Remember the Alamo [68]
My great-uncle will tell you
what to do; and my father will not blame you for following his
advice. Perhaps even he may offer his home. You are the
child of his sister."
Fray Ignatius walked towards the fire-place and stood rubbing
slowly his long, thin hands before the blaze, while the Senora
and her daughters discussed this proposal. The half-frantic
mother was little inclined to make any further effort to
resist the determined will of her old confessor; but the tears
of Isabel won from her a promise to see her uncle.
"Then, my daughter, lose no time. I cannot promise you
many days in which choice will be left you. Go this
afternoon, and to-morrow I will call for your decision."
It was not a visit that the Senora liked to make. She had
deeply offended her uncle by her marriage, and their
intercourse had since been of the most ceremonious and
infrequent kind. But surely, at this hour, when she was left
without any one to advise her steps, he would remember the tie
of blood between them.
He received her with more kindness than she had anticipated.
His eyes glittered in their deep sockets when she related her
extremity and the priest's proposal, and his small shrunken
body quivered with excitement as he answered:
"Saints and angels! Fray Ignatius is right about Santa Anna.
We shall see that he will make caps for his soldiers out of
the skins of these infidel ingrates. But as for going into
the convent, I know not. A miserable marriage you made for
yourself, Maria. Pardon, if I say so much! I let the word
slip always. I was never one to bite my tongue. I am all old
man--very well, come here, you and your daughters, till
the days of blood are over. There is room in the house, and
a few comforts in it also. I have some power with Santa Anna.
He is a great man--a great man! In all his wars, good fortune
flies before him."
He kissed her hands as he opened the door, and then went back
to the fire, and bent, muttering, over it: "Giver of good! a
true Yturbide; a gentle woman; she is like my sister
Mercedes--very like her. These poor women who trust me, as I
am a sinner before God, I am unhappy to deceive them."
Fray Ignatius might have divined his thoughts, for he entered
at the moment, and said as he approached him:
"You have done right. The soul must be saved, if all is lost.
This is not a time for the friends of the Church and of Mexico
to waver. The Church is insulted every day by these foreign
heretics--"
"But you are mistaken, father; the Church holds up her head,
whatever happens. Even the vice-regal crown is not lost--the
Church has cleft it into mitres."
Fray Ignatius smiled, but there was a curious and crafty look
of inquiry on his face. "The city is turbulent, Marquis,
and there is undoubtedly a great number of Mexicans opposed to
Santa Anna."
"Do you not know Mexicans yet? They would be opposed to God
Almighty, rather than confess they were well governed. Bah!
the genius of Mexico is mutiny. They scarcely want a leader
to move their madness. They rebel on any weak pretence. They
bluster when they are courted; they crouch when they are
oppressed. They are fools to all the world but themselves.
I beg the Almighty to consider in my favor, that some over-
hasty angel misplaced my lot. I should have been born in--New
York."
The priest knew that he was talking for irritation, but he was
too politic to favor the mood. He stood on the hearth with
his hands folded behind him, and with a delightful suavity
turned the conversation upon the country rather than the
people. It was a glorious day in the dawn of spring. The
tenderest greens, the softest blues, the freshest scents, the
clearest air, the most delightful sunshine were everywhere.
The white old town, with its picturesque crowds, its murmur of
voices and laughter, its echoes of fife and drum, its
loves and its hatreds, was at his feet; and, far off, the hazy
glory of the mountains, the greenness and freshness of
Paradise, the peace and freedom
what to do; and my father will not blame you for following his
advice. Perhaps even he may offer his home. You are the
child of his sister."
Fray Ignatius walked towards the fire-place and stood rubbing
slowly his long, thin hands before the blaze, while the Senora
and her daughters discussed this proposal. The half-frantic
mother was little inclined to make any further effort to
resist the determined will of her old confessor; but the tears
of Isabel won from her a promise to see her uncle.
"Then, my daughter, lose no time. I cannot promise you
many days in which choice will be left you. Go this
afternoon, and to-morrow I will call for your decision."
It was not a visit that the Senora liked to make. She had
deeply offended her uncle by her marriage, and their
intercourse had since been of the most ceremonious and
infrequent kind. But surely, at this hour, when she was left
without any one to advise her steps, he would remember the tie
of blood between them.
He received her with more kindness than she had anticipated.
His eyes glittered in their deep sockets when she related her
extremity and the priest's proposal, and his small shrunken
body quivered with excitement as he answered:
"Saints and angels! Fray Ignatius is right about Santa Anna.
We shall see that he will make caps for his soldiers out of
the skins of these infidel ingrates. But as for going into
the convent, I know not. A miserable marriage you made for
yourself, Maria. Pardon, if I say so much! I let the word
slip always. I was never one to bite my tongue. I am all old
man--very well, come here, you and your daughters, till
the days of blood are over. There is room in the house, and
a few comforts in it also. I have some power with Santa Anna.
He is a great man--a great man! In all his wars, good fortune
flies before him."
He kissed her hands as he opened the door, and then went back
to the fire, and bent, muttering, over it: "Giver of good! a
true Yturbide; a gentle woman; she is like my sister
Mercedes--very like her. These poor women who trust me, as I
am a sinner before God, I am unhappy to deceive them."
Fray Ignatius might have divined his thoughts, for he entered
at the moment, and said as he approached him:
"You have done right. The soul must be saved, if all is lost.
This is not a time for the friends of the Church and of Mexico
to waver. The Church is insulted every day by these foreign
heretics--"
"But you are mistaken, father; the Church holds up her head,
whatever happens. Even the vice-regal crown is not lost--the
Church has cleft it into mitres."
Fray Ignatius smiled, but there was a curious and crafty look
of inquiry on his face. "The city is turbulent, Marquis,
and there is undoubtedly a great number of Mexicans opposed to
Santa Anna."
"Do you not know Mexicans yet? They would be opposed to God
Almighty, rather than confess they were well governed. Bah!
the genius of Mexico is mutiny. They scarcely want a leader
to move their madness. They rebel on any weak pretence. They
bluster when they are courted; they crouch when they are
oppressed. They are fools to all the world but themselves.
I beg the Almighty to consider in my favor, that some over-
hasty angel misplaced my lot. I should have been born in--New
York."
The priest knew that he was talking for irritation, but he was
too politic to favor the mood. He stood on the hearth with
his hands folded behind him, and with a delightful suