a convert of the mission-第2节

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upon　the　weakness　of　our　common　sinful　nature。　　But　I　should　not　be

truthful　to　you　if　I　did　not　warn　you　that　I　am　viewing　with　the

deepest　spiritual　concern　a　decided　tendency　toward　sloth；　and　a

folding　of　the　hands　over　matters　that　often；　I　fear；　are　spiritual

as　well　as　temporal。　　I　would　ask　you　to　consider；　in　a　spirit　of

love；　if　it　be　not　wise　to　rouse　my　apathetic　flesh；　so　as　to

strive；　even　with　the　feeblest　exhortations；　against　this　sloth　in

othersif　only　to　keep　one's　self　from　falling　into　the　pit　of

easy　indulgence。〃



What　answer　he　received　is　not　known；　but　it　is　to　be　presumed　that

he　kept　loyal　faith　with　his　physician；　and　gave　himself　up　to

simple　walks　and　rides　and　occasional　meditation。　　His　solitude　was

not　broken　in　upon；　curiosity　was　too　active　a　vice；　and　induced

too　much　exertion　for　his　indolent　neighbors；　and　the　Americano's

basking　seclusion；　though　unlike　the　habits　of　his　countrymen；　did

not　affect　them。　　The　shopkeeper　and　innkeeper　saluted　him　always

with　a　profound　courtesy　which　awakened　his　slight　resentment；

partly　because　he　was　conscious　that　it　was　grateful　to　him；　and

partly　that　he　felt　he　ought　to　have　provoked　in　them　a　less

satisfied　condition。



Once；　when　he　had　unwittingly　passed　the　confines　of　his　own

garden；　through　a　gap　in　the　Mission　orchard；　a　lissome；　black…

coated　shadow　slipped　past　him　with　an　obeisance　so　profound　and

gentle　that　he　was　startled　at　first　into　an　awkward　imitation　of

it　himself；　and　then　into　an　angry　self…examination。　　He　knew　that

he　loathed　that　long…skirted；　womanlike　garment；　that　dangling；

ostentatious　symbol；　that　air　of　secrecy　and　mystery；　and　he

inflated　his　chest　above　his　loosely　tied　cravat　and　unbuttoned

waistcoat　with　a　contrasted　sense　of　freedom。　　But　he　was　conscious

the　next　day　of　weakly　avoiding　a　recurrence　of　this　meeting；　and

in　his　self…examination　put　it　down　to　his　self…disciplined

observance　of　his　doctor's　orders。　　But　when　he　was　strong　again；

and　fitted　for　his　Master's　work；　how　strenuously　he　should　improve

the　occasion　this　gave　him　of　attacking　the　Scarlet　Woman　among　her

slaves　and　worshipers！



His　afternoon　meditations　and　the　perusal　of　his　only　bookthe

Biblewere　regularly　broken　in　upon　at　about　sunset　by　two　or

three　strokes　from　the　cracked　bell　that　hung　in　the　open　belfry

which　reared　itself　beyond　the　gnarled　pear　tees。　　He　could　not　say

that　it　was　aggressive　or　persistent；　like　his　own　church　bells；

nor　that　it　even　expressed　to　him　any　religious　sentiment。

Moreover；　it　was　not　a　Sabbath〃　bell；　but　a　DAILY　one；　and　even

then　seemed　to　be　only　a　signal　to　ears　easily　responsive；　rather

than　a　stern　reminder。　　And　the　hour　was　always　a　singularly

witching　one。



It　was　when　the　sun　had　slipped　from　the　glaring　red　roofs；　and　the

yellowing　adobe　of　the　Mission　walls　and　the　tall　ranks　of　wild

oats　on　the　hillside　were　all　of　the　one　color　of　old　gold。　　It　was

when　the　quivering　heat　of　the　arroyo　and　dusty　expanse　of　plaza

was　blending　with　the　soft　breath　of　the　sea　fog　that　crept　through

the　clefts　of　the　coast　range；　until　a　refreshing　balm　seemed　to

fall　like　a　benediction　on　all　nature。　　It　was　when　the　trade…wind…

swept　and　irritated　surfaces　of　the　rocky　gorge　beyond　were　soothed

with　clinging　vapors；　when　the　pines　above　no　longer　rocked

monotonously；　and　the　great　undulating　sea　of　the　wild…oat　plains

had　gone　down　and　was　at　rest。　　It　was　at　this　hour；　one　afternoon；

that；　with　the　released　scents　of　the　garden；　there　came　to　him　a


strange　and　subtle　perfume　that　was　new　to　his　senses。　　He　laid

aside　his　book；　went　into　the　garden；　and；　half…unconscious　of　his

trespass；　passed　through　the　Mission　orchard　and　thence　into　the

little　churchyard　beside　the　church。



Looking　at　the　strange　inscriptions　in　an　unfamiliar　tongue；　he　was

singularly　touched　with　the　few　cheap　memorials　lying　upon　the

graveslike　childish　toysand　for　the　moment　overlooked　the

papistic　emblems　that　accompanied　them。　　It　struck　him　vaguely　that

Death；　the　common　leveler；　had　made　even　the　symbols　of　a　faith

eternal　inferior　to　those　simple　records　of　undying　memory　and

affection；　and　he　was　for　a　moment　startled　into　doubt。



He　walked　to　the　door　of　the　church；　to　his　surprise　it　was　open。

Standing　upon　the　threshold；　he　glanced　inside；　and　stood　for　a

moment　utterly　bewildered。　　In　a　man　of　refined　taste　and　education

