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diff --git a/old/old/ignco10.txt b/old/old/ignco10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c1a0213 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/ignco10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1295 @@ +**The Project Gutenberg Etext of Padre Ignacio, by Owen Wister** +#7 in our series by Owen Wister + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. 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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 unpeopIed 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 skaightway 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 YsabeI 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 +unpeopIed 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 violon-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 YsabeI +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 ail. 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 flowrer?" 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 +recepit. 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. + + + +VIIt 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 text of Padre Ignacio, by Owen Wister + diff --git a/old/old/ignco10.zip b/old/old/ignco10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dfa2023 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/ignco10.zip |