Like the great Exemplar in the days of his preparation, Josè was
early driven by the spirit into the wilderness, where temptation
smote him sore. But his soul had been saved--"yet so as by fire."
Slowly old beliefs and faiths crumbled into dust, while the new
remained still unrevealed. The drift toward atheism which had set in
during his long incarceration in the convent of Palazzola had not
made him yield to the temptation to raise the mask of hypocrisy and
plunge into the pleasures of the world, nor accept the specious
proffer of ecclesiastical preferment in exchange for his honest
convictions. Honor, however bigoted the sense, bound him to his
oath, or at least to a compromising observance of it harmless to the
Church. Pride contributed to hold him from the degradation of a
renegade and apostate priest. And both rested primarily on an
unshaken basis of maternal affection, which fell little short of
obsession, leaving him without the strength to say, "Woman, what
have I to do with thee?"
But, though atheism in belief leads almost inevitably to disintegration
of morals, Josè had kept himself untainted. For his vital problems he
had now, after many days, found "grace sufficient." In what he had
regarded as the contemptible tricks of fate, he was beginning to
discern the guiding hand of a wisdom greater than the world's. The
danger threatened by Cartagena was, temporarily, at least, averted
by Rosendo's magnificent spirit. Under the spur of that sacrifice his
own courage rose mightily to second it.
Rosendo spent the day in preparation for his journey into the Guamocó
country. He had discussed with Josè, long and earnestly, its probable
effect upon the people of Simití, and especially upon Don Mario, the
Alcalde; but it was decided that no further explanation should be made
than that he was again going to prospect in the mineral districts
already so familiar to him. As Rosendo had said, this venture,
together with the unannounced and unsolicited presence of the priest
in the town, could not but excite extreme curiosity and raise the most
lively conjectures, which might, in time, reach Wenceslas. On the
other hand, if success attended his efforts, it was more than probable
that Cartagena would remain quiet, as long as her itching palm was
brightened with the yellow metal which he hoped to wrest from the
sands of Guamocó. "It is only a chance, Padre," Rosendo said
dubiously. "In the days of the Spaniards the river sands of Guamocó
produced from two to ten _reales_ a day to each slave. But the rivers
have been almost washed out."
Josè made a quick mental calculation. A Spanish _real_ was equivalent
to half a franc. Then ten _reales_ would amount to five francs, the
very best he could hope for as a day's yield.
"And my supplies and the support of the señora and Carmen must come
out of that," Rosendo added. "Besides, I must pay Juan for working the
_hacienda_ across the lake for me while I am away."
Possibly ten _pesos oro_, or forty francs, might remain at the end of
each month for them to send to Cartagena. Josè sighed heavily as he
busied himself with the preparations.
"I got these supplies from Don Mario on credit, Padre," explained
Rosendo. "I thought best to buy from him to prevent making him angry.
I have coffee, _panela_, rice, beans, and tobacco for a month. He was
very willing to let me have them--but do you know why? He wants me to
go up there and fail. Then he will have me in his debt, and I become
his _peon_--and I would never be anything after that but his slave,
for never again would he let me get out of debt to him."
Josè shuddered at the thought of the awful system of peonage prevalent
in these Latin countries, an inhuman custom only a degree removed from
the slavery of colonial times. This venture was, without doubt, a
desperate risk. But it was for Carmen--and its expediency could not be
questioned.
Josè penned a letter to the Bishop of Cartagena that morning, and
sent it by Juan to Bodega Central to await the next down-river
steamer. He did not know that Juan carried another letter for the
Bishop, and addressed in the flowing hand of the Alcalde. Josè
briefly acknowledged the Bishop's communication, and replied that he
would labor unflaggingly to uplift his people and further their
spiritual development. As to the Bishop's instructions, he would
endeavor to make Simití's contribution to the support of Holy
Church, both material and spiritual, fully commensurate with the
population. He did not touch on the other instructions, but closed
with fervent assurances of his intention to serve his little flock
with an undivided heart. Carmen received no lesson that day, and
her rapidly flowing questions anent the unusual activity in the
household were met with the single explanation that her padre
Rosendo had found it necessary to go up to the Tiguí river, a
journey which some day she might perhaps take with him.
During the afternoon Josè wrote two more letters, one to his uncle,
briefly announcing his appointment to the parish of Simití, and his
already lively interest in his new field; the other to his beloved
mother, in which he only hinted at the new-found hope which served as
his pillow at night. He did not mention Carmen, for fear that his
letter might be opened ere it left Cartagena. But in tenderest
expressions of affection, and regret that he had been the unwitting
cause of his mother's sorrow, he begged her to believe that his life
had received a stimulus which could not but result in great happiness
for them both, for he was convinced that he had at last found his
_métier_, even though among a lowly people and in a sequestered part
of the world. He hoped again to be reunited to her--possibly she might
some day meet him in Cartagena. And until then he would always hold
her in tenderest love and the brightest and purest thought.