that　bizarre　and　highly　colored　interior　would　have　only　provoked　a

smile　or　shrug；　to　Stephen　Masterton's　highly　emotional　nature；　but

artistic　inexperience；　strangely　enough　it　was　profoundly

impressive。　　The　heavily　timbered；　roughly　hewn　roof；　barred　with

alternate　bands　of　blue　and　Indian　red；　the　crimson　hangings；　the

gold　and　black　draperies；　affected　this　religious　backwoodsman

exactly　as　they　were　designed　to　affect　the　heathen　and　acolytes

for　whose　conversion　the　temple　had　been　reared。　　He　could　scarcely

take　his　eyes　from　the　tinsel…crowned　Mother　of　Heaven；　resplendent

in　white　and　gold　and　glittering　with　jewels；　the　radiant　shield

before　the　Host；　illuminated　by　tall　spectral　candles　in　the

mysterious　obscurity　of　the　altar；　dazzled　him　like　the　rayed　disk

of　the　setting　sun。



A　gentle　murmur；　as　of　the　distant　sea；　came　from　the　altar。　　In

his　naive　bewilderment　he　had　not　seen　the　few　kneeling　figures　in

the　shadow　of　column　and　aisle；　it　was　not　until　a　man；　whom　he

recognized　as　a　muleteer　he　had　seen　that　afternoon　gambling　and

drinking　in　the　fonda；　slipped　by　him　like　a　shadow　and　sank　upon

his　knees　in　the　center　of　the　aisle　that　he　realized　the

overpowering　truth。



HE；　Stephen　Masterton；　was　looking　upon　some　rite　of　Popish

idolatry！　　He　was　turning　quickly　away　when　the　keeper　of　the

tiendaa　man　of　sloth　and　singently　approached　him　from　the

shadow　of　a　column　with　a　mute　gesture；　which　he　took　to　be　one　of

invitation。　　A　fierce　protest　of　scorn　and　indignation　swelled　to

his　throat；　but　died　upon　his　lips。　　Yet　he　had　strength　enough　to

erect　his　gaunt　emaciated　figure；　throwing　out　his　long　arms　and

extended　palms　in　the　attitude　of　defiant　exorcism；　and　then　rush

swiftly　from　the　church。　　As　he　did　so　he　thought　he　saw　a　faint

smile　cross　the　shopkeeper's　face；　and　a　whispered　exchange　of

words　with　a　neighboring　worshiper　of　more　exalted　appearance　came

to　his　ears。　　But　it　was　not　intelligible　to　his　comprehension。



The　next　day　he　wrote　to　his　doctor　in　that　quaint　grandiloquence

of　written　speech　with　which　the　half…educated　man　balances　the

slips　of　his　colloquial　phrasing：





Do　not　let　the　purgation　of　my　flesh　be　unduly　protracted。　　What

with　the　sloth　and　idolatries　of　Baal　and　Ashteroth；　which　I　see

daily　around　me；　I　feel　that　without　a　protest　not　only　the　flesh

but　the　spirit　is　mortified。　　But　my　bodily　strength　is　mercifully

returning；　and　I　found　myself　yesterday　able　to　take　a　long　ride　at

that　hour　which　they　here　keep　sacred　for　an　idolatrous　rite；　under

the　beautiful　name　of　〃The　Angelus。〃　　Thus　do　they　bear　false

witness　to　Him！　　Can　you　tell　me　the　meaning　of　the　Spanish　words

〃Don　Keyhotter〃？　　I　am　ignorant　of　these　sensuous　Southern

languages；　and　am　aware　that　this　is　not　the　correct　spelling；　but

I　have　striven　to　give　the　phonetic　equivalent。　　It　was　used；　I　am

inclined　to　think；　in　reference　to　MYSELF；　by　an　idolater。



P。S。You　need　not　trouble　yourself。　　I　have　just　ascertained　that

the　words　in　question　were　simply　the　title　of　an　idle　novel；　and；

of　course；　could　not　possibly　refer　to　ME。





Howbeit　it　was　as　〃Don　Quixote〃that　is；　the　common　Spaniard's

conception　of　the　Knight　of　La　Mancha；　merely　the　simple　fanatic

and　madmanthat　Mr。　Stephen　Masterton　ever　after　rode　all

unconsciously　through　the　streets　of　the　Mission；　amid　the　half…

pitying；　half…smiling　glances　of　the　people。



In　spite　of　his　meditations；　his　single　volume；　and　his　habit　of

retiring　early；　he　found　his　evenings　were　growing　lonely　and

tedious。　　He　missed　the　prayer　meeting；　and；　above　all；　the　hymns。

He　had　a　fine　baritone　voice；　sympathetic；　as　may　be　imagined；　but

not　cultivated。　　One　night；　in　the　seclusion　of　his　garden；　and

secure　in　his　distance　from　other　dwellings；　he　raised　his　voice　in

a　familiar　camp…meeting　hymn　with　a　strong　Covenanter's　ring　in　the

chorus。　　Growing　bolder　as　he　went　on；　he　at　last　filled　the　quiet

night　with　the　strenuous　sweep　of　his　chant。　　Surprised　at　his　own

fervor；　he　paused　for　a　moment；　listening；　half　frightened；　half

ashamed　of　his　outbreak。　　But　there　was　only　the　trilling　of　the

night　wind　in　the　leaves；　or　the　far…off　yelp　of　a　coyote。



For　a　moment　he　thought　he　heard　the　metallic　twang　of　a　stringed

instrument　in　the　Mission　garden　beyond　his　own；　and　remembered　his

contiguity　to　the　church　with　a　stir　of　defiance。　　But　he　was

relieved；　nevertheless。　　His　pent…up　emotion　had　found　vent