PADRE IGNACIO

Or The Song of Temptation

By Owen Wister

I

At Santa Ysabel del Mar the season was at one of those moments when theair rests quiet over land and sea. The old breezes were gone; the newones were not yet risen. The flowers in the mission garden opened wide;no wind came by day or night to shake the loose petals from their stems. Along the basking, silent, many-colored shore gathered and lingered thecrisp odors of the mountains. The dust hung golden and motionless longafter the rider was behind the hill, and the Pacific lay like a floorof sapphire, whereon to walk beyond the setting sun into the East. Onewhite sail shone there. Instead of an hour, it had been from dawn tillafternoon in sight between the short headlands; and the Padre had hopedthat it might be the ship his homesick heart awaited. But it had slowlypassed. From an arch in his garden cloisters he was now watching thelast of it. Presently it was gone, and the great ocean lay empty. ThePadre put his glasses in his lap. For a short while he read in hisbreviary, but soon forgot it again. He looked at the flowers and sunnyridges, then at the huge blue triangle of sea which the opening ofthe hills let into sight. "Paradise, " he murmured, "need not hold morebeauty and peace. But I think I would exchange all my remaining years ofthis for one sight again of Paris or Seville. May God forgive me such athought!"

Across the unstirred fragrance of oleanders the bell for vespers beganto ring. Its tones passed over the Padre as he watched the sea in hisgarden. They reached his parishioners in their adobe dwellings near by. The gentle circles of sound floated outward upon the smooth, immensesilence--over the vines and pear-trees; down the avenues of the olives;into the planted fields, whence women and children began to return; thenout of the lap of the valley along the yellow uplands, where the menthat rode among the cattle paused, looking down like birds at the mapof their home. Then the sound widened, faint, unbroken, until it metTemptation in the guise of a youth, riding toward the Padre from theSouth, and cheered the steps of Temptation's jaded horse. 

"For a day, one single day of Paris!" repeated the Padre, gazing throughhis 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 belovedfriends of his youth. A barkentine brought him these messages. Wheneverthus the mother-world remembered him, it was like the touch of a warmhand, 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 thetime for his letters and packets drew near, the eyes of Padre Ignaciowould be often fixed wistfully upon the harbor, watching for thebarkentine. Sometimes, as to-day, he mistook other sails for hers, buthers he mistook never. That Pacific Ocean, which, for all its hues andjeweled mists, he could not learn to love, had, since long before hisday, been furrowed by the keels of Spain. Traders, and adventurers, and men of God had passed along this coast, planting their colonies andcloisters; but it was not his ocean. In the year that we, a thin stripof patriots away over on the Atlantic edge of the continent, declaredourselves an independent nation, a Spanish ship, in the name of SaintFrancis, was unloading the centuries of her own civilization at theGolden Gate. San Diego had come earlier. Then, slowly, as missionafter mission was built along the soft coast wilderness, new portswere established--at Santa Barbara, and by Point San Luis for San LuisObispo, which lay inland a little way up the gorge where it opened amongthe hills. Thus the world reached these missions by water; while onland, through the mountains, a road led to them, and also to many morethat were too distant behind the hills for ships to serve--a rough road, long and lonely, punctuated with church towers and gardens. For theFathers gradually so stationed their settlements that the traveler mighteach morning ride out from one mission and by evening of a day's fairjourney ride into the next. A lonely, rough, dangerous road, but lovely, too, with a name like music--El Camino Real. Like music also were thenames of the missions--San Juan Capistrano, San Luis Rey de Francia, SanMiguel, Santa Ynes--their very list is a song. 

So there, by-and-by, was our continent, with the locomotive whistlingfrom Savannah to Boston along its eastern edge, and on the western thescattered chimes of Spain ringing among the unpeopled mountains. Thusgrew the two sorts of civilization--not equally. We know what hashappened since. To-day the locomotive is whistling also from The GoldenGate to San Diego; but still the old mission-road goes through themountains, and along it the footsteps of vanished Spain are marked withroses, and broken cloisters, and the crucifix. 

But this was 1855. Only the barkentine brought to Padre Ignacio thesigns from the world that he once had known and loved so dearly. As forthe new world making a rude noise to the northward, he trusted that itmight keep away from Santa Ysabel, and he waited for the vessel that wasoverdue 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 quitecorrectly, and dropped it, and took it up again, always in cadence withthe bell. 

