesus tried, oh,sohard, to impress upon the dull minds of his people, the truth which you refuse to see. And ceaselessly I am now striving to acquire ‘that mind,’ that spiritual consciousness, which was in him. My vision is becoming daily clearer. I have been wonderfully shielded, led, and cared for. And I shall heal, some day, as he did. I shall regain my former spirituality, for it has never really been lost. But, Monsignor, do not ask me to come into your Church and allow my brightening vision to become blurred by your very inadequate concept of God––a God who is moved by the petitions of Saints and Virgin and mortal men. No! no! Unless,” she added, brightening, “you will let me teach your Church what I know. Will you agree to that?”
Lafelle did not answer. Then Carmen shook her head. “You see,” she said, “your Church requires absolute submission to its age-worn authority. According to you, I have nothing to give. Very well, if your Church can receive nothing from me, and yet can give me nothing more than its impossible beliefs, undemonstrable this side of the grave, at least––then we must consider that a gulf is fixed between us.
“Oh, Monsignor,” she pleaded, after a moment’s silence, “you see, do you not? When Jesus said that he gave his disciples power over all evil, did he not mean likewise over all physical action, and over every physical condition? But did he mean that they alone should have such power? What a limiting of infinite Love! No, he meant that every one who followed him and strove ceaselessly for spirituality of thought should acquire that spirituality, and thereby cleanse himself of false beliefs, and make room for the Christ-principle to operate, even to the healing of the sick, to the raising of those mesmerized by the belief of death as a power and reality, and to the dematerializing of the whole material concept of the heavens and earth. Can’t you, a churchman, see it? And can’t you see how shallow your views are? Don’t you know that even the physical body is but a part of the human, material concept, and therefore a part of the ‘one lie’ about God, who is Spirit?”
Lafelle had listened patiently. But now his time had come to speak in rebuttal. And yet, he would make no attempt to assail her convictions. He knew well that she would not yield––at least, to-day. He therefore played another card.
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“Miss Carmen,” he said gently, “the Church is ever doing beneficent deeds which do not come to light, and for which she receives no praise from men. Your own and Mrs. Hawley-Crowles’s elevation to social leadership came through her. There is also a rumor that the Church afforded you an asylum on your first night in this city, when, if ever, you needed aid. The Church shielded and cared for you even in Simití. Indeed, what has she not done for you? And do you now, alas! turn and rend her?”
“Monsignor,” replied Carmen, “I am not unmindful of the care always bestowed upon me. And I am not ungrateful. But my gratitude is to my God, who has worked through many channels to bless me. My account is with Him. Leave it there, and fear not that I shall prove ungrateful to Him, to whom my every thought is consecrated.”
Lafelle bit his lip. Then he spoke low and earnestly, while he held his gaze fixed upon the girl’s bright eyes. “Miss Carmen, if you knew that the Church now afforded you the only refuge from the dangers that threaten, you would turn to her as a frightened child to its mother.”
“I fear nothing, Monsignor,” replied the girl, her face alight with a smile of complete confidence. “I am not the kind who may be driven by fear into acceptance of undemonstrable, unfounded theological beliefs. Fear has always been a terrible weapon in the hands of those who have sought to force their opinions upon their fellow-men. But it is powerless to influence me. Fear, Monsignor, is sin. It causes men to miss the mark. And it is time-honored. Indeed, according to the Bible allegory, it began in the very garden of Eden, when poor, deceived Adam confessed to God that he was afraid. If God was infinite then, as you admit you believe Him to be now, who or what made Adam afraid? Whence came the imaginary power of fear? For, ‘God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.’ God is love. And there is no fear in love.”
“But, surely, Miss Carmen, you will not stubbornly close your eyes to threatening evil?”
“Monsignor, I close my eyes to all that is unlike God. He is everything to me. I know nothing but Him and His perfect manifestation.”
Lafelle sat some moments in silence. The picture which he and the young girl formed was one of rare beauty and interest: he, weighted with years, white of hair, but rugged of form, with strikingly handsome features and kindly eyes––she, a child, delicate, almost wraith-like, glowing with a beauty that was not of earth, and, though untutored in the wiles of161men, still holding at bay the sagacious representative of a crushing weight of authority which reached far back through the centuries, even to the Greek and Latin Fathers who put their still unbroken seal upon the strange elaborations which they wove out of the simple words of the Nazarene.
When the churchman again looked up and felt himself engulfed in the boundless love which emanated from that radiant, smiling girl, there surged up within him a mighty impulse to go to her, to clasp her in his arms, to fall at her feet and pray for even a mite of her own rare spirituality. The purpose which he had that morning formulated died within him; the final card which he would have thrown lay crushed in his hand. He rose and came and stood before her.
“The people believe you a child of the ancient Incas,” he said slowly, taking her hand. “What if I should say that I know better?”
“I would say that you were right, Monsignor,” she replied gently, looking up into his face with a sweet smile.
“Then you admit the identity of your father?”
“Yes, Monsignor.”
“Ah! And that is––?”
“God.”
The man bent for a moment over the little white hand, and then immediately left the house.
