A throng of the devout were gathered in Manila cathedral. To a pillar
near the pulpit Ambrosia Lonzello was chained. Neither she or the
audience knew, but wires connecting with the chains ran under the floor
to the pulpit, connecting them with a key on the floor. Underneath
it all was a powerful battery. It had all been arranged secretly, at
night, by the Jesuit, who was himself an expert electrician. Bishop
Lonzello occupied the pulpit.
"We have come to the test by ordeal," he told the people. "It grieves
me that any one of the flock should have gone astray, but when the one
who leaves the true fold is my own daughter I am doubly grieved. And,
as though it were not enough that she should desert the true church and
become a friend and companion of the enemy of the church and state,
she brings accusation against the priests of the Lord, against her
own father, and the apostolic nuncio. You have heard these charges,
for the unbelievers in the city take pleasure in rolling the scandal
under their tongues. It is beneath my dignity to deny, it is beneath
the dignity of the Pope's messenger to deny, such preposterous
things. We will call on the Almighty to decide between us. But first,
my daughter, let me beg of you, before we reach this supreme test,
recant and save yourself."
He turned toward the girl, who was chained to the stake. There were
tears in his eyes, and feeling was in his voice. It was evident he
sincerely hoped she would clear the situation by recanting.
"Ambrosia, save your father," he plead. "Say I did not do the awful
thing you charge."
"A father should not ask his daughter to perjure herself in the house
of the Lord. This is nearly as wicked as to send me to confession
in order I might in that holy place be made the victim of another's
lust. Priest--for you have been so unfatherly, I will not call you
father--you are guilty, and you know it."
As she spoke the people arose and stood, eager to catch each word. Now
that she was through they caught their breaths with a gasp that was
audible through all the edifice. The face of the man in the pulpit grew
white as his own surplice. His nails dug into the wood of the pulpit.
"Apply the test," said the Jesuit, arising and standing by the
other. Lonzello assayed to speak, but he could not articulate.
"Shall we call on God to decide between us?" asked the Jesuit of
the congregation.
"The test, the test," came from over all the house. Lonzello's face
grew haggard. Many of the congregation were surprised to see the man
before them was old, with face deeply wrinkled. But the Jesuit was
placid, fully in command of himself and of the situation. He raised
his hands toward heaven, and remained silent until the people grew
tense, waiting for what might come.
"Thou who didst destroy the guilty Jannes and Jambres in the
wilderness," he began impressively, "thou who didst reveal of old the
stealer of the golden wedge, judge now, oh, God, the truth between
us here. If thy servants are guilty of the things charged against us"--
He paused, not only that he might the more impress the people, but
also to place one arm about Lonzello that he might support him in
case his nerve should fail him and his limbs grow weak; then, with
the other hand spread upward, he continued, impressively:
"Strike us dead, oh, God, cause us to die at once."
Every person in the house was standing; every neck was craned; every
sound, even to the rustle of breathing, was stilled. A moment passed
in tense silence. Then the low voice of the Jesuit continued:
"The Almighty has spoken. We live."
The people breathed again, audibly. Lonzello, his strength partly
returned and his anxiety burning into his very bones, rushed from
the pulpit to the post where his daughter was chained, and, falling
on his knees, begged piteously:
"Confess, confess, Ambrosia, and end this horrible thing. The father
is on his knees to the daughter, begging you to recant."
"Confess!" cried the girl with scorn. "That is the word you used to
send me to slaughter, to be devoured by that beast. Sweet father,
you are, to ask a daughter to swear to a lie in order to shield the
man who wronged her. I know not what foul plot you have framed here,
but I do know in my soul of souls I am as white as dawn and that
your soul is black as night from which the dawn is born. As for that
creature in the robes of God, neighbors and friends, I say he is a
devil. His place is hell--however, not to rule, but to find torment,
now and everlasting."
The Jesuit flushed slightly, but his voice was unruffled as he asked:
"Friends, shall we call the test of God on her?"
"No, no!" Lonzello plead, rushing back to the pulpit, "not on her."
"A father may be pitied in pleading for a child," the Jesuit said,
quietly and without passion. "I would, if I could, spare him, and
her as well. Let me, for his sake, girl, ask you to speak the word
that shall save both. Recant, recant."
"Repent, repent," returned Ambrosia, facing him fiercely. "The crime
is on your head; the crime on me, the crime upon my father, the crime
which now I feel you mean to do, are all upon your head. Repent,
repent."
"The girl is obdurate," said the Jesuit, turning again to the
people. "In spite of vindication heaven sent, she has reiterated
accusations. Therefore, we shall be forced to call on heaven again
to choose between us. Shall we do so?"
"The test, the test!" cried the people in one voice.
Again the right hand of the Jesuit was raised, again the left stole
round Lonzello, gripping him as with a vice. His toe sought the hidden
key under the pulpit as he intoned:
"Choose now between us, which of us is right. If we are guilty, send
from heaven the fires and take our lives. If we have been maligned,
then let the fiery vengeance seize on the woman who has said the word
and prove to all the people that thou art a jealous God, watching
above thine own."
Even as he spoke, even as his hand was outstretched to heaven,
Ambrosia Lonzello straightened, then lunged forward, her hands and
limbs trembling and shaking; again and again, as the friar's toe
moved, the horrible contortions were repeated. As he completed his
prayer the girl hung limp and heavy on her chains, lifeless.
An instant more the audience was in a turmoil.
"A miracle, a miracle!" it cried.
Men and women rushed to the altar, crowding and kneeling, fumbling
their rosaries and praying. Lonzello sank into the chair at the side
of the altar. The Jesuit alone was calm and commanding.
"Yes," said he, "it is a miracle. The Lord has spoken. Strip your
fingers and ears and pockets of jewelry and money, and lay it before
him who doeth wonders in your sight. Woe to the man or woman who
refuses, woe upon the head of such!"
Men were groaning, women praying aloud. Money and jewelry were thrown
before the altar in profusion, until hundreds of dollars in value
were piled there. Then the audience was dismissed.
"Now," said the Jesuit, turning to Lonzello, "take this stuff and
get from the country at once. Your successor from America has arrived
and is in the harbor even now."