[musical score appears here]

At length he heard himself, and, glancing at the belfry, smiled alittle. "It is a pretty tune, " he said, "and it always made me sorry forpoor Fra Diavolo. Auber himself confessed to me that he had made it sadand put the hermitage bell to go with it, because he too was grievedat having to kill his villain, and wanted him, if possible, to die in areligious frame of mind. And Auber touched glasses with me and said--howwell 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 thedevil. I was not a priest then. I could not be so sure with my answernow. " And then Padre Ignacio repeated Auber's remark in French: "'Est-cele bon Dieu, oui est-ce bien le diable, qui veut tonjours que j'aimeles coquins?' I don't know! I don't know! I wonder if Auber has composedanything lately? I wonder who is singing 'Zerlina' now?"

He cast a farewell look at the ocean, and took his steps between themonastic herbs, the jasmines and the oleanders to the sacristy. "Atleast, " he said, "if we cannot carry with us into exile the friends andthe places we have loved, music will go whither we go, even to an end ofthe world such as this. --Felipe!" he called to his organist. "Can theysing 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 tothe small, shabby organ. "Rise, my child, and listen. Here is somethingyou can learn. Why, see now if you cannot learn it from a singlehearing. "

The swarthy boy of sixteen stood watching his master's fingers, delicateand white, as they played. Thus, of his own accord, he had begun towatch 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 ourbell. "

The boy listened. "Then the father has played it a tone too low, " saidhe, "for our bell rings the note of sol, or something very near it, asthe father must surely know. " He placed the melody in the right key--aneasy thing for him; and the Padre was delighted. 

"Ah, my Felipe, " he exclaimed, "what could you and I not do if we had abetter organ! Only a little better! See! above this row of keys would bea second row, and many more stops. Then we would make such music as hasnever yet been heard in California. But my people are so poor and sofew! And some day I shall have passed from them, and it will be toolate. "

"Perhaps, " ventured Felipe, "the Americanos--"

"They care nothing for us, Felipe. They are not of our religion--or ofany religion, from what I can hear. Don't forget my Dixit Dominus. "

The Padre retired once more to the sacristy, while the horse thatbrought Temptation came over the hill. 

The hour of service drew near; and as the Padre waited he once againstepped out for a look at the ocean; but the blue triangle of water laylike a picture in its frame of land, bare as the sky. "I think, from thecolor, though, " said he, "that a little more wind must have begun outthere. "

The bell rang a last short summons to prayer. Along the road from thesouth a young rider, leading a pack-animal, ambled into the mission anddismounted. Church was not so much in his thoughts as food and, afterdue digestion, a bed; but the doors stood open, and, as everybody waspassing within them, more variety was to be gained by joining thiscompany than by waiting outside alone until they should return fromtheir devotions. So he seated himself in a corner near the entrance, andafter a brief, jaunty glance at the sunburned, shaggy congregation, madehimself as comfortable as might be. He had not seen a face worth keepinghis eyes open for. The simple choir and simple fold, gathered foreven-song, paid him no attention--a rough American bound for the mineswas but an object of aversion to them. 

The Padre, of course, had been instantly aware of the stranger'spresence. To be aware of unaccustomed presences is the sixth sense withvicars of every creed and heresy; and if the parish is lonely and theworshipers few and seldom varying, a newcomer will gleam out like a newbook to be read. And a trained priest learns to read keenly the faces ofthose who assemble to worship under his guidance. But American vagrants, with no thoughts save of gold-digging, and an overweening illiteratejargon for speech, had long ceased to interest this priest, even in hisstarvation for company and talk from the outside world; and thereforeafter the intoning he sat with his homesick thoughts unchanged, to drawboth pain and enjoyment from the music that he had set to the DixitDominus. He listened to the tender chorus that opens William Tell; and, as the Latin psalm proceeded, pictures of the past rose between him andthe altar. One after another came these strains he had taken from operasfamous in their day, until at length the Padre was murmuring to somemusic seldom long out of his heart--not the Latin verse which the choirsang, 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 thedoor, and he straightway forgot his Dixit Dominus. The face of the youngman was no longer hidden by the slouching position he had at firsttaken. "I only noticed his clothes at first, " thought the Padre. Restlessness was plain upon the handsome brow, and violence was in themouth; 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 hispocket. I shall have him to dine with me. " And vespers ended with rosyclouds of eagerness drifting across the Padre's brain. 

II

But the stranger made his own beginning. As the priest came from thechurch, the rebellious young figure was waiting. "Your organist tellsme, " he said, impetuously, "that it is you who--"

"May I ask with whom I have the great pleasure of speaking?" said thePadre, putting formality to the front and his pleasure out of sight. 