CHAPTER 18
Monsignor Lafelle in his interview with Carmen had thrown out a hint of certain rumors regarding her; but the days passed, and the girl awoke not to their significance. Then, one morning, her attention was attracted by a newspaper report of the farewell address of a young priest about to leave his flock. When she opened the paper and caught sight of the news item she gave a little cry, and immediately forgot all else in her absorption in the closing words:
“––and I have known no other ambition since the day that little waif from a distant land strayed into my life, lighting the dead lamp of my faith with the torch of her own flaming spirituality. She said she had a message for the people up here. Would to God she might know that her message had borne fruit!”
“––and I have known no other ambition since the day that little waif from a distant land strayed into my life, lighting the dead lamp of my faith with the torch of her own flaming spirituality. She said she had a message for the people up here. Would to God she might know that her message had borne fruit!”
The newspaper slipped from the girl’s hands to the floor. Her eyes, big and shining, stared straight before her. “And I will lead the blind by a way that they know not––” she murmured.
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The telephone rang. It was Miss Wall, ready now for the postponed ride. Carmen clapped her hands and sang for joy as she summoned the car and made her preparations. “We’ll go over to his church,” she said aloud. “We’ll find him!” She hurried back to the newspaper to get the address of the church from which he had spoken the preceding day. “They will know where he is,” she said happily. “Oh, isn’t it just wonderful!”
A few minutes later, with Miss Wall at her side, she was speeding to the distant suburb where the little church was located.
“We are going to find a priest,” she said simply. “Oh, you mustn’t ask me any questions! Mrs. Hawley-Crowles doesn’t like to have me talk about certain things, and so I can’t tell you.”
Miss Wall glanced at her in wonder. But the happy, smiling countenance disarmed suspicion.
“Now tell me,” Carmen went on, “tell me about yourself. I’m a missionary, you know,” she added, thinking of Father Waite.
“A missionary! Well, are you trying to convert the society world?”
“Yes, by Christianity––not by what the missionaries are now teaching in the name of Christianity. I’ll tell you all about it some day. Now tell me, why are you unhappy? Why is your life pitched in such a minor key? Perhaps, together, we can change it to a major.”
Miss Wall could not help joining in the merry laugh. Then her face grew serious. “I am unhappy,” she said, “because I have arrived nowhere.”
Carmen looked at her inquiringly. “Well,” she said, “that shows you are on the wrong track, doesn’t it?”
“I’m tired of life––tired of everything, everybody!” Miss Wall sank back into the cushions with her lips pursed and her brow wrinkled.
“No, you are not tired of life,” said Carmen quietly; “for you do not know what life is.”
“No, I suppose not,” replied the weary woman. “Do you?” she asked abruptly.
“Yes, it is God.”
“Oh, don’t mention that name, nor quote Scripture to me!” cried the woman, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “I’ve had that stuff preached at me until it turned my stomach! I hope you are not an emotional, weepy religionist. Let’s not talk about that subject. I’m heartily sick of it!”
“All right,” replied Carmen cheerily. “Padre Josè used to say––”
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“Who’s he?” demanded Miss Wall, somewhat curtly.
“Oh, he is a priest––”
“A priest! Dear me! do you constantly associate with priests, and talk religion?”
The young girl laughed. “Well,” she responded, “I’ve had a good deal to do with both.”
“And are you any better for it?”
“Oh, yes––lots!” she said quickly.
The woman regarded her with curiosity. “Tell me something about your life,” she said. “They say you are a princess.”
“Surely I am a princess,” returned Carmen, laughing merrily. “Listen; I will tell you about big, glorious Simití, and the wonderful castle I lived in there, and about my Prime Minister, Don Rosendo, and––well, listen, and then judge for yourself if I am not of royal extraction!”
Laughing again up into the mystified face of Miss Wall, the enthusiastic girl began to tell about her former life in far-off Guamocó.
As she listened, the woman’s eyes grew wide with interest. At times she voiced her astonishment in sudden exclamations. And when the girl concluded her brief recital, she bent upon the sparkling face a look of mingled wonder and admiration. “Goodness! After going through all that, how can you be so happy now? And with all your kin down there in that awful war! Why––!”
“Don’t you think I am a princess now?” Carmen asked, smiling up at her.
“I think you are a marvel!” was the emphatic answer.
“And––you don’t want to know what it was that kept me through it all, and that is still guiding me?” The bright, animated face looked so eagerly, so lovingly, into the world-scarred features of her companion.
“Not if you are going to talk religion. Tell me, who is this priest you are seeking to-day, and why have you come to see him?”
“Father Waite. He is the one who found me––when I got lost––and took me to my friends.”
The big car whirled around a corner and stopped before a dingy little church edifice surmounted by a weather-beaten cross. On the steps of a modest frame house adjoining stood a man. He turned as the car came up.
“Father Waite!” Carmen threw wide the door of the car and sprang out. “Father Waite!” clasping his hands. “Don’t you know me? I’m Carmen!”
A light came into the startled man’s eyes. He recognized164her. Then he stepped back, that he might better see her. More than a year had passed since he had taken her, so oddly garbed, and clinging tightly to his hand, into the Ketchim office. And in that time, he thought, she had been transformed into a vision of heavenly beauty.
