Carmen's studies began in earnest that afternoon. In the quiet of his
humble cottage Josè, now "a prisoner of the Lord," opened the door of
his mental storehouse and carefully selected those first bits of
knowledge for the foundation stones on which to rear for her, little
by little, a broad education.
He found her a facile learner; her thorough ease in the rudiments
of arithmetic and in the handling of her own language delighted him.
His plan of tutelage, although the result of long contemplation, and
involving many radical ideas regarding the training of children,
ideas which had been slowly developing in his mind for years, he
nevertheless felt in her case to be tentative. For he was dealing
with no ordinary child; and so the usual methods of instruction were
here wholly out of the question.
But on several points he was already firmly resolved. First, he would
get well below the surface of this child's mind, and he would endeavor
to train her to live in a depth of thought far, far beneath the froth
and superficiality of the every-day thinking of mankind. Fortunately,
she had had no previous bad training to be counteracted now. Nature
had been her only tutor; and Rosendo's canny wisdom had kept out all
human interference. Her associates in Simití were few. Her unusual and
mature thought had set up an intellectual barrier between herself and
the playmates she might have had. Fortunately, too, Josè had now to
deal with a child who all her life had thought vigorously--and, he was
forced to conclude, correctly. Habits of accurate observation and
quick and correct interpretation would not be difficult to form in
such a mind. Moreover, to this end he would aim to maintain her
interest at the point of intensity in every subject undertaken; yet
without forcing, and without sacrifice of the joys of childhood. He
would be, not teacher only, but fellow-student. He would strive to
learn with her to conceive the ideal without losing sight of the fact
that it was a human world in which they dwelt. When she wished to
play, he would play with her. But he would contrive and direct their
amusements so as to carry instruction, to elucidate and exemplify it,
to point morals, and steadily to contribute to her store of knowledge.
His plan was ideal, he knew. But he could not know then that
Nature--if we may thus call it--had anticipated him, and that the
child, long since started upon the quest for truth, would quickly
outstrip him in the matter of conceiving the ideal and living in this
world of relative fact with an eye single to the truth which shines so
dimly through it.
Josè knew, as he studied Carmen and planned her training, that
whatever instruction he offered her must be without taint of evil, so
far as he might prevent. And yet, the thought of any attempt to
withhold from her a knowledge of evil brought a sardonic smile to his
lips. She had as yet everything to learn of the world about her. Could
such learning be imparted to her free from error or hypothesis, and
apart from the fiat of the speculative human mind? It must be; for he
knew from experience that she would accept his teaching only as he
presented every apparent fact, every object, every event, as a
reflection in some degree of her immanent God, and subject to rigid
demonstration. Where historical events externalized only the evil
motives of the carnal mind, he must contrive to omit them entirely, or
else present them as unreality, the result of "bad thoughts" and
forgetfulness of God. In other words, only as he assumed to be the
channel through which God spoke to her could he hope for success. To
impart to her a knowledge of both good and evil was, at least at
present, impossible. To force it upon her later would be criminal.
Moreover, _why not try the audacious experiment of permitting and
aiding this child to grow up without a knowledge of evil_?--that is,
in her present conviction that only good is real, potent and
permanent, while evil is impotent illusion and to be met and overcome
on that basis. Would the resultant training make of her a tower of
strength--or would it render her incapable of resisting the onslaughts
of evil when at length she faced the world? His own heart sanctioned
the plan; and--well, the final judgment should be left to Carmen
herself.
The work proceeded joyously. At times Cucumbra interrupted by bounding
in, as if impatient of the attention his little mistress was giving
her tutor. Frequently the inquisitive Cantar-las-horas stalked through
the room, displaying a most dignified and laudable interest in the
proceedings. Late in the afternoon, when the sun was low, Bosendo
appeared at the door. As he stood listening to Josè's narrative of men
and places in the outside world, his eyes bulged. At length his
untutored mind became strained to its elastic limit.
"Is that true, Padre?" he could not refrain from interrupting, when
Josè had spoken of the fast trains of England. "Why, the Simití trail
to Tachí is one hundred and fifty miles long; and it always took me
six days to walk it. And do you say there are trains that travel that
distance in as many hours?"
