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Josè hesitated. “I––I have––work here, señor,” he replied.
“True,” said Don Jorge, “a chance to do much for these poor people––if the odds are not too strong against you. But––are you working for them alone? Or––does Diego’s child figure in the case? No offense, I assure you––I have reason to ask.”
Josè sought to read his eyes. The man looked squarely into his own, and the priest found no deception in their black depths.
“I––señor, she cannot be Diego’s child––and I––I would save her!”
Don Jorge nodded his head. “Bien,” he said, “to-morrow I leave for San Lucas. I will return this way.”
After the evening meal theguaquerospread hispetateupon the floor and disposed himself for the night. He stubbornly refused to accept the priest’s bed.“Caramba!”he muttered, after he had lain quiet for some time, “why does not the Church permit its clergy to marry, like civilized beings! Do you know,Señor Padre, I once met a woman in Bogotá and held some discussion with her on this topic. She said, as between a priest who had children, and a married minister, she would infinitely prefer the priest, because, as she put it, no matter how dissolute the priest, the sacraments from his hands would still retain their validity––but never from those of a married minister!Caramba!what can you do against such bigotry and awful narrowness, such dense ignorance! Cielo!”
The following morning, before sunrise, Don Jorge and his boatmen were on the lake, leaving Josè to meditate on the vivid experiences of the past few days, their strange mental origin, and the lesson which they brought.
CHAPTER 22
“Padre dear,” said Carmen, “you know the question that we put under the altar of the old church? Well, God answered it, didn’t He?”
“I––why, I had forgotten it, child. What was it? You asked Him to tell us why the people thought they had to die, did you not? Well––and what was His answer?”
“Why, He told us that they were frightened to death, you know.”
“True,chiquita. Fear killed them––nothing else! They paid the penalty of death for believing that Feliz Gomez had slept on a bed where a man had died of the plague. They died because they––”
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“Because they didn’t know that God was everywhere, Padre dear,” interrupted Carmen.
“Just so,chiquita. And that is why all people die. And yet,” he added sadly, “how are we going to make them know that He is everywhere?”
“Why, Padre dear, by showing them in our talk and our actions that we know it––by proving it, you know, just as we prove our problems in algebra.”
“Yes, poor Feliz, and Amado, and Guillermo died because they sinned,” he mused. “They broke the first Commandment by believing that there was another power than God. And that sin brought its inevitable wage, death. They ‘missed the mark,’ and sank into the oblivion of their false beliefs. God above! that I could keep my own mentality free from these same carnal beliefs, and so be a true missionary to suffering humanity! But you, Carmen, you are going to be such a missionary. And I believe,” he muttered through his set teeth, “that I am appointed to shield the girl until God is ready to send her forth! But what, oh, what will she do when she meets that world which lies beyond her little Simití?”
Rosendo had returned to Guamocó. “The deposit will not last much longer,” he said to Josè, shaking his head dubiously. “And then––”
“Why, then we will find another, Rosendo,” replied the priest optimistically.
“Ojalá!”exclaimed the old man, starting for the trail.
The day after Don Jorge’s departure the Alcalde returned. He stole shamefacedly through the streets and barricaded himself in his house. There he gave vent to his monumental wrath. He cruelly abused his long-suffering spouse, and ended by striking her across the face. After which he sat down and laboriously penned a long letter to Padre Diego, in which the names of Josè and Carmen figured plentifully.
For Don Jorge had met the Alcalde in Juncal, and had roundly jeered him for his cowardly flight. He cited Josè and Rosendo as examples of valor, and pointed out that the Alcalde greatly resembled a captain who fled at the smell of gunpowder. Don Mario swelled with indignation and shame. His spleen worked particularly against Rosendo and the priest. Come what might, it was time Diego and his superiors in Cartagena knew what was going on in the parish of Simití!
A few days later an unctuous letter came to Josè from Diego, requesting that Carmen be sent to him at once, as he now desired to place her in a convent and thus supplement the religious education which he was sure Josè had so well begun in her. The priest had scarcely read the letter when Don Mario appeared at the parish house.
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“Bien, Padre,” he began smoothly, but without concealing the malice which lurked beneath his oily words, “Padre Diego sends for the little Carmen, and bids me arrange to have her conveyed at once to Banco. I think Juan will take her down, is it not so?”
Josè looked him squarely in the eyes. “No, señor,” he said in a voice that trembled with agitation, “it is not so!”
“Hombre!”exclaimed Don Mario, swelling with suppressed rage. “You refuse to give Diego his own child?”
“No,señor, but I refuse to give him a child that is not his.”
“Caramba!but she is––he has the proofs! And I shall send her to him this day!”
The Alcalde shrilled forth his rage like a ruffled parrot. Josè seized him by the shoulders and, turning him swiftly about, pushed him out into the road. He then entered the rear door of Rosendo’s house and bade Doña Maria keep the child close to her.
A few minutes later Fernando Perez appeared at Josè’s door. He was municipal clerk, secretary, and constable of Simití, all in one. He saluted the priest gravely, and demanded the body of the child Carmen, to be returned to her proper father.
Josè groaned inwardly. What could he do against the established authority?
“Bien, Padre,” said Fernando, after delivering his message, “the hour is too late to send her down the river to-day. But deliver her to me, and she shall go down at daybreak.”
“Listen,” Josè pleaded desperately, “Fernando, leave her here to-night––this is sudden, you must acknowledge––she must have time to take leave of Doña Maria––and––”
“Señor Padre, the Alcalde’s order is that she go with me now. I must obey.”
Josè felt his control oozing fast. Scarce knowing what he did, he quickly stepped back through the rear door, and going to Rosendo’s house, seized a largemachete, with which he returned to face the constable.
“Look you, Fernando,” he cried, holding the weapon menacingly aloft, “if you lay a hand on that girl, I will scatter your brains through yonderplaza!”
“Caramba!”muttered the constable, falling back. “Bien,” he hastily added, “I will make this report to the Alcalde!” With which he beat an abrupt retreat.
Josè sank into a chair. But he hastily arose and went into Rosendo’s house. “Doña Maria!” he cried excitedly, “leave Carmen with me, and do you hurry through the town and see if Juan is here, and if Lázaro Ortiz has returned from the196hacienda. Bid them come to me at once, and bring theirmachetes!”
The woman set out on her errand. Josè seized hismachetefirmly in one hand, and with the other drew Carmen to him.
“What is it, Padre dear?” the child asked, her eyes big with wonder. “Why do you tremble? I wish you wouldn’t always go around thinking that two and two are seven!”
