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It seemed to Josè a thing incredible that these words were coming from a girl of fifteen. And yet he knew that at the same tender age he was as deeply serious as she––but with this difference: he was then tenaciously clinging to the thoughts that she was now utterly repudiating as unreal and non-existent.
“Padre dear,” the girl resumed, “everything is mental. The whole universe is mental.”
“Well,” he replied reflectively, “at least our comprehension of it is wholly mental.”
“Why––it is all inside––it is all in our thought! Padre, when Hernando plays on that old pipe of his, where is the music? Is it in the pipe? Or is it in our thoughts?”
“But,chiquita, we don’t seem to have it in our thought until we seem to see him playing on the pipe, do we?”
“No, we don’t,” she replied. “And do you know why? It is just because the human mind believes that everything, even music, must come from matter––must have a––”
“Must have a material origin? Is that what you mean?”
“Yes. And men even believe that life itself has a material origin; and so they have wasted centuries trying to find it in the body. They don’t seem to want to know that God is life.”
“Then,chiquita, you do not believe that matter is real?”
“There is no matter outside of us, or around us, Padre,” she said in reply. “The human mind looks at its thoughts and seems to see them out around it as things made of matter. But, after all, it only sees its thoughts.”
“Then I suppose that the externalization of our thought in our consciousness constitutes what we call space, does it not?”
“It must, Padre,” she answered.
He studied a moment. Then:
“Chiquita, how do you know me? What do you see that you call ‘me’?”
“Why, Padre, I see you as God does––at least, I try always to see you that way?” she answered earnestly. “And that is the way Jesus always saw people.”
“God sees me, of course. But, does He see me as I see myself?” he mused aloud.
“You do not see yourself, Padre,” was her reply. “You see only the thoughts that you call yourself. Thoughts of mind and body and all those things that go to form a human being.”
“Well––yes, I must agree with you there; for, though God certainly knows me, He cannot know me as I think I know myself, sinful and discordant.”
“He knows the real ‘you,’ Padre dear. And that is just as He is. He knows that the unreal ‘you,’ the ‘you’ that you think292you know, is illusion. If He knew the human, mortal ‘you’ as real, He would have to know evil. And that can not be.”
“No, for the Bible says He is of eyes too pure to behold evil.”
“Well, Padre, why don’t you try to be like Him?”
But the girl needed not that he should answer her question. She knew why he had failed, for “without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.” She knew that Josè’s struggle to overcome evil had been futile, because he had first made evil real. She knew that the difficulty he had experienced in keeping his thought straight was because he persisted in looking at both the good and the evil. Lot’s wife, in the Bible allegory, had turned back to look at things material and had been transformed into a pillar of salt. Josè had turned again and again to his materialistic thoughts; and had been turned each time to salt tears. She knew that he gave up readily, that he yielded easily to evil’s strongest tool, discouragement, and fell back into self-condemnation, whereby he only rendered still more real to himself the evil which he was striving to overcome. She knew that the only obstacle that he was wrestling with in his upward progress was the universal belief in a power other than God, good, which is so firmly fixed in the human consciousness. But she likewise knew that this hindrance was but a false conviction, and that it could and would be overcome.
“Padre,” she reflected, looking up at him in great seriousness, “if a lie had an origin, it would be true, wouldn’t it?”
He regarded her attentively, but without replying.
“But Jesus said that Satan was the father of lies. And Satan, since he is the father of lies, must himself be a lie. You see, Padre, we can go right back to the very first chapter in the Bible. First comes the account of the real creation. Then comes the account as the human mind looks at it. But that comes after the ‘mist’ had gone up from the ground, from dirt, from matter. Don’t you see? That mist was error, the opposite of Good. It was evil, the opposite of God. It was the human mind and all human thought, the opposite of the infinite Mind, God, and His thought. The mist went up from matter. So every bit of evil that you can possibly think of comes from the material, physical senses. Evil is always a mist, hiding the good. Isn’t it so? The physical universe, the universe of matter, is the way the human mind sees its thoughts of the spiritual universe that was created by God. The human mind is just a bundle of these false thoughts; and you yourself have said that the human consciousness was a ‘thought-activity, concerned with the activity of false thought.’ The human mind is293the lie about the infinite mind. It is the mistake, the illusion. It is like a mistake in mathematics. It has no principle, and nothing to stand on. The minute you turn the truth upon it, why, it vanishes.”
“Well, then,chiquita, why don’t people turn the truth upon it everywhere?”
“Because they are mesmerized by the error, Padre. They sit looking at these false thoughts and believing them true. Padre, all disease, all evil, comes from the false thought in the human mind. It is that thought externalized in the human consciousness. And when the human mind turns from them, and puts them out, and lets the true thoughts in, why––why,then we will raise the dead!”
“But,chiquita, the human body––if it has died––”
“Padre,” she interrupted, “the human body and human mind are one and the same. The body is in the mind. The body that you think you see is but your thought of a body, andis in your so-called human mind!”
“Do you really understand that, child?”
“Iknowit!” she exclaimed. “And so would you if you read your Bible in the right way. Why––I had never seen a Bible until you gave me yours. I didn’t know what a book it was! And to think that it has been in the world for thousands of years, and yet people still kill one another, still get sick, and still die! I don’t see how they can!”
“But,chiquita, people are too busy to devote time to demonstrating the truths of the Bible,” he offered.
“Too busy!” she ejaculated. “Busy with what?”
“Why––busy making money––busy socially––busy having a good time––busy accumulating things that––that they must go away and leave to somebody else!”
“Yes,” she said sadly. “They are like the people Jesus spoke of, too busy with things that are of no account to see the things that are––that are––”
“That are priceless,chiquita––that are the most vital of all things to sinful, suffering mankind,” he supplied.
Rosendo looked in at the door. Josè motioned him away. These hours with Carmen had become doubly precious to him of late. Perhaps he felt a presentiment that the net about him and his loved ones was drawing rapidly tighter. Perhaps he saw the hour swiftly approaching, even at hand, when these moments of spiritual intercourse would be rudely terminated. And perhaps he saw the clouds lowering ever darker above them, and knew that in the blackness which was soon to fall the girl would leave him and be swept out into the great world of human thoughts and events, to meet, alone with her God, the294fiercest elements, the subtlest wiles, of the carnal mind. As for himself––he was in the hands of that same God.
He turned again to the girl. “Chiquita,” he said, “you do not find mistakes in the Bible? For, out in the big world where I came from, there are many, very many, who say that it is a book of inconsistencies, of gross inaccuracies, and that its statements are directly opposed to the so-called natural sciences. They say that it doesn’t even relate historical events accurately. But, after all, the Bible is just the record of the unfoldment in the human consciousness of the concept of God. Why cavil at it when it contains, as we must see, a revelation of the full formula for salvation, which, as you say, is right-thinking.”
“Yes, Padre. And it even tells us what to think about. Paul said, you know, that we should think about whatsoever things are true, honest, just, pure, lovely, and of good report. Well, he told us that there was no law––not even any human law––against those things. And don’t you know, he wrote about bringing into captivity every thought to Christ? What did he mean by that?”
“Just what you have been telling me, I guess,chiquita: that every thought must be measured by the Christ-principle. And if it doesn’t conform to that standard, it must be rejected.”
“Yes. And then he said that he died daily. He did die daily to evil, to all evil thought––”
“And to the testimony of the physical senses, think you?”
“He must have! For, in proving God to be real, he had to prove the reports of the five physical senses to be only human beliefs.”
“You are right,chiquita. He must have known that the corporeal senses were the only source from which evil came. He must have known that unless God testified in regard to things, any other testimony was but carnal belief. This must be so, for God, being infinite mind, is also infinite intelligence. He knows all things, and knows them aright––not as the human mind thinks it knows them, twisted and deformed, but right.”
“Of course, Padre. You know now that you see it right. And can’t youstickto it, and prove it?”
“Chiquita,” he answered, shaking his head again, his words still voicing a lingering note of doubt, “it may be––the ‘I’ that I call myself may be entirely human, unreal, mortal. I make no doubt it is, for it seems filled to the brim with discordant thoughts. And it will pass away. And then––then what will be left?”
“Oh, Padre!” she cried, with a trace of exasperation. “Empty yourself of the wrong thoughts––shut the door against them––don’t let them in any more! Then fill yourself with295God’s thoughts. Then when the mortal part fades away, why, the good will be left. And it will be the right ‘you.’”
“But how shall I empty myself, and then fill myself again?”
“Padre!” cried the girl, springing from her chair and stamping her foot with each word to give it emphasis. “It is love, love, love, nothing but love! Forget yourself, and love everything and everybody, the real things and the real bodies! Love God, and good, and good thoughts! Turn from the bad and the unreal––forget it! Why––”
“Wait,chiquita,” he interrupted. “A great war is threatening our country at this very minute. Shall I turn from it and let come what may?”
She hesitated not. “No! But you can know that war comes only from the human mind; that it is bad thought externalized; and that God is peace, and is infinitely greater than such bad thought; and He will take care of you––if you will let Him!”
“And how do I let Him? By sitting back and folding my hands and saying, Here am I, Lord, protect me––”
“Oh, Padre dear, you make me ashamed of your foolish thought––which isn’t your thought at all, but just thought that seems to be calling itself ‘you.’ Jesus said, He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do likewise. But that did not mean sitting back with folded hands. It meantunderstandinghim; and knowing that there is no power apart from the Christ-principle; and using that principle, using it every moment,hard; and with it overcoming every thought that doesn’t come from God, every thought of the human mind, whether it is called war, or sickness, or death!”
“Then evil can be thought away,chiquita?” He knew not why he pursued her so relentlessly.
“No, Padre,” she replied with a gentle patience that smote him. “No, Padre. But it can be destroyed in the human mind. And when you have overcome the habit of thinking the wrong way, evil will disappear. That is the whole thing. That is what Jesus tried to make the people see.”
But Josè knew it. Yet he had not put it to the proof. He had gone through life, worrying himself loose from one human belief, only to become enslaved to another equally insidious. He knew that the cause of whatever came to him was within his own mentality. And yet he knew, likewise, that he would have to demonstrate this––that he would be called upon to “prove” God. His faith without the works following was dead. He felt that he did not really believe in power opposed to God; and yet he did constantly yield to such belief. And such yielding was the chief of sins. The unique Son of God had said so. He knew that when the Master had said, “Behold, I give you296power over all the enemy,” he meant that the Christ-principle would overcome every false claim of the human mentality, whether that claim be one of physical condition or action, or a claim of environment and event. He knew that all things were possible to God, and likewise to the one who understood and faithfully applied the Christ-principle. Carmen believed that good alone was real and present. She applied this knowledge to every-day affairs. And in so doing she denied reality to evil. He must let go. He must turn upon the claims of evil to life and intelligence. His false sense of righteousnessmustgive place to the spiritual sense of God as immanent good. He knew that Carmen’s great love was an impervious armor, which turned aside the darts of the evil one, the one lie. He knew that his reasoning from the premise of mixed good and evil was false, and the results chaotic. And knowing all this, he knew that he had touched the hem of the garment of the Christ-understanding. There remained, then, the test of fire. And it had come. Would he stand?
“Padre,” said Carmen, going to him and putting her arms about his neck, “you say that you think a great war is coming. But you needn’t be afraid. Don’t you remember what it says in the book of Isaiah? ‘No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper, and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their righteousness is of me, saith the Lord.’ No weapon of evil can touch you, if you understand God. Every tongue of the human mind that rises to judge you, to sentence you, shall be condemned. You will condemn it––youmust! This is your heritage, given you by God. And your righteousness, your right-thinking, must come from God. Your thoughts must be His. Then––”
“Yes, yes,chiquita,” he said, drawing her to him.
“And now, Padre, you will promise me that you will know every day that Anita’s babe is not blind––that it sees, because God sees?”
“Yes,chiquita, I promise.”
“Padre dear,” she murmured, nestling close to him, “I love you so much, so much!”
He answered not, except in the tightening of the arm that was about her.
297CHAPTER 31
In the weeks that followed there were days when the very air seemed pregnant with potential destruction, awaiting only the daring hand that would render it kinetic. Josè dwelt in a state of incessant, heart-shaking agitation. The sudden precipitation of the revolt six years before had caught him wholly unprepared, unaware even of the events which had led to it. In the intervening years, however, he had had some opportunity, even in his isolation, to study political conditions in that unhappy country, and to form some estimate of the mental forces at work in both Church and State which, he knew, must ultimately bring them again into conflict for supremacy. His knowledge of the workings of the human mind convinced him that Diego’s dire prophecy had not been empty; that the Church, though ostensibly assuming only spiritual leadership, would nevertheless rest not until the question “Who shall be greatest?” even in the petty, sordid affairs of mortals, should be answered, and answered––though by force of arms––in her favor. And his estimate of the strength of the opposing parties had led him to believe that the impending struggle would drench the land in blood.
