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diff --git a/old/1388.txt b/old/1388.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9c42677 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1388.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1445 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Padre Ignacio, by Owen Wister + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Padre Ignacio + Or The Song of Temptation + +Author: Owen Wister + +Posting Date: August 21, 2008 [EBook #1388] +Release Date: July, 1998 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PADRE IGNACIO *** + + + + +Produced by Bill Brewer + + + + + +PADRE IGNACIO + +Or The Song of Temptation + +By Owen Wister + + + + + +I + +At Santa Ysabel del Mar the season was at one of those moments when the +air rests quiet over land and sea. The old breezes were gone; the new +ones were not yet risen. The flowers in the mission garden opened wide; +no wind came by day or night to shake the loose petals from their stems. +Along the basking, silent, many-colored shore gathered and lingered the +crisp odors of the mountains. The dust hung golden and motionless long +after the rider was behind the hill, and the Pacific lay like a floor +of sapphire, whereon to walk beyond the setting sun into the East. One +white sail shone there. Instead of an hour, it had been from dawn till +afternoon in sight between the short headlands; and the Padre had hoped +that it might be the ship his homesick heart awaited. But it had slowly +passed. From an arch in his garden cloisters he was now watching the +last of it. Presently it was gone, and the great ocean lay empty. The +Padre put his glasses in his lap. For a short while he read in his +breviary, but soon forgot it again. He looked at the flowers and sunny +ridges, then at the huge blue triangle of sea which the opening of +the hills let into sight. "Paradise," he murmured, "need not hold more +beauty and peace. But I think I would exchange all my remaining years of +this for one sight again of Paris or Seville. May God forgive me such a +thought!" + +Across the unstirred fragrance of oleanders the bell for vespers began +to ring. Its tones passed over the Padre as he watched the sea in his +garden. They reached his parishioners in their adobe dwellings near by. +The gentle circles of sound floated outward upon the smooth, immense +silence--over the vines and pear-trees; down the avenues of the olives; +into the planted fields, whence women and children began to return; then +out of the lap of the valley along the yellow uplands, where the men +that rode among the cattle paused, looking down like birds at the map +of their home. Then the sound widened, faint, unbroken, until it met +Temptation in the guise of a youth, riding toward the Padre from the +South, and cheered the steps of Temptation's jaded horse. + +"For a day, one single day of Paris!" repeated the Padre, gazing through +his cloisters at the empty sea. + +Once in the year the mother-world remembered him. Once in the year, +from Spain, tokens and home-tidings came to him, sent by certain beloved +friends of his youth. A barkentine brought him these messages. Whenever +thus the mother-world remembered him, it was like the touch of a warm +hand, a dear and tender caress; a distant life, by him long left behind, +seemed to be drawing the exile homeward from these alien shores. As the +time for his letters and packets drew near, the eyes of Padre Ignacio +would be often fixed wistfully upon the harbor, watching for the +barkentine. Sometimes, as to-day, he mistook other sails for hers, but +hers he mistook never. That Pacific Ocean, which, for all its hues and +jeweled mists, he could not learn to love, had, since long before his +day, been furrowed by the keels of Spain. Traders, and adventurers, +and men of God had passed along this coast, planting their colonies and +cloisters; but it was not his ocean. In the year that we, a thin strip +of patriots away over on the Atlantic edge of the continent, declared +ourselves an independent nation, a Spanish ship, in the name of Saint +Francis, was unloading the centuries of her own civilization at the +Golden Gate. San Diego had come earlier. Then, slowly, as mission +after mission was built along the soft coast wilderness, new ports +were established--at Santa Barbara, and by Point San Luis for San Luis +Obispo, which lay inland a little way up the gorge where it opened among +the hills. Thus the world reached these missions by water; while on +land, through the mountains, a road led to them, and also to many more +that were too distant behind the hills for ships to serve--a rough road, +long and lonely, punctuated with church towers and gardens. For the +Fathers gradually so stationed their settlements that the traveler might +each morning ride out from one mission and by evening of a day's fair +journey ride into the next. A lonely, rough, dangerous road, but lovely, +too, with a name like music--El Camino Real. Like music also were the +names of the missions--San Juan Capistrano, San Luis Rey de Francia, San +Miguel, Santa Ynes--their very list is a song. + +So there, by-and-by, was our continent, with the locomotive whistling +from Savannah to Boston along its eastern edge, and on the western the +scattered chimes of Spain ringing among the unpeopled mountains. Thus +grew the two sorts of civilization--not equally. We know what has +happened since. To-day the locomotive is whistling also from The Golden +Gate to San Diego; but still the old mission-road goes through the +mountains, and along it the footsteps of vanished Spain are marked with +roses, and broken cloisters, and the crucifix. + +But this was 1855. Only the barkentine brought to Padre Ignacio the +signs from the world that he once had known and loved so dearly. As for +the new world making a rude noise to the northward, he trusted that it +might keep away from Santa Ysabel, and he waited for the vessel that was +overdue with its package containing his single worldly luxury. + +As the little, ancient bronze bell continued swinging in the tower, +its plaintive call reached something in the Padre's memory. Softly, +absently, he began to sing. He took up the slow strain not quite +correctly, and dropped it, and took it up again, always in cadence with +the bell. + +[musical score appears here] + +At length he heard himself, and, glancing at the belfry, smiled a +little. "It is a pretty tune," he said, "and it always made me sorry for +poor Fra Diavolo. Auber himself confessed to me that he had made it sad +and put the hermitage bell to go with it, because he too was grieved +at having to kill his villain, and wanted him, if possible, to die in a +religious frame of mind. And Auber touched glasses with me and said--how +well I remember it!