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“But,” he once remonstrated, “it was by an ecumenical council––a
group of frail human beings––that the Pope was declared infallible!
And that only a few years ago!”
“The council but set its seal of affirmation to an already great and
established fact,” was the reply. “As the supreme teacher and definer
of the Church of God no Pope has ever erred, nor ever can err, in the
exposition of revealed truth.”
“But Tito Cennini said in class but yesterday that many of the Popes
had been wicked men!”
“You must learn to distinguish, my son, between the man and the
office. No matter what the private life of a Pope may have been, the 42

validity of his official acts is not thereby affected. Nor is the doctrine
of the Church.”
“But,––”
“Nay, my son; this is what the Church teaches; and to slight it is to
emperil your soul.”
But, despite his promises to his mother and the Archbishop, and in
despite, too, of his own conscientious endeavor to keep every
contaminating influence from entering his mind, he could not
prevent this same Tito from assiduously cultivating his friendship,
and voicing the most liberal and worldly opinions to him.
“Perdio, but you are an ignorant animal, Josè!” ejaculated the little
rascal one day, entering Josè’s room and throwing himself upon the
bed. “Why, didn’t you know that the Popes used to raise money by
selling their pardons and indulgences? That fellow Tetzel, back in
Luther’s time, rated sacrilege at nine ducats, murder at seven,
witchcraft at six, and so on. Ever since the time of Innocent VIII.
immunity from purgatory could be bought. It was his chamberlain
who used to say, ‘God willeth not the death of a sinner, but that he
should pay and live.’ Ha! ha! Those were good old days, amico mío!”
But the serious Josè, to whom honor was a sacred thing, saw not his
companion’s cause for mirth. “Tito,” he hazarded, “our instructor tells
us that we must distinguish––”
“Ho! ho!” laughed the immodest Tito, “if the Apostolic virtue has
been handed down from the great Peter through the long line of
Bishops of Rome and later Popes, what happened to it when there
were two or three Popes, in the Middle Ages? And which branch
retained the unbroken succession? Of a truth, amico, you are very
credulous!”
Josè looked at him horrified.
“And which branch now,” continued the irrepressible Tito, “holds a
monopoly of the Apostolic virtue, the Anglican Church, the Greek, or
the Roman Catholic? For each claims it, and each regards its rival
claimants as rank heretics.”
Josè could not but dwell long and thoughtfully on this. Then, later,
he again sought the graceless Tito. “Amico,” he said eagerly, “why
do not these claimants of the true Apostolic virtue seek to prove
their claims, instead of, like pouting children, vainly spending
themselves in denouncing their rivals?”
“Prove them!” shouted Tito. “And how, amico mío?”
“Why,” returned Josè earnestly, “by doing the works the Apostles
did; by healing the sick, and raising the dead, and––”
Tito answered with a mocking laugh. “Perdio, amico! know you not
that if they submitted to such proof not one of the various
contestants could substantiate his claims?”
“Then, oh, then how could the council declare the Pope to 43
be
infallible?”
Tito regarded his friend pityingly. “My wonder is, amico,” he replied
seriously, “that they did not declare him immortal as well. When you
read the true history of those exciting days and learn something of
the political intrigue with which the Church was then connected, you
will see certain excellent reasons why the Holy Father should have
been declared infallible. But let me ask you, amico, if you have such
doubts, why are you here, of all places? Surely it is not your own
life-purpose to become a priest!”
“My life-purpose,” answered Josè meditatively, “is to find my soul––
my real self.”
Tito went away shaking his head. He could not understand such a
character as that of Josè. But, for that matter, no one ever fathoms a
fellow-being. And so we who have attempted a sketch of the boy’s
mentality will not complain if its complexity prevents us from
adequately setting it forth. Rather shall we feel that we have
accomplished much if we have shown that the lad had no slight
justification for the budding seeds of religious doubt within his mind,
and for concluding that of the constitution of God men know
nothing, despite their fantastical theories and their bold affirmations,
as if He were a man in their immediate neighborhood, with whom
they were on the most intimate terms.