He brushed aside the tears as he folded this letter; and, lest regret
and self-condemnation seize him again, hurried forth in search of
Carmen, whose radiance always dispelled his gloom as the rushing dawn
shatters the night.
She was not in Rosendo's house, and Doña Maria said she had seen the
child some time before going in the direction of the "shales." These
were broad beds of rock to the south of town, much broken and deeply
fissured, and so glaringly hot during most of the day as to be
impassable. Thither Josè bent his steps, and at length came upon the
girl sitting in the shade of a stunted _algarroba_ tree some distance
from the usual trail.
"Well, what are you doing here, little one?" he inquired in surprise.
The child looked up visibly embarrassed. "I was thinking, Padre," she
made slow reply.
"But do you have to go away from home to think?" he queried.
"I wanted to be alone; and there was so much going on in the house
that I came out here."
"And what have you been thinking about, Carmen?" pursued Josè,
suspecting that her presence in the hot shale beds held some deeper
significance than she had as yet revealed.
"I--I was just thinking that God is everywhere," she faltered.
"Yes, _chiquita_. And--?"
"That He is where padre Rosendo is going, and that He will take care
of him up there, and bring him back to Simití again."
"And were you asking Him to do it, little one?"
"No, Padre; I was just _knowing_ that He would."
The little lip quivered, and the brown eyes were wet with tears. But
Josè could see that faith had conquered, whatever the struggle might
have been. The child evidently had sought solitude, that she might
most forcibly bring her trust in God to bear upon the little problem
confronting her--that she might make the certainty of His immanence
and goodness destroy in her thought every dark suggestion of fear or
doubt.
"God will take care of him, won't He, Padre?"
Josè had taken her hand and was leading her back to the house.
"You have said it, child; and I believe you are a law unto yourself,"
was the priest's low, earnest reply. The child smiled up at him; and
Josè knew he had spoken truth.
That evening, the preparations for departure completed, Rosendo and
Josè took their chairs out before the house, where they sat late, each
loath to separate lest some final word be left unsaid. The tepid
evening melted into night, which died away in a deep silence that hung
wraith-like over the old town. Myriad stars rained their shimmering
lustre out of the unfathomable vault above.
"_Un canasto de flores_," mused Rosendo, looking off into the infinite
blue.
"A basket of flowers, indeed," responded Josè reverently.
"Padre--" Rosendo's brain seemed to struggle with a tremendous
thought--"I often try to think of what is beyond the stars; and I
cannot. Where is the end?"
"There is none, Rosendo."
"But, if we could get out to the last star--what then?"
"Still no end, no limit," replied Josè.
"And they are very far away--how far, Padre?"
"You would not comprehend, even if I could tell you, Rosendo. But--how
shall I say it? Some are millions of miles from us. Others so far that
their light reaches us only after the lapse of centuries."
"Their light!" returned Rosendo quizzically.
"Yes. Light from those stars above us travels nearly two hundred
thousand miles a second--"
"_Hombre!_" ejaculated the uncomprehending Rosendo.
"And yet, even at that awful rate of speed, it is probable that there
are many stars whose light has not yet reached the earth since it
became inhabited by men."
"_Caramba!_"
"You may well say so, friend."
"But, Padre--does the light never stop? When does it reach an end--a
stopping-place?"
"There is no stopping-place, Rosendo. There is no solid sky above us.
Go whichever way you will, you can never reach an end."
Rosendo's brow knotted with puzzled wonder: Even Josè's own mind
staggered anew at its concept of the immeasurable depths of space.
"But, Padre, if we could go far enough up we would get to heaven,
wouldn't we?" pursued Rosendo. "And if we went far enough down we
would reach purgatory, and then hell, is it not so?"
Restraint fell upon the priest. He dared not answer lest he reveal his
own paucity of ideas regarding these things. Happily the loquacious
Rosendo continued without waiting for reply.
"Padre Simón used to say when I was a child that the red we saw in the
sky at sunset was the reflection of the flames of hell; so I have
always thought that hell was below us--perhaps in the center of the
earth."
For a time his simple mind mused over this puerile idea. Then--
"What do you suppose God looks like, Padre?"
Josè's thought flew back to the galleries and chapels of Europe, where
the masters have so often portrayed their ideas of God in the shape of
an old, gray-haired man, partly bald, and with long, flowing beard.
Alas! how pitifully crude, how lamentably impotent such childish
concepts. For they saw in God only their own frailties infinitely
magnified. Small wonder that they lived and died in spiritual gloom!