“Carmen, child––you do not understand––you are too young, and as yet you have had no experience with––with the world! You must trust me now!”
“I donottrust you, Padre,” she said sadly. “I can’t trust anybody who always sees things that are not so.”
“Carmen––you are in danger––and you do not comprehend––” cried the desperate man.
“I amnotin danger––and Idounderstand––a great deal better than you do, Padre. Now let me go––you are afraid! People who are afraid die of the plague!” The irony of her words sank into his soul.
Juan looked in at the door. Josè rose hastily. “Did you meet Doña Maria?” he asked.
“No, señor,” the lad replied.
“She is searching for you––have you yourmachete?”
“Yes, Padre, I have just come back from the island, where I was cutting wood.”
“Good, then! Remain here with me. I need you––or may.”
He went to the door and looked eagerly down the street. “Ah!” he exclaimed with relief, “here come Doña Maria and Lázaro! Now, friends,” he began, when they were assembled before him, “grave danger threatens––”
“Padre!” It was Doña Maria’s voice. “Where is Carmen?”
Josè turned. The child had disappeared.
“Lázaro!” he cried, “go at once to the Boque trail! Let no one pass that way with Carmen, if your life be the penalty! Juan, hurry to the lake! If either of you see her, call loudly, and I will come! Doña Maria, start through the town! We must find her! God above, help us!”
The afternoon dragged its interminable length across the valley. Josè wearily entered his house and threw himself upon a chair. He had not dared call at the Alcalde’s house, for fear he might do that official violence. But he had seen Fernando in the street, and had avoided him. Then, of a sudden, a thought came to him from out the darkness. He sprang to his feet and hurried off toward the shales. There, beneath the stuntedalgarrobatree, sat the child.
“Carmen!” He rushed to her and clasped her in his arms. “Why did you do this––?”
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“Padre,” she replied, when she could get her breath, “I had to come out here and try to know for you the things you ought to know for yourself.”
He said nothing; but, holding her hand tightly, he led her back to the house.
That evening Josè sent for Don Mario, the constable, and Juan and Lázaro. Assembling them before him in his living room, he talked with them long and earnestly.
“Compadres,” he said, “this week we have passed through a sad experience, and the dark angel has robbed us of three of our beloved friends. Is it your wish that death again visit us?”
They looked at one another in wonder. The Alcalde scowled darkly at the priest beneath his heavy brows. Josè continued:
“Bien, it is planned to seize the little Carmen by force, and send her down the river to Padre Diego––”
“Dios y diablo!”Juan had sprung to his feet. “Who says that, Padre?” he demanded savagely. The Alcalde shrank back in his chair.
“Be calm, Juan!” Josè replied. “Padre Diego sends for her by letter––is it not so, Don Mario?”
The latter grunted. Juan wheeled about and stared menacingly at the bulky official.
“Now, friends,” Josè pursued, “it has not been shown that Carmen belongs to Diego––in fact, all things point to the conclusion that she is not his child. My wish is to be just to all concerned. But shall we let the child go to him, knowing what manner of man he is, until it is proven beyond all doubt that he is her father?”
“Caramba!No!” exclaimed Juan and Lázaro in unison.
“And I am of the opinion that the majority of our citizens would support us in the contention. What think you, friends?”
“Every man in Simití, Padre,” replied Lázaro earnestly.
“Don Mario,” said Josè, turning to the Alcalde, “until it is established that Diego has a parent’s claim to the girl, Juan and Lázaro and I will protect her with our lives. Is it not so,amigos?” addressing the two men.
“Hombre!Let me see a hand laid upon her!” cried Juan rising.
Lázaro spoke more deliberately. “Padre,” he said. “I owe you much. I know you to be q good man––not like Padre Diego. I know not what claim he may have on the girl, but this I say: I will follow and support you until it is shown me that you are in the wrong.”
Josè went over and clasped his hand. Then, to the town officials:
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“Bien, amigos, we will let the matter rest thus, shall we not? We now understand one another. If harm comes to the child, the death angel will again stalk through this town, and––” he looked hard at Don Mario, whilst that official visibly shrank in size––“Bien,” he concluded, “a sharp watch will be kept over the child. We will submit to proofs––but to nothing less. And violence will bring bloodshed and death.”
“But––Caramba!” cried Don Mario, at last finding his voice. “If Diego has the Bishop back of him, he will force us to deliver the girl––or the Bishop will have the government soldiers sent here! I can ask for them––and if necessary I will!”
Josè paled slightly. He knew the Alcalde spoke truth. Don Mario, seeing that his words had taken effect, quickly followed up the advantage. “Now you, Juan and Lázaro, do you think the little whelp worth that?”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when Juan leaped across the floor and fell upon him. Josè seized the lad and, with Fernando’s help, tore him loose. Lázaro held hismachetealoft, ready to strike. Josè’s voice rang out sharply:
“Hold, men! Stop! Go you to your homes now! Juan, do you stay here with me!”
The lad faced the Alcalde and shook his fist. “Bien,” he sputtered, “send for the soldiers, fat dog that you are! But when I see them crossing the lake, I will come first to your house and cut open that big belly!”
“Arrest him, Fernando!” shrilled the Alcalde, shaking with rage.
“I will cut off the hand that is laid on Juan!” cried Lázaro, advancing.
“Men! Men! Don Mario and Fernando, go now! Enough of this! And for God’s sake think twice before you make any further move!”
Don Mario and his constable departed in sullen silence. Josè let Lázaro out through the rear door, while he bade Juan pass the night in the parish house. A consultation was held with Doña Maria, and it was arranged that Carmen should sleep in the room with Josè, with Juan lying before the door, until Rosendo should return from the mountains. Then Josè sat down and wrote to the Bishop.
No reply came from Cartagena until Rosendo returned at the end of the month. Meanwhile, Josè had never for a moment permitted Carmen to leave his side. The child chafed under the limitation; but Josè and Doña Maria were firm. Juan lived with the priest; and Lázaro lurked about the parish house like a shadow. The Alcalde and his constable remained discreetly aloof.
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But with Rosendo’s return came letters from both Wenceslas and Diego. The latter had laid aside his unction, and now made a curt and peremptory demand upon Josè for the child. The letter from Wenceslas was noncommittal, stating only that he was quite uninformed of Diego’s claim, but that an investigation should be made. Josè wondered if he had blundered in laying the case before him.