"There are trains, Rosendo, that traverse the distance in three
hours."
"_Na_, Padre, it can't be done!" cried the incredulous Rosendo,
shaking his head.
"Leave us, unbeliever!" laughed Josè, motioning him away. "I have more
pliable material here to handle than you."
But Rosendo remained; and it was evident to the priest that he had
come on an errand of importance. Moreover, the supper hour was at
hand, and perhaps Doña Maria needed Carmen's help. So, dismissing the
child, Josè turned to Rosendo.
"You were right," he began, as if taking up the thread of a broken
discourse. "Carmen _was_ left on the river bank by the angels."
"Then you do think it was a miracle!" said Rosendo in a voice of awe,
as he sank into a chair.
The priest smiled. "Everything is a miracle, friend; for a miracle is
simply a sign of God's presence. And finding Carmen in this musty,
forgotten place is one of the greatest. For where she is, He is."
"Yes, Padre, that is true," assented Rosendo gravely.
"I was led here," continued Josè; "I see it now. Rosendo, all my life
I have regarded evil as just as real and powerful as good. And my life
has been one of bitterness and woe. Carmen sees only the good God
everywhere. And she dwells in heaven. What is the logical inference?
Simply that my mental attitude has been all wrong, my views erroneous,
my thinking bad. I have tried to know both good and evil, to eat of
the forbidden tree. And for so doing I was banished from paradise. Do
you understand me?"
"Why--well, no, Padre--that is, I--" The honest fellow was becoming
confused.
"Well, just this, then," explained the priest with animation. "I
haven't gotten anywhere in life, and neither have you, because we have
limited ourselves and crippled our efforts by yielding to fear, pride,
ignorance, and the belief in evil as a real power opposed to good."
"I have often wondered myself, Padre, how there could be a devil if
God is almighty. For in that case He would have had to make the devil,
wouldn't He?"
"Just so!" cried Josè enthusiastically. "And as He did make
everything, then either He made the devil, or else there isn't any."
"But that is pretty hard to see, Padre," replied the puzzled Rosendo.
"Something makes us do wicked things."
"Simply the belief that there is a power apart from God."
"But doesn't that belief come from the devil?"
"Surely--the devil of imagination! Listen, Rosendo: Carmen is daily
putting into practice her instinctive knowledge of a mighty fact. She
will reveal it all to us in due time. Let us patiently watch her, and
try to see and understand and believe as she does. But in the
meantime, let us guard our minds as we would a treasure house, and
strive never to let a thought of evil get inside! My past life should
serve as a perpetual warning."
Rosendo did not reply at once, but sat staring vacantly at the ground.
Josè knew that his thoughts were with his wayward daughter. Then, as
if suddenly remembering the object of his call, he took from his
wallet two letters, which he handed to Josè with the comment: "Juan
brought them up from Bodega Central this morning."
Josè took them with quickening pulse. One was from Spain, from his
uncle. He devoured it eagerly. It was six weeks old when it arrived in
Simití, and had been written before the news of his removal from
Cartagena had reached Seville. His mother was well; and her hopes for
her son's preferment were steadily reviving, after the cruel blow
which his disgrace in Rome had given them. For his uncle's part, he
hoped that Josè had now seen the futility of opposition to Holy
Church, and that, yielding humbly to her gentle chastisement for the
great injury he had inflicted upon her, he would now make amends and
merit the favors which she was sure to bestow upon him in due season.
To this end the uncle would bring to bear his own influence and that
of His Eminence, the Archbishop of Seville. The letter closed with an
invocation to the Saints and the ever-blessed Virgin.
Josè opened the second letter. It was nominally from the Bishop of
Cartagena, although written, he well knew, by Wenceslas. His Reverence
regretted that Josè had not come to him again before leaving
Cartagena. He deplored exceedingly the necessity of assigning him to
so lowly a parish; but it was discipline. His tenure of the parish
would be a matter of probation. Assuming a penitent desire on the part
of the priest to make reparation for past indiscretions, His Grace
extended assurances of his support and tender consideration. And,
regarding him still as a faithful son, he was setting forth herewith
certain instructions which Josè would zealously carry out, to the
glory of the sacred Mother Church and the blessed Virgin, and to his
own edification, to wit: In the matter of the confessional he must be
unremittingly zealous, not failing to put such questions to the people
of Simití as would draw out their most secret thoughts. In the present
crisis it was especially necessary to learn their political views.
