Part 1 (2/2)

she cried: ”And I have done everything to please him. But he is only a priest, and has no heart. Ah! those Spaniards, I hate them!” And then, with a woman's illogical turn--”Well, he shall see that I am Spanish too. We will go away to the Mission at San Diego, Te?filo. My father's brother is there, and I have heard my father say that he has influence with the priest. He will marry us, and you can work there as well as here.”

But Te?filo was in doubt. His love for Magdalena and his love and reverence for the Father contended. He was a simple, guileless soul, and the thought of ingrat.i.tude to his benefactor was a misery to him. Some other way must be found: the saints would help them; he would pray to San Lucas, who, the Father had told him, was his patron, for he had been born on his day and christened by his name: and Magdalena must pray, too.

Magdalena, however, took up now an att.i.tude of open rebellion, and absented herself entirely from the services of the Church. This was another trouble to Te?filo, and daily over his work he prayed to San Lucas, and pondered what was best to do. But days and weeks went on, and his inward disquiet began to take effect in his appearance and behavior.

The Father, busy with the mult.i.tudinous affairs of the Mission, had entirely forgotten the matter of Te?filo's request: but one day he chanced to notice his favorite's listless air, and it recalled the affair to his mind. A day or two afterwards he said to Te?filo, as the latter was with him in the sacristy, ”Te?filo, you are dull and not yourself. You were right, it is time you were married, and I have the very one for you. It is Ana, the daughter of Manuel, who works in the smith's shop. She is a good girl. I will speak of it to her father.”

”Padre,” said Te?filo, ”I cannot marry Ana, nor any one else but Magdalena, for I love her. Oh, Padre,”--and he dropped on his knees before the priest,--”let us be married. You do not know, she has tried hard to be good, and to please you. And I will work for you all my life.

I have been praying to San Lucas ever since I told you, but he has not done anything.”

The priest was moved by the earnestness of the boy--for boy he had always considered him, and indeed he was little more in age. ”Well, hijo mio,” he said, ”I do not know about that. The saints always hear us, as I have told you, and perhaps--who knows?--San Lucas may do something yet. Or, perhaps,” he added with a smile, ”it is because we changed your name, and he does not look on you as his son. Well, that was my fault.

But you say that Magdalena has tried to please me? Good, then we will see. I will set her a penance, for she has not behaved well; then I shall see if she wishes to please me. To-morrow will be a day of observance, and there will be early ma.s.s in the church. Tell Magdalena, Te?filo, that she must come to ma.s.s and carry a penitent's candle. Let her be in the front row of the women. If I see her there I shall know she is obedient, and perhaps, yes, perhaps,--well, we will see about the rest.”

”Oh, Padre,” Te?filo exclaimed, ”you are my padre, indeed;” and he put the priest's hand to his forehead. ”I know she will come, and I know she wishes to please you. And Padre,” he said, ”I have made a picture of the angels of La Navidad. I did it to please you” (he was about to add, ”and Magdalena,” but prudence stopped him in time). ”I thought--I thought--”

”Well, what did you think, hijo mio?” asked the priest.

”I thought, Padre, that if you liked it, and said it was done well, it would be fine on the high roof, Padre, the angels, four of them, in the middle of the roof: like this, Padre, see!” An he raised his hands in the att.i.tude in which he had seen Magdalena when she met him in the Father's room. ”I could do it, Padre, if you like it.”

”Angels, Te?filo!” said the Father. ”Hm! I do not know. It is hard to paint the holy angels, and diligent as you have been, I hardly think you are an Angelico. But go and bring what you have done, and I will see.

Indeed, it is just what I would have, but it must be well done, or it will spoil the rest.”

The boy ran off, and returned quickly with a large sheepskin on which he had drawn in colors a really fine design: four angels in att.i.tudes of wors.h.i.+p, with uplifted hands, and eyes that expressed, crudely yet well, the wonder that the Holy Ones might well feel at the Miracle of the Manger.

”Ah, and did you really draw this?” asked the priest. ”It is excellent, Te?filo; we must make a painter of you in earnest; perhaps we might even send you to Mexico to be taught by a good artist. There is one of the Brothers at the College of San Fernando who would train you well. I think this is what San Lucas has been doing for you, after all. But how did you do it, Te?filo? What did you draw from?”

”Padre,” said Te?filo tremblingly, ”I will tell you, but do not be angry. It was Magdalena. I saw her once, at first, and she was like that, yes, exactly like that, with her hands up, so. She was like one of the angels in your new missal, and I remembered, and drew it many times over, and do you really think it will do for the church, Padre?” he finished eagerly, his face aflush with excitement.

”Yes, it is certainly good enough, Te?filo,” said the Father. ”We will have gold round the heads and golden stars on the robes, and San Juan's church shall be the finest in California. Though how it comes that the girl Magdalena can have been your model pa.s.ses my understanding. Indeed, I think it is the good San Lucas, or San Juan himself, who has helped you. Well, you deserve praise, Te?filo, and perhaps some reward. But go now, and tell Magdalena to come to first ma.s.s to-morrow, as I said. You may take a candle from the sacristy and give it to her.”