“Well!” cried the impatient girl. “Aren’t you going to speak?” And with that she threw her arms about him and kissed him loudly on both cheeks.
The man and Miss Wall gave vent to exclamations of astonishment. He colored violently; Miss Wall sat with mouth agape.
“Aren’t you glad to see me?” pursued the girl, again grasping his hands.
Then he found his tongue. “An angel from heaven could not be more welcome,” he said. But his voice was low, and the note of sadness was prominent.
“Well, I am an angel from heaven,” said the laughing, artless girl. “And I’m an Inca princess. And I’m just plain Carmen Ariza. But, whoever I am, I am, oh, so glad to see you again! I––” she looked about carefully––“I read your sermon in the newspaper this morning. Did you mean me?” she concluded abruptly.
He smiled wanly. “Yes, I meant you,” he softly answered.
“Come with me now,” said the eager girl. “I want to talk with you.”
“Impossible,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Then, will you come and see me?” She thought for a moment. “Why have you never been to see me? Didn’t you know I was still in the city?”
“Oh, yes,” he replied. “I used to see your name in the papers, often. And I have followed your career with great interest. But––you moved in a circle––from which I––well, it was hardly possible for me to come to see you, you know––”
“It was!” exclaimed the girl. “But, never mind, you are coming now. Here,” drawing a card from her bag, “this is the address of Madam Beaubien. Will you come there to-morrow afternoon, at two, and talk with me?”
He looked at the card which she thrust into his hand, and then at the richly-gowned girl before him. He seemed to be in a dream. But he nodded his head slowly.
“Tell me,” she whispered, “how is Sister Katie?”
Ah, if the girl could have known how that great-hearted old soul had mourned her “little bairn” these many months.
“I will go to see her,” said Carmen. “But first you will come to me to-morrow.” She beamed upon him as she clasped his hands again. Then she entered the car, and sat waving her hand back at him as long as he could see her.
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It would be difficult to say which of the two, Miss Wall or Father Waite, was the more startled by this abrupt and livelyrencontre. But to Carmen, as she sat back in the car absorbed in thought, it had been a perfectly natural meeting between two warm friends. Suddenly the girl turned to the woman. “You haven’t anything but money, and fine clothes, and automobiles, and jewels, you think. And you want something better. Do you know? I know what it is you want.”
“What is it?” asked the wondering woman, marveling at this strange girl who went about embracing people so promiscuously.
“Love.”
The woman’s lip trembled slightly when she heard this, but she did not reply.
“And I’m going to love you,” the girl continued. “Oh, so much! You’re tired of society gabble and gossip; you’re tired of spending on yourself the money you never earned; you’re not a bit of use to anybody, are you? But you want to be. You’re a sort of tragedy, aren’t you? Oh, I know. There are just lots of them in high society, just as weary as you. They haven’t anything but money. And they lack the very greatest thing in all of life, the very thing that no amount of money will buy, just love! But, do you know? they don’t realize that, in order to get, they must give. In order to be loved, they must themselves love. Now you start right in and love the whole world, love everybody, big and little. And, as you love people, try to see only their perfection. Never look at a bad trait, nor a blemish of any sort. Try it. In a week’s time you will be a new woman.”
“Do you do that?” the woman asked in a low tone.
“I havealwaysdone it,” replied Carmen. “I don’t know anything but love. I never knew what it was to hate or revile. I never could see what there was that deserved hatred or loathing. I don’t see anything but good––everywhere.”
The woman slipped an arm about the girl. “I––I don’t mind your talking that way to me,” she whispered. “But I just couldn’t bear to listen to any more religion.”
“Why!” exclaimed Carmen. “That’s all there is to religion! Love is the tie that binds all together and all to God. Why, Miss Wall––”
“Call me Elizabeth, please,” interrupted the woman.
“Well then, Elizabeth,” she said softly, “all creeds have got to merge into just one, some day, and, instead of saying ‘I believe,’ everybody will say ‘I understand and I love.’ Why, the very person who loved more than anybody else ever did was the one who saw God most clearly! He knew that if we166would see God––good everywhere––we would just simplyhaveto love, for Godislove! Don’t you see? It is so simple!”
“Do you love me, Carmen, because you pity me?”
“No, indeed!” was the emphatic answer. “God’s children are not to be pitied––and I see in people only His children.”
“Well, why, then, do you love me?”
The girl replied quickly: “God is love. I am His reflection. I reflect Him to you. That’s loving you.
“And now,” she continued cheerily, “we are going to work together, aren’t we? You are first going to love everybody. And then you are going to see just what is right for you to do––what work you are to take up––what interests you are to have. But love comes first.”
“Tell me, Carmen, why are you in society? What keeps you there, in an atmosphere so unsuited to your spiritual life?”
“God.”
“Oh, yes,” impatiently. “But––”
“Well, Elizabeth dear, every step I take is ordained by Him, who is my life. I am where He places me. I leave everything to Him, and then keep myself out of the way. If He wishes to use me elsewhere, He will remove me from society. But I wait for Him.”
The woman looked at her and marveled. How could this girl, who, in her few brief years, had passed through fire and flood, still love the hand that guided her!
CHAPTER 19
To the great horde of starving European nobility the daughters of American millionaires have dropped as heavenly manna. It was but dire necessity that forced low the bars of social caste to the transoceanic traffic between fortune and title.