--'Is it the good Lord, or is it merely the devil, +that makes me always have a weakness for rascals?' I told him it was the +devil. I was not a priest then. I could not be so sure with my answer +now." And then Padre Ignacio repeated Auber's remark in French: "'Est-ce +le bon Dieu, oui est-ce bien le diable, qui veut tonjours que j'aime +les coquins?' I don't know! I don't know! I wonder if Auber has composed +anything lately? I wonder who is singing 'Zerlina' now?" + +He cast a farewell look at the ocean, and took his steps between the +monastic herbs, the jasmines and the oleanders to the sacristy. "At +least," he said, "if we cannot carry with us into exile the friends and +the places we have loved, music will go whither we go, even to an end of +the world such as this.--Felipe!" he called to his organist. "Can they +sing the music I taught them for the Dixit Dominus to-night?" + +"Yes, father, surely." + +"Then we will have that. And, Felipe--" The Padre crossed the chancel to +the small, shabby organ. "Rise, my child, and listen. Here is something +you can learn. Why, see now if you cannot learn it from a single +hearing." + +The swarthy boy of sixteen stood watching his master's fingers, delicate +and white, as they played. Thus, of his own accord, he had begun to +watch them when a child of six; and the Padre had taken the wild, +half-scared, spellbound creature and made a musician of him. + +"There, Felipe!" he said now. "Can you do it? Slower, and more softly, +muchacho mio. It is about the death of a man, and it should go with our +bell." + +The boy listened. "Then the father has played it a tone too low," said +he, "for our bell rings the note of sol, or something very near it, as +the father must surely know." He placed the melody in the right key--an +easy thing for him; and the Padre was delighted. + +"Ah, my Felipe," he exclaimed, "what could you and I not do if we had a +better organ! Only a little better! See! above this row of keys would be +a second row, and many more stops. Then we would make such music as has +never yet been heard in California. But my people are so poor and so +few! And some day I shall have passed from them, and it will be too +late." + +"Perhaps," ventured Felipe, "the Americanos--" + +"They care nothing for us, Felipe. They are not of our religion--or of +any religion, from what I can hear. Don't forget my Dixit Dominus." + +The Padre retired once more to the sacristy, while the horse that +brought Temptation came over the hill. + +The hour of service drew near; and as the Padre waited he once again +stepped out for a look at the ocean; but the blue triangle of water lay +like a picture in its frame of land, bare as the sky. "I think, from the +color, though," said he, "that a little more wind must have begun out +there." + +The bell rang a last short summons to prayer. Along the road from the +south a young rider, leading a pack-animal, ambled into the mission and +dismounted. Church was not so much in his thoughts as food and, after +due digestion, a bed; but the doors stood open, and, as everybody was +passing within them, more variety was to be gained by joining this +company than by waiting outside alone until they should return from +their devotions. So he seated himself in a corner near the entrance, and +after a brief, jaunty glance at the sunburned, shaggy congregation, made +himself as comfortable as might be. He had not seen a face worth keeping +his eyes open for. The simple choir and simple fold, gathered for +even-song, paid him no attention--a rough American bound for the mines +was but an object of aversion to them. + +The Padre, of course, had been instantly aware of the stranger's +presence. To be aware of unaccustomed presences is the sixth sense with +vicars of every creed and heresy; and if the parish is lonely and the +worshipers few and seldom varying, a newcomer will gleam out like a new +book to be read. And a trained priest learns to read keenly the faces of +those who assemble to worship under his guidance. But American vagrants, +with no thoughts save of gold-digging, and an overweening illiterate +jargon for speech, had long ceased to interest this priest, even in his +starvation for company and talk from the outside world; and therefore +after the intoning he sat with his homesick thoughts unchanged, to draw +both pain and enjoyment from the music that he had set to the Dixit +Dominus. He listened to the tender chorus that opens William Tell; and, +as the Latin psalm proceeded, pictures of the past rose between him and +the altar. One after another came these strains he had taken from operas +famous in their day, until at length the Padre was murmuring to some +music seldom long out of his heart--not the Latin verse which the choir +sang, but the original French words: + + "Ah, voile man envie, + Voila mon seul desir: + Rendez moi ma patrie, + Ou laissez moi mourir." + +Which may be rendered: + + But one wish I implore, + One wish is all my cry: + Give back my native land once more, + Give back, or let me die. + +Then it happened that his eye fell again upon the stranger near the +door, and he straightway forgot his Dixit Dominus. The face of the young +man was no longer hidden by the slouching position he had at first +taken. "I only noticed his clothes at first," thought the Padre. +Restlessness was plain upon the handsome brow, and violence was in the +mouth; but Padre Ignacio liked the eyes. "He is not saying any prayers," +he surmised, presently. "I doubt if he has said any for a long while. +And he knows my music. He is of educated people. He cannot be American. +And now--yes, he has taken--I think it must be a flower, from his +pocket. I shall have him to dine with me." And vespers ended with rosy +clouds of eagerness drifting across the Padre's brain. + + + + +II + +But the stranger made his own beginning. As the priest came from the +church, the rebellious young figure was waiting. "Your organist tells +me," he said, impetuously, "that it is you who--" + +"May I ask with whom I have the great pleasure of speaking?" said the +Padre, putting formality to the front and his pleasure out of sight. + +The stranger's face reddened beneath its sun-beaten bronze, and he +became aware of the Padre's pale features, molded by refinement and the +world. "I beg your lenience," said he, with a graceful and confident +utterance, as of equal to equal. "My name is Gaston Villere, and it was +time I should be reminded of my manners." + +The Padre's hand waved a polite negative. + +"Indeed, yes, Padre. But your music has amazed me. If you carried such +associations as--Ah! the days and the nights!"--he broke off. "To come +down a California mountain and find Paris at the bottom! The Huguenots, +Rossini, Herold--I was waiting for Il Trovatore." + +"Is that something new?" inquired the Padre, eagerly. + +The young man gave an exclamation. "The whole world is ringing with it!" +he cried. + +"But Santa Ysabel del Mar is a long way from the whole world," murmured +Padre Ignacio. + +"Indeed, it would not appear to be so," returned young Gaston. "I think +the Comedie Francaise must be round the corner." + +A thrill went through the priest at the theater's name. "And have you +been long in America?" he asked. + +"Why, always--except two years of foreign travel after college." + +"An American!" exclaimed the surprised Padre, with perhaps a tone of +disappointment in his voice. "But no Americans who are yet come this +way have been--have been"--he veiled the too-blunt expression of his +thought--"have been familiar with The Huguenots," he finished, making a +slight bow. + +Villere took his under-meaning. "I come from New Orleans," he returned, +"and in New Orleans there live many of us who can recognize a--who can +recognize good music wherever we hear it." And he made a slight bow in +his turn. + +The Padre laughed outright with pleasure and laid his hand upon the +young man's arm. "You have no intention of going away to-morrow, I +trust?" + +"With your leave," answered Gaston, "I will have such an intention no +longer." + +It was with the air and gait of mutual understanding that the two now +walked on together toward the Padre's door. The guest was twenty-five, +the host sixty. + +"And have you been in America long?" inquired Gaston. + +"Twenty years." + +"And at Santa Ysabel how long?" + +"Twenty years." + +"I should have thought," said Gaston, looking lightly at the desert +and unpeopled mountains, "that now and again you might have wished to +travel." + +"Were I your age," murmured Padre Ignacio, "it might be so." + +The evening had now ripened to the long after-glow of sunset. The sea +was the purple of grapes, and wine-colored hues flowed among the high +shoulders of the mountains. + +"I have seen a sight like this," said Gaston, "between Granada and +Malaga." + +"So you know Spain!" said the Padre. + +Often he had thought of this resemblance, but never till now met any +one to share his thought. The courtly proprietor of San Fernando and the +other patriarchal rancheros with whom he occasionally exchanged visits +across the wilderness knew hospitality and inherited gentle manners, +sending to Europe for silks and laces to give their daughters; but their +eyes had not looked upon Granada, and their ears had never listened to +William Tell. + +"It is quite singular," pursued Gaston, "how one nook in the world will +suddenly remind you of another nook that may be thousands of miles away. +One morning, behind the Quai Voltaire, an old, yellow house with rusty +balconies made me almost homesick for New Orleans." + +"The Quai Voltaire!" said the Padre. + +"I heard Rachel in Valerie that night," the young man went on. "Did you +know that she could sing, too. She sang several verses by an astonishing +little Jew violin-cellist that is come up over there." + +The Padre gazed down at his blithe guest. "To see somebody, somebody, +once again, is very pleasant to a hermit!" + +"It cannot be more pleasant than arriving at an oasis," returned Gaston. + +They had delayed on the threshold to look at the beauty of the evening, +and now the priest watched his parishioners come and go. "How can one +make companions--" he began; then, checking himself, he said: "Their +souls are as sacred and immortal as mine, and God helps me to help +them. But in this world it is not immortal souls that we choose for +companions; it is kindred tastes, intelligences, and--and so I and my +books are growing old together, you see," he added, more lightly. "You +will find my volumes as behind the times as myself." + +He had fallen into talk more intimate than he wished; and while the +guest was uttering something polite about the nobility of missionary +work, he placed him in an easy-chair and sought aguardiente for his +immediate refreshment. Since the year's beginning there had been no +guest for him to bring into his rooms, or to sit beside him in the high +seats at table, set apart for the gente fina. + +Such another library was not then in California; and though Gaston +Villere, in leaving Harvard College, had shut Horace and Sophocles for +ever at the earliest instant possible under academic requirements, he +knew the Greek and Latin names that he now saw as well as he knew those +of Shakspere, Dante, Moliere, and Cervantes. These were here also; but +it could not be precisely said of them, either, that they made a part +of the young man's daily reading. As he surveyed the Padre's august +shelves, it was with a touch of the histrionic Southern gravity which +his Northern education had not wholly schooled out of him that he said: + +"I fear I am no scholar, sir. But I know what writers every gentleman +ought to respect." + +The polished Padre bowed gravely to this compliment. + +It was when his eyes caught sight of the music that the young man felt +again at ease, and his vivacity returned to him. Leaving his chair, he +began enthusiastically to examine the tall piles that filled one side +of the room. The volumes lay piled and scattered everywhere, making +a pleasant disorder; and, as perfume comes from a flower, memories +of singers and chandeliers rose bright from the printed names. Norma, +Tancredi, Don Pasquale, La Vestale, dim lights in the fashions of +to-day, sparkled upon the exploring Gaston, conjuring the radiant halls +of Europe before him. "The Barber of Seville!" he presently exclaimed. +"And I happened to hear it in Seville." + +But Seville's name brought over the Padre a new rush of home thoughts. +"Is not Andalusia beautiful?" he said. "Did you see it in April, when +the flowers come?" + +"Yes," said Gaston, among the music. "I was at Cordova then." + +"Ah, Cordova!" murmured the Padre. + +"Semiramide!" cried Gaston, lighting upon that opera. "That was a week! +I should like to live it over, every day and night of it!" + +"Did you reach Malaga from Marseilles or Gibraltar?" asked the Padre, +wistfully. + +"From Marseilles. Down from Paris through the Rhone Valley, you know." + +"Then you saw Provence! And did you go, perhaps, from Avignon to Nismes +by the Pont du Gard? There is a place I have made here--a little, little +place--with olive-trees. And now they have grown, and it looks something +like that country, if you stand in a particular position. I will take +you there to-morrow. I think you will understand what I mean." + +"Another resemblance!" said the volatile and happy Gaston. "We both seem +to have an eye for them. But, believe me, Padre, I could never stay here +planting olives. I should go back and see the original ones--and then +I'd hasten on to Paris." + +And, with a volume of Meyerbeer open in his hand, Gaston hummed: +"'Robert, Robert, toi que j'aime.' Why, Padre, I think that your library +contains none of the masses