Likewise, he must not fail to impress upon them the sin of concealing
wealth, and of withholding contributions to the support of the
glorious Mother. He, as priest of the parish, would be held personally
responsible for the collection of an adequate "Peter's Pence," which
must be sent to Cartagena at frequent intervals for subsequent
shipment to Rome. For all contributions he was to allow liberal
plenary indulgences. In the matter of inciting zeal for the salvation
of those unfortunate souls lingering in the torments of purgatory,
Josè must be unflagging. Each family in the parish should be
constantly admonished and threatened, if necessary, to have Masses
said for their deceased members; and he must forward the proceeds from
such Masses at once to Cartagena. No less important, he must keep
constantly before him the great fact that the hope of the blessed
Mother lay in her young. To this end he must see that all children in
his parish were in due time confirmed, and every effort made to have
the females sent to the convent of Mompox. To encourage his
parishioners, he might assure them of His Reverence's tender regard
for them as his beloved children, and that he had certain special
favors to grant to them in due time. Also, that a statue of the
Virgin, which had arrived from Rome, and which carried the most potent
blessing of the Holy Father, was to be bestowed upon that church in
the diocese which within the next twelve months should contribute the
largest amount of Peter's Pence in proportion to population. This plan
should be especially attractive to the people of Simití, as the town
lay on the confines of a district renowned in the ancient annals for
its mineral wealth. Herein, too, lay a great opportunity for the
priest; and His Reverence rejoiced in the certain knowledge that he
would embrace it. Invoking the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the
Ever-Blessed Virgin and Saint Joseph, His Grace awaited with interest
the priest's first report from the parish of Simití.
The letter fell like a wet blanket upon Josè, chilling him to the
marrow, for it revived with cruel poignancy the fact that he was still
a servant of Rome. In the past few happy days he had dwelt apart from
the world in the consciousness of a new heaven and a new earth,
revealed by Carmen. This sudden call to duty was like a summons from
Mephistopheles to the fulfillment of a forgotten pact.
He carefully read the letter again. Beneath the specious kindliness of
Wenceslas lay sinister motives, he knew. Among them, greed, of course.
But--a darker thought--did Wenceslas know of Carmen's existence? Could
Cartagena have received any intimation of his plans for her? Refusal
to comply with these instructions meant--he dared not think what! On
the other hand, strict compliance with them certainly was out of the
question.
As for Peter's Pence, what could the impoverished folk of this
decrepit town furnish! And yet, if a reasonable sum could only be
contributed at frequent intervals, would not the vampire Wenceslas
rest content, at least for a while? Oh, for a fortune of his own, that
he might dump it all into the yawning maw of Holy Church, and thus
gain a few years' respite for himself and Carmen!
"Bad news, Padre?" Rosendo inquired, anxiously regarding the priest's
strained features.
What could the man do or say, limited, hounded, and without resources?
Could he force these simple people to buy Masses? Could he take their
money on a pretext which he felt to be utterly false? Yet Cartagena
_must_ be kept quiet at any hazard!
"Rosendo," he asked earnestly, "when you had a priest in Simití, did
the people have Masses offered for their dead?"
"_Na_, Padre, we have little money for Masses," replied Rosendo
sadly.
"But you have bought them?"
"At times--long ago--for my first wife, when she died without a
priest, up in the Tiguí country. But not when Padre Diego was here. I
couldn't see how Masses said by that drunken priest could please God,
or make Him release souls from purgatory--and Padre Diego was drunk
most of the time."
Josè became desperate. "Rosendo, we _must_ send money to the Bishop in
Cartagena. I _must_ stay here--I _must_! And I can stay only by
satisfying Wenceslas! If I can send him money he will think me too
valuable to remove. It is not the Church, Rosendo, but Wenceslas who
is persecuting me. It is he who has placed me here. He is using the
Church for his own evil ends. It is he who must be placated. But I--I
can't make these poor people buy Masses! And--but here, read his
letter," thrusting it into Rosendo's hand.