In the course of time Josè found the companionship of Tito
increasingly unendurable, and so he welcomed the formation of
another friendship among his mates, even though it was with a lad
much older than himself, Bernardo Damiano, a candidate for
ordination, and one thoroughly indoctrinated in the faith of Holy
Church. With open and receptive heart our young Levite eagerly
availed himself of his new friend’s voluntary discourses on the
mooted topics about which his own thought incessantly revolved.
“Fear not, Josè, to accept all that is taught you here,” said Bernardo
in kindly admonition; “for if this be not the very doctrine of the
Christ himself, where else will you find it? Among the Protesters?
Nay, they have, it is true, hundreds of churches; and they call
themselves Christians. But their religion is as diverse as their
churches are numerous, and it is not of God or Jesus Christ. They
have impiously borrowed from us. Their emasculated creeds are only
assumptions of human belief. They recognize no law of consistency,
and so they enjoy unbridled license. They believe what they please,
and each interprets Holy Writ to suit his own fantastical whims.”
“But, the Popes––” began Josè, returning again to his troublesome
topic.
“Yes, and what of them?” replied his friend calmly. “Can you not see 44

beyond the human man to the Holy Office? The Holy Father is the
successor of the great Apostle Peter, whom our blessed Saviour
appointed his Vicar on earth, and constituted the supreme teacher
and judge in matters of morals. Remember, Jesus Christ founded the
Catholic religion! He established the Church, which he commanded
all men to support and obey. That Church is still, and always will be,
the infallible teacher of truth, for Jesus declared that it should never
fall. Let not Satan lead you to the Protesters, Josè, for their creeds
are but snares and pitfalls.”
“I know nothing of Protestant creeds, nor want to,” answered Josè.
“If Jesus Christ established the Catholic religion, then I want to
accept it, and shall conclude that my doubts and questionings are
but the whisperings of Satan. But––”
“But what, my friend? The Popes again?” Bernardo laughed, and put
his arm affectionately about the younger lad. “The Pope, Josè, is,
always has been, and always will be, supreme, crowned with the
triple crown as king of earth, and heaven, and hell. We mortals have
not made him so. Heaven alone did that. God himself made our
Pontiff of the Holy Catholic Church superior even to the angels; and
if it were possible for them to believe contrary to the faith, he could
judge them and lay the ban of excommunication upon them.”
Josè’s eyes widened while his friend talked. Was he losing his own
senses? Or was it true, as his lamented father had said, that he had
been cast under the spell of the devil’s wiles? Had he been
foreordained to destruction by his own heretical thought? For, if
what he heard in Rome was truth, then was he damned, irrevocably!
“Come,” said his friend, taking his arm; “let us go to the library and
read the Credo of the Holy Father, Pius the Fourth, wherein is set
forth in detail the doctrinal system of our beloved Church. And let
me urge you, my dear young friend, to accept it, unreservedly, and
be at peace, else will your life be a ceaseless torment.”
Oh, that he could have done so! That he could have joined those
thousands of faithful, loyal adherents to Holy Church, who find in its
doctrines naught that stimulates a doubt, nor urges against the
divine institution of its gorgeous, material fabric!
But, vain desire! “I cannot! I cannot!” he wailed in the dark hours of
night upon his bed. “I cannot love a God who has to be prayed to by
Saints and Virgin, and persuaded by them not to damn His own
children! I cannot believe that the Pope, a mere human being, can
canonize Saints and make spiritual beings who grant the prayers 45of
men and intercede with God for them! Yes, I know there are
multitudes of good people who believe and accept the doctrines of
the Church. But, alas! I am not one of them, nor can be.”
For, we repeat, the little Josè was morbidly honest. And this gave
rise to fear, a corroding fear that he might not do right by his God,
his mother, and himself, the three variants in his complex life-
equation. His self-condemnation increased; yet his doubts kept pace
with it. He more than ever distrusted his own powers after his first
four years in the seminary. He more than ever lacked self-
confidence. He was more than ever vacillating, hesitant, and infirm
of purpose. He even at times, when under the pall of melancholia,
wondered if he had really loved his deceased father, and whether it
was real grief which he felt at his parent’s demise. Often, too, when
fear and doubt pressed heavily, and his companions avoided him
because of the aura of gloom in which he dwelt, he wondered if he
were becoming insane. He seemed to become obsessed with the
belief that his ability to think was slowly paralyzing. And with it his
will. And yet, proof that this was not the case was found in his
stubborn opposition to trite acquiescence, and in his infrequent
reversals of mood, when he would even feel an intense, if transient,
sense of exaltation in the thought that he was doing the best that in
him lay.