That Mrs. Hawley-Crowles might ever aspire to the purchase of a decrepit dukedom had never entered her thought. A tottering earldom was likewise beyond her purchasing power. She had contented herself that Carmen should some day barter her rare culture, her charm, and her unrivaled beauty, for the more lowly title of an impecunious count or baron. But to what heights of ecstasy did her little soul rise when the young Duke of Altern made it known to her that he would honor her beautiful ward with his own glorious name––in exchange for La Libertad and other good and valuable considerations, receipt of which would be duly acknowledged.
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“I––aw––have spoken to her, ye know, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles,” that worthy young cad announced one afternoon, as he sat alone with the successful society leader in the warm glow of her living room. “And––bah Jove! she said we were engaged, ye know––really! Said we were awfully good friends, ye know, and all that. ’Pon my word! she said she loved me.” For Reginald had done much thinking of late––and his creditors were restless.
“Why, you don’t mean it!” cried the overpowered Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, beaming like a full-blown sunflower.
“But I do, really! Only––ye know, she’ll have to be––coached a bit, ye know––told who we are––our ancestral history, and all that. You know what I mean, eh?”
“Of course––you dear boy! Why, she just couldn’t help loving you!”
“No––aw––no, of course––that is––aw––she has excellent prospects––financial, I mean, eh? Mines, and all that, ye know––eh?”
“Why, she owns the grandest gold mine in all South America! Think of it!”
“Bah Jove! I––aw––I never was so attracted to a girl in all me blooming life! You will––a––speak to her, eh? Help me out, ye know. Just a few words, eh? You know what I mean?”
“Never fear, Reginald” she’s yours. “There will be no opposition.”
“Opposition! Certainly not––not when she knows about our family. And––aw––mother will talk with you––that is, about the details. She’ll arrange them, ye know. I never was good at business.”
And the haughty mother of the young Duke did call shortly thereafter to consult in regard to her son’s matrimonial desires. The nerve-racking round of balls, receptions, and other society functions was quite forgotten by the elated Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, whose ears tingled deliciously under the pompous boastings of the Dowager Lady Altern. The house of Altern? Why, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles was convinced, after a half hour’s conversation with this proud mother, that the royal house of Brunswick was but an impudent counterfeit! What was La Libertad worth? She knew not. But her sister’s brother, Mr. Reed, who had hastily appraised it, had said that there was a mountain of gold there, only awaiting Yankee enterprise. And Carmen? There was proof positive that she was an Inca princess. Yes, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles was so honored by the deep interest which the young Duke manifested in the wonderful girl! And she would undertake negotiations with168her at once. But it must be done wisely. Carmen was not like other girls. No, indeed!
And now Mrs. Hawley-Crowles had to plan very carefully. She was terribly in debt; yet she had resources. The Beaubien was inexhaustible. Ames, too, might be depended upon. And La Libertad––well, there was Mr. Philip O. Ketchim to reckon with. So she forthwith summoned him to a consultation.
But, ere her talk with that prince of finance, another bit of good fortune fell into the lady’s spacious lap. Reed had written that he was doing poorly with his western mining ventures, and would have to raise money at once. He therefore offered to sell his interest in the Simití Company. Moreover, he wanted his wife to come to him and make her home in California, where he doubtless would spend some years. Mrs. Hawley-Crowles offered him twenty-five thousand dollars for his Simití interest; of which offer Reed wired his immediate acceptance. Then the lady packed her rueful sister Westward Ho! and laid her newly acquired stock before the Beaubien for a large loan. That was but a day before Ketchim called.
“Madam,” said that suave gentleman, smiling piously, “you are a genius. Our ability to announce the Duke of Altern as our largest stockholder will result in a boom in the sales of Simití stock. The Lord has greatly prospered our humble endeavors. Er––might I ask, Madam, if you would condescend to meet my wife some afternoon? We are rapidly acquiring some standing in a financial way, and Mrs. Ketchim would like to know you and some of the more desirable members of your set, if it might be arranged.”
Mrs. Hawley-Crowles beamed her joy. She drew herself up with a regnant air. The people were coming to her, their social queen, for recognition!
“And there’s my Uncle Ted, you know, Madam. He’s president of the C. and R.”
Mrs. Hawley-Crowles nodded and looked wise. “Possibly we can arrange it,” she said. “But now about our other investments. What is Joplin Zinc doing?”
“Progressing splendidly, Madam. We shall declare a dividend this month.”
The lady wondered, for Joplin Zinc was not yet in operation, according to the latest report.
Meantime, while Mrs. Hawley-Crowles was still laying her plans to herd the young girl into the mortgaged dukedom of Altern, Father Waite kept his appointment, and called at the Beaubien mansion on the afternoon Carmen had set. He was169warmly received by the girl herself, who had been watching for his coming.
“Now,” she began like a bubbling fountain, when they were seated in the music room, “where’s Jude? I want to find her.”
“Jude? Why, I haven’t the slightest idea to whom you refer,” returned the puzzled man.
“The woman who took me to the Sister Superior,” explained Carmen.
“Ah! We never saw her again.”