The stranger's face reddened beneath its sun-beaten bronze, and hebecame aware of the Padre's pale features, molded by refinement and theworld. "I beg your lenience, " said he, with a graceful and confidentutterance, as of equal to equal. "My name is Gaston Villere, and it wastime 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 suchassociations as--Ah! the days and the nights!"--he broke off. "To comedown a California mountain and find Paris at the bottom! The Huguenots, Rossini, Herold--I was waiting for Il Trovatore. "

"Is that something new?" inquired the Padre, eagerly. 

The young man gave an exclamation. "The whole world is ringing with it!"he cried. 

"But Santa Ysabel del Mar is a long way from the whole world, " murmuredPadre Ignacio. 

"Indeed, it would not appear to be so, " returned young Gaston. "I thinkthe Comedie Francaise must be round the corner. "

A thrill went through the priest at the theater's name. "And have youbeen 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 ofdisappointment in his voice. "But no Americans who are yet come thisway have been--have been"--he veiled the too-blunt expression of histhought--"have been familiar with The Huguenots, " he finished, making aslight 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 canrecognize good music wherever we hear it. " And he made a slight bow inhis turn. 

The Padre laughed outright with pleasure and laid his hand upon theyoung man's arm. "You have no intention of going away to-morrow, Itrust?"

"With your leave, " answered Gaston, "I will have such an intention nolonger. "

It was with the air and gait of mutual understanding that the two nowwalked 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 desertand unpeopled mountains, "that now and again you might have wished totravel. "

"Were I your age, " murmured Padre Ignacio, "it might be so. "

The evening had now ripened to the long after-glow of sunset. The seawas the purple of grapes, and wine-colored hues flowed among the highshoulders of the mountains. 

"I have seen a sight like this, " said Gaston, "between Granada andMalaga. "

"So you know Spain!" said the Padre. 

Often he had thought of this resemblance, but never till now met anyone to share his thought. The courtly proprietor of San Fernando and theother patriarchal rancheros with whom he occasionally exchanged visitsacross the wilderness knew hospitality and inherited gentle manners, sending to Europe for silks and laces to give their daughters; but theireyes had not looked upon Granada, and their ears had never listened toWilliam Tell. 

"It is quite singular, " pursued Gaston, "how one nook in the world willsuddenly remind you of another nook that may be thousands of miles away. One morning, behind the Quai Voltaire, an old, yellow house with rustybalconies 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 youknow that she could sing, too. She sang several verses by an astonishinglittle Jew violin-cellist that is come up over there. "

The Padre gazed down at his blithe guest. "To see somebody, somebody, once again, is very pleasant to a hermit!"

"It cannot be more pleasant than arriving at an oasis, " returned Gaston. 

They had delayed on the threshold to look at the beauty of the evening, and now the priest watched his parishioners come and go. "How can onemake companions--" he began; then, checking himself, he said: "Theirsouls are as sacred and immortal as mine, and God helps me to helpthem. But in this world it is not immortal souls that we choose forcompanions; it is kindred tastes, intelligences, and--and so I and mybooks are growing old together, you see, " he added, more lightly. "Youwill find my volumes as behind the times as myself. "

He had fallen into talk more intimate than he wished; and while theguest was uttering something polite about the nobility of missionarywork, he placed him in an easy-chair and sought aguardiente for hisimmediate refreshment. Since the year's beginning there had been noguest for him to bring into his rooms, or to sit beside him in the highseats at table, set apart for the gente fina. 

Such another library was not then in California; and though GastonVillere, in leaving Harvard College, had shut Horace and Sophocles forever at the earliest instant possible under academic requirements, heknew the Greek and Latin names that he now saw as well as he knew thoseof Shakspere, Dante, Moliere, and Cervantes. These were here also; butit could not be precisely said of them, either, that they made a partof the young man's daily reading. As he surveyed the Padre's augustshelves, it was with a touch of the histrionic Southern gravity whichhis 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 gentlemanought to respect. "

The polished Padre bowed gravely to this compliment. 