It was during one of these lighter moods, and at the close of a
school year, that a great joy came to him in an event which left a
lasting impress upon his life. Following close upon a hurried visit
which his uncle paid to Rome, the boy was informed that it had been
arranged for him to accompany the Papal Legate on a brief journey
through Germany and England, returning through France, in order
that he might gain a first-hand impression of the magnitude of the
work which the Church was doing in the field, and meet some of her
great men. The broadening, quieting, confidence-inspiring influence
of such a journey would be, in the opinion of Padre Rafaél,
incalculable. And so, with eager, bubbling hope, the lad set out.
Whatever it may have been intended that the boy should see on this
ecclesiastical pilgrimage, he returned to Rome at the end of three
months with his quick, impressionable mind stuffed with food for
reflection. Though he had seen the glories of the Church, worshiped
in her matchless temples, and sat at the feet of her great scholars,
now in the quiet of his little room he found himself dwelling upon a
single thought, into which all of his collected impressions were
gathered: “The Church––Catholic and Protestant––is––oh, God, the
Church is––not sick, not dying, but––dead! Aye, it has served both
God and Mammon, and paid the awful penalty! And what is left? 46

Caesarism!” The great German and British nations were not Catholic.
But worse, the Protestant people of the German Empire were sadly
indifferent to religion. He had seen, in Berlin, men of family trying to
resell the Bibles which their children had used in preparation for
confirmation. He had found family worship all but extinct. He had
marked the widespread indifference among Protestant parents in
regard to the religious instruction of their young. He had been told
there that parents had but a slight conception of their duty as moral
guides, and that children were growing up with only sensuous
pleasures and material gain as their life-aims. Again and again he
was shown where in whole districts it was utterly impossible to
secure young men for ordination to the Protestant ministry. And he
was furnished with statistics setting forth the ominous fact that
within a few years, were the present decline unchecked, there would
be no students in the Protestant universities of the country.
“Do you not see in this, my son,” said the Papal Legate, “the blight
of unbelief? Do you not mark the withering effects of the modern
so-called scientific thought? What think you of a religion wherein the
chief interest centers in trials for heresy; whose ultimate effect upon
human character is a return to the raw, primitive, immature sense of
life that once prevailed among this great people? What think you
now of Luther and his diabolical work?”
The wondering boy hung his head without reply. Would Germany at
length come to the true fold? And was that fold the Holy Catholic
Church?
And England––ah! there was the Anglican church, Catholic, but not
Roman, and therefore but a counterfeit of the Lord’s true Church.
Would it endure? “No,” the Legate had said; “already defection has
set in, and the prodigal’s return to the loving parent in Rome is but a
matter of time.”
Then came his visit to the great abbey of Westminster, and the
impression which, to his last earthly day, he bore as one of his most
sacred treasures. There in the famous Jerusalem Chamber he had
sat, his eyes suffused with tears and his throat choked with emotion.
In that room the first Lancastrian king long years before had closed
his unhappy life. There the great Westminster Confession had been
framed. There William of Orange had held his weighty discussion of
the Prayer-Book revision, which was hoped to bring Churchmen and
Dissenters again into harmony. And there, greatest of all, had
gathered, day after day, and year after year, the patient, devoted
group of men who gave to the world its Revised Edition of the Holy 47

Bible, only a few brief years ago. As the rapt Josè closed his eyes
and listened to the whispered conversation of the scholarly men
about him, he seemed to see the consecrated Revisers, seated again
at the long table, deep in the holy search of the Scriptures for the
profound secrets of life which they hold. He saw with what sedulous
care they pursued their sacred work, without trace of prejudice or
religious bias, and with only the selfless purpose always before them
to render to mankind a priceless benefit in a more perfect rendition
of the Word of God. Why could not men come together now in that
same generous spirit of love? But no, Rome would never yield her
assumptions. But when the lad rose and followed his guides from
the room, it was with a new-born conviction, and a revival of his
erstwhile firm purpose to translate for himself, at the earliest
opportunity, the Greek Testament, if, perchance, he might find
thereby what his yearning soul so deeply craved, the truth.