“Hombre!”ejaculated Rosendo, when he heard Josè’s story. “It is as I feared! And now the Bishop has the matter in hand!Caramba!We shall lose her yet!
“And, Padre,” he added, “the deposit is played out. There is no more gold there. And, now that we shall have none to send to the Bishop each month, Carmen’s fate is settled––unless we go away. And where shall we go? We could not get out of the country.” He hung his head and sat in gloomy dejection.
For more than a year Rosendo had panned the isolated alluvial deposit, and on his regular monthly returns to Simití he and the priest had sent from thirty to ninetypesosgold to Wenceslas. To this Josè sometimes added small amounts collected from the people of Simití, which they had gratuitously given him for Masses and for the support of the parish. Wenceslas, knowing the feeble strength of the parish, was surprised, but discreet; and though he continually urged Josè to greater efforts, and held out the allurements of “indulgences and special dispensations,” he made no inquiries regarding the source of the monthly contributions.
For many days following, Rosendo and the priest went about as in a thick, black cloud. “Rosendo,” said Josè at length, “go back to the mountains and search again. God was with us before. Have we any reason to doubt Him now?”
“And leave Carmen here, exposed to the danger that always hangs over her?Caramba, no! I would not go back now even if the deposit were not worked out! No!” Josè knew it would be futile to urge him.
Carmen came to the priest that same day. “Padre, I heard you and padre Rosendo talking this morning. Have you no money, no gold?”
“Why, child––there seems to be a need just at present,” he replied lightly. “But we might––well, we might send another of your questions to God. What say you?”
“Of course!” she cried delightedly, turning at once and hurrying away for pencil and paper.
“Now,” she panted, seating herself at the table. “Let us see; we want Him to give uspesos, don’t we?”
“Yes––many––a large sum. Make it big,” he said facetiously.
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“Well, you know, Padre dear,” she replied seriously, “we can’t ask for too much––for we already have everything, haven’t we? After all, we can only ask to see what we really already have.
“Say ‘yes,’ Padre dear,” she pleaded, looking up appealingly at him staring silently at her. Oh, if she could only impart to him even a little of her abundant faith! She had enough, and to spare!
“Well, here it is,” she said, holding out the paper.
He took it and read––“Dear, dear God: Padre Josè needspesos––lots of them. What shall he do?”
“And now,” she continued, “shall we put it under the altar of the old church?”
He smiled; but immediately assumed an expression of great seriousness. “Why not in the church here, the one we are using? The other is so far away?” he suggested. “And it is getting dark now.”
“But––no, we will go where we went before,” she concluded firmly.
Again he yielded. Taking matches and a piece of candle, he set off with the girl in a circuitous route for the hill, which they gained unobserved. Within the musty old church he struck a light, and they climbed over thedébrisand to the rear of the crumbling altar.
“See!” she cried joyously. “Here is my other question that He answered! Doesn’t He answer them quick though! Why, it took only a day!”
She drew the old paper from beneath the adobe brick. Then she hesitated. “Let us put this question in a new place,” she said. “Look, up there, where the bricks have fallen out,” pointing to the part of the altar that had crumbled away.
Josè rose obediently to execute the commission. His thought was far off, even in Cartagena, where sat the powers that must be held quiet if his cherished plans were not to fail. He reached out and grasped one of the projecting bricks to steady himself. As he did so, the brick, which was loose, gave way with him, and he fell, almost across Carmen, followed by a shower of rubbish, as another portion of the old altar fell out.
“Hombre!”he ejaculated, picking himself up. “What good luck that the candle was not extinguished! And now, señorita, are you willing that we should bury this important question here on the floor; or must I again try to put it in the altar itself?”
“Up there,” insisted the child, laughing and still pointing above.
He rose and looked about, searching for a convenient place201to deposit the paper. Then something attracted his attention, something buried in the altar, but now exposed by the falling out of the fresh portion. It was metal, and it glittered in the feeble candle light. He reached in and hastily scraped away more of the hard mud. Then, trembling with suppressed excitement, he pulled out another brick. Clearly, it was a box that had been buried in there––who knows when? He gave the candle to Carmen and bade her stand up close. Then with both hands he carefully removed the adjacent bricks until the entire box was in view.
“Hombre!”he muttered. “What do you suppose this is? A box––”
“Oh!” exclaimed the girl in delight. “A box to put our question in, Padre!”
“More likely the answer itself, child!” muttered the excited priest, straining and tugging away at it. “Carmen! Stand aside!” he suddenly commanded. “Now––” He gave a final pull. A crash of falling bricks followed; the candle was extinguished; and both he and the child were precipitated to the floor.
“Carmen!” called the priest, choking with dust, “are you hurt?”
“No, Padre dear,” came the laughing answer through the darkness. “But I’m pretty full of dust. And the candle is buried.”
Josè groped about for the box. It lay near, a small, wooden coffer, bound about with two narrow bands of steel. He dragged it out and bore it down the aisle to the door, followed by Carmen.
“Padre!” she exclaimed eagerly. “What is it?”
He dusted it off and examined it carefully in the fast fading light. It was some twelve inches square by three deep, well made of mahogany, and secured by a small, iron padlock. On the top there was a crest of arms and the letters, “I de R,” burned into the wood.
Night had closed in, and the priest and girl made their way hurriedly back home by way of the lake, to avoid being seen. Under his cassock Josè carried the box, so heavy that it chafed the skin from his hip as they stumbled along.
“Carmen, say nothing––but tell your padre Rosendo to come to me at once!”
With the doors secured, and Carmen and Doña Maria standing guard outside to apprise them of danger, Josè and Rosendo covertly examined the discovery.
“I de R!” pondered Rosendo, studying the box. Then––“Caramba!Padre––Caramba!It isIgnacio de Rincón!Hombre!202And the crest––it is his! I have seen it before––years and years ago!Caramba!Caramba!” The old man danced about like a child.
“Ignacio de Rincón! Your grandfather!” he kept exclaiming, his eyes big as saucers. Then, hastening out to get his iron bar, he returned and with a blow broke the rusty padlock. Tearing open the hinged cover, he fell back with a loud cry.
Before their strained gaze, packed carefully in sawdust, lay several bars of yellow metal. Rosendo took them out with trembling hands and laid them upon the floor. “Gold, Padre, gold!” he muttered hoarsely. “Gold, buried by your grandfather!Caramba!––
“Hold these, Padre!” hurrying out and returning with a pair of homemade wooden balances. Again and again he carefully weighed the bars. Then he began to calculate. It seemed to Josè that the old man wasted hours arriving at a satisfactory result.