It was when his eyes caught sight of the music that the young man feltagain at ease, and his vivacity returned to him. Leaving his chair, hebegan enthusiastically to examine the tall piles that filled one sideof the room. The volumes lay piled and scattered everywhere, makinga pleasant disorder; and, as perfume comes from a flower, memoriesof singers and chandeliers rose bright from the printed names. Norma, Tancredi, Don Pasquale, La Vestale, dim lights in the fashions ofto-day, sparkled upon the exploring Gaston, conjuring the radiant hallsof 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, whenthe 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 Nismesby the Pont du Gard? There is a place I have made here--a little, littleplace--with olive-trees. And now they have grown, and it looks somethinglike that country, if you stand in a particular position. I will takeyou there to-morrow. I think you will understand what I mean. "

"Another resemblance!" said the volatile and happy Gaston. "We both seemto have an eye for them. But, believe me, Padre, I could never stay hereplanting olives. I should go back and see the original ones--and thenI'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 librarycontains none of the masses and all of the operas in the world!"

"I will make you a little confession, " said Padre Ignacio, "and then youshall give me a little absolution. "

"For a penance, " said Gaston, "you must play over some of these thingsto 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 hadany worldly associations with the music. But I have reasoned that themusic cannot do them harm--"

The ringing of a bell here interrupted him. "In fifteen minutes, " hesaid, "our poor meal will be ready for you. " The good Padre wasnot quite sincere when he spoke of a "poor meal. " While getting theaguardiente for his guest he had given orders, and he knew how well suchorders would be carried out. He lived alone, and generally supped simplyenough, but not even the ample table at San Fernando could surpass hisown 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 hedid not mean this any more than his host had meant his remark aboutthe food. In his pack, which an Indian had brought from his horse, hecarried some garments of civilization. And presently, after fresh waterand not a little painstaking with brush and scarf, there came back tothe Padre a young guest whose elegance and bearing and ease of thegreat world were to the exiled priest as sweet as was his traveledconversation. 

They repaired to the hall and took their seats at the head of the longtable. For the Spanish centuries of stately custom lived at Santa Ysabeldel Mar, inviolate, feudal, remote. 

They were the only persons of quality present; and between themselvesand the gente de razon a space intervened. Behind the Padre's chairstood an Indian to waft upon him, and another stood behind the chair ofGaston Villere. Each of these servants wore one single white garment, and offered the many dishes to the gente fina and refilled theirglasses. At the lower end of the table a general attendant wafted uponmesclados--the half-breeds. There was meat with spices, and roastedquail, with various cakes and other preparations of grain; also thebrown fresh olives and grapes, with several sorts of figs and plums, and preserved fruits, and white and red wine--the white fifty yearsold. Beneath the quiet shining of candles, fresh-cut flowers leaned fromvessels 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 wouldbring memories crowding to his lips; and when his guest told him of anew play he was ready with old quotations from the same author. Alfredde Vigny they spoke of, and Victor Hugo, whom the Padre disliked. Longafter the dulce, or sweet dish, when it was the custom for the vaquerosand the rest of the retainers to rise and leave the gente fina tothemselves, the host sat on in the empty hail, fondly talking to hisguest of his bygone Paris and fondly learning of the later Paristhat the guest had seen. And thus the two lingered, exchanging theirenthusiasms, while the candles waned, and the long-haired Indians stoodsilent behind the chairs. 

"But we must go to my piano, " the host exclaimed. For at length they hadcome to a lusty difference of opinion. The Padre, with ears criticallydeaf, and with smiling, unconvinced eyes, was shaking his head, whileyoung 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--Butthere, now! Sit down and convert me. Only don't crush my poor littleErard with Verdi's hoofs. I brought it when I came. It is behind thetimes, too. And, oh, my dear boy, our organ is still worse. So old, soold! To get a proper one I would sacrifice even this piano of mine in amoment--only the tinkling thing is not worth a sou to anybody except itsmaster. But there! Are you quite comfortable?" And having seen to hisguest's needs, and placed spirits and cigars and an ash-tray within hisreach, the Padre sat himself comfortably in his chair to hear and exposethe false doctrine of Il Trovatore. 

By midnight all of the opera that Gaston could recall had been playedand sung twice. The convert sat in his chair no longer, but stoodsinging 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 themelodies, and waved an enthusiastic arm. He demanded every note. Why didnot Gaston remember it all? But if the barkentine would arrive and bringthe whole music, then they would have it right! And he made Gaston teachhim what words he knew. "'Non ti scorder, '" he sang--"'non ti scordar dime. ' That is genius. But one sees how the world moves when one is out ofit. 'A nostri monti ritorneremo'; home to our mountains. Ah, yes, thereis genius again. " And the exile sighed and his spirit voyaged to distantplaces, while Gaston continued brilliantly with the music of the finalscene. 