That the boy was possessed of scholarly instincts, there could be no
doubt. His ability had immediately attracted his instructors on
entering the seminary. And, but for his stubborn opposition to
dogmatic acceptance without proofs, he might have taken and
maintained the position of leader in scholarship in the institution.
Literature and the languages, particularly Greek, were his favorite
studies, and in these he excelled. Even as a child, long before the
eventful night when his surreptitious reading of Voltaire precipitated
events, he had determined to master Greek, and some day to
translate the New Testament from the original sources into his
beloved Castilian tongue. Before setting out for Rome he had so
applied himself to the worn little grammar which the proprietor of
the bookstall in Seville had loaned him, that he was able to make
translations with comparative fluency. In the seminary he plunged
into it with avidity; and when he returned from his journey with the
Papal Legate he began in earnest his translation of the Testament.
This, like so much of the boy’s work and writing, was done secretly
and in spare moments. And his zeal was such that often in the
middle of the night it would compel him to rise and, after drawing
the shades carefully and stopping the crack under the door with his
cassock, light his candle and dig away at his Testament until dawn.
This study of the New Testament in the Greek resulted in many
translations differing essentially from the accepted version, as could
not but happen when a mind so original as that of the boy Josè was
concentrated upon it. His first stumbling block was met in the prayer
of Jesus in an attempt to render the petition, “Give us this day our
daily bread,” into idiomatic modern thought. The word translated
“daily” was not to be found elsewhere in the Greek language. 48

Evidently the Aramaic word which Jesus employed, and of which this
Greek word was a translation, must have been an unusual one––a
coined expression. And what did it mean? No one knows. Josè found
means to put the question to his tutor. He was told that it doubtless
meant “super-supernal.” But what could “super-supernal” convey to
the world’s multitude of hungry suppliants for the bread of life! And
so he rendered the phrase “Give us each day a better understanding
of Thee.” Again, going carefully through his Testament the boy
crossed out the words translated “God,” and in their places
substituted “divine influence.” Many of the best known and most
frequently quoted passages suffered similarly radical changes at his
hands. For the translation “truth,” the boy often preferred to
substitute “reality”; and such passages as “speaking the truth in
love” were rendered by him, “lovingly speaking of those things which
are real.” “Faith” and “belief” were generally changed to
“understanding” and “real knowing,” so that the passage, “O ye of
little faith,” became in his translation, “O ye of slight understanding.”
The word “miracle” he consistently changed to “sign” throughout.
The command to ask “in the name of Jesus” caused him hours of
deep and perplexing thought, until he hit upon the, to him, happy
rendering, “in his character.” Why not? In the character of the Christ
mankind might ask anything and it would be given them. But to
acquire that character men must repent. And the Greek word
“metanoia,” so generally rendered “repentance,” would therefore
have to be translated “radical and complete change of thought.”
Again, why not? Was not a complete change of thought requisite if
one were to become like Jesus? Could mortals think continually of
murder, warfare, disaster, failure, crime, sickness and death, and of
the acquisition of material riches and power, and still hope to acquire
the character of the meek but mighty Nazarene? Decidedly no! And
so he went on delving and plodding, day after day, night after night,
substituting and changing, but always, even if unconsciously, giving
to the Scripture a more metaphysical and spiritual meaning, which
displaced in its translation much of the material and earthy.
Before the end of his seminary training the translation was complete.
What a new light it seemed to throw upon the mission of Jesus! How
fully he realized now that creeds and confessions had never even
begun to sound the profound depths of the Bible! What a changed
message it seemed to carry for mankind! How he longed to show it
to his preceptors and discuss it with them! But his courage failed
when he faced this thought. However, another expedient presented:
he would write a treatise on the New Testament, embodying the 49

salient facts of his translation, and send it out into the world for
publication in the hope that it might do much good. Again, night
after night in holy zeal he toiled on the work, and when completed,
sent it, under his name, to a prominent literary magazine published
in Paris.