and all of the operas in the world!" + +"I will make you a little confession," said Padre Ignacio, "and then you +shall give me a little absolution." + +"For a penance," said Gaston, "you must play over some of these things +to me." + +"I suppose I could not permit myself this luxury," began the Padre, +pointing to his operas, "and teach these to my choir, if the people had +any worldly associations with the music. But I have reasoned that the +music cannot do them harm--" + +The ringing of a bell here interrupted him. "In fifteen minutes," he +said, "our poor meal will be ready for you." The good Padre was +not quite sincere when he spoke of a "poor meal." While getting the +aguardiente for his guest he had given orders, and he knew how well such +orders would be carried out. He lived alone, and generally supped simply +enough, but not even the ample table at San Fernando could surpass his +own on occasions. And this was for him indeed an occasion! + +"Your half-breeds will think I am one of themselves," said Gaston, +showing his dusty clothes. "I am not fit to be seated with you." But he +did not mean this any more than his host had meant his remark about +the food. In his pack, which an Indian had brought from his horse, he +carried some garments of civilization. And presently, after fresh water +and not a little painstaking with brush and scarf, there came back to +the Padre a young guest whose elegance and bearing and ease of the +great world were to the exiled priest as sweet as was his traveled +conversation. + +They repaired to the hall and took their seats at the head of the long +table. For the Spanish centuries of stately custom lived at Santa Ysabel +del Mar, inviolate, feudal, remote. + +They were the only persons of quality present; and between themselves +and the gente de razon a space intervened. Behind the Padre's chair +stood an Indian to waft upon him, and another stood behind the chair of +Gaston Villere. Each of these servants wore one single white garment, +and offered the many dishes to the gente fina and refilled their +glasses. At the lower end of the table a general attendant wafted upon +mesclados--the half-breeds. There was meat with spices, and roasted +quail, with various cakes and other preparations of grain; also the +brown fresh olives and grapes, with several sorts of figs and plums, +and preserved fruits, and white and red wine--the white fifty years +old. Beneath the quiet shining of candles, fresh-cut flowers leaned from +vessels of old Mexican and Spanish make. + +There at one end of this feast sat the wild, pastoral, gaudy company, +speaking little over their food; and there at the other the pale Padre, +questioning his visitor about Rachel. The mere name of a street would +bring memories crowding to his lips; and when his guest told him of a +new play he was ready with old quotations from the same author. Alfred +de Vigny they spoke of, and Victor Hugo, whom the Padre disliked. Long +after the dulce, or sweet dish, when it was the custom for the vaqueros +and the rest of the retainers to rise and leave the gente fina to +themselves, the host sat on in the empty hail, fondly talking to his +guest of his bygone Paris and fondly learning of the later Paris +that the guest had seen. And thus the two lingered, exchanging their +enthusiasms, while the candles waned, and the long-haired Indians stood +silent behind the chairs. + +"But we must go to my piano," the host exclaimed. For at length they had +come to a lusty difference of opinion. The Padre, with ears critically +deaf, and with smiling, unconvinced eyes, was shaking his head, while +young Gaston sang Trovatore at him, and beat upon the table with a fork. + +"Come and convert me, then," said Padre Ignacio, and he led the way. +"Donizetti I have always admitted. There, at least, is refinement. +If the world has taken to this Verdi, with his street-band music--But +there, now! Sit down and convert me. Only don't crush my poor little +Erard with Verdi's hoofs. I brought it when I came. It is behind the +times, too. And, oh, my dear boy, our organ is still worse. So old, so +old! To get a proper one I would sacrifice even this piano of mine in a +moment--only the tinkling thing is not worth a sou to anybody except its +master. But there! Are you quite comfortable?" And having seen to his +guest's needs, and placed spirits and cigars and an ash-tray within his +reach, the Padre sat himself comfortably in his chair to hear and expose +the false doctrine of Il Trovatore. + +By midnight all of the opera that Gaston could recall had been played +and sung twice. The convert sat in his chair no longer, but stood +singing by the piano. The potent swing and flow of rhythms, the torrid, +copious inspiration of the South, mastered him. "Verdi has grown," +he cried. "Verdi is become a giant." And he swayed to the beat of the +melodies, and waved an enthusiastic arm. He demanded every note. Why did +not Gaston remember it all? But if the barkentine would arrive and bring +the whole music, then they would have it right! And he made Gaston teach +him what words he knew. "'Non ti scorder,'" he sang--"'non ti scordar di +me.' That is genius. But one sees how the world moves when one is out of +it. 'A nostri monti ritorneremo'; home to our mountains. Ah, yes, there +is genius again." And the exile sighed and his spirit voyaged to distant +places, while Gaston continued brilliantly with the music of the final +scene. + +Then the host remembered his guest. "I am ashamed of my selfishness," he +said. "It is already to-morrow." + +"I have sat later in less good company," answered the pleasant Gaston. +"And I shall sleep all the sounder for making a convert." + +"You have dispensed roadside alms," said the Padre, smiling, "and that +should win excellent dreams." + +Thus, with courtesies more elaborate than the world has time for at the +present day, they bade each other good-night and parted, bearing their +late candles along the quiet halls of the mission. To young Gaston in +his bed easy sleep came without waiting, and no dreams at all. Outside +his open window was the quiet, serene darkness, where the stars shone +clear, and tranquil perfumes hung in the cloisters. But while the guest +lay sleeping all night in unchanged position like a child, up and down +between the oleanders went Padre Ignacio, walking until dawn. Temptation +indeed had come over the hill and entered the cloisters. + + + + +III + +Day showed the ocean's surface no longer glassy, but lying like a mirror +breathed upon; and there between the short headlands came a sail, +gray and plain against the flat water. The priest watched through his +glasses, and saw the gradual sun grow strong upon the canvas of the +barkentine. The message from his world was at hand, yet to-day he +scarcely cared so much. Sitting in his garden yesterday, he