“Padre,” he finally announced in tones which he strove vainly to control, “there cannot be less than six thousandpesos orohere!”
Josè drew a long breath. “Six thousandpesos––twenty-four thousand francs! It is a fortune! Rosendo, we are rich!”
The trembling old man replaced the bars and carried them to Josè’s bed. The priest opened the door and called to Carmen.
“What was in the old box, Padre?” she asked happily, bounding into the room.
He stooped and picked her up, almost crushing her in his arms. “The answer to your question,chiquita. ‘Before they call I will answer: and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.’”
CHAPTER 23
When Josè awoke the next morning he quickly put his hand under his pillow. Yes, the little coffer was there! It had not been a dream. He drew it forth and raised the cover. The yellow bars glittered in the morning rays sifting through the overhanging thatch at the window. He passed his hand gently across them. What a fortunate discovery! And how strangely brought about. They were rich! Now he could take Carmen and flee! His heart leaped within him as he hastily threw on his scant attire and went out into the balsamic air of the tropical morning. Rosendo had gone to the village of Boque, starting before sun-up, so Doña Maria announced.203Some sudden impulse had seized him, and he had set out forthwith, not stopping to discuss the motive with his faithful consort. Josè concluded hisdesayuno, and then summoned Carmen to the parish house for the day’s lessons. She came with a song on her lips.
“Don’t stop,chiquita! Sing it again––it is beautiful; and my soul drinks it in like heavenly dew!” he cried, as the child danced up to him and threw her plump arms about his neck.
She turned about and sat down on the dusty threshold and repeated the little song. The glittering sunlight streamed through her rich curls like stringers of wire gold. Cucumbra came fawning to her and nestled at her little bare feet, caressing them at frequent intervals with his rough tongue. Cantar-las-horas approached with dignified tread, and, stopping before his adored little mistress, cocked his head to one side and listened attentively, his beady eyes blinking in the dazzling light.
Josè marveled anew as he listened. Where had that voice come from? Had either of her parents been so gifted? he wondered. And yet, it was only the voicing of a soul of stainless purity––a conscience clear as the light that gilded her curls––a trust, a faith, a knowledge of immanent good, that manifested daily, hourly, in a tide of happiness whose far verge melted into the shore of eternity. As he sat with closed eyes the adobe hut, with its dirt floor and shabby furnishings, expanded into a castle, hung with richest tapestries, rarest pictures, and glittering with plate of gold. The familiar odors of garlic and saffron, which penetrated from the primitive kitchen of Doña Maria, were transmuted into delicate perfumes. The sun drew nearer, and suffused him with its glittering flood. The girl became a white-robed vision, and her song a benediction, voicing “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among men of good will.”
The song ended, and left the thought with him: “To men of good will?” Yes, to men of God’s will––the will that is good––to men of sound mind––that mind which was in Christ Jesus––the mind that knows no evil! To such is eternal peace.
“Chiquita,” the priest said gently, when the girl returned to him. “Your question was quickly answered yesterday, was it not?”
She laughed up into his face. “It was answered, Padre, before we asked it. God has the answers to all questions that could ever be asked. We would always know the answers if we thought the way He does.”
“But––tell me,chiquita, do you think He put that little box up there in the altar purposely for us?”
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“No, Padre––I guess it was hidden there by some man, long ago, who was afraid he would lose it. And since he was afraid he would lose it, why––he did, for now we have it.”
“Yes, the thing that he greatly feared came upon him. But what is your idea regarding the way we happened to find it? Did God lead us to it?”
“God leads to everything good, Padre dear,” was the simple response.
“Of course. But, in this particular case––would we have been led to the little box if you had not asked your question of God?”
“Why not, Padre? People are always led right when they think right.”
“And so thinking right was the cause of this discovery, was it?” he pursued, relentlessly probing her thought to its depths.
“Why––yes, Padre––of course. We had to have money––you said so, you know. And you told me to ask for lots ofpesos. Well, we both knew that God had already given us morepesosthan we could ever know what to do with––He always does. He just can’t help giving Himself to everybody. And He gave Himself to us––why, we have always had Him! We areinHim, you know. And when anybody just knows that––why, he sees nothing but good everywhere, and he always has all that he needs.”
“All that he wants, you mean,chiquita?”
“No, Padre, not all that he wants. Just all that he needs. You might want all the gold in the world––but you wouldn’t need it.”
“No, that would be only a selfish, human want. It would be covetousness. But––you still think we were led right to the little box, do you?”
“I know it, Padre dear,” she replied emphatically. “When we think good, we see good. It always comes out that way. It is just as sure as getting the right answers to my problems in algebra when I think right about them.”
“And thinking right about them means using the right rule, does it not?”
“Yes––of course. If I didn’t use the right rule––why, what sort of answers would I get? All jumbled up!”
“Surely––perfect chaos. But still,” vigorously pursuing the subject, “you don’t think we happened upon the little box just by good luck?”
“Padre,” she shook her curls insistently, “things never happen,never! We see only what we think––always!”
“Yes, there surely does seem to be a definite law of cause and effect. But you did not think gold yesterday,chiquita.”
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“Oh, Padre dear, what a bother you are! No, I didn’t think gold yesterday. I never think gold. But I always thinkgood. And that is gold and everything else that we need. Can’t you see? And it wasn’t just because I thought good yesterday, but because I think good every day, that I saw the gold. It was because we needed it, and God had already given us all that we needed. And I knew that it justhadto come. And so did you. Then, because we really needed it, and knew that it was right and that it must come––well, it did. Can’t you see?” Her little face was very serious as she looked up appealingly into his.
“Yes,chiquita, yes, I see. I just wanted to know how you would explain it. It becomes clearer to me every day that there are no such things as miracles––never were! Christ Jesusneverperformed miracles, if by that we mean that he set aside God’s laws for the benefit of mankind. But he acted in perfect accord with those laws––and no wonder the results seemed miraculous to dull-witted human minds, who had always seen only their coarse, material thought externalized in material laws and objects, in chance, mixed good and evil, and a God of human characteristics!”
“Yes––I––guess so, Padre dear––only, I don’t understand your big words.”
“Ah,chiquita, you understand far, far better than I do! Why, I am learning it all from you! But come, now for the lessons.”
And Josè had learned by this time, too, that between merely recognizing righteousness as right-thinking, and actually practicing it––putting it to the test so as to “prove” God––there is a vast difference. Things cannot be “thought” into existence, nor evils “thought” away––the stumbling block of the mere tyro in the study of mental cause and effect. A vast development in spirituality must precede those “signs following” before mankind shall again do the works of the Master. Josè knew this; and he bowed in humble submission, praying for daily light.
