padre ignacio-第1章

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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　the

air　rests　quiet　over　land　and　sea。　The　old　breezes　were　gone；　the　new

ones　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　the

crisp　odors　of　the　mountains。　The　dust　hung　golden　and　motionless　long

after　the　rider　was　behind　the　hill；　and　the　Pacific　lay　like　a　floor　of

sapphire；　whereon　to　walk　beyond　the　setting　sun　into　the　East。　One　white

sail　shone　there。　Instead　of　an　hour；　it　had　been　from　dawn　till

afternoon　in　sight　between　the　short　headlands；　and　the　Padre　had　hoped

that　it　might　be　the　ship　his　homesick　heart　awaited。　But　it　had　slowly

passed。　From　an　arch　in　his　garden　cloisters　he　was　now　watching　the　last

of　it。　Presently　it　was　gone；　and　the　great　ocean　lay　empty。　The　Padre

put　his　glasses　in　his　lap。　For　a　short　while　he　read　in　his　breviary；

but　soon　forgot　it　again。　He　looked　at　the　flowers　and　sunny　ridges；　then

at　the　huge　blue　triangle　of　sea　which　the　opening　of　the　hills　let　into

sight。　〃Paradise；〃　he　murmured；　〃need　not　hold　more　beauty　and　peace。　But

I　think　I　would　exchange　all　my　remaining　years　of　this　for　one　sight

again　of　Paris　or　Seville。　May　God　forgive　me　such　a　thought！〃



Across　the　unstirred　fragrance　of　oleanders　the　bell　for　vespers　began　to

ring。　Its　tones　passed　over　the　Padre　as　he　watched　the　sea　in　his

garden。　They　reached　his　parishioners　in　their　adobe　dwellings　near　by。

The　gentle　circles　of　sound　floated　outward　upon　the　smooth；　immense

silenceover　the　vines　and　pear…trees；　down　the　avenues　of　the　olives；

into　the　planted　fields；　whence　women　and　children　began　to　return；　then

out　of　the　lap　of　the　valley　along　the　yellow　uplands；　where　the　men　that

rode　among　the　cattle　paused；　looking　down　like　birds　at　the　map　of　their

home。　Then　the　sound　widened；　faint；　unbroken；　until　it　met　Temptation　in

the　guise　of　a　youth；　riding　toward　the　Padre　from　the　South；　and　cheered

the　steps　of　Temptation's　jaded　horse。



〃For　a　day；　one　single　day　of　Paris！〃　repeated　the　Padre；　gazing　through

his　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　beloved

friends　of　his　youth。　A　barkentine　brought　him　these　messages。　Whenever

thus　the　mother…world　remembered　him；　it　was　like　the　touch　of　a　warm

hand；　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　the

time　for　his　letters　and　packets　drew　near；　the　eyes　of　Padre　Ignacio

would　be　often　fixed　wistfully　upon　the　harbor；　watching　for　the

barkentine。　Sometimes；　as　to…day；　he　mistook　other　sails　for　hers；　but

hers　he　mistook　never。　That　Pacific　Ocean；　which；　for　all　its　hues　and

jeweled　mists；　he　could　not　learn　to　love；　had；　since　long　before　his

day；　been　furrowed　by　the　keels　of　Spain。　Traders；　and　adventurers；　and

men　of　God　had　passed　along　this　coast；　planting　their　colonies　and

cloisters；　but　it　was　not　his　ocean。　In　the　year　that　we；　a　thin　strip　of

patriots　away　over　on　the　Atlantic　edge　of　the　continent；　declared

ourselves　an　independent　nation；　a　Spanish　ship；　in　the　name　of　Saint

Francis；　was　unloading　the　centuries　of　her　own　civilization　at　the

Golden　Gate。　San　Diego　had　come　earlier。　Then；　slowly；　as　mission　after

mission　was　built　along　the　soft　coast　wilderness；　new　ports　were

establishedat　Santa　Barbara；　and　by　Point　San　Luis　for　San　Luis　Obispo；

which　lay　inland　a　little　way　up　the　gorge　where　it　opened　among　the

hills。　Thus　the　world　reached　these　missions　by　water；　while　on　land；