"Padre," Rosendo went on, "if there is no limit to the universe, then
it is--"
"Infinite in extent, Rosendo," finished Josè.
"Then whoever made it is infinite, too," Rosendo added hypothetically.
"An infinite effect implies an infinite cause--yes, certainly," Josè
answered.
"So, if God made the universe, He is infinite, is He not, Padre?"
"Yes."
"Then He can't be at all like us," was the logical conclusion.
Josè was thinking hard. The universe stands as something created. And
scientists agree that it is infinite in extent. Its creator therefore
must be infinite in extent. And as the universe continues to exist,
that which called it into being, and still maintains it, must likewise
continue to exist. Hence, God _is_.
"Padre, what holds the stars in place?" Rosendo's questions were as
persistent as a child's.
"They are held in place by laws, Rosendo," the priest replied
evasively. But as he made answer he revolved in his own mind that the
laws by which an infinite universe is created and maintained must
themselves be infinite.
"And God made those laws?"
"Yes, Rosendo."
But, the priest mused, a power great enough to frame infinite laws
must be itself all-powerful. And if it has ever been all-powerful, it
could never cease to be so, for there could be nothing to deprive it
of its power. Omnipotence excludes everything else. Or, what is the
same thing, is all-inclusive.
But laws originate, even as among human beings, in mind, for a law is
a mental thing. So the infinite laws which bind the stars together,
and by which the universe was designed and is still maintained, could
have originated only in a mind, and that one infinite.
"Then God surely must know everything," commented Rosendo, by way of
simple and satisfying conclusion.
Certainly the creator of an infinite universe--a universe, moreover,
which reveals intelligence and knowledge on the part of its cause--the
originator of infinite laws, which reveal omnipotence in their
maker--must have all knowledge, all wisdom, at his command. But, on
the other hand, intelligence, knowledge, wisdom, are ever mental
things. What could embrace these things, and by them create an
infinite universe, but an infinite _mind_?
Josè's thought reverted to Cardinal Newman's reference to God as "an
initial principle." Surely the history of the universe reveals the
patent fact that, despite the mutations of time, despite growth,
maturity, and decay, despite "the wreck of matter and the crash of
worlds," _something_ endures. What is it--law? Yes, but more. Ideas?
Still more. Mind? Yes, the mind which is the _anima mundi_, the
principle, of all things.
"But if He is so great, Padre, and knows everything, I don't see why
He made the devil," continued Rosendo; "for the devil fights against
Him all the time."
Ah, simple-hearted child of nature! A mind so pure as yours should
give no heed to thoughts of Satan. And the man at your side is now too
deeply buried in the channels which run below the superficiality of
the world's thought to hear your childish question. Wait. The cause of
an infinite effect must itself be infinite. The framer of infinite
laws must be an infinite mind. And an infinite mind must contain all
knowledge, and have all power. But were it to contain any seeds or
germs of decay, or any elements of discord--in a word, any evil--it
must disintegrate. Then it would cease to be omnipotent. Verily, to be
eternal and perfect _it must be wholly good_! "And so," the priest
mused aloud, "we call it God."
But, he continued to reflect, when we accept the conclusion that the
universe is the product of an infinite mind, we are driven to certain
other inevitable conclusions, if we would be logical. The minds of men
manifest themselves continually, and the manifestation is in mental
processes and things. Mental activity results in the unfolding of
ideas. Does the activity of an infinite mind differ in this respect?
And, if not, can the universe be other than a mental thing? For, if an
infinite mind created a universe, it must have done so _by the
unfolding of its own ideas_! And, remaining infinite, filling all
space, this mind must ever continue to contain those ideas. And the
universe--the creation--is mental.
The burden of thought oppressed the priest, and he got up from his
chair and paced back and forth before the house. But still his
searching mind burrowed incessantly, as if it would unearth a living
thing that had been buried since the beginning.
In order to fully express itself, an infinite mind would have to
unfold an infinite number and variety of ideas. And this unfolding
would go on forever, since an infinite number is never reached. This
is "creation," and it could never terminate.
"Rosendo," said Josè, returning to his chair, "you have asked what
God looks like. I cannot say, for God must be mind, unlimited mind. He
has all knowledge and wisdom, as well as all power. He is necessarily
eternal--has always existed, and always will, for He is entirely
perfect and harmonious, without the slightest trace or taint of
discord or evil."
"Then you think He does not look like us?" queried the simple
Rosendo.
"Mind does not look like a human body, Rosendo. And an infinite cause
can be infinite only by being mind, not body. Moreover, He is
unchanging--for He could not change and remain eternal. Carmen insists
that He is everywhere. To be always present He must be what the Bible
says He is spirit. Or, what is the same thing, mind. Rosendo, He
manifests Himself everywhere and in everything--there is no other
conclusion admissible. And to be eternal He has got to be _absolutely
good_!"