At dusk Rosendo returned. “Bien, Padre, I have it now, I think!” he cried excitedly, pacing back and forth in the little room.
“What, Rosendo?” asked the wondering priest.
“The secret of the little box! Come, while we eat I will tell you!”
The little group gathered about the table, while Rosendo unfolded his theory.
“I went to Boque this morning to talk with Doña Lucia. She is very aged, the oldest inhabitant in these parts.Bien, I206knew that she had known Don Ignacio, although she was not his slave. Her story brought back to me also the things my father had often told me about Don Ignacio’s last trip to Simití. Putting all these things together, I think I now know how the little box came to be hidden in the altar of the old church.”
The old man’s eyes sparkled with happiness, while his auditors drew closer about him to drink in his dramatic recital. For Rosendo, like a true Latin, reveled in a wonder-tale. And his recitals were always accompanied by profuse gesticulation and wonderful facial expressions and much rolling of the eyes.
“Bien,” he continued, “it was this way. Don Ignacio’s possessions in Guamocó were enormous, and in the then prosperous city of Simití he had stores and warehouses and much property. When the War of Independence neared its end, and he saw that the Royalist cause was lost, he made a last and flying trip to Simití, going up the Magdalena river from Cartagena in his ownchampán, propelled by some of his still faithful slaves.
“Bien, he found that one of his foremen had just returned from the mountains with the final clean-up from La Libertadarrastras. These had been abandoned, for most of the slaves had deserted, or gone to fight the Spaniards. But the foreman, who was not a slave, but a faithful employe, had cleaned up thearrastrasand hidden the amalgam until he could find a favorable opportunity to come down to Simití with it.
“Now, when Don Ignacio arrived here, he found the town practically deserted. So he and the foreman retorted the amalgam and melted the gold into bars. But, just as they had completed their task, a messenger came flying to town and reported that a body of Royalist soldiers were at Badillo, and that they had learned that Simití was thebodegaof the rich Guamocó district, and were preparing to come over and sack the town. They were fleeing down the river to the coast, to get away to Spain as soon as possible, but had put off at Badillo to come over here. Fortunately, they had become very intoxicated, and their expedition was for that reason delayed.
“Bueno, at the news the foreman dropped everything and fled for his life. A few people gathered with the priest in the Rincón church, the one you are using now, Padre. The priest of the other old church on the hill fled.Caramba, but he was a coward––and he got well paid for it, too! But of that later.
“Don Ignacio’schampánwas at Badillo, and he had come across to Simití by canoe.Bien, he dared not take this gold back with him; and so he thought of hiding it in one of the churches, for that is always a sacred place. There were people in his own church, and so he hurried to the one on the hill. Evidently, as he looked about in the deserted building for a207place to hide the bars, he saw that some of the bricks could easily be removed from the rear of the altar. A couple of hours sufficed to do the work of secreting the box. Then he fled across the shales to the town of Boque, where he got a canoe to take him down to the Magdalena; and there he waited until he saw the soldiers come across and enter thecaño. Then he fled to Badillo. Don Nicolás, son of Doña Lucia, was his boatman, and he says that he remained with your grandfather at that place over night, and that there they received the report that the Royalists had been terribly whipped in the battle––the battle of––Caramba! I forget––”
“Of Ayacucho,” suggested Josè.
“Just so,” resumed Rosendo. “Bien, there was nothing for the poor man to do but hasten down the river to Cartagena as fast as possible, for he knew not what might have befallen his family. He did not dare go back to Simití then for the box. And so the gold was left in the altar.”
“Hombre!”exclaimed Josè. “Now I understand what he meant by that note in his old diary, which we had in my father’s house, in Spain! Of course! Arriving in Cartagena he went at once to the Department of Mines and tore out all the pages of the register that contained descriptions of his mineral properties. He intended some day to return to Guamocó and again locate them. And meantime, he protected himself by destroying all the registered locations. It was easy for him to do this, influential as he was in Cartagena. And doubtless at that stormy time the office of the Department of Mines was deserted. This note, Rosendo, I have read in his old diary, many times, but never knew to what it referred.”
“Hombre!”ejaculated Rosendo. “Bueno, the soldiers sacked Simití and slaughtered all the people they could find. Then they set fire to the town, and left. My parents had fled to Guamocó.
“But now for the old church and the picture of the Virgin that was lost during the terrible storm when the priest fell dead. We will have to guess that later, when peace had been restored, the priest of the old church in prying around the altar discovered the loose bricks and the box behind them.Bueno, the night of the awful storm he had gone secretly to the church to remove the box. I remember that my father said the priest had arranged for my father to take him down to Bodega Central the very next day. You see, he was going to flee with the gold, the rogue!Bien, while he was in the church taking out the loose bricks, that storm broke––and, from what I remember, it was terrible! The heavens were ablaze with lightning; the thunder roared like cannon; and the lake rose right out of its208bed!Caramba!The door of the church crashed open, and the wind whistled in and blew out the candles on the altar. The wind also tore loose a beautiful picture of the Virgin that was hanging near the altar. The picture was blown out of its frame and swept off to the hills, or into the lake. It was never seen again, although the frame was found just outside the door. Perhaps it was the extinguishing of the candles and the falling of the picture that frightened the old priest so terribly. At any rate he ran from the church to his house, and when he reached his door he fell dead of apoplexy.
“Bueno, after that you could never get any of the Simití people to enter the church again. They closed the doors and left it, just as it was, for they thought the curse of God had fallen upon it because it had been erected by the enemies of the Rincón family, whose patron saint was the blessed Virgin herself. Well, the old altar began to crumble, and parts of it fell away from time to time. And when the people heard the bricks falling they said it was the bad angel that the Virgin had locked in there––the angel of Satan that had extinguished the candles on the altar that night of the storm.Caramba!And I believed it, too! I am a fool, Padre, a fool!”
“We are all fools, Rosendo, when we yield ourselves to superstition and false belief,” said Josè solemnly. “But you have worked out a very ingenious story, and I doubt not you have come very near to accounting in the right way for the presence of the little box in the altar. But now,amigo, come with me to my house. I would discuss a plan with you.
“It is this, Rosendo,” he said, when they were alone. “We now have gold, and the way has been providentially opened. Carmen is in great danger here. What say you, shall we take her and leave Simití?”