Its appearance––for it was accepted eagerly by the editor, who was
bitterly hostile to the Church––caused a stir in ecclesiastical circles
and plunged the unwise lad into a sea of trouble. The essay in
general might have been excusable on its distinct merits and the
really profound scholarship exhibited in its composition. But when
the boy, a candidate for holy orders, and almost on the eve of his
ordination, seized upon the famous statement of Jesus in which he is
reported to have told Peter that he was the rock upon which the
Lord’s church should be eternally founded, and showed that Jesus
called Peter a stone, “petros,” a loose stone, and one of many,
whereas he then said that his church should be founded upon
“petra,” the living, immovable rock of truth, thus corroborating Saint
Augustine, but confuting other supposedly impregnable authority for
the superiority and infallibility of the Church, it was going a bit too
far.
The result was severe penance, coupled with soul-searing
reprimand, and absolute prohibition of further original writing. His
translation of the Testament was confiscated, and he was
commanded to destroy all notes referring to it, and to refrain from
making further translations. His little room was searched, and all
references and papers which might be construed as unevangelical
were seized and burned. He was then transferred to another room
for the remainder of his seminary course, and given a roommate, a
cynical, sneering bully of Irish descent, steeped to the core in
churchly doctrine, who did not fail to embrace every opportunity to
make the suffering penitent realize that he was in disgrace and
under surveillance. The effect was to drive the sensitive boy still
further into himself, and to augment the sullenness of disposition
which had earlier characterized him and separated him from social
intercourse with the world in which he moved apart from his fellow-
men.
Thus had Josè been shown very clearly that implicit obedience would
at all times be exacted from him by the Church. He had been shown
quite unmistakably that an inquisitive and determined spirit would
not be tolerated if it led to deductions at variance with accepted
tradition. He might starve mentally, if his prescribed food did not
satisfy his hunger; but he must understand, once for all, that truth
had long since been revealed, and that it was not within his province
to attempt any further additions to the revelation.
Once more, for the sake of his mother, and that he might learn 50all
that the Church had to teach him, the boy conscientiously tried to
obey. He was reminded again that, though taught to obey, he was
being trained to lead. This in a sense pleased him, as offering
surcease from an erking sense of responsibility. Nevertheless,
though he constantly wavered in decision; though at times the
Church won him, and he yielded temporarily to her abundant
charms; the spirit of protest did wax steadily stronger within him as
the years passed. Back and forth he swung, like a pendulum, now
drawn by the power and influence of the mighty Church; now, as he
approached it, repelled by the things which were revealed as he
drew near. In the last two years of his course his soul-revolt often
took the form of open protest to his preceptors against indulgences
and the sacramental graces, against the arbitrary Index
Expurgatorius, and the Church’s stubborn opposition to modern
progression. Like Faust, his studies were convincing him more and
more firmly of the emptiness of human hypotheses and
undemonstrable philosophy. The growing conviction that the Holy
Church was more worldly than spiritual filled his shrinking soul at
times with horror. The limiting thought of Rome was often stifling to
him. He had begun to realize that liberty of thought and conscience
were his only as he received it already outlined from the Church.
Even his interpretation of the Bible must come from her. His very
ideas must first receive the ecclesiastical stamp before he might
advance them. His opinions must measure up––or down––to those
of his tutors, ere he might even hold them. In terror he felt that the
Church was absorbing him, heart and mind. His individuality was
seeping away. In time he would become but a link in the great
worldly system which he was being trained to serve.