That evening Te?filo told Magdalena all that had happened. But her Spanish blood was in hot rebellion, and in spite of her love and Te?filo's entreaties, she would not give in. To carry a candle, as if she were one of the Indian girls, caught in disgrace! No, it was too much. Why, the whole pueblo would see her, and laugh (which, indeed, was true for she had held herself above the girls of the Mission, and was not loved by them). In vain Te?filo told her of the Father's words about sending him to Mexico to become a real painter. No, it would be a victory for the Father if she gave in, and he should see that she was Spanish as well as he. And contemptuously she tossed the candle aside into the chia bushes in the courtyard, where they talked in the shadow of the arches.

It was with a heavy heart that Te?filo left her, yet with a faint hope that she might repent and come to ma.s.s in the morning. It was a dull, oppressive night, such as comes rarely in California, even in the summer heats. Te?filo slept but little, and twice during the night he got up from his bench bed and prayed to San Lucas, for this seemed to be the final chance for his and Magdalena's happiness, and after his interview with the Father all had seemed so bright that it was hard now to give up hope. Magdalena, on her part, slept not at all, but she did not pray.

Instead, she lay with wide-open eyes in the darkness of her little windowless room, looking up at the low ceiling and fighting over in her heart the old battle of love and pride. One might say that love stood for the Indian and pride for the Spaniard in her, and that it was an incident in the old feud that began with Cortes and Malinche. And then she thought of what Te?filo had told her, how he had told the Father about painting the angels for the church because he had seen her standing with upraised hands, like an angel, that day. Poor Te?filo! how he loved her! and how she loved him, too! It was hard, very hard, that there was so much trouble. How happy they might be! And he was so clever, and might be a real painter, not working in the fields or at the workshops, but only painting angels and beautiful things. And she was the cause, in a way, of his being so clever she was proud of that, and the thought made her glow, simple Indian girl as she was, with a woman's sweetest thrill--he was clever because of her! Yet now she must spoil it all, and all for the Father's hardness.

But then, must she?--for she knew that it lay with her, after all. She could make all so happy why not? Ah, but the humiliation! No, she could not. But could she not? The humiliation would soon be over, and the prize was so great. They might be married, and even at once. Yes and no, yes and no--so the fight went on, as the hours dragged past and the heavy air pressed upon her restless nerves and forbade sleep.

It would soon be dawn, and now she must decide. Then the thought came to her, should she pray to San Lucas, as Te?filo had been doing? Perhaps after all he would help them. She got up, and creeping quietly into the adjoining room, where her father and mother were asleep, she knelt at the little crucifix that hung on the wall, and tried to pray. But no words would come, and she was about to rise and go back to her bed when it seemed as if words were whispered in her ear, echoes carried in the brain from something she had once heard, no doubt, in the church--”...

levant-- a los humildes ... raised up the humble...” She had noticed the words, because they were so averse to her ways of thought: the humble, why, that was like the Indians whom she had always despised. But, after all, perhaps that was San Lucas's answer; for she saw that it would settle all her trouble. Well, be it so she would be humble, if San Lucas told her; and she would obey the Father, and then, at last, all would be well.

She rose, and, remembering the hateful candle, went into the quadrangle and searched for it. There it lay among the chias, and she picked it up and carried it to her room. Light was dawning in the east, and she did not lie down again, but stood in her door, making up her mind to the humiliation she was to undergo for the sake of Te?filo and their love.

She did not waver now; indeed, in her young, strong pa.s.sion she gloried in the sacrifice she would make for love's sake. She dressed herself with care. They ate no meal that day before ma.s.s, which was to be at six in the morning. If only, she thought, she could tell Te?filo that she had resolved to do the penance, it would make it so much easier; but there would be no way of seeing him until they were at the service, and then the men would be on one side and the women on the other; so he would not know until he saw her, and perhaps he would not look, for she had said she would not go. Then a thought came to her with delicious joy: she would make up to him, and punish herself, for having refused, by waiting till the people were all in the church, and then going in alone, so that everybody would see her, and Te?filo would see what she could do for him.

Solemnly the great bell sounded out the summons to prayer. It was a special day, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, and all were expected to come to ma.s.s, old and young. The morning was heavy and airless, and the people, rising from sleepless or restless beds, moved languidly and in hardly broken silence toward the church, and, entering, ranged themselves, men and women separately, on either side of the building, facing the altar. Te?filo was in his usual place, near the front, and on the margin of the open aisle that divided the s.e.xes. All had gathered before the bell ceased to sound, but Magdalena was not there. With a sinking heart Te?filo had watched, hoping against hope that she would repent and come. He saw Agust?n and Juana come in, and Agust?n go to the place near the altar which he held as mayordomo, while Juana merged in the crowd of undistinguished Indian women. So Magdalena was obstinate, and the prospect of happiness that had looked so bright yesterday was all over and spoiled. But he must not blame her: she was not just an Indian, like him. And with a sigh he ceased to watch the doorway and turned to face the altar.

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