Then the host remembered his guest. "I am ashamed of my selfishness, " hesaid. "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 thatshould win excellent dreams. "

Thus, with courtesies more elaborate than the world has time for at thepresent day, they bade each other good-night and parted, bearing theirlate candles along the quiet halls of the mission. To young Gaston inhis bed easy sleep came without waiting, and no dreams at all. Outsidehis open window was the quiet, serene darkness, where the stars shoneclear, and tranquil perfumes hung in the cloisters. But while the guestlay sleeping all night in unchanged position like a child, up and downbetween the oleanders went Padre Ignacio, walking until dawn. Temptationindeed had come over the hill and entered the cloisters. 

III

Day showed the ocean's surface no longer glassy, but lying like a mirrorbreathed upon; and there between the short headlands came a sail, gray and plain against the flat water. The priest watched through hisglasses, and saw the gradual sun grow strong upon the canvas of thebarkentine. The message from his world was at hand, yet to-day hescarcely cared so much. Sitting in his garden yesterday, he could neverhave imagined such a change. But his heart did not hail the barkentineas usual. Books, music, pale paper, and print--this was all that wascoming to him, some of its savor had gone; for the siren voice of Lifehad been speaking with him face to face, and in his spirit, deep down, the love of the world was restlessly answering it. Young Gaston showedmore eagerness than the Padre over this arrival of the vessel that mightbe 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 hishost. "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 firstunconcealed complaint that had escaped him, and he felt instant shame. 

But Gaston was too much elated with the enjoyment of each new day tocomprehend the Padre's soul. The shafts of another's pain might hardlypierce 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 laughof his which had disarmed severer judges than his host. "By next week Ishould have introduced some sin or other into your beautiful Garden ofIgnorance here. It will be much safer for your flock if I go and jointhe other serpents at San Francisco. "

Soon after breakfast the Padre had his two mules saddled, and he and hisguest set forth down the hills together to the shore. And, beneath thespell and confidence of pleasant, slow riding and the loveliness ofeverything, the young man talked freely of himself. 

"And, seriously, " said he, "if I missed nothing else at Santa Ysabel, Ishould long for--how shall I say it?--for insecurity, for danger, andof all kinds--not merely danger to the body. Within these walls, beneaththese sacred bells, you live too safe for a man like me. "

"Too safe!" These echoed words upon the lips of the pale Padre were awhisper 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, andhere I should miss the very chance to resist. Your garden could never beEden for me, because temptation is absent from it. "

"Absent!" Still lighter, still deeper, was this whisper that the Padrebreathed. 

"I must find life, " exclaimed Gaston, "and my fortune at the mines, Ihope. I am not a bad fellow, Father. You can easily guess all the thingsI do. I have never, to my knowledge, harmed any one. I didn't eventry to kill my adversary in an affair of honor. I gave him a mereflesh-wound, and by this time he must be quite recovered. He was myfriend. But as he came between me--"

Gaston stopped, and the Padre, looking keenly at him, saw the violencethat he had noticed in church pass like a flame over the young man'shandsome 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 apriest might feel obliged to say it was dishonorable. She and her fatherwere--a man owes no fidelity before he is--but you might say that hadbeen 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'mnot your confessor. "

"No, " said Gaston, looking down. "And it is all over. It will not beginagain. Since leaving New Orleans I have traveled an innocent journeystraight to you. And when I make my fortune I shall be in a position toreturn and--"

"Claim the pressed flower?" suggested the Padre. He did not smile. 

"Ah, you remember how those things are!" said Gaston: and he laughed andblushed. 

"Yes, " said the Padre, looking at the anchored barkentine, "I rememberhow those things are. "

For a while the vessel and its cargo and the landed men and variousbusiness and conversations occupied them. But the freight for themission once seen to, there was not much else to detain them. 

The barkentine was only a coaster like many others which had begun tofill the sea a little more of late years, and presently host and guestwere riding homeward. Side by side they rode, companions to the eye, butwide apart in mood; within the turbulent young figure of Gaston dwelta spirit that could not be more at ease, while revolt was steadilykindling 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 livelymind. Twenty years in prison, he thought, and hardly aware of it! Andhe glanced at the silent priest. A man so evidently fond of music, oftheaters, of the world, to whom pressed flowers had meant somethingonce--and now contented to bleach upon these wastes! Not even desirousof a brief holiday, but finding an old organ and some old operas enoughrecreation! "It is his age, I suppose, " thought Gaston. And then thenotion 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 suchcontentment 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 bethere, to be known, to play a part, to sit in the front seats; to havepeople tell one another, 'There goes Gaston Villere!' and to deserveone's prominence. Why, if I was Padre of Santa Ysabel del Mar for twentyyears--no! for one year--do you know what I should have done? Some dayit would have been too much for me. I should have left these savagesto a pastor nearer their own level, and I should have ridden down thiscanyon upon my mule, and stepped on board the barkentine, and goneback to my proper sphere. You will understand, sir, that I am far fromventuring to make any personal comment. I am only thinking what a worldof difference lies between natures that can feel as alike as we do uponso many subjects. Why, not since leaving New Orleans have I met any onewith whom I could talk, except of the weather and the brute interestscommon to us all. That such a one as you should be here is like adream. "