These convictions did not come to him all at once, nor were they as
yet firmly fixed. They were rather suggestions which became
increasingly insistent as the years went on. He had entered the
seminary at the tender age of twelve, his mind wholly unformed, but
protesting even then. All through his course he had sought what
there was in Christianity upon which he could lay firm hold. In the
Church he had found an ultra-conservative spirit and extreme
reverence for authority. Tito had told him that it was the equivalent
of ancestor-worship. But when he one day told his instructors that
he was not necessarily a disbeliever in the Scriptures because he did
not accept their interpretation of them, he could not but realize that
Tito had come dangerously near the truth. His translation of the
Greek Testament had forced him to the conclusion that much of the
material contained in the Gospels was not Jesus’ own words, but the 51

commentaries of his reporters; not the Master’s diction, but

theological lecturing by the writers of the Gospels. Moreover, in the
matter of prayer, especially, he was all at sea. As a child he had
spent hours formulating humble, fervent petitions, which did not
seem to draw replies. And so there began to form within his mind a
concept, faint and ill-defined, of a God very different from that
canonically accepted. He tried to believe that there was a Creator
back of all things, but that He was inexorable Law. And the lad was
convinced that, somehow, he had failed to get into harmony with
that infinite Law. But, in that case, why pray to Law? And, most
foolish of all, why seek to influence it, whether through Virgin or
Saint? And, if God is a good Father, why ask Him to be good? Then,
to his insistent question, “Unde Deus?” he tried to formulate the
answer that God is Spirit, and omnipresent. But, alas! that made the
good God include evil. No, there was a terrible human
misunderstanding of the divine nature, a woeful misinterpretation.
He must try to ask for light in the character of the Christ. But then,
how to assume that character? Like a garment? Impossible! “Oh,
God above,” he wailed aloud again and again, “I don’t know what to
believe! I don’t know what to think!” Foolish lad! Why did he think at
all, when there were those at hand to relieve him of that onerous
task?
And so, at last, Josè sought to resign himself to his fate, and,
thrusting aside these mocking questions, accept the opportunities for
service which his tutors so wisely emphasized as the Church’s special
offering to him. He yielded to their encouragement to plunge heartily
into his studies, for in such absorption lay diversion from dangerous
channels of thought. Slowly, too, he yielded to their careful
insistence that he must suffer many things to be so for the nonce,
even as Jesus did, lest a too radical resistance now should delay the
final glorious consummation.
Was the boy actuated too strongly by the determination that his
widowed mother’s hopes should never be blasted by any assertion of
his own will? Was he passively permitting himself to be warped and
twisted into a minion of an institution alien to his soul in bigoted
adherence to his morbid sense of integrity? Was he for the present
countenancing a lie, rather than permit the bursting of a bomb
which would rend the family and bring his beloved mother in sorrow
to the grave? Or was he biding his time, an undeveloped David, who
would some day sally forth like the lion of the tribe of Juda, to match
his moral courage against the blustering son of Anak? Time only
would tell. The formative period of his character was not yet ended,
and the data for prognostication were too complex and conflicting. 52

We can only be sure that his consuming desire to know had been
carefully fostered in the seminary, but in such a manner as
unwittingly to add to his confusion of thought and to increase his
fear of throwing himself unreservedly upon his own convictions. That
he grew to perceive the childishness of churchly dogma, we know.
That he appreciated the Church’s insane license of affirmation, its
impudent affirmations of God’s thoughts and desires, its coarse
assumptions of knowledge of the inner workings of the mind of
Omnipotence, we likewise know. But, on the other hand, we know
that he feared to break with the accepted faith. The claims of
Protestantism, though lacking the pomp and pageantry of
Catholicism to give them attractiveness, offered him an
interpretation of Christ’s mission that was little better than the
teachings he was receiving. And so his hesitant and vacillating
nature, which hurled him into the lists to-day as the resolute foe of
dogma and superstition, and to-morrow would leave him weak and
doubting at the feet of the enemy, kept him wavering, silent and
unhappy, on the thin edge of resolution throughout the greater part
of his course. His lack of force, or the holding of his force in check
by his filial honesty and his uncertainty of conviction, kept him in the
seminary for eight years, during which his being was slowly,
imperceptibly descending into him. At the age of twenty he was still
unsettled, but further than even he himself realized from Rome. Who
shall say that he was not at the same time nearer to God?
On the day that he was twenty, three things of the gravest import
happened to the young Josè. His warm friend, Bernardo, died
suddenly, almost in his arms; his uncle, Rafaél de Rincón, paid an
unexpected visit to the Vatican; and the lad received the startling
announcement that he would be ordained to the priesthood on the
following day.