“Well,” said the girl confidently, “I saw her, but she got away from me. But I shall find her––it is right that I should. Now tell me, what are you going to do?”
“I have no idea. Earn my living some way,” he replied meditatively.
“You have lots of friends who will help you?”
“None,” he said sadly. “I am an apostate, you know.”
“Well, that means that you’re free. The chains have dropped, haven’t they?”
“But left me dazed and confused.”
“You are not dazed, nor confused! Why, you’re like a prisoner coming out of his dungeon into the bright sunlight. You’re only blinking, that’s all. And, as for confusion––well, if I would admit it to be true I could point to a terrible state of it! Just think, a duke wants to marry me; Mrs. Hawley-Crowles is determined that he shall; I am an Inca princess, and yet I don’t know who I am; my own people apparently are swallowed up by the war in Colombia; and I am in an environment here in New York in which I have to fight every moment to keep myself from flying all to pieces! But I guess God intends to keep me here for the present. Oh, yes, and Monsignor Lafelle insists that I am a Catholic and that I must join his Church.”
“Monsignor Lafelle! You––you know him?”
“Oh, yes, very well. And you?”
He evaded reply by another query. “Is Monsignor Lafelle working with Madam Beaubien, your friend?”
“I think not,” laughed Carmen. “But Mrs. Hawley-Crowles––”
“Was it through him that she became a communicant?”
“Yes. Why?”
“And is he also working with Mr. J. Wilton Ames? He converted Mrs. Ames’s sister, the Dowager Duchess, in England. The young Duke is also going to join the faith, I learn. But––you?” He stopped suddenly and looked searchingly at her.
At that moment a maid entered, bearing a card. Close on her heels followed the subject of their conversation, Monsignor himself.
170
As he entered, Carmen rose hastily to greet him. Lafelle bent over her hand. Then, as he straightened up, his glance fell upon Father Waite. The latter bowed without speaking. For a moment the two men stood eying each other sharply. Then Lafelle looked from Father Waite to Carmen quizzically. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “I was not aware that you had a caller. Madam Beaubien, is she at home?”
“No,” said Carmen simply. “She went out for a ride.”
“Ah!” murmured Lafelle, looking significantly from the girl to Father Waite, while a smile curled his lips. “I see. I will intrude no further.” He bowed again, and turned toward the exit.
“Wait!” rang forth Carmen’s clear voice. She had caught the churchman’s insinuating glance and instantly read its meaning. “Monsignor Lafelle, you will remain!”
The churchman’s brows arched with surprise, but he came back and stood by the chair which she indicated.
“And first,” went on the girl, standing before him like an incarnate Nemesis, her face flushed and her eyes snapping, “you will hear from me a quotation from the Scripture, on which you assume to be authority: ‘As a man thinketh in his heart, soishe!’”
For a moment Lafelle flushed. Then his face darkened. Finally a bland smile spread over his features, and he sat down. The girl resumed her seat.
“Now, Monsignor Lafelle,” she continued severely, “you have urged me to unite with your Church. When you asked me to subscribe to your beliefs I looked first at them, and then at you, their product. You have come here this afternoon to plead with me again. The thoughts which you accepted when you saw Father Waite here alone with me, are they a reflection of love, which thinketh no evil? Or do they reflect the intolerance, the bigotry, the hatred of the carnal mind? You told me that your Church would not let me teach it. Think you I will let it or you teach me?”
Father Waite sat amazed at the girl’s stinging rebuke. When she concluded he rose to go.
“No!” said Carmen. “You, too, shall remain. You have left the Church of which Monsignor Lafelle is a part. Either you have done that Church, and him, a great injustice––or he does ignorant or wilful wrong in insisting that I unite with it.”
“My dear child,” said Lafelle gently, now recovered and wholly on his guard, “your impetuosity gets the better of your judgment. This is no occasion for a theological discussion, nor are you sufficiently informed to bear a part in such. As for myself, you unintentionally do me great wrong. As I have171repeatedly told you, I seek only your eternal welfare. Else would I not labor with you as I do.”
Carmen turned to Father Waite. “Is my eternal welfare dependent upon acceptance of the Church’s doctrines?”
“No,” he said, in a scarcely audible voice.
A cynical look came into Lafelle’s eyes. But he replied affably: “When preachers fall out, the devil falls in. Your reply, Mr. Waite, comes quite consistently from one who has impudently tossed aside authority.”
“My authority, Monsignor,” returned the ex-priest in a low tone, “is Jesus Christ, who said: ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself.’”
“Ah!” murmured Lafelle; “then it was love that prompted you to abandon your little flock?”
“I left my pulpit, Monsignor, because I had nothing to give my people. I no longer believe the dogmas of the Church. And I refused longer to take the poor people’s money to support an institution so politically religious as I believe your Church to be. I could no longer take their money to purchase the release of their loved ones from an imagined purgatory––a place for which there is not the slightest Scriptural warrant––”
“You mistake, sir!” interrupted Lafelle in an angry tone.
“Very well, Monsignor,” replied Father Waite; “grant, then, that there is such Scriptural warrant; I would nevertheless know that the existence of purgatory was wholly incompatible with the reign of an infinite God of love. And, knowing that, I have ceased to extort gifts of money from the ignorance of the living and the ghastly terrors of the dying––”
“And so deceive yourself that you are doing a righteous act in removing their greatest consolation,” the churchman again interrupted, a sneer curving his lip.