As to therôlewhich Wenceslas would play, he could form no satisfactory estimate. He knew him to be astute, wary, and the shrewdest of politicians. He knew, likewise, that he was acting in conjunction with powerful financial interests in both North America and Europe. He knew him to be a man who would stop at no scruple, hesitate at no dictate of conscience, yield to no moral or ethical code; one who would play Rome against Wall Street, with his own unfortunate country as the stake; one who would hurl the fairest sons of Colombia at one another’s throats to bulge his own coffers; and then wring from the wailing widows their poor substance for Masses to move their beloved dead through an imagined purgatory.
But he could not know that, in casting about impatiently for an immediatecausus belli, Wenceslas had hit upon poor, isolated, little Simití as the point of ignition, and the pitting of its struggling priest against Don Mario as the method of exciting the necessary spark. He could not know that Wenceslas had represented to the Departmental Governor in Cartagena that an obscureCurain far-off Simití, an exile from the Vatican, and the author of a violent diatribe against papal authority, was the nucleus about which anticlerical sentiment was crystallizing in the Department of Bolívar. He did not know298that the Governor had been induced by the acting-Bishop’s specious representations to send arms to Simití, to be followed by federal troops only when the crafty Wenceslas saw that the time was ripe. He did not even suspect that Don Mario was to be the puppet whom Wenceslas would sacrifice on the altar of rapacity when he had finished with him, and that the simple-minded Alcalde in his blind zeal to protect the Church would thereby proclaim himself an enemy of both Church and State, and afford the smiling Wenceslas the most fortuitous of opportunities to reveal the Church’s unexampled magnanimity by throwing her influence in with that of the Government against their common enemy.
His own intercourse with Wenceslas during the years of his exile in Simití had been wholly formal, and not altogether disagreeable as long as the contributions of gold to the Bishop’s leaking coffers continued. He had received almost monthly communications from Cartagena, relating to the Church at large, and, at infrequent intervals, to the parish of Simití. But he knew that Cartagena’s interest in Simití was merely casual––nay, rather, financial––and he strove to maintain it so, lest the stimulation of a deeper interest thwart his own plans. His conflict with Diego in regard to Carmen had seemed for the moment to evoke the Bishop’s interference; and the sudden and unaccountable disappearance of that priest had threatened to expose both Josè and Carmen to the full scrutiny of Wenceslas. But, fortunately, the insistence of those matters which were rapidly culminating in a political outbreak left Wenceslas little time for interference in affairs which did not pertain exclusively to the momentous questions with which he was now concerned, and Josè and Carmen were still left unmolested. It was only when, desperate lest Congress adjourn without passing the measure which he knew would precipitate the conflict, and when, well nigh panic-stricken lest his collusion with Ames and his powerful clique of Wall Street become known through the exasperation of the latter over the long delay, he had resolved to pit Don Mario against Josè in distant Simití, and, in that unknown, isolated spot, where close investigation would never be made, apply the torch to the waiting combustibles, that Josè saw the danger which had always hung over him and the girl suddenly descending upon them and threatening anew the separation which he had ever regarded as inevitable, and yet which he had hoped against hope to avoid.
With the deposition of arms in Simití, and the establishment of federal authority in Don Mario, that always pompous official rose in his own esteem and in the eyes of a few parasitical299attachés to an eminence never before dreamed of by the humble denizens of this moss-encrusted town. From egotistical, Don Mario became insolent. From sluggishness and torpidity of thought and action, he rose suddenly into tremendous activity. He was more than once observed by Josè or Rosendo emerging hastily from his door and button-holing some one of the more influential citizens of the town and excitedly reading to him excerpts from letters which he had just received from Cartagena. He might be seen at any hour of the day in the littlepatioback of his store, busily engaged with certain of the men of the place in examining papers and documents, talking volubly and with much excited gesticulation and wild rolling of the eyes. A party seemed to be crystallizing about him. His hitherto uncertain prestige appeared to be soaring greatly. Men who before made slighting remarks about him, or opposed his administrative acts, were now often seen in earnest converse with him. His manner toward Josè and Rosendo became that of utter contempt. He often refused to notice the priest as they passed in the streets.
Josè’s apprehension waxed great. It attained its climax when Rosendo came to him one day to discuss the Alcalde’s conduct and the change of sentiment which seemed to be stealing rapidly over the hearts of the people of Simití.
“Padre,” said the old man in perplexity, “I cannot say what it is, but Don Mario has some scheme in hand, and––and I do not think it is for our good. I cannot get anything out of those with whom he talks so continually, but Lázaro tells me that––Bien, that he learns that Don Mario suspects you of––of not belonging to the Church party.”