The sudden demise of the young Bernardo plunged Josè into an
excess of grief and again encompassed him with the fear and horror
of death. He shut himself up in his room, and toward the close of
the day took his writing materials and penned a passionate appeal to
his mother, begging her to absolve him from his promises, and let
him go out into the world, a free man in search of truth. But scarcely
had he finished his letter when he was summoned into the Rector’s
office. There it was explained to him that, in recognition of his high
scholarship, of his penitence and loyal obedience since the
Testament episode, and of the advanced work which he was now
doing in the seminary and the splendid promise he was giving, the
Holy Father had been asked to grant a special indult, waiving the
usual age requirement and permitting the boy to be ordained with 53

the class which was to receive the holy order of the priesthood the
following day. It was further announced that after ordination he
should spend a year in travel with the Papal Legate, and on his
return might enter the office of the Papal Secretary of State, as an
under-secretary, or office assistant. While there, he would be called
upon to teach in the seminary, and later might be sent to the
University to pursue higher studies leading to the degree of Doctor.
Before the boy had awakened to his situation, the day of his
ordination arrived. The proud mother, learning from the secretary of
the precipitation of events, and doting on the boy whom she had
never understood; in total ignorance of the complex elements of his
soul, and little realizing that between her and her beloved son there
was now a gulf fixed which would never be bridged, saw only the
happy fruition of a life ambition. Fortunately she had been kept in
ignorance of the dubious incident of the Testament translation and
its results upon the boy; and when the long anticipated day dawned
her eyes swam in tears of hallowed joy. The Archbishop and his grim
secretary each congratulated the other heartily, and the latter,
breaking into one of his rare smiles, murmured gratefully, “At last!
And our enemies have lost a champion!”
The night before the ordination Josè had begged to occupy a room
alone. The appeal which emanated from his sad face, his thin and
stooping body, his whole drawn and tortured being, would have
melted flint. His request was granted. Throughout the night the boy,
on his knees beside the little bed, wrestled with the emotions which
were tearing his soul. Despondency lay over him like a pall. A vague
presentiment of impending disaster pressed upon him like a
millstone. Ceaselessly he weighed and reviewed the forces which
had combined to drive him into the inconsistent position which he
now occupied. Inconsistent, for his highest ideal had been truth. He
was by nature consecrated to it. He had sought it diligently in the
Church, and now that he was about to become her priest he could
not make himself believe that he had found it. Now, when bound to
her altars, he faced a life of deception, of falsehood, as the
champion of a faith which he could not unreservedly embrace.
But he had accepted his education from the Church; and would he
shrink from making payment therefor? Yet, on the other hand, must
he sacrifice honor––yea, his whole future––to the payment of a debt
forced upon him before he had reached the age of reason? The oath
of ordination, the priest’s oath, echoed in his throbbing ears like a
soul-sentence to eternal doom; while spectral shades of moving
priests and bishops, laying cold and unfeeling hands upon him, 54

sealing him to endless servitude to superstition and deception,

glided to and fro through the darkness before his straining eyes.
Could he receive the ordination to-morrow? He had promised––but
the assumption of its obligations would brand his shrinking soul with
torturing falsehood! If he sank under doubt and fear, could he still
retract? What then of his mother and his promise to her? What of
the Rincón honor and pride? Living disgrace, or a living lie––which?
Sacrifice of self––or mother? God knew, he had never deliberately
countenanced a falsehood––yet, through circumstances which he did
not have the will to control, he was a living one!
Fair visions of a life untrammeled by creed or religious convention
hovered at times that night before his mental gaze. He saw a
cottage, rose-bowered, glowing in the haze of the summer sun. He
saw before its door a woman, fresh and fair––his wife––and
children––his––shouting their joyous greetings as they trooped out
to welcome him returning from his day’s labors. How he clung to this
picture when it faded and left him, an oath-bound celibate, facing
his lonely and cheerless destiny! God! what has the Church to offer
for such sacrifice as this! An education? Yea, an induction into
relative truths and mortal opinions, and the sad record of the
devious wanderings of the human mind! An opportunity for service?
God knows, the free, unhampered mind, open to truth and progress,
loosed from mediaeval dogma and ignorant convention, seeing its
brothers’ needs and meeting in them its own, has opportunities for
rich service to-day outside the Church the like of which have never
before been offered!