"But it is not a dream, " said the Padre. 

"And, sir--pardon me if I do say this--are you not wasted at SantaYsabel del Mar? I have seen the priests at the other missions. Theyare--the sort of good men that I expected. But are you needed to savesuch 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? Doyou think that they are given to us for nothing but a trap? You cannotteach such a doctrine with your library there. And how about allthe cultivated men and women away from whose quickening society thebrightest 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 yearsof mesclados enough? No, no!" finished young Gaston, hot with hisunforeseen eloquence; "I should ride down some morning and take thebarkentine. "

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 stayhere. 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 thatI was going to make you a confession about my operas. Let us sit down inthis 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 herenot twenty-four hours yet, and know so much of me. For there has comeno one else at all"--the Padre paused a moment and mastered theunsteadiness that he had felt approaching in his voice--"there has beenno one else to whom I have talked so freely. In my early days I hadno thought of being a priest. By parents destined me for a diplomaticcareer. There was plenty of money and--and all the rest of it; for byinheritance came to me the acquaintance of many people whose namesyou 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 Imarried, not only where it was desirable, but where I loved. Thenfor the first time Death laid his staff upon my enchantment, and Iunderstood many things that had been only words to me hitherto. To havebeen a husband for a year, and a father for a moment, and in that momentto lose all--this unblinded me. Looking back, it seemed to me that I hadnever done anything except for myself all my days. I left the world. Indue time I became a priest and lived in my own country. But my worldlyexperience and my secular education had given to my opinions a turntoo liberal for the place where my work was laid. I was soon advisedconcerning this by those in authority over me. And since they could notchange me and I could them, yet wished to work and to teach, the NewWorld was suggested, and I volunteered to give the rest of my life tomissions. It was soon found that some one was needed here, and for thislittle place I sailed, and to these humble people I have dedicated myservice. They are pastoral creatures of the soil. Their vineyard andcattle days are apt to be like the sun and storm around them--strongalike in their evil and in their good. All their years they liveas children--children with men's passions given to them like deadlyweapons, unable to measure the harm their impulses may bring. Hence, even in their crimes, their hearts will generally open soon to the onegreat key of love, while civilization makes locks which that key cannotalways fit at the first turn. And coming to know this, " said PadreIgnacio, fixing his eyes steadily upon Gaston, "you will understandhow great a privilege it is to help such people, and how the senseof something accomplished--under God--should bring Contentment withRenunciation. "

"Yes, " said Gaston Villere. Then, thinking of himself, "I can understandit 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 someday--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 moreof the recent stress in his voice. "And now I have talked to you aboutmyself quite enough. But you must have my confession. " He had nowresumed entirely his half-playful tone. "I was just a little mistaken, you see--too self-reliant, perhaps--when I supposed, in my firstmissionary ardor, that I could get on without any remembrance of theworld at all. I found that I could not. And so I have taught the oldoperas to my choir--such parts of them as are within our compass andsuitable for worship. And certain of my friends still alive at home aregood enough to remember this taste of mine and to send me each year someof the new music that I should never hear of otherwise. Then we studythese things also. And although our organ is a miserable affair, Felipemanages very cleverly to make it do. And while the voices are singingthese operas, especially the old ones, what harm is there if sometimesthe priest is thinking of something else? So there's my confession! Andnow, whether Trovatore is come or not, I shall not allow you to leave usuntil you have taught all you know of it to Felipe. "

The new opera, however, had duly arrived. And as he turned its pagesPadre Ignacio was quick to seize at once upon the music that could betaken into his church. Some of it was ready fitted. By that afternoonFelipe 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 Californiashore. For the Padre looked to Gaston to say when they went too fastor too slow, and to correct their emphasis. And since it was hot, thelittle 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 bluetriangle of sea, the Miserere was slowly learned. The Mexicans andIndians gathered, swarthy and black-haired, around the tinklinginstrument that Felipe played; and presiding over them were young Gastonand the pale Padre, walking up and down the paths, beating time orsinging now one part and now another. And so it was that the wild cattleon the uplands would hear Trovatore hummed by a passing vaquero, whilethe same melody was filling the streets of the far-off world. 