"But, Padre," persisted Rosendo, "who made the devil?"
"There is no devil!"
"But there is wickedness--"
"No!" interrupted Josè emphatically. "God is infinite good, and there
can be no real evil."
"But how do you know that, Padre?"
"I can't say how I know it--it reasons out that way logically. I think
I begin to see the light. Can you not see that for some reason Carmen
doesn't admit the existence of evil? And you know, and I know, that
she is on the right track. I have followed the opposite path all my
life; and it led right into the slough of despond. Now I have turned,
and am trying to follow her. And do you put the thought of Satan out
of your mentality and do likewise."
"But, the Virgin Mary--she has power with God?" Rosendo's primitive
ideas were in a hopeless tangle.
"Good friend, forget the Virgin Mary," said Josè gently, laying his
hand on Rosendo's arm.
"Forget her! _Hombre!_ Why--she has all power--she works miracles
every hour--she directs the angels--gives commands to God himself!
Padre Simón said she was the absolute mistress of heaven and earth,
and that men and animals, the plants, the winds, all health, sickness,
life and death, depended upon her will! He said she did not die as we
must, but that she was taken up into heaven, and that her body was not
allowed to decay and return to dust, as ours will. _Hombre!_ She is in
heaven now, praying for us. What would become of us but for her?--for
she prays to God for us--she--!"
"No, Rosendo, she does nothing of the kind. God is infinite,
unchanging. He could not be moved or influenced by the Virgin Mary or
any one else. He is unlimited _good_. He is not angry with us--He
couldn't be, for He could not know anger. Did not Jesus say that God
was Love? Love does not afflict--Love does not need to be importuned
or prayed to. I see it now. I see something of what Carmen sees. We
suffer when we sin, because we 'miss the mark.' But the punishment
lasts only as long as the sin continues. And we suffer only until we
know that God is infinite good, and that there is no evil. That is the
truth, I feel sure, which Jesus came to teach, and which he said would
make us free. Free from what? From the awful beliefs that use us, and
to which we are now subject, until we learn the facts about God and
His creation. Don't you see that infinite good could never create
evil, nor ever permit evil to be created, nor allow it to really
exist?"
"Well, then, what is evil? And where did it come from?"
"That we must wait to learn, Rosendo, little by little. You know, the
Spanish proverb says, 'Step by step goes a great way.' But meantime,
let us go forward, clinging to this great truth: God is infinite
good--He is love--we are His dear children--and evil was _not_ made by
Him, and does not have His sanction. It therefore cannot be real. It
must be illusion. And, being such, it can be overcome, as Jesus said
it could."
"_Na_, Padre--"
"Wait, Rosendo!" Josè held up his hand. "Carmen is doing just what I
am advising you to do--is she not?"
"Yes, Padre."
"Do you think she is mistaken?"
"Padre, she knows God better than she knows me," the man whispered.
"It was you who first told her that God was everywhere, was it not?"
"Yes, Padre."
And the mind of the child, keenly sensitive and receptive to truth,
had eagerly grasped this dictum and made it the motif of her life. She
knew nothing of Jesus, nothing of current theology. Divine Wisdom had
used Rosendo, credulous and superstitious though he himself was, to
guard this girl's mind against the entrance of errors which were
taught him as a child, and which in manhood held him shackled in
chains which he might not break.
"Rosendo," Josè spoke low and reverently, "I believe now that you and
I have both been guided by that great mind which I am calling God. I
believe we are being used for some beneficent purpose, and that it has
to do with Carmen. That purpose will be unfolded to us as we bow to
His will. Every way closed against me, excepting the one that led to
Simití. Here I found her. And now there seems to be but one way open
to you--to go back to Guamocó. And you go, forgetful of self, thinking
only that you serve her. Ah, friend, you are serving Him whom you
reflect in love to His beautiful child."
"Yes, Padre."
"But, while we accept our tasks gratefully, I feel that we shall be
tried--and we may not live to see the results of our labors. There are
influences abroad which threaten danger to Carmen and to us. Perhaps
we shall not avert them. But we have given ourselves to her, and
through her to the great purpose with which I feel she is concerned."
Rosendo slowly rose, and his great height and magnificent physique
cast the shadow of a Brobdignan in the light as he stood in the
doorway.
"Padre," he replied, "I am an old man, and I have but few years left.
But however many they be, they are hers. And had I a thousand, I would
drag them all through the fires of hell for the child! I cannot follow
you when you talk about God. My mind gets weary. But this I know, the
One who brought me here and then went away will some day call for
me--and I am always ready."
He turned into the house and sought his hard bed. The great soul knew
not that he reflected the light of divine Love with a radiance unknown
to many a boasting "vicar of Christ."