Rosendo’s face became grave. He did not reply for some moments.
“Padre,” he said at length, “you are right. It would be best for her if we could get her away. But––you would have to leave the country. I see now that neither she nor you would be safe anywhere in Colombia if you left Simití.”
“True, Rosendo,” replied Josè. “And I am sure that no country offers the asylum that America does––the America of the north. I have never been there,amigo; but of all countries I learn that it is the most tolerant in matters religious. And it offers the greatest opportunities to one, like Carmen, just entering upon life. We will go there. And, Rosendo, prepare yourself and Doña Maria at once, for we had best start without delay.”
But Rosendo shook his head. “No, Padre,” he said slowly.209“No. I could not go to the North with you; nor could Maria.”
“But, Rosendo!” exclaimed the priest impatiently, “why?”
“Bien, Padre, we are old. And we know not the language of those up there. Nor the customs. We could not adapt ourselves to their ways of life––no, not at our age. Nor could we endure the change of climate. You tell me they have cold, ice, snow, up there. What could we do? We would die. No, we must remain here. But––” his voice choked.
“Bien, Padre, do you go, and take the girl. Bring her up to be a power for good in that great land. We––Maria and I––will remain in Simití. It is not permitted that we should ever leave. This has always been our home, and here we will die.”
Josè exclaimed again in impatience. But the old man was immovable.
“No, Padre, we could not make so great a change. Anywhere in Colombia would be but little different from Simití. But up north––in that great country where they do those wonderful things you have told me about––no, Padre, Maria and I could not make so great a change.
“But, Padre,” he continued, “what will you do––leave the Church? Or will you still be a priest up there?”
The question startled Josè rudely. In the great joy which the discovery of the gold had stimulated, and in the thought of the possibilities opened by it, he had given no heed to his status respecting the Church. Yet, if he remained in the Church, he could not make this transfer without the approval of the Vatican. And that, he well knew, could not be obtained. No, if he went, he must leave behind all ecclesiastical ties. And with them, doubtless, the ties which still bound him to his distant mother and the family whose honored name he bore. It was not so easy a matter to take the girl and leave Simití, now that he gave the project further consideration.
And yet he could not abandon the idea, however great his present sense of disappointment. He would cling to it as an ideal, some day to be realized, and to be worked up to as rapidly as might be, without exciting suspicion, and without abruptly severing the ties which, on serious reflection, he found he was not morally strong enough as yet to break.
“Bien, Rosendo,” he concluded in chastened tones. “We will think it over, and try to devise ways to accomplish the greatest good for the child. I shall remain here for the present.”
Rosendo’s face beamed with joy. “The way will be shown us some time, Padre!” he exclaimed. “And while we wait, we will keep our eyes open, no?”
Yes, Josè would keep his eyes open and his heart receptive.210After all, as he meditated the situation in the quiet of his little cottage that evening, he was not sorry that circumstances kept him longer in Simití. For he had long been meditating a plan, and the distraction incident upon a complete change of environment certainly would delay, if not entirely defeat, its consummation. He had planned to translate his Testament anew, in the light of various works on Bible criticism which the explorer had mentioned, and which the possession of the newly discovered gold now made attainable. He had with him his Greek lexicon. He would now, in the freedom from interruption which Simití could and probably would afford for the ensuing few months, give himself up to his consecrated desire to extract from the sacred writings the spiritual meaning crystallized within them. The vivid experiences which had fallen to him in Simití had resulted in the evolution of ideas––radically at variance with the world’s materialistic thought, it is true––which he was learning to look upon as demonstrable truths. The Bible had slowly taken on a new meaning to him, a meaning far different from that set forth in the clumsy, awkward phrases and expressions into which the translators so frequently poured the wine of the spirit, and which, literally interpreted, have resulted in such violent controversies, such puerile ideas of God and His thought toward man, and such religious hatred and bigotry, bloodshed, suffering, and material stagnation throughout the so-called Christian era. He would approach the Gospels, not as books of almost undecipherable mystery, not as the biography of the blessed Virgin, but as containing the highest human interpretation of truth and its relation to mankind.
“I seek knowledge,” he repeated aloud, as he paced back and forth through his little living room at night; “but it is not a knowledge of Goethe, of Kant, or Shakespeare; it is not a knowledge of the poets, the scientists, the philosophers, all whom the world holds greatest in the realm of thought; it is a knowledge of Thee, my God, to know whom is life eternal! Men think they can know Homer, Plato, Confucius––and so they can. But they think they cannotknow Thee! And yet Thou art nearer to us than the air we breathe, for Thou art Life! What is there out in the world among the multifold interests of mankind that can equal in importance a demonstrable knowledge of Thee? Not the unproven theories and opinions, the so-called ‘authority’ of the ancient Fathers, good men though they may have been; not modern pseudo-science, half-truths and relative facts, saturated with materialism and founded on speculation and hypothesis; but real knowledge, a knowledge of Thee that is as demonstrable as the simplest rule in mathematics!211Alas! that men should be so mesmerized by their own beliefs as to say Thou canst not be known. Alas! for the burden which such thinkers as Spencer have laid upon the shoulders of stumbling mankind. For Godcanbe known, and proven––else is Jesus responsible for the most cruel lie ever perpetrated upon the ignorant, suffering world!”
And so, putting aside a portion of his gold––his by right of inheritance as well as discovery––for the future purchase of such books and aids as he might require, Josè set his house in order and then plunged into such a search of the Scriptures as rendered him oblivious to all but the immediate interests of Carmen and her foster-parents. The great world again narrowed into the rock-bound confines of little Simití. Each rushing morn that shot its fiery glow through the lofty treetops sank quickly into the hush of noon, while the dust lay thick, white, and hot on the slumbering streets of the ancient town; each setting sun burned with dreamy radiance through the afternoon haze that drew its filmy veil across the seething valley; each night died into a stillness, lonely and awful. Nature changed her garb with monotonous regularity; the drowsing children of this tropic region passed their days in dull torpidity; Josè saw nothing of it all. At times a villager would bring a tale of grievance to pour into his ears––perhaps a jaguar had pounced upon his dog on his littlefincaacross the lake, or a huge snake had lured a suckling pig into its cavernous maw. At times a credulous woman would stop before his open door to dilate upon the thick worms that hung upon the leaves of thealgarrobasand dropped their wool-like fibers upon the natives as they passed below, causing intermittent fevers. Perhaps an anxious mother would seek him for advice regarding her little son, who had eaten too much dirt, and was suffering from the common “jipitera,” that made his poor little abdomen protrude so uncomfortably. Again, Rosendo might steal in for a few moments’ mysterious, whispered talk about buried treasure, or the fables of El Dorado and Parimé. Josè had time for them all, though as he listened his thought hovered ever about the green verge of Galilee.