Rosendo shook his head thoughtfully, and a cloud had gathered over his
strong face when he returned the Bishop's letter to Josè.
"Padre, we will be hard pressed to support the church and you, without
buying Masses. There are about two hundred people here, perhaps fifty
families. But they are very, very poor. Only a few can afford to pay
even a _peso oro_ a month to the schoolmaster to have their children
taught. They may be able to give twenty _pesos_ a month to support you
and the church. But hardly more."
It seemed to Josè that his soul must burst under its limitations.
"Rosendo, let us take Carmen and flee!" he cried wildly.
"How far would we get, Padre? Have you money?"
No, Josè had nothing. He lapsed into silence-shrouded despair.
The sun dropped below the wooded hills, and Cantar-las-horas had sung
his weird vesper song. Dusk was thickening into night, though upon the
distant _Sierras_ a mellow glow still illumined the frosted peaks.
Moments crept slowly through the enveloping silence.
Then the mental gloom parted, and through it arose the great soul of
the black-faced man sitting beside the despairing priest.
"Padre"--Rosendo spoke slowly and with deep emotion. Tears trickled
down his swart cheeks--"I am no longer young. More than sixty years of
hardship and heavy toil rest upon me. My parents--I have not told you
this--were slaves. They worked in the mines of Guamocó, under hard
masters. They lived in bamboo huts, and slept on the damp ground. At
four each morning, year after year, they were driven from their hard
beds and sent out to toil under the lash fourteen hours a day, washing
gold from the streams. The gold went to the building of Cartagena's
walls, and to her Bishop, to buy idleness and luxury for him and his
fat priests. When the war came it lasted thirteen years; but we drove
the Christian Spaniards into the sea! Then my father and mother went
back to Guamocó; and there I was born. When I was old enough to use a
_batea_ I, too, washed gold in the Tiguí, and in the little streams so
numerous in that region. But they had been pretty well washed out
under the Spaniards; and so my father came down here and made a little
_hacienda_ on the hills across the lake from Simití. Then he and my
poor mother lay down and died, worn out with their long years of toil
for their cruel masters."
He brushed the tears from his eyes; then resumed: "The district of
Guamocó gradually became deserted. Revolution after revolution broke
out in this unhappy country, sometimes stirred up by the priests,
sometimes by political agitators who tried to get control of the
Government. The men and boys went to the wars, and were killed off.
Guamocó was again swallowed up by the forest--"
He stopped abruptly, and sat some moments silent.
"I have been back there many times since, and often I have washed gold
again along the beautiful Tiguí," he continued. "But the awful
loneliness of the jungle, and the memories of those gloomy days when I
toiled there as a boy, and the thoughts of my poor parents' sufferings
under the Spaniards, made me so sad that I could not stay. And then I
got too old for that kind of work, standing bent over in the cold
mountain water all day long, swinging a _batea_ heavy with gravel."
He paused again, and seemed to lose himself in the memory of those
dark days.
"But there is still gold in the Tiguí. I can find it. It means hard
work--but I can do it. Padre, I will go back there and wash out gold
for you to send to the Bishop of Cartagena, that you may stay here and
protect and teach the little Carmen. Perhaps in time I can wash enough
to get you both out of the country; but it will take many months, it
may be, years."
O, you, whose path in life winds among pleasant places, where roses
nod in the scented breeze and fountains play, picture to yourself, if
you may, the self-immolation of this sweet-souled man, who, in the
winter of life, the shadows of eternity fast gathering about him,
bends his black shoulders again to the burden which Love would lay
upon them. Aye, Love, into which all else merged--Love for the unknown
babe, left helpless and alone on the great river's bank--Love for the
radiant child, whose white soul the agents of carnal greed and lust
would prostitute to their iniquitous system.
Night fell. By the light of their single candle the priest and Rosendo
ate their simple fare in silence. Carmen was asleep, and the angels
watched over her lowly bed.
The meal ended, Rosendo took up the candle, and Josè followed him into
the bedroom. Reverently the two men approached the sleeping child and
looked down upon her. The priest's hand again sought Rosendo's in a
grasp which sealed anew the pact between them.