You laugh! You are young, but I--indeed I have no patience . . . To proceed:--You saw, as you passed through the upper town, The Eucinal where the road goes down To San Felipe! There one morn They found Diego,--his mantle torn, And as many holes through his doublet's band As there were wronged husbands--you understand!
"Dying," so said the gossips. "Dead" Was what the friars who found him said.
May be. Quien sabe? Who else should know?
It was a hundred years ago.
There was a funeral. Small indeed--Private. What would you? To proceed:--Scarcely the year had flown. One night The Commandante awoke in fright, Hearing below his casement's bar The well-known twang of the Don's guitar;
And rushed to the window, just to see His wife a-swoon on the balcony.
One week later, Don Juan Ramirez Found his own daughter, the Dona Inez, Pale as a ghost, leaning out to hear The song of that phantom cavalier.
Even Alcalde Pedro Blas Saw, it was said, through his niece's glass, The shade of Diego twice repass.
What these gentlemen each confessed Heaven and the Church only knows. At best The case was a bad one. How to deal With Sin as a Ghost, they couldn't but feel Was an awful thing. Till a certain Fray Humbly offered to show the way.
And the way was this. Did I say before That the Fray was a stranger? No, Senor?
Strange! very strange! I should have said That the very week that the Don lay dead He came among us. Bread he broke Silent, nor ever to one he spoke.
So he had vowed it! Below his brows His face was hidden. There are such vows!
Strange! are they not? You do not use Snuff? A bad habit!
Well, the views Of the Fray were these: that the penance done By the caballeros was right; but one Was due from the CAUSE, and that, in brief, Was Dona Dolores Gomez, chief, And Inez, Sanchicha, Concepcion, And Carmen,--well, half the girls in town On his tablets the Friar had written down.
These were to come on a certain day And ask at the hands of the pious Fray For absolution. That done, small fear But the shade of Diego would disappear.
They came; each knelt in her turn and place To the pious Fray with his hidden face And voiceless lips, and each again Took back her soul freed from spot or stain, Till the Dona Inez, with eyes downcast And a tear on their fringes, knelt her last.
And then--perhaps that her voice was low From fear or from shame--the monks said so--But the Fray leaned forward, when, presto! all Were thrilled by a scream, and saw her fall Fainting beside the confessional.
And so was the ghost of Diego laid As the Fray had said. Never more his shade Was seen at San Gabriel's Mission. Eh!
The girl interests you? I dare say!
"Nothing," said she, when they brought her to--"Only a faintness!" They spoke more true Who said 'twas a stubborn soul. But then--Women are women, and men are men!
So, to return. As I said before, Having got the wolf, by the same high law We saved the lamb in the wolf's own jaw, And that's my moral. The tale, I fear, But poorly told. Yet it strikes me here Is stuff for a moral. What's your view?
You smile, Don Pancho. Ah! that's like you!
AT THE HACIENDA
Know I not whom thou mayst be Carved upon this olive-tree,--"Manuela of La Torre,"--For around on broken walls Summer sun and spring rain falls, And in vain the low wind calls "Manuela of La Torre."
Of that song no words remain But the musical refrain,--"Manuela of La Torre."
Yet at night, when winds are still, Tinkles on the distant hill A guitar, and words that thrill Tell to me the old, old story,--Old when first thy charms were sung, Old when these old walls were young, "Manuela of La Torre."
FRIAR PEDRO'S RIDE
It was the morning season of the year;
It was the morning era of the land;
The watercourses rang full loud and clear;
Portala's cross stood where Portala's hand Had planted it when Faith was taught by Fear, When monks and missions held the sole command Of all that shore beside the peaceful sea, Where spring-tides beat their long-drawn reveille.
Out of the mission of San Luis Rey, All in that brisk, tumultuous spring weather, Rode Friar Pedro, in a pious way, With six dragoons in cuirasses of leather, Each armed alike for either prayer or fray;
Handcuffs and missals they had slung together, And as an aid the gospel truth to scatter Each swung a lasso--alias a "riata."
In sooth, that year the harvest had been slack, The crop of converts scarce worth computation;
Some souls were lost, whose owners had turned back To save their bodies frequent flagellation;
And some preferred the songs of birds, alack!
To Latin matins and their souls' salvation, And thought their own wild whoopings were less dreary Than Father Pedro's droning miserere.
To bring them back to matins and to prime, To pious works and secular submission, To prove to them that liberty was crime,--This was, in fact, the Padre's present mission;
To get new souls perchance at the same time, And bring them to a "sense of their condition,"--That easy phrase, which, in the past and present, Means making that condition most unpleasant.
He saw the glebe land guiltless of a furrow;
He saw the wild oats wrestle on the hill;
He saw the gopher working in his burrow;
He saw the squirrel scampering at his will:--He saw all this, and felt no doubt a thorough And deep conviction of God's goodness; still He failed to see that in His glory He Yet left the humblest of His creatures free.
He saw the flapping crow, whose frequent note Voiced the monotony of land and sky, Mocking with graceless wing and rusty coat His priestly presence as he trotted by.
He would have cursed the bird by bell and rote, But other game just then was in his eye,--A savage camp, whose occupants preferred Their heathen darkness to the living Word.
He rang his bell, and at the martial sound Twelve silver spurs their jingling rowels clashed;
Six horses sprang across the level ground As six dragoons in open order dashed;
Above their heads the lassos circled round, In every eye a pious fervor flashed;
They charged the camp, and in one moment more They lassoed six and reconverted four.