could never +have imagined such a change. But his heart did not hail the barkentine +as usual. Books, music, pale paper, and print--this was all that was +coming to him, some of its savor had gone; for the siren voice of Life +had been speaking with him face to face, and in his spirit, deep down, +the love of the world was restlessly answering it. Young Gaston showed +more eagerness than the Padre over this arrival of the vessel that might +be bringing Trovatore in the nick of time. Now he would have the chance, +before he took his leave, to help rehearse the new music with the choir. +He would be a missionary, too: a perfectly new experience. + +"And you still forgive Verdi the sins of his youth?" he said to his +host. "I wonder if you could forgive mine?" + +"Verdi has left his behind him," retorted the Padre. + +"But I am only twenty-five!" exclaimed Gaston, pathetically. + +"Ah, don't go away soon!" pleaded the exile. It was the first +unconcealed complaint that had escaped him, and he felt instant shame. + +But Gaston was too much elated with the enjoyment of each new day to +comprehend the Padre's soul. The shafts of another's pain might hardly +pierce the bright armor of his gaiety. He mistook the priest's entreaty, +for anxiety about his own happy spirit. + +"Stay here under your care?" he asked. "It would do me no good, Padre. +Temptation sticks closer to me than a brother!" and he gave that laugh +of his which had disarmed severer judges than his host. "By next week I +should have introduced some sin or other into your beautiful Garden of +Ignorance here. It will be much safer for your flock if I go and join +the other serpents at San Francisco." + +Soon after breakfast the Padre had his two mules saddled, and he and his +guest set forth down the hills together to the shore. And, beneath the +spell and confidence of pleasant, slow riding and the loveliness of +everything, the young man talked freely of himself. + +"And, seriously," said he, "if I missed nothing else at Santa Ysabel, I +should long for--how shall I say it?--for insecurity, for danger, and +of all kinds--not merely danger to the body. Within these walls, beneath +these sacred bells, you live too safe for a man like me." + +"Too safe!" These echoed words upon the lips of the pale Padre were a +whisper too light, too deep, for Gaston's heedless ear. + +"Why," the young man pursued in a spirit that was but half levity, +"though I yield often to temptation, at times I have resisted it, and +here I should miss the very chance to resist. Your garden could never be +Eden for me, because temptation is absent from it." + +"Absent!" Still lighter, still deeper, was this whisper that the Padre +breathed. + +"I must find life," exclaimed Gaston, "and my fortune at the mines, I +hope. I am not a bad fellow, Father. You can easily guess all the things +I do. I have never, to my knowledge, harmed any one. I didn't even +try to kill my adversary in an affair of honor. I gave him a mere +flesh-wound, and by this time he must be quite recovered. He was my +friend. But as he came between me--" + +Gaston stopped, and the Padre, looking keenly at him, saw the violence +that he had noticed in church pass like a flame over the young man's +handsome face. + +"That's nothing dishonorable," said Gaston, answering the priest's look. +And then, because this look made him not quite at his ease: "Perhaps a +priest might feel obliged to say it was dishonorable. She and her father +were--a man owes no fidelity before he is--but you might say that had +been dishonorable." + +"I have not said so, my son." + +"I did what every gentleman would do." insisted Gaston. + +"And that is often wrong!" said the Padre, gently and gravely. "But I'm +not your confessor." + +"No," said Gaston, looking down. "And it is all over. It will not begin +again. Since leaving New Orleans I have traveled an innocent journey +straight to you. And when I make my fortune I shall be in a position to +return and--" + +"Claim the pressed flower?" suggested the Padre. He did not smile. + +"Ah, you remember how those things are!" said Gaston: and he laughed and +blushed. + +"Yes," said the Padre, looking at the anchored barkentine, "I remember +how those things are." + +For a while the vessel and its cargo and the landed men and various +business and conversations occupied them. But the freight for the +mission once seen to, there was not much else to detain them. + +The barkentine was only a coaster like many others which had begun to +fill the sea a little more of late years, and presently host and guest +were riding homeward. Side by side they rode, companions to the eye, but +wide apart in mood; within the turbulent young figure of Gaston dwelt +a spirit that could not be more at ease, while revolt was steadily +kindling beneath the schooled and placid mask of the Padre. + +Yet still the strangeness of his situation in such a remote, +resourceless place came back as a marvel into the young man's lively +mind. Twenty years in prison, he thought, and hardly aware of it! And +he glanced at the silent priest. A man so evidently fond of music, of +theaters, of the world, to whom pressed flowers had meant something +once--and now contented to bleach upon these wastes! Not even desirous +of a brief holiday, but finding an old organ and some old operas enough +recreation! "It is his age, I suppose," thought Gaston. And then the +notion of himself when he should be sixty occurred to him, and he spoke. + +"Do you know, I do not believe," said he, "that I should ever reach such +contentment as yours." + +"Perhaps you will," said Padre Ignacio, in a low voice. + +"Never!" declared the youth. "It comes only to the few, I am sure." + +"Yes. Only to the few," murmured the Padre. + +"I am certain that it must be a great possession," Gaston continued; +"and yet--and yet--dear me! life is a splendid thing!" + +"There are several ways to live it," said the Padre. + +"Only one for me!" cried Gaston. "Action, men, women, things--to be +there, to be known, to play a part, to sit in the front seats; to have +people tell one another, 'There goes Gaston Villere!' and to deserve +one's prominence. Why, if I was Padre of Santa Ysabel del Mar for twenty +years--no! for one year--do you know what I should have done? Some day +it would have been too much for me. I should have left these savages +to a pastor nearer their own level, and I should have ridden down this +canyon upon my mule, and stepped on board the barkentine, and gone +back to my proper sphere. You will understand, sir, that I am far from +venturing to make any personal comment. I am only thinking what a world +of difference lies between natures that can feel as alike as we do upon +so many subjects. Why, not since leaving New Orleans have I met any one +with whom I could talk, except of the weather and the brute interests +common to us all. That such a one as you should be here is like a +dream." + +"But it is not a dream," said the Padre. + +"And, sir--pardon me if I do say this--are you not wasted at Santa +Ysabel del Mar? I have seen the priests at the other missions. They +are--the sort of good men that I expected. But are you needed to save +such souls as these?" + +"There is no aristocracy of souls," said the Padre, again whispering. + +"But the body and the mind!" cried Gaston. "My God, are they nothing? Do +you think that they are given to us for nothing but a trap? You cannot +teach such a doctrine with your library there. And how about all +the cultivated men and women away from whose quickening society the +brightest of us grow numb? You have held out. But will it be for long? +Are you never to save any souls of your own kind? Are not twenty years +of mesclados enough? No, no!" finished young Gaston, hot with his +unforeseen eloquence; "I should ride down some morning and take the +barkentine." + +Padre Ignacio was silent for a space. + +"I have not offended you?" asked the young man. + +"No. Anything but that. You are surprised that I should--choose--to stay +here. Perhaps you may have wondered how I came to be here at all?" + +"I had not intended any impertinent--" + +"Oh no. Put such an idea out of your head, my son. You may remember that +I was going to make you a confession about my operas. Let us sit down in +this shade." + +So they picketed the mules near the stream and sat down. + + + + +IV + +"You have seen," began Padre Ignacio, "what sort of a man I--was once. +Indeed, it seems very strange to myself that you should have been here +not twenty-four hours yet, and know so much of me. For there has come +no one else at all"--the Padre paused a moment and mastered the +unsteadiness that he had felt approaching in his voice--"there has been +no one else to whom I have talked so freely. In my early days I had +no thought of being a priest. By parents destined me for a diplomatic +career. There was plenty of money and--and all the rest of it; for by +inheritance came to me the acquaintance of many people whose names +you would be likely to have heard of. Cities, people of fashion, +artists--the whole of it was my element and my choice; and by-and-by I +married, not only where it was desirable, but where I loved. Then +for the first time Death laid his staff upon my enchantment, and I +understood many things that had been only words to me hitherto. To have +been a husband for a year, and a father for a moment, and in that moment +to lose all--this unblinded me. Looking back, it seemed to me that I had +never done anything except for myself all my days. I left the world. In +due time I became a priest and lived in my own country. But my worldly +experience and my secular education had given to my opinions a turn +too liberal for the place where my work was laid. I was soon advised +concerning this by those in authority over me. And since they could not +change me and I could them, yet wished to work and to teach, the New +World was suggested, and I volunteered to give the rest of my life to +missions. It was soon found that some one was needed here, and for this +little place I sailed, and to these humble people I have dedicated my +service. They are pastoral creatures of the soil. Their vineyard and +cattle days are apt to be like the sun and storm around them--strong +alike in their evil and in their good. All their years they live +as children--children with men's passions given to them like deadly +weapons, unable to measure the harm their impulses may bring. Hence, +even in their crimes, their hearts will generally open soon to the one +great key of love, while civilization makes locks which that key cannot +always fit at the first turn. And coming to know this," said Padre +Ignacio, fixing his eyes steadily upon Gaston, "you will understand +how great a privilege it is to help such people, and how the sense +of something accomplished--under God--should bring Contentment with +Renunciation." + +"Yes," said Gaston Villere. Then, thinking of himself, "I can understand +it in a man like you." + +"Do not speak of me at all!" exclaimed the Padre, almost passionately. +"But pray Heaven that you may find the thing yourself some +day--Contentment with Renunciation--and never let it go." + +"Amen!" said Gaston, strangely moved. + +"That is the whole of my story," the priest continued, with no more +of the recent stress in his voice. "And now I have talked to you about +myself quite enough. But you must have my confession." He had now +resumed entirely his half-playful tone. "I was just a little mistaken, +you see--too self-reliant, perhaps--when I supposed, in my first +missionary ardor, that I could get on without any remembrance of the +world at all. I found that I could not. And so I have taught the old +operas to my choir--such parts of them as are within our compass and +suitable for worship. And certain of my friends still alive at home are +good enough to remember this taste of mine and to send me each year some +of the new music that I should never hear of otherwise. Then we study +these things also. And although our organ is a miserable affair, Felipe +manages very cleverly to make it do. And while the voices are singing +these operas, especially the old ones, what harm is there if sometimes +the priest is thinking of something else? So there's my confession! And +now, whether Trovatore is come or not, I shall not allow you to leave us +until you have taught all you know of it to Felipe." + +The new opera, however, had duly arrived. And as he turned its pages +Padre Ignacio was quick to seize at once upon the music that could be +taken into his church. Some of it was ready fitted. By that afternoon +Felipe and his choir could have rendered "Ah! se l' error t' ingombra" +without slip or falter. + +Those were strange rehearsals of Il Trovatore upon this California +shore. For the Padre looked to Gaston to say when they went too fast +or too slow, and to correct their emphasis. And since it was hot, the +little Erard piano was carried each day out into the mission garden. +There, in the cloisters among the jessamine, the orange blossoms, +the oleanders, in the presence of the round yellow hills and the blue +triangle of sea, the Miserere was slowly learned. The Mexicans and +Indians gathered, swarthy and black-haired, around the tinkling +instrument that Felipe played; and presiding over them were young Gaston +and the pale Padre, walking up and down the paths, beating time or +singing now one part and now another. And so it was that the wild cattle +on the uplands would hear Trovatore hummed by a passing vaquero, while +the same melody was filling the streets of the far-off world. + +For three days Gaston Villere remained at Santa Ysabel del Mar; and +though not a word