“Consolation! The consolation which the stupifying drug affords, yes! Ah, Monsignor, as I looked down into the faces of my poor people, week after week, I knew that no sacerdotal intervention was needed to remit their sins, for their sins were but their unsolved problems of life. Oh, the poor, grief-stricken mothers who bent their tear-stained eyes upon me as I preached the ‘authority’ of the Fathers! Well I knew that, when I told them from my pulpit that their deceased infants, if baptized, went straight to heaven, they blindly, madly accepted my words! And when I went further and told them that their dead babes had joined the ranks of the blessed, and could thenceforth be prayed to, could I wonder that they rejoiced and eagerly grasped the false message of cheer? They believed because they wanted it to be so. And yet those utterances of mine,172based upon the accepted doctrine of Holy Church, were but narcotics, lulling those poor, afflicted minds into a false sense of rest and security, and checking all further human progress.”
Lafelle shrugged his shoulders. “It is to be regretted,” he said coldly, “that such narrowness of view should be permitted to impede the salvation of souls.”
“Salvation––of––souls!” exclaimed Father Waite. “Ah, how many souls have I not saved!––and yet I know not whether they or I be really saved! Saved? From what? From death? Certainly not! From misery, disease, suffering in this life? No, alas, no! Saved, then, from what? Ah, my friend, saved only from the torments of a hell and a purgatory constructed in the fertile minds of busy theologians!”
Lafelle turned to Carmen. “Some other day, perhaps––when it may be more convenient for us both––and you are alone––”
Carmen laughed. “Don’t quit the field, Monsignor––unless you surrender abjectly. You started this controversy, remember. And you were quite indiscreet, if you will recall.”
Monsignor bowed, smiling. “You write my faults in brass,” he gently lamented. “When you publish my virtues, if you find that I am possessed of any, I fear you will write them in water.”
Carmen laughed again. “Your virtues should advertise themselves, Monsignor.”
“Ah, then do you not see in me the virtue of desiring your welfare above all else, my child?”
“And the welfare of this great country, which you have come here to assist in making dominantly Catholic, is it not so, Monsignor?”
Lafelle started slightly. Then he smiled genially back at the girl. “It is an ambition which I am not ashamed to own,” he returned gently.
“But, Monsignor,” Carmen continued earnestly, “are you not aware of the inevitable failure of your mission? Do you not know that mediaeval theology comports not with modern progress?”
“True, my child,” replied the churchman. “And more, that our so-called modern progress––modernism, free-thinking, liberty of conscience, and the consequent terrible extravagance of beliefs and false creeds––constitutes the greatest menace now confronting this fair land. Its end is inevitable anarchy and chaos. Perhaps you can see that.”
“Monsignor,” said Carmen, “in the Middle Ages the Church was supreme. Emperors and kings bowed in submission before her. The world was dominantly Catholic. Would you be173willing, for the sake of Church supremacy to-day, to return to the state of society and civilization then obtaining?”
“That would not follow.”
“No? I point you to Mexico, Cuba, the Philippines, South America, all Catholic now or formerly, and I ask if you attribute not their oppression, their ignorance, their low morals and stunted manhood, to the dominance of churchly doctrines, which oppose freedom of conscience and press and speech, and make learning the privilege of the clergy and the rich?”
“It is an old argument, child,” deprecated Lafelle. “May I not point to France, on the contrary?”
“She has all but driven the Church from her borders.”
“But is still Catholic!” he retorted. “And England, though Anglican, calls herself Catholic. She will return to the true fold. Germany is forsaking Luther, as she sees the old light shining still undimmed.”
Carmen looked at Father Waite. The latter read in her glance an invitation further to voice his own convictions.
“Monsignor doubtless misreads the signs of the times,” he said slowly. “The hour has struck for the ancient and materialistic theories enunciated with such assumption of authority by ignorant, often blindly bigoted theologians, to be laid aside. The religion of our fathers, which is our present-day evangelical theology, was derived from the traditions of the early churchmen. They put their seal upon it; and we blindly accept it as authority, despite the glaring, irrefutable fact that it is utterly undemonstrable. Why do the people continue to be deceived by it? Alas! only because of its mesmeric promise of immortality beyond the grave.”
Monsignor bowed stiffly in the direction of Father Waite. “Fortunately, your willingness to plunge the Christian world into chaos will fail of concrete results,” he said coldly.
“I but voice the sentiments of millions, Monsignor. For them, too, the time has come to put by forever the paraphernalia of images, candles, and all the trinkets used in the pagan ceremonial which has so quenched our spirituality, and to seek the undivided garment of the Christ.”
“Indeed!” murmured Lafelle.