To and fro his heaving thought ebbed and flowed. Back and forth the
arguments, pro and con, surged through the still hours of the night.
After all, had he definite proof that the tenets of Holy Church were
false? No, he could not honestly say that he had. The question still
stood in abeyance. Even his conviction of their falsity at times had
sorely wavered. And if his heart cried out against their acceptance, it
nevertheless had nothing tangibly definite to offer in substitution.
But––the end had come so suddenly! With his life free and
untrammeled he might yet find the truth. Oath-bound and limited to
the strictures of the Church, what hope was there but the
acceptance of prescribed canons of human belief? Still, the falsities
which he believed he had found within the Church were not greater
than those against which she herself fought in the world. And if she
accepted him, did it not indicate on her part a tacit recognition of
the need of just what he had to offer, a searching spirit of inquiry
and consecration to the unfoldment of truth? Alas! the incident 55of
the Greek translation threw its shadow of doubt upon that hope.
But if the Church accepted him, she must accept his stand! He would
raise his voice in protest, and would continually point to the truth as
he discerned it! If he received the order of priesthood from her it
was with the understanding that his acceptance of her tenets was
tentative! But––forlorn expedient! He knew something of
ecclesiastical history. He thought he knew––young as he was––that
the Church stood not for progress, not for conformity to changing
ideals, not for alignment with the world’s great reforms, but for
herself, first, midst, and last!
Thus the conflict raged, while thoughts, momentous for even a
mature thinker, tore through the mind of this lad of twenty. Prayers
for light––prayers which would have rent the heart of an Ivan––burst
at times from the feverish lips of this child of circumstance. Infinite
Father––Divine Influence––Spirit of Love––whatever Thou art––wilt
Thou not illumine the thought-processes of this distracted youth and
thus provide the way of escape from impending destruction? Can it
be Thy will that this fair mind shall be utterly crushed? Do the
agonized words of appeal which rise to Thee from his riven soul fall
broken against ears of stone?
“Occupy till I come!” Yea, beloved Master, he hears thy voice and
strives to obey––but the night is filled with terror––the clouds of
error lower about him––the storm bursts––and thou art not there!
Day dawned. A classmate, sent to summon the lad, roused him from
the fitful sleep into which he had sunk on the cold floor. His mind
was no longer active. Dumbly following his preceptors at the
appointed hour, he proceeded with the class to the chapel. Dimly
conscious of his surroundings, his thought befogged as if in a dream,
his eyes half-blinded by the gray haze which seemed to hang before
them, he celebrated the Mass, like one under hypnosis, received the
holy orders, and assumed the obligations which constituted him a
priest of Holy Church.
 CHAPTER 8

On a sweltering midsummer afternoon, a year after the events just

related, Rome lay panting for breath and counting the interminable
hours which must elapse before the unpitying sun would grant her a
short night’s respite from her discomfort. Her streets were deserted
by all except those whose affairs necessitated their presence 56in
them. Her palaces and villas had been abandoned for weeks by their
fortunate owners, who had betaken themselves to the seashore or
to the more distance resorts of the North. The few inexperienced
tourists whose lack of practical knowledge in the matter of globe-
trotting had brought them into the city so unseasonably were hastily
and indignantly assembling their luggage and completing
arrangements to flee from their over-warm reception.
In a richly appointed suite of the city’s most modern and ultra-
fashionable hotel two maids, a butler, and the head porter were
packing and removing a formidable array of trunks and suit cases,
while a woman of considerably less than middle age, comely in
person and tastefully attired in a loose dressing gown of flowered
silk, alternated between giving sharp directions to the perspiring
workers and venting her abundant wrath and disappointment upon
the chief clerk, as with evident reluctance she filled one of a number
of signed checks to cover the hotel expenses of herself and servants
for a period of three weeks, although they had arrived only the day
before and, on account of the stifling heat, were leaving on the night
express for Lucerne. The clerk regretted exceedingly, but on Madam
Ames’ order the suite had been held vacant for that length of time,
during which the management had daily looked for her arrival, and
had received no word of her delay. Had Madam herself not just
admitted that she had altered her plans en route, without notifying
the hotel, and had gone first to the Italian lakes, without cancelling