For three days Gaston Villere remained at Santa Ysabel del Mar; andthough not a word of restlessness came from him, his host could read SanFrancisco and the gold-mines in his countenance. No, the young man couldnot have stayed here for twenty years! And the Padre forbore urging hisguest to extend his visit. 

"But the world is small, " the guest declared at parting. "Some day itwill 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 noduels, 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. Soyoung Gaston rode northward out of the mission, back to the world andhis fortune; and the Padre stood watching the dust after the rider hadpassed from sight. Then he went into his room with a drawn face. Butappearances at least had been kept up to the end; the youth would neverknow of the elder man's unrest. 

V

Temptation had arrived with Gaston, but was destined to make a longerstay at Santa Ysabel del Mar. Yet it was perhaps a week before thepriest knew this guest was come to abide with him. The guest could bediscreet, could withdraw, was not at first importunate. 

Sail away on the barkentine? A wild notion, to be sure! although fitenough to enter the brain of such a young scape-grace. The Padre shookhis head and smiled affectionately when he thought of Gaston Villere. The youth's handsome, reckless countenance would shine out, smiling, inhis 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 forrascals?"

Sail away on the barkentine! Imagine taking leave of the people here--ofFelipe! In what words should he tell the boy to go on industriously withhis music? No, this was not imaginable! The mere parting alone wouldmake it for ever impossible to think of such a thing. "And then, " hesaid to himself each new morning, when he looked out at the ocean, "Ihave 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 wantedelsewhere; that than would come a successor to take care of SantaYsabel--a younger man, more useful, and able to visit sick people at adistance. 

"For I am old now. I should not be long has in any case. " He stoppedand pressed his hands together; he had caught his Temptation in the veryact. Now he sat staring at his Temptation's face, close to him, whilethen in the triangle two ships went sailing by. 

One morning Felipe told him that the barkentine was here on its returnvoyage south. "Indeed. " said the Padre, coldly. "The things are ready togo, I think. " For the vessel called for mail and certain boxes that themission 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 himwhere the barkentine was, or whether it should be coming or going. Butin the afternoon, at his piano, he found himself saying, "Other shipscall here, at any rate. " And then for the first time he prayed to bedelivered from his thoughts. Yet presently he left his seat and lookedout 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 thefruits that the mission fields grew. Lotions and medicines was distilledfrom garden herbs. Perfume was manufactured from the petals of flowersand certain spices, and presents of it despatched to San Fernando andVentura, and to friends at other places; for the Padre had a specialreceipt. As the time ran on, two or three visitors passed a night withhim; and presently there was a word at various missions that PadreIgnacio had begun to show his years. At Santa Ysabel del Mar theywhispered, "The Padre is not well. " Yet he rode a great deal over thehills by himself, and down the canyon very often, stopping where he hadsat with Gaston, to sit alone and look up and down, now at the hillsabove, and now at the ocean below. Among his parishioners he had certaintroubles to soothe, certain wounds to heal; a home from which he wasable to drive jealousy; a girl whom he bade her lover set right. But allsaid, "The Padre is unwell. " And Felipe told them that the music seemednothing 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 voicesthat spoke to him without ceasing. "You have given your life, " said onevoice. "And, therefore, " said the other, "have earned the right to gohome 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 thetrees of Aranhal, where he had been born. The wind was blowing throughthem, and in their branches he could hear the nightingales. "Empty!Empty!" he said, aloud. And he lay for two days and nights hearingthe 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 ofbed, and soon be in the garden. But the voices within him still talkedall the while as he sat watching the sails when they passed between theheadlands. Their words, falling for ever the same way, beat his spiritsore, like blows upon flesh already bruised. If he could only changewhat they said, he would rest. 

"Has the Padre any mall for Santa Barbara?" asked Felipe. "The shipbound southward should be here to-morrow. "

"I will attend to it, " said the priest, not moving. And Felipe stoleaway. 