By his side worked Carmen, delving assiduously into the mysteries of mathematics and the modern languages. When the day’s work closed for them both, he often asked her to sing to him. And then, leaning back with closed eyes, he would yield himself to the soft dreams which her sweet voice called up from his soul’s unfathomed depths. Often they walked together by the lake on a clear night; and on these little excursions, during which they were never beyond Rosendo’s watchful eye, Josè reveled in the girl’s airy gaiety and the212spontaneous flow of her sparkling thought. He called her his domestic sunbeam; but in his serious moments––and they were many––he studied her with a wistful earnestness, while he sought to imbibe her great trust, her fearlessness, her unswerving loyalty to the Christ-principle of immanent Good. He would never permit restraint to be imposed upon her, even by Rosendo or his good wife. She knew not what it was to be checked in the freest manifestation of her natural character. But there was little occasion for restraint, for Carmen dwelt ever in the consciousness of a spiritual universe, and to it paid faithful tribute. She saw and knew only from a spiritual basis; and she reaped the rewards incident thereto. His life and hers were such as fools might label madness, a colorless, vegetative existence, devoid of even the elemental things that make mundane existence worth the while. But the appraisal of fools is their own folly. Josè knew that the torrid days which drew their monotonous length over the little town were witnessing a development in both himself and the child that some day would bear richest fruit. So far from being educated to distrust spiritual power, as are the children of this world, Carmen was growing up to know no other. Instead of the preponderance of her belief and confidence being directed to the material, she was developing the consciousness that the so-called evidence of the physical senses is but mortal thought, the suppositional opposite of the thought of the infinite God who says to mankind: “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you an expected end.” Josè knew that his method of education was revolutionary. But he also knew that it was not wholly his; that the child had really taken this course herself, as if led thereto by a power beyond them both.
And so he watched her, and sought to learn from her as from Christ’s own loving and obedient disciple. It was because of his obedience to God that Jesus was able to “prove” Him in the mighty works which we call miracles. He said, “If any man will do His will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God.” Plain enough, indeed! And Carmen did do His will; she kept the very first Commandment; she walked by faith, and not by the sight of the human senses. She had been called an “hada,” a witch, by the dull-witted folk of Simití; and some day it would be told that she had a devil. But the Master had borne the same ignominy. And so has every pioneer in Truth, who has dared to lay the axe at the roots of undemonstrable orthodox belief and entrenched human error.
Josè often trembled for the child when he thought of the probable reception that awaited her in the world without, in213case she ever left Simití. Would her supreme confidence in good ever be weakened by an opposite belief in evil? Would her glorious faith ever be neutralized or counterbalanced by faith in a power opposed to God? He wondered. And sometimes in the fits of abstraction resulting from these thoughts, the girl would steal up to him and softly whisper, “Why, Padre, are you trying to make two and two equal seven?” Then he would laugh with her, and remember how from her algebraic work she had looked up one day and exclaimed, “Padre––why, all evil can be reduced to a common denominator, too––and it is zero!”
As recreation from the task of retranslating his Greek Testament, Josè often read to Carmen portions from the various books of the Bible, or told her the old sacred stories that children so love to hear. But Carmen’s incisive thought cut deep into them, and Josè generally found himself hanging upon the naïve interpretations of this young girl. When, after reading aloud the two opposing accounts of the Creation, as given in the first and second chapters of Genesis, she asked, “But, Padre, why did God change His mind after He made people and gave them dominion over everything?” Josè was obliged to say that God had not made a mistake, and then gone back afterward to rectify it; that the account of the Creation, as given in Genesis, was not His, but was a record of the dawning upon the human thought of the idea of the spiritual Creation; that the “mist” which went up from the earth was suppositional error; and that the record of the Creation which follows after this was only the human mind’s interpretation of the real, spiritual Creation, that Creation which is the ever unfolding of infinite Mind’s numberless, perfect ideas. The book of Genesis has been a fetish to human minds; and not until the limitations imposed by its literal interpretation were in a measure removed did the human mentality begin to rise and expand. And when, reading from Isaiah, the grandest of the ancient prophets, the ringing words, “Cease ye from man, whose breath is in his nostrils: for wherein is he to be accounted of?” the child asked him if that did not refer to the very kind of people with whom they had daily intercourse, he had been obliged to say that it did, and that that sort of man was far, very far, from being the man of God’s own creating.
“The mist, child, which is mentioned in the second chapter of Genesis, is said to have gone up from the ground. That is, it went up from matter. And so it is typical of materialism, from which all evil comes. The material is the direct opposite of the spiritual. Every bit of evil that men think they can see, or know, or do, comes as testimony of the five material214senses. These might well be called the ‘ground’ senses. In the book of Genesis, you will notice that the account of the real comes first; then follows the account of its opposite, the unreal man of dust.”
“Surely, Padre!” she exclaimed. “The plus sign is followed by a minus sign, isn’t it? And the man made of dust is the real man with a minus sign before him.”
“The man of dust is the human mind’s interpretation of the spiritual man, dear child,” returned Josè. “All human beings are interpretations by the mortal, or human, mind of infinite Mind, God, and His spiritual Creation. The interpretation is made in the human mind, and remains there. The human mind does not see these interpretations outside of itself––it does not see real men, and houses, and trees, outside of itself––but it sees its mental interpretations of God, which it calls men, and houses, and trees, and so on. These things are what we might callmental concepts. They are the man and the creation spoken of in the second chapter of Genesis after the mist went up from matter, from the ground, from materialism, resulting in the testimony of the physical senses.”
“But, Padre, they are not real––these mental concepts?”
“No. They are illusions. They are formed in mentalities that are themselves wrong interpretations of the infinite Mentality, called God. They are formed without any rule or principle. They are made up of false thoughts, false opinions, beliefs of power opposed to God, beliefs in evil, in sickness, disaster, loss, and death. They are the results of educated and inherited and attached beliefs. They are largely made up of fear-beliefs. The human mentalities see these various beliefs combined in what it calls men and women, houses, animals, trees, and so on, all through the material so-called creation. It is this wrong interpretation that has caused all the suffering and sorrow in the world. And it is this false stuff that the good man Jesus finally said he had overcome.”
“How did he do it, Padre?”