of restlessness came from him, his host could read San +Francisco and the gold-mines in his countenance. No, the young man could +not have stayed here for twenty years! And the Padre forbore urging his +guest to extend his visit. + +"But the world is small," the guest declared at parting. "Some day it +will not be able to spare you any longer. And then we are sure to meet. +But you shall hear from me soon, at any rate." + +Again, as upon the first evening, the two exchanged a few courtesies, +more graceful and particular than we, who have not time, and fight no +duels, find worth a man's while at the present day. For duels are gone, +which is a very good thing, and with them a certain careful politeness, +which is a pity; but that is the way in the eternal profit and loss. So +young Gaston rode northward out of the mission, back to the world and +his fortune; and the Padre stood watching the dust after the rider had +passed from sight. Then he went into his room with a drawn face. But +appearances at least had been kept up to the end; the youth would never +know of the elder man's unrest. + + + + +V + +Temptation had arrived with Gaston, but was destined to make a longer +stay at Santa Ysabel del Mar. Yet it was perhaps a week before the +priest knew this guest was come to abide with him. The guest could be +discreet, could withdraw, was not at first importunate. + +Sail away on the barkentine? A wild notion, to be sure! although fit +enough to enter the brain of such a young scape-grace. The Padre shook +his head and smiled affectionately when he thought of Gaston Villere. +The youth's handsome, reckless countenance would shine out, smiling, in +his memory, and he repeated Auber's old remark, "Is it the good Lord, +or is it merely the devil, that always makes me have a weakness for +rascals?" + +Sail away on the barkentine! Imagine taking leave of the people here--of +Felipe! In what words should he tell the boy to go on industriously with +his music? No, this was not imaginable! The mere parting alone would +make it for ever impossible to think of such a thing. "And then," he +said to himself each new morning, when he looked out at the ocean, "I +have given to them my life. One does not take back a gift." + +Pictures of his departure began to shine and melt in his drifting fancy. +He saw himself explaining to Felipe that now his presence was wanted +elsewhere; that than would come a successor to take care of Santa +Ysabel--a younger man, more useful, and able to visit sick people at a +distance. + +"For I am old now. I should not be long has in any case." He stopped +and pressed his hands together; he had caught his Temptation in the very +act. Now he sat staring at his Temptation's face, close to him, while +then in the triangle two ships went sailing by. + +One morning Felipe told him that the barkentine was here on its return +voyage south. "Indeed." said the Padre, coldly. "The things are ready to +go, I think." For the vessel called for mail and certain boxes that the +mission sent away. Felipe left the room in wonder at the Padre's manner. +But the priest was laughing secretly to see how little it was to him +where the barkentine was, or whether it should be coming or going. But +in the afternoon, at his piano, he found himself saying, "Other ships +call here, at any rate." And then for the first time he prayed to be +delivered from his thoughts. Yet presently he left his seat and looked +out of the window for a sight of the barkentine; but it was gone. + +The season of the wine-making passed, and the preserving of all the +fruits that the mission fields grew. Lotions and medicines was distilled +from garden herbs. Perfume was manufactured from the petals of flowers +and certain spices, and presents of it despatched to San Fernando and +Ventura, and to friends at other places; for the Padre had a special +receipt. As the time ran on, two or three visitors passed a night with +him; and presently there was a word at various missions that Padre +Ignacio had begun to show his years. At Santa Ysabel del Mar they +whispered, "The Padre is not well." Yet he rode a great deal over the +hills by himself, and down the canyon very often, stopping where he had +sat with Gaston, to sit alone and look up and down, now at the hills +above, and now at the ocean below. Among his parishioners he had certain +troubles to soothe, certain wounds to heal; a home from which he was +able to drive jealousy; a girl whom he bade her lover set right. But all +said, "The Padre is unwell." And Felipe told them that the music seemed +nothing to him any more; he never asked for his Dixit Dominus nowadays. +Then for a short time he was really in bed, feverish with the two voices +that spoke to him without ceasing. "You have given your life," said one +voice. "And, therefore," said the other, "have earned the right to go +home and die." "You are winning better rewards in the service of God," +said the first voice. "God can be better served in other places," +answered the second. As he lay listening he saw Seville again, and the +trees of Aranhal, where he had been born. The wind was blowing through +them, and in their branches he could hear the nightingales. "Empty! +Empty!" he said, aloud. And he lay for two days and nights hearing +the wind and the nightingales in the far trees of Aranhal. But Felipe, +watching, only heard the Padre crying through the hours, "Empty! Empty!" + +Then the wind in the trees died down, and the Padre could get out of +bed, and soon be in the garden. But the voices within him still talked +all the while as he sat watching the sails when they passed between the +headlands. Their words, falling for ever the same way, beat his spirit +sore, like blows upon flesh already bruised. If he could only change +what they said, he would rest. + +"Has the Padre any mall for Santa Barbara?" asked Felipe. "The ship +bound southward should be here to-morrow." + +"I will attend to it," said the priest, not moving. And Felipe stole +away. + +At Felipe's words the voices had stopped, as a clock finishes striking. +Silence, strained like expectation, filled the Padre's soul. But in +place of the voices came old sights of home again, the waving trees at +Aranhal; then it would be Rachel for a moment, declaiming tragedy while +a houseful of faces that he knew by name watched her; and through all +the panorama rang the pleasant laugh of Gaston. For a while in the +evening the Padre sat at his Erard playing Trovatore. Later, in his +sleepless bed he lay, saying now and then: "To die at home! Surely I +may be granted at least this." And he listened for the inner voices. But +they were not speaking any more, and the black hole of silence grew +more dreadful to him than their arguments. Then the dawn came in at +his window, and he lay watching its gray grow warm into color, until +suddenly he