“The world to-day, Monsignor, stands at the door of a new era, an era which promises a grander concept of God and religion, the tie which binds all to Him, than has ever before been known. We are thinking. We are pondering. We are delving, studying, reflecting. And we are at last beginning to work with true scientific precision and system. As in chemistry, mathematics, and the physical sciences, so in matters religious, we are beginning toproveour working hypotheses.174And so a new spiritual enlightenment is come. People are awaking to a dim perception of the meaning of spiritual life, as exemplified in Jesus Christ. And they are vaguely beginning to see that it is possible to every one. The abandonment of superstition, religious and other, has resulted in such a sudden expansion of the human mind that the most marvelous material progress the world has ever witnessed has come swiftly upon us, and we live more intensely in a single hour to-day than our fathers lived in weeks before us. Oh, yes, we are already growing tired of materiality. The world is not yet satisfied. We are not happy. But, Monsignor, let not the Church boast itself that the acceptance of her mediaeval dogmas will meet the world’s great need. That need will be met, I think, only as we more and more clearly perceive the tremendous import of the mission of Jesus, and learn how to grasp and apply the marvelous Christ-principle which he used and told us we should likewise employ to work out our salvation.”
During Father Waite’s earnest talk Lafelle sat with his eyes fixed upon Carmen. When the ex-priest concluded, the churchman ignored him and vouchsafed no reply.
“Well, Monsignor?” said the girl, after waiting some moments in expectation.
Lafelle smiled paternally. Then, nodding his shapely head, he said in a pleading tone:
“Have I no champion here? Would you, too, suddenly abolish the Church, Catholic and Protestant alike? Why, my dear child, with your ideals––which no one appreciates more highly than I––do you continue to persecute me so cruelly? Can not you, too, sense the unsoundness of the views just now so eloquently voiced?”
“That is cant, Monsignor! You speak wholly without authority or proof, as is your wont.”
The man winced slightly. “Well,” he said, “there are several hundred million Catholics and Protestants in the world to-day. Would you presume to say that they are all mistaken, and that you are right? Something of an assumption, is it not? Indeed, I think you set the Church an example in that respect.”
“Monsignor, there were once several hundred millions who believed that the earth was flat, and that the sun revolved about it. Were they mistaken?”
“Yes. But the––”
“And, Monsignor, there are billions to-day who believe that matter is a solid, substantial reality, and that it possesses life and sensation. There are billions who believe that the physical175eyes see, and the ears hear, and the hands feel. Yet these beliefs are all capable of scientific refutation. Did you know that?”
“I am not unacquainted with philosophical speculation,” he returned suggestively.
“This is not mere speculation, Monsignor,” put in Father Waite. “The beliefs of the human mind are its fetish. Such beliefs become in time national customs, and men defend them with frenzy, utterly wrong and undemonstrable though they be. Then they remain as the incubus of true progress. By them understanding becomes degraded, and the human mind narrows and shrinks. And the mind that clings to them will then mercilessly hunt out the dissenting minds of its heretical neighbors and stone them to death for disagreeing. So now, you would stone me for obeying Christ’s command to take up my bed on the Sabbath day.”
Lafelle heaved a great sigh. “Still you blazon my faults,” he said in a tone of mock sadness, and addressing Carmen. “But, like the Church which you persecute, I shall endure. We have been martyred throughout the ages. And we are very patient. Our wayward children forsake us,” nodding toward Father Waite, “and yet we welcome their return when they have tired of the husks. The press teems with slander against us; we are reviled from east to west. But our reply is that such slander and untruth can best be met by our leading individual lives of such an exemplary nature as to cause all men to be attracted by our holy light.”
“I agree with you, Monsignor,” quickly replied Carmen. “Scurrilous attacks upon the Church but make it a martyr. Vilification returns upon the one who hurls the abuse. One can not fling mud without soiling one’s hands. I oppose not men, but human systems of thought. Whatever is good will stand, and needs no defense. Whatever is erroneous must go. And there is no excuse, for salvation is at hand.”
“Salvation? And your thought regarding that?” he said in a skirmishing tone.
“Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts,” she replied earnestly. “To him that soweth righteousness––right thinking––shall be a sure reward. Ah, Monsignor, do you at heart believe that the religion of the Christ depends upon doctrines, signs, dogmas? No, it does not. But signs and proofs naturally and inevitably follow the right understanding of Jesus’ teachings, even according to these words:These signs shall follow them that believe. Paul gave the formula for salvation, when he said:But we all with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed176into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord. Can you understand that? Can you see that, taking Jesus as our model and following his every command––seeing Him only, the Christ-principle, which is God, good, without any admixture of evil––we change, even though slowly, from glory to glory, step by step, until we rise out of all sense of evil and death? And this is done by the Spirit which is God.”
“Yes,” said Father Waite, taking up the conversation when she paused. “Even the poorest human being can understand that. Why, then, the fungus growth of traditions, ceremonies, rites and forms which have sprung up about the Master’s simple words? Why the wretched formalistic worship throughout the world? Why the Church’s frigid, lifeless traditions, so inconsistent with the enlarging sense of God which marks this latest century? The Church has yet to prove its utility, its right to exist and to pose as the religious teacher of mankind. Else must it fall beneath the axe which is even now at the root of the barren tree of theology. Her theology, like the Judaism of the Master’s day, has no prophets, no poets, no singers. And her priests, as in his time, have sunk into a fanatical observance of ritual and form.”
“And yet,” observed Carmen, “you still urge me to unite with it.”