“By knowing its nothingness, and by knowing the Allness of his Father, infinite Mind. He called this false stuff a lie about God. And he overcame that lie by knowing the truth––just as you overcome the thought that you cannot solve your algebraic problems by knowing the truth that will and does solve them.”
“But, Padre, you said once that Jesus was the best man that ever lived. Was he just a man?”
“Yes,chiquita. That is, the human minds all about him saw their mental concepts of him as a man. But he was a human concept that most clearly represented God’s idea of215Himself. Mortal, human minds are like window-panes,chiquita. When a window-pane is very dirty, very much covered with matter, only a little light can get through it. Some human minds are cleaner, less material, than others, and they let more light through. Jesus was the cleanest mind that was ever with us. He kept letting more and more light––Truth––through himself, until at last all the matter, even the matter composing the material concept that people called his earthly body, dissolved in the strong light, and the people saw him no more. That is called the Ascension.”
“And––Padre, don’t we have to do that way, too?” she asked earnestly.
“Just so,chiquita. We must, every one of us, do exactly as Jesus did. We must wash ourselves clean––wash off the dirty beliefs of power apart from God; we must wash off the beliefs of evil as a power, created in opposition to Him, or permitted by Him to exist and to use His children; we must wash off beliefs of matter as real and created by Him. We must know that matter and all evil, all that decays and passes away, all discord and disease, everything that comes as testimony of the five physical senses, is but a part of the lie about Him, the stuff that has the minus sign before it, making it less than nothing. We must know that it is the suppositional opposite of the real––it is an illusion, seeming to exist, yet evaporating when we try to define it or put a finger on it, for it has no rule or principle by which it was created and by which it continues to exist. Its existence is only in human thought.”
No, Josè assured himself, the Gospels are not “loose, exaggerated, inaccurate, credulous narratives.” They are the story of the clearest transparency to truth that was ever known to mortals as a human being. They preserve the life-giving words of him whose mission it was to show mankind the way out of error by giving them truth. They contain the rule given by the great Mathematician, who taught mankind how to solve their life-problems. They tell the world plainly that there seems to exist a lie about God; that every real idea of the infinite Mind seems to have its suppositional opposite in a material illusion. They tell us plainly that resisting these illusions with truth renders them nugatory. They tell us clearly that the man Jesus was so filled with truth that he proved the nothingness of the lie about God by doing those deeds that seemed marvelous in the eyes of men, and yet which he said we could and should do ourselves. And we must do them, if we would throw off the mesmerism of the lie. The human concept of man and the universe must dissolve in the light of the truth that comes through us as transparencies. And it were well if we set about216washing away the dirt of materialism, that the light may shine through more abundantly.
Jesus did not say that his great deeds were accomplished contrary to law, but that they fulfilled the law of God. The law is spiritual, never material. Material law is but human limitation. Ignorance of spiritual law permits the belief in its opposite, material law, or laws of matter. False, human beliefs, opinions, and theories, material speculations and superstitions, parade before the human mind as laws. Jesus swept them all aside by knowing that their supposed power lay only in human acceptance. The human mind is mesmerized by its own false thought. Even Paul at times felt its mesmerism and exclaimed: “I find then a law, that, when I would do good, evil is present with me.” The very idea of good stirs up its opposite in the human consciousness. But Paul rose above it and saw its nothingness. Then he cried: “The law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made me free from the law of sin and death.” He recognized the spiritual law that Jesus employed; and with it he overcame the mesmerism of the lie.
“To be a Christian, then,” said Josè, “means not merely taking the name of Christ, and, while morally opposing sin, succumbing to every form of mesmerism that the lie about God exerts. No, it is infinitely more! It means recognizing the nature of God and His Creation, including Man, to be wholly spiritual––and the nature of the material creation and mankind as their opposite, as mental concepts, existing as false interpretations of the spiritual Universe and Man, and as having their place only in the false human consciousness, which itself is a mental activity concerned only with false thought, the suppositional opposite of God’s thought. It means taking this Truth, this spiritual law, as we would take a mathematical rule or principle, and with it overcoming sin, sickness, discord of every name and nature, even to death itself. What, oh, what have so-called Christians been doing these nearly two thousand years, that they have not ere this worked out their salvation as Jesus directed them to do? Alas! they have been mesmerized––simply mesmerized by the lie. The millennium should have come long, long ago. It would come to-day if the world would obey Jesus. But it will not come until it does obey him.”
Day after day, week after week, month after month, Josè delved and toiled, studied and pondered. The books which he ordered through the Empresa Alemania, and for which for some two months he waited in trembling anticipation and fear lest they be lost in transit, finally arrived. When Juan brought them up from Bodega Central, Josè could have wept for joy. Except for the very few letters he had received at rare intervals,217these were the only messages that had penetrated the isolation of Simití from the outside world in the two long years of his exile. His starving mind ravenously devoured them. They afforded his first introduction to that fearlessly critical thought regarding things religious which has swept across the world like a tidal wave, and washed away so many of the bulwarks of superstition and ignorance bred of fear of the unknown and supposedly unknowable.
And yet they were not really his first introduction to that thought, for, as he pored over these books, his heart expanded with gratitude to the brusque explorer whom he had met in Cartagena, that genial, odd medley of blunt honesty, unquibbling candor, and hatred of dissimulation, whose ridicule of the religious fetishism of the human mentality tore up the last root of educated orthodox belief that remained struggling for life in the altered soil of his mind.
But, though they tore down with ruthless hand,these books did not reconstruct. Josè turned from them with something of disappointment. He could understand why the trembling heart, searching wearily for truth, turned always from such as they with sinking hope. They were violently iconoclastic––they up-rooted––they overthrew––they swept aside with unsparing hand––but they robbed the starving mortal of his once cherished beliefs––they snatched the stale and feebly nourishing bread from his mouth, and gave nothing in return. They emptied his heart, and left it starving. What did it boot to tell a man that the orthodox dream of eternal bliss beyond the gates of death was but a hoax, if no substitute be offered? Why point out the fallacies, the puerile conceptions, the worse than childish thought expressed in the religious creeds of men, if they were not to be replaced by life-sustaining truth? If the demolition of cherished beliefs be not followed by reconstruction upon a sure foundation of demonstrable truth, then is the resulting state of mind worse than before, for the trusting, though deceived, soul has no recourse but to fall into the agnosticism of despair, or the black atheism of positive negation.
“Happily for me,” he sighed, as he closed his books at length, “that Carmen entered my empty life in time with the truth that she hourly demonstrates!”