At Felipe's words the voices had stopped, as a clock finishes striking. Silence, strained like expectation, filled the Padre's soul. But inplace of the voices came old sights of home again, the waving trees atAranhal; then it would be Rachel for a moment, declaiming tragedy whilea houseful of faces that he knew by name watched her; and through allthe panorama rang the pleasant laugh of Gaston. For a while in theevening the Padre sat at his Erard playing Trovatore. Later, in hissleepless bed he lay, saying now and then: "To die at home! Surely Imay be granted at least this. " And he listened for the inner voices. Butthey were not speaking any more, and the black hole of silence grewmore dreadful to him than their arguments. Then the dawn came in athis window, and he lay watching its gray grow warm into color, untilsuddenly he sprang from his bed and looked at the sea. Blue it lay, sapphire-hued and dancing with points of gold, lovely and luring asa 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. "MercifulGod!" he cried, sinking on his knees. "Heavenly Father, Thou seest thisevil in my heart! Thou knowest that my weak hand cannot pluck it out! Mystrength is breaking, and still Thou makest my burden heavier than Ican bear. " He stopped, breathless and trembling. The same visions wasflitting across his closed eyes; the same silence gaped like a drycrater in his soul. "There is no help in earth or heaven, " he said, veryquietly; and he dressed himself. 

VI

It was still so early that few of the Indians were stirring, and oneof these saddled the Padre's mule. Felipe was not yet awake, and for amoment it came in the priest's mind to open the boy's door softly, lookat him once more, and come away. But this he did not, nor even take afarewell 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 wastalking 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 intoyour own hands. "

The stranger gave them to him. 

"A bag of gold-dust, " he explained, "and a letter. I wrote it at hisdictation while he was dying. He lived hardly an hour afterward. "

The stranger bowed his head at the stricken cry which his news elicitedfrom the priest, who, after a few moments' vain effort to speak, openedthe letter and read:

My dear Friend, --It is through no man's fault but mine that I have cometo this. I have had plenty of luck, and lately have been counting thedays until I should return home. But last night heavy news from NewOrleans reached me, and I tore the pressed flower to pieces. Under thefirst smart and humiliation of broken faith I was rendered desperate, and picked a needless quarrel. Thank God, it is I who have thepunishment. By dear friend, as I lie here, leaving a world that no manever loved more, I have come to understand you. For you and your missionhave been much in my thoughts. It is strange how good can be done, notat the time when it is intended, but afterward; and you have done thisgood to me. I say over your words, "Contentment with Renunciation, " andbelieve that at this last hour I have gained something like what youwould wish me to feel. For I do not think that I desire it otherwisenow. My life would never have been of service, I am afraid. You am thelast person in this world who has spoken serious words to me, and I wantyou to know that now at length I value the peace of Santa Ysabel as Icould never have done but for seeing your wisdom and goodness. You spokeof a new organ for your church. Take the gold-dust that will reach youwith this, and do what you will with it. Let me at least in dying havehelped some one. And since them is no aristocracy in souls--you saidthat to me; do you remember?--perhaps you will say a mass for thisdeparting soul of mine. I only wish, must my body must go under groundin 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. '" Thepriest repeated this final sentence aloud, without being aware of it. 

"Those are the last words he ever spoke, " said the stranger, "exceptbidding 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 thestrange. "I thank you. You will never know what you have done for me. "

"It is nothing, " answered the stranger, awkwardly. "He told me you setgreat 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 GastonVillere, he dismounted and again sat there, alone by the stream, formany hours. Long rides and outings had been lately so much his customthat no one thought twice of his absence; and when he resumed to themission in the afternoon, the Indian took his mule, and he went to hisseat in the garden. But it was with another look that he watched thesea; and presently the sail moved across the blue triangle, and soon ithad rounded the headland. 

With it departed Temptation for ever. 

Gaston's first coming was in the Padre's mind; and, as the vespers bellbegan to ring in the cloistered silence, a fragment of Auber's plaintivetune passed like a sigh across his memory. 

[Musical score appears here]

For the repose of Gaston's young, world-loving spirit, they sang allthat 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 theybegan to watch those features with more care. 

"Still, " they said, "he is not old. " And as the months went by theywould repeat: "We shall have him yet for many years. "

Thus the season rolled round, bringing the time for the expectedmessages 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 withContentment they could not see; it was deep down in his silent andthanked heart. 

One day Felipe went to call him from his garden seat, wondering why theringing of the bell had not brought him to vespers. Breviary in lap, andhands folded upon it, the Padre sat among his flowers, looking at thesea. Out there amid the sapphire-blue, tranquil and white, gleamed thesails of the barkentine. It had brought him a new message, not from thisworld; and Padre Ignacio was slowly borne in from the garden, while themission-bell tolled for the passing of a human soul.