Josè smiled. Don Mario’s suspicions about him had been many and varied, especially as La Libertad mine had not been discovered. He said as much to Rosendo in reply; and as he did so, he thought the old man’s face took on a queer and unwonted expression.
“But, Padre,” continued Rosendo at length, “they say that Don Mario has word from the Bishop that you once wrote a book against the Holy Father––”
“Good God!” The words burst from the priest’s lips like the sudden issuance of pent steam. Rosendo stared at him in bewilderment.
“Rosendo!” gasped Josè. “How know you that?”
“Caramba, Padre! it is what Lázaro tells me,” replied the old man, his own suspicion verging upon conviction.
Josè’s dark face became almost white, and his breath sobbed out in gasps. A vague idea of the game Wenceslas was playing now stole through his throbbing brain. That book,300his Nemesis, his pursuing Fate, had tracked him to this secluded corner of the earth, and in the hands of the most unscrupulous politician of South America was being used as a tool. But, precisely to what end, his wild thought did not as yet disclose. Still, above the welter of it all, he saw clearly that there must be no further delay on his part. Before he could speak, however, Rosendo had resumed the conversation.
“Padre,” he said, “had it occurred to you that you were watched, day and night?”
“No––heavens!” Josè had not suspected such a thing.
“It is so, Padre. Don Mario’s men keep you in sight during the day; and at night there is always some one hovering near your house. You could not escape now even if you would.”
Josè sank back in his chair limp and cold. His frenzied brain held but one thought: he had delayed until too late––and the end was at hand!
“Padre,” said Rosendo earnestly, “tell me about that book. You did write it? And against the Holy Father? But––you still say the Mass. You have not brought Carmen up in the Church. But it was I who told you not to––that her heart was her church, and it must not be disturbed. But––is it true, as the people say, that you really belong to the party that would destroy the Church?”
Then Josè collected himself. While his heart burned within his breast, he opened its portals and revealed to Rosendo all that lay within. Beginning with his boyhood, he drew his career out before the wondering eyes of the old man down to the day when the culmination of carnal ambition, false thought, perverted concepts of filial devotion and sacredness of oath, of family honor and pride of race, had washed him up against the dreary shores of Simití. With no thought of concealment, he exposed his ambition in regard to Carmen––even the love for her that he knew must die of inanition––and ended by throwing himself without reserve upon Rosendo’s judgment. When the tense recital was ended, Rosendo leaned over and clasped the priest’s trembling hand.
“I understand, Padre,” he said gently. “I am dull of wit, I know. And you have often laughed at my superstitions and old family beliefs, whether religious or otherwise. They are strange––I admit that. And I shall die in the Church, and take my chances on the future, for I have tried to live a good life. But––with a man like you––I understand. And now, Padre, we have no time to be sorrowful. We must be up and doing. We are like fish in a net. But––my life is yours. And both are Carmen’s, is it not so? Thanks be to the good Virgin,”301he muttered, as he walked slowly away, “that Lázaro got those titles from Don Mario to-day!”
Nightfall brought an unexpected visitor in the person of Don Jorge, who had returned from the remoter parts of the Guamocó region.
“Bien, and what news?” he called cheerily, as he strode into the parish house, where Rosendo and Josè were in earnest conversation.
Josè embraced him as a brother, while a great sense of relief stole over him. Then he quickly made known to him the situation.
Don Jorge whistled softly. He ceased his task of scraping the caked mud from his bare limbs, and drew up a chair near Josè.
“So you wrote a book, no? And rapped the sacred priesthood?Hombre! That is good! I never did think you a real priest. But,amigo, lend me a copy, for I doubt not it is most excellent reading, and will serve to while away many a weary hour in the jungle.” His eyes snapped merrily, and he slapped Josè roundly upon the back when he finished speaking.
“But,” he continued more seriously, “things seem to be setting against you, friend. However, let me but canvass the town to-morrow, and by evening I can advise.Caramba! this old hole a military depot! Who would have thought it! And yet––and yet––I wonder why the Governor sends arms here.Bien, we shall see.”
Don Jorge needed not a full day to correctly estimate the situation in Simití. His bluff, hearty manner and genial good-nature constituted a passport to every house, and by midday he had talked with nearly every man in thepueblo. He called Josè and Rosendo for consultation during thesiesta.