through　the　mountains；　a　road　led　to　them；　and　also　to　many　more　that

were　too　distant　behind　the　hills　for　ships　to　servea　rough　road；　long

and　lonely；　punctuated　with　church　towers　and　gardens。　For　the　Fathers

gradually　so　stationed　their　settlements　that　the　traveler　might　each

morning　ride　out　from　one　mission　and　by　evening　of　a　day's　fair　journey

ride　into　the　next。　A　lonely；　rough；　dangerous　road；　but　lovely；　too；

with　a　name　like　musicEl　Camino　Real。　Like　music　also　were　the　names　of

the　missionsSan　Juan　Capistrano；　San　Luis　Rey　de　Francia；　San　Miguel；

Santa　Ynestheir　very　list　is　a　song。



So　there；　by…and…by；　was　our　continent；　with　the　locomotive　whistling

from　Savannah　to　Boston　along　its　eastern　edge；　and　on　the　western　the

scattered　chimes　of　Spain　ringing　among　the　unpeopIed　mountains。　Thus

grew　the　two　sorts　of　civilizationnot　equally。　We　know　what　has

happened　since。　To…day　the　locomotive　is　whistling　also　from　The　Golden

Gate　to　San　Diego；　but　still　the　old　mission…road　goes　through　the

mountains；　and　along　it　the　footsteps　of　vanished　Spain　are　marked　with

roses；　and　broken　cloisters；　and　the　crucifix。



But　this　was　1855。　Only　the　barkentine　brought　to　Padre　Ignacio　the　signs

from　the　world　that　he　once　had　known　and　loved　so　dearly。　As　for　the　new

world　making　a　rude　noise　to　the　northward；　he　trusted　that　it　might　keep

away　from　Santa　Ysabel；　and　he　waited　for　the　vessel　that　was　overdue

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　quite　correctly；　and

dropped　it；　and　took　　it　up　again；　always　in　cadence　with　the　bell。



＇musical　score　appears　here＇



At　length　he　heard　himself；　and；　glancing　at　the　belfry；　smiled　a　little。

〃It　is　a　pretty　tune；〃　he　said；　〃and　it　always　made　me　sorry　for　poor　Fra

Diavolo。　Auber　himself　confessed　to　me　that　he　had　made　it　sad　and　put

the　hermitage　bell　to　go　with　it；　because　he　too　was　grieved　at　having　to

kill　his　villain；　and　wanted　him；　if　possible；　to　die　in　a　religious

frame　of　mind。　And　Auber　touched　glasses　with　me　and　saidhow　well　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　the　devil。　I

was　not　a　priest　then。　I　could　not　be　so　sure　with　my　answer　now。〃　And

then　Padre　Ignacio　repeated　Auber's　remark　in　French：　〃'Est…ce　le　bon

Dieu；　oui　est…ce　bien　le　diable；　qui　veut　tonjours　que　j'aime　les

coquins？〃　I　don't　know！　I　don't　know！　I　wonder　if　Auber　has　composed

anything　lately？　I　wonder　who　is　singing　'Zerlina'　now？〃



He　cast　a　farewell　look　at　the　ocean；　and　took　his　steps　between　the

monastic　herbs；　the　jasmines　and　the　oleanders　to　the　sacristy。　〃At

least；〃　he　said；　〃if　we　cannot　carry　with　us　into　exile　the　friends　and

the　places　we　have　loved；　music　will　go　whither　we　go；　even　to　an　end　of

the　world　such　as　this。Felipe！〃　he　called　to　his　organist。　〃Can　they

sing　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　to

the　small；　shabby　organ。　〃Rise；　my　child；　and　listen。　Here　is　something

you　can　learn。　Why；　see　now　if　you　cannot　learn　it　from　a　single

hearing。〃



The　swarthy　boy　of　sixteen　stood　watching　his　master's　fingers；　delicate

and　white；　as　they　played。　Thus；　of　his　own　accord；　he　had　begun　to　watch

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　our

bell。〃



The　boy　listened。　〃Then　the　father　has　played　it　a　tone　too　low；〃　said

he；　〃for　our　bell　rings　the　note　of　sol；　or　something　very　near　it；　as

the　father　must　surely　know。〃　He　placed　the　melody　in　the　right　keyan

easy　thing　for　him；　and　the　Padre　was　delight