Lafelle was growing weary. Moreover, it irked him sore to be made a target for the unassailable logic of the apostate Waite. Then, too, the appearance of the ex-priest there that afternoon in company with this girl who held such radical views regarding religious matters portended in his thought the possibility of a united assault upon the foundations of his cherished system. This girl was now a menace. She nettled and exasperated him. Yet, he could not let her alone. Did he have the power to silence her? He thought he had.
“Have you finished with me?” he asked, with a show of gaiety. “If so, I will depart.”
“Yes,” replied Carmen, “you may go now.”
Lafelle paled. He had not expected that reply. He was stung to the quick. What! dismissed like a lackey? He, Monsignor, a dignitary of Holy Church? He could not believe it! He turned upon the girl and her companion, furious with anger.
“I have been very patient with you both,” he said in a voice that he could not control. “But there is a reasonable limit. Abuse the Church as you will, the fact remains that the world fears her and trembles before her awful voice! Why? Because the world recognizes her mighty power, a power of unified millions of human beings and exhaustless wealth. She is177the leader, the guide, the teacher, the supreme object of worship of a countless army who would lay down their lives to-day for her. Her subjects gather from every quarter of the globe. They are English, French, German, American––but they are Catholics first! Emperor, King, Ruler, or Government––all are alike subject to her supreme, divine authority! Nationalities, customs, family ties––all melt away before her, to whom her followers bow in loyal consecration. The power which her supreme leader and head wields is all but omnipotent! He is by divine decree Lord of the world. Hundreds of millions bend before his throne and offer him their hearts and swords! I say, you have good reason to quake! Aye, America has reason to fear! The onward march of Holy Church is not disturbed by the croaking calumnies of such as you who would assault her! And to you I say, beware!” His face was purple, as he stopped and mopped his damp brow.
“What we have to beware of, Monsignor,” said Father Waite gravely, “is the steady encroachments of Rome in this country, with her weapons of fear, ignorance, and intolerance––”
“Intolerance! You speak of intolerance! Why, in this country, whose Constitution provided toleration for every form of religion––”
Carmen had risen and gone to the man. “Monsignor,” she said, “the founders of the American nation did provide for religious tolerance––and they were wise according to their light. But we of this day are still wiser, for we have some knowledge of the wonderful working of mental laws. I, too, believe in toleration of opinion. You are welcome to yours, and I to mine. But––and here is the great point––the opinion which Holy Church has held throughout the ages regarding those who do not accept her dogmas is that they are damned, that they are outcasts of heaven, that they merit the stake and rack. The Church’s hatred of heretics has been deadly. Her thought concerning them has not been that of love, such as Jesus sent out to all who did not agree with him, but deadly, suggestive hatred. Now our Constitution does not provide for tolerance of hate and murder-thoughts, which enter the minds of the unsuspecting and work destruction there in the form of disease, disaster, and death. That is what we object to in you, Monsignor. You murder your opponents with your poisonous thoughts. And toward such thoughts we have a right to be very intolerant, even to the point of destroying them in human mentalities. Again I say, I war not against people, but against the murderous carnal thought of the human mind!”
Monsignor had fallen back before the girl’s strong words.178His face had grown black, and his hands were working convulsively.
“Monsignor,” continued Carmen in a low, steady voice, “you have threatened me with something which you apparently hold over me. You are very like the people of Galilee: if you can not refute by reason, you would circumvent by law, by the Constitution, by Congress. That failing, you would destroy. Instead of threatening us with the flames of hell for not being good, why do you not show us by the great example of Jesus’ love how to be so? Are you manifesting love now––or the carnal mind? I judge your Church by such as manifest it to me. How, then, shall I judge it by you to-day?”
He rose slowly and took her by the hand. “I beg your pardon,” he said in a strange, unnatural voice. “I was hasty. As you see, I am zealous. Naturally, I resent misjudgment. And I assure you that you quite misunderstand me, and the Church which I represent. But––I may come again?”
“Surely, Monsignor,” returned the girl heartily. “A debate such as this is stimulating, don’t you think so?”
He bowed and turned to go. Just then the Beaubien appeared.
“Ah, Monsignor,” she said lightly, as she stepped into the room. “You are exclusive. Why have you avoided me since your return to America?”
“Madam,” replied Lafelle, in some confusion, “no one regrets more than I the press of business which necessitated it. But your little friend has told me I may return.”
“Always welcome, Monsignor,” replied the Beaubien, scanning him narrowly as she accompanied him to the door. “By the way, you forgot our little compact, did you not?” she added coldly.
“Madam, I came out of a sense of duty.”
“Of that I have no doubt, Monsignor.Adieu.”
She returned again to the music room, where Carmen made her acquainted with Father Waite, and related the conversation with Lafelle. While the girl talked the Beaubien’s expression grew serious. Then Carmen launched into her association with the ex-priest, concluding with: “And he must have something to do, right away, to earn his living!”
The Beaubien laughed. She always did when Carmen, no matter how serious the conversation, infused her sparkling animation into it. “That isn’t nearly as important as to know what he thinks about Monsignor’s errand here this afternoon, dearie,” she said.
Father Waite bowed. “Madam,” he said with great seriousness, “I would be very wide awake.”