sprang from his bed and looked at the sea. Blue it lay, +sapphire-hued and dancing with points of gold, lovely and luring as +a charm; and over its triangle the south-bound ship was approaching. +People were on board who in a few weeks would be sailing the Atlantic, +while he would stand here looking out of this same window. "Merciful +God!" he cried, sinking on his knees. "Heavenly Father, Thou seest this +evil in my heart! Thou knowest that my weak hand cannot pluck it out! My +strength is breaking, and still Thou makest my burden heavier than I +can bear." He stopped, breathless and trembling. The same visions was +flitting across his closed eyes; the same silence gaped like a dry +crater in his soul. "There is no help in earth or heaven," he said, very +quietly; and he dressed himself. + + + + +VI + +It was still so early that few of the Indians were stirring, and one +of these saddled the Padre's mule. Felipe was not yet awake, and for a +moment it came in the priest's mind to open the boy's door softly, look +at him once more, and come away. But this he did not, nor even take a +farewell glance at the church and organ. He bade nothing farewell, but, +turning his back upon his room and his garden, rode down the canyon. + +The vessel lay at anchor, and some one had landed from ha and was +talking with other men on the shore. Seeing the priest slowly coming, +this stranger approached to meet him. + +"You are connected with the mission here?" he inquired. + +"I--am." + +"Perhaps it is with you that Gaston Villere stopped?" + +"The young man from New Orleans? Yes. I am Padre Ignacio." + +"Then you'll save me a journey. I promised him to deliver these into +your own hands." + +The stranger gave them to him. + +"A bag of gold-dust," he explained, "and a letter. I wrote it at his +dictation while he was dying. He lived hardly an hour afterward." + +The stranger bowed his head at the stricken cry which his news elicited +from the priest, who, after a few moments' vain effort to speak, opened +the letter and read: + +My dear Friend,--It is through no man's fault but mine that I have come +to this. I have had plenty of luck, and lately have been counting the +days until I should return home. But last night heavy news from New +Orleans reached me, and I tore the pressed flower to pieces. Under the +first smart and humiliation of broken faith I was rendered desperate, +and picked a needless quarrel. Thank God, it is I who have the +punishment. By dear friend, as I lie here, leaving a world that no man +ever loved more, I have come to understand you. For you and your mission +have been much in my thoughts. It is strange how good can be done, not +at the time when it is intended, but afterward; and you have done this +good to me. I say over your words, "Contentment with Renunciation," and +believe that at this last hour I have gained something like what you +would wish me to feel. For I do not think that I desire it otherwise +now. My life would never have been of service, I am afraid. You am the +last person in this world who has spoken serious words to me, and I want +you to know that now at length I value the peace of Santa Ysabel as I +could never have done but for seeing your wisdom and goodness. You spoke +of a new organ for your church. Take the gold-dust that will reach you +with this, and do what you will with it. Let me at least in dying have +helped some one. And since them is no aristocracy in souls--you said +that to me; do you remember?--perhaps you will say a mass for this +departing soul of mine. I only wish, must my body must go under ground +in a strange country, that it might have been at Santa Ysabel did Mar, +where your feet would often pass. + +"'At Santa Ysabel del Mar, where your feet would often pass.'" The +priest repeated this final sentence aloud, without being aware of it. + +"Those are the last words he ever spoke," said the stranger, "except +bidding me good-by." + +"You knew him well, then?" + +"No; not until after he was hurt. I'm the man he quarreled with." + +The priest looked at the ship that would sail onward this afternoon. + +Then a smile of great beauty passed over his face, and he addressed the +strange. "I thank you. You will never know what you have done for me." + +"It is nothing," answered the stranger, awkwardly. "He told me you set +great store on a new organ." + +Padre Ignacio turned away from the ship and rode back through the gorge. +When he had reached the shady place where once he had sat with Gaston +Villere, he dismounted and again sat there, alone by the stream, for +many hours. Long rides and outings had been lately so much his custom +that no one thought twice of his absence; and when he resumed to the +mission in the afternoon, the Indian took his mule, and he went to his +seat in the garden. But it was with another look that he watched the +sea; and presently the sail moved across the blue triangle, and soon it +had rounded the headland. + +With it departed Temptation for ever. + +Gaston's first coming was in the Padre's mind; and, as the vespers bell +began to ring in the cloistered silence, a fragment of Auber's plaintive +tune passed like a sigh across his memory. + +[Musical score appears here] + +For the repose of Gaston's young, world-loving spirit, they sang all +that he had taught them of Il Trovatore. + +After this day, Felipe and all those who knew and loved the Padre best, +saw serenity had returned to his features; but for some reason they +began to watch those features with more care. + +"Still," they said, "he is not old." And as the months went by they +would repeat: "We shall have him yet for many years." + +Thus the season rolled round, bringing the time for the expected +messages from the world. Padre Ignacio was wont to sit in his garden, +waiting for the ship, as of old. + +"As of old," they said, cheerfully, who saw him. But Renunciation with +Contentment they could not see; it was deep down in his silent and +thanked heart. + +One day Felipe went to call him from his garden seat, wondering why the +ringing of the bell had not brought him to vespers. Breviary in lap, and +hands folded upon it, the Padre sat among his flowers, looking at the +sea. Out there amid the sapphire-blue, tranquil and white, gleamed the +sails of the barkentine. It had brought him a new message, not from this +world; and Padre Ignacio was slowly borne in from the garden, while the +mission-bell tolled for the passing of a human soul. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Padre Ignacio, by Owen Wister + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PADRE IGNACIO *** + +***** This file should be named 1388.txt or 1388.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/8/1388/ + +Produced by Bill Brewer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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