“Bien,” he said, when they were seated in the parish house, “Don Mario without doubt descends from the very serpent that tempted our mother Eve! He has become a person of considerable importance since the Governor and Don Wenceslas strive with each other to rest their authority and confidence in him. And, unless I mistake much, they have him slated for important work. However that may be, the man already has a large following. Moreover, he has them well poisoned against you,amigoJosè. They know more details about your book and your life before coming to Simití than do you.Bien, you must counteract the Alcalde’s influence by a public statement. It must be to-night––in the church! You will have to act quickly, for the old fox has you picked for trouble! Diego’s disappearance, you know; the girl, Carmen; your rather foolish302course here––it is all laid up against you, friend, and you must meet it!”
Josè assented. Don Jorge went out and summoned the town to a meeting in the church that evening. Immediately Don Mario issued a mandate forbidding a public gathering at a time of such stress. The people began to assemble on the street corners and in front of their houses to discuss the situation. Their talk became loud and animated. Threats were heard. The people were becoming divided. Don Jorge was everywhere, and none could talk so volubly nor gesticulate and expectorate so vehemently as he.
At sundown the people moved toward theplaza. Then the concourse drifted slowly into the church. Don Jorge dragged Josè from the parish house and up to the altar. “You have got to divide them, Padre!” he whispered excitedly. “Your only hope now lies in the formation of your own party to oppose the Alcalde! Talk to them as you never talked before! Say all that you had stored up to say on Judgment Day!”
Again, as Josè faced his little flock and saw them, bare of feet, scantily clad in their simple cotton and calico, their faces set in deep seriousness, the ludicrous side of the whole situation flashed before him, and he almost laughed aloud at the spectacle which the ancient, decayed town at that moment presented. These primitive folk––they were but children, with all a child’s simplicity of nature, its petulance, its immaturity of view, and its sudden and unreasoning acceptance of authority! He turned to the altar and took up a tall brass crucifix. He held it out before him for a moment. Then he called upon the Christ to witness to the truth of what he was about to say.
A hush fell over the assembly. Even Don Mario seemed to become calm after that dramatic spectacle. Then Josè spoke. He talked long and earnestly. He knew not that such eloquence abode within him. His declamation became more and more impassioned. He opened wide his heart and called upon all present to look fearlessly within. Yes, he had written the book in question. But its publication was unfortunate. Yes, it had expressed his views at that time. But now––ah, now!
He stopped and looked about the church. The shadows were gathering thick, and the smoking kerosene lamps battled vainly with the heavy blackness. In a far corner of the room he saw Carmen and Ana. Rosendo sat stolidly beside them. The sightless babe waved its tiny hands in mute helplessness, while Doña Maria held it closely to her bosom. Carmen’s last admonition sang in his ears. He must know––reallyknow––that the babe could see! He must know that God was omnipotent! His appeal to the people was not for himself. He cared303not what became of him. But Carmen––and now Ana and the blind babe––and the calm, unimpassioned Doña Maria, the embodiment of all that was greatest in feminine character––and Rosendo, waiting to lay down his life for those he loved! And then, this people, soon, he felt, to be shattered by the shock of war––ah, God above! what could he say that might save them? If they could know, as Carmen did, if they could love and trust as she did, would the hideous spectre of war ever stalk among them? Could the world know, and love, and trust as did this fair child, would it waste itself in useless wars, sink with famine and pestilence, consume with the anguish of fear, and in the end bury its blasted hopes in the dank, reeking tomb? The thought gave wings to his voice, soul to his words. For hours the people sat spellbound.
Then he finished. He raised his hands in benediction. And, while the holy hush remained upon the people, he descended the altar steps, his frame still tremulous with the vehemence of his appeal, and went alone to his house.
CHAPTER 32
Dawn had scarcely reddened in the east when a number of men assembled at Josè’s door.
“You have turned the trick,amigo,” said Don Jorge, rousing up from hispetateon the floor beside the priest’s bed. “You have won over a few of them, at least.”
Josè went out to meet the early callers.
“We come to say, Padre,” announced Andres Arellano, the dignified spokesman, “that we have confidence in your words of last night. We suspect Don Mario, even though he has letters from the Bishop. We are your men, and we would keep the war away from Simití.”
There were five of them, strong of heart and brawny of arm. “And there will be more, Padre,” added Andres, reading the priest’s question in his appraising glance.
Thus was the town divided; and while many clung to the Alcalde, partly through fear of offending the higher ecclesiastical authority, and partly because of imagined benefits to be gained, others, and a goodly number, assembled at Josè’s side, and looked to him to lead them in the crisis which all felt to be at hand. As the days passed, the priest’s following grew more numerous, until, after the lapse of a week, the town stood fairly divided. Don Jorge announced his intention of remaining in Simití for the present.
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From the night of the meeting in the church excitement ran continuously higher. Business was at length suspended; the fishermen forgot their nets; and the limber tongues of the town gossips steadily increased their clatter. Don Mario’s store andpatioassumed the functions of a departmental office. Daily he might be seen laboriously drafting letters of incredible length and wearisome prolixity to acting-Bishop Wenceslas; and nightly he was engaged in long colloquies and whispered conferences with Don Luis and others of his followers and hangers-on. The government arms had been brought up from Bodega Central and stored in an empty warehouse belonging to Don Felipe Alcozer to await further disposition.
But with the arrival of the arms, and of certain letters which Don Mario received from Cartagena, the old town lost its calm of centuries, not to recover it again for many a dreary day. By the time its peace was finally restored, it had received a blow from which it never recovered. And many a familiar face, too, had disappeared forever from its narrow streets.
Meanwhile, Josè and his followers anxiously awaited the turn of events. It came at length, and in a manner not wholly unexpected. The Alcalde in his voluminous correspondence with Wenceslas had not failed to bring against Josè every charge which his unduly stimulated brain could imagine. But in particular did he dwell upon the priest’s malign influence upon Carmen, whose physical beauty and powers of mind were the marvel of Simití. He hammered upon this with an insistence that could not but at length again attract the thought of the acting-Bishop, who wrote finally to Don Mario, expressing the mildly couched opinion that, now that his attention had been called again to the matter, Carmen should have the benefits of the education and liberal training which a convent would afford.
Don Mario’s egotism soared to the sky. The great Bishop was actually being advised by him!Hombre! Where would it not end! He would yet remove to a larger town, perhaps Mompox, and, with the support of the great ecclesiastic, stand for election to Congress! He would show the Bishop what mettle he had in him.Hombre! And first he would show His Grace how a loyal servant could anticipate his master’s wishes. He summoned Fernando, and imperiously bade him bring the girl Carmen at once.
But Fernando returned, saying that Rosendo refused to give up the child. Don Mario then ordered Rosendo’s arrest. But Fernando found it impossible to execute the commission. Josè and Don Jorge stood with Rosendo, and threatened to deal harshly with the constable should he attempt to take Carmen305by force. Fernando then sought to impress upon the Alcalde the danger of arousing public opinion again over the girl.
Don Mario’s wrath burst forth like an exploding bomb. He seized his straw hat and his cane, the emblem of his office, and strode to the house of Rosendo. His face grew more deeply purple as he went. At the door of the house he encountered Josè and Don Jorge.
“Don Mario,” began Josè, before the Alcalde could get his words shaped, “it is useless. Carmen remains with us. We will defend her with our lives. Be advised, Don Mario, for the consequences of thoughtless action may be incalculable!”
“Caramba!” bellowed the irate official, “but, cow-face! do you know that His Grace supports me? That I but execute his orders?Dios arriba! if you do not at once deliver to me your paramour––”
He got no further. Rosendo, who had been standing just within the door, suddenly pushed Josè and Don Jorge aside and, stalking out, a tower of flesh, confronted the raging Alcalde. For a moment he gazed down into the pig-eyes of the man. Then, with a quick thrust of his thick arm, he projected his huge fist squarely into Don Mario’s bloated face. The Alcalde went down like a shot.
Neither Josè nor Don Jorge, as they rushed in between Rosendo and his fallen adversary, had any adequate idea of the consequences of the old man’s precipitate action. As they assisted the prostrate official to his unsteady feet they knew not that to Rosendo, simple, peace-loving, and great of heart, had fallen the lot to inaugurate hostilities in the terrible anticlerical war which now for four dismal years was to tear Colombia from end to end, and leave her prostrate and exhausted at last, her sons decimated, her farms and industries ruined, and her neck beneath the heavy heel of a military despot at Bogotá, whose pliant hand would still be guided by the astute brain of Rome.
By the time the startled Alcalde had been set again upon his feet a considerable concourse had gathered at the scene. Many stood in wide-eyed horror at what had just occurred. Others broke into loud and wild talk. The crowd rapidly grew, and in a few minutes theplazawas full. Supporters of both sides declaimed and gesticulated vehemently. In the heat of the arguments a blow was struck. Then another. The Alcalde, when he found his tongue, shrilly demanded the arrest of Rosendo and his family, including the priest and Don Jorge. A dozen of his party rushed forward to execute the order. Rosendo had slipped between Josè and Don Jorge and into his306house. In a trice he emerged with a greatmachete. The people about him fell back. His eyes blazed like live coals, and his breath seemed to issue from his dilating nostrils like clouds of steam. To approach him meant instant death. Don Jorge crept behind him and, gaining the house, collected the terrified women and held them in readiness for flight. Juan, Lázaro, and a number of others surrounded Josè and faced the angry multitude.
The strain was broken by the frenzied Alcalde, who rushed toward Rosendo. The old man swung his enormousmachetewith a swirl that, had it met the official, would have clean decapitated him. But, fortunately, one of the priest’s supporters threw out his foot, and the corpulent Alcalde fell heavily over it and bit the dust. Josè threw himself upon Rosendo. The old man staggered with the shock and gave way. The priest turned to the excited crowd. Holding up both hands high above his head, he sent out his voice clear and loud.
“Children! In the name of the Church! In the name of the Christ! The blessed Virgin––”
“What know you of the blessed Virgin, priest of Satan?” shouted a rough follower of the Alcalde.
“Aye!” yelled another. “Writer of foul books! Seducer of young girls!”
Julio Gomez stooped and took up a large piece of shale. He threw it with all his force, just as the priest again strove to make his voice heard above the din. It struck Josè full on the forehead. The jagged stone cut deeply, and the red blood spurted. Josè fell into the arms of Lázaro and was dragged into the house.
Then Rosendo, with a mad yell, plunged wildly into the crowd. A dozen arms sought to hold him, but in vain. Julio saw the terrifying apparition hurtling down upon him. He turned and fled, but not before the great knife had caught him on its point as it swung down and ripped a deep gash the full length of his naked back.
Then the last vestige of reason fled from the mob, and chaos took the reins. Back and forth through theplaza, in front of the church where hung the image of the Prince of Peace, the maddened people surged, fighting like demons, raining blows with clubs, fists, andmachetes, stabbing with their long, wicked knives, hurling sharp stones, gouging, ripping, yelling, shrieking, calling upon Saints and Virgin to curse their enemies and bless their blows. Over the heads of them all towered the mighty frame of Rosendo. Back before his murderousmachetefell the terrified combatants. His course among them was that of a cannon ball. Dozens hung upon his arms, his shoulders,307or flung themselves about his great legs. His huge body, slippery and reeking, was galvanized into energy incarnate. Sparks seemed to flash from his eyes. His breath turned to livid flame. Behind him, following in the swath which he cut, his supporters crowded, fought and yelled. Don Mario’s forces gave way. They cursed, broke, and fled. Then Don Jorge, a man whose mortal strength was more than common, threw himself upon the steaming, frenzied Rosendo and stopped his mad progress.
“Rosendo––amigo! Caramba!Listen! They are fleeing to thebodegato get the rifles and ammunition! Come––Dios arriba! Come!”
Cut, bruised, and dripping blood from a dozen wounds, Rosendo stood for a moment blinking in confusion. A score lay on the ground about him. Whether dead or wounded, he knew not, nor cared. The sight of Don Mario’s supporters in full flight fascinated him. He broke into a chuckle. It sounded like the gloating of an imp of Satan. Then the force of Don Jorge’s words smote him.
“Caramba! They will return with the rifles!” he panted. “What shall we do?”
“Come! We must lose no time!” cried Don Jorge, pulling him toward the house. Those of the priest’s other followers who were still whole scattered wildly to their homes and barred their doors. There they searched for knives,machetes, razors, any tool or instrument that might be pressed into service as a weapon, and stood guard. One frenzied fellow, the sole possessor of an antiquated shotgun, projected the rusty arm from a hole in the wall of his mud hut and blazed away down the deserted street indiscriminately and without aim.
Within the house Juan and Lázaro were supporting the dazed Josè, while Doña Maria bathed and bound his wound. Carmen stood gazing upon the scene in bewilderment. The precipitousness of the affair had taken her breath away and driven all thought in mad rout from her mind.
“Amigos!” panted Don Jorge, “the church––it is the only place now that is even fairly safe! Doña Maria, do you collect all the food in the house! We know not how long we may be prisoners––”
“But––Don Jorge,” interrupted Josè feebly, “they will attack us even there! Let us flee––”
“Where,amigo? To the Guamocó trail? Caramba! they would shoot us down in cold blood!Hombre! There is no place but the church! That will hold some of them back, at any rate! And none of them, if they get crazed withanisado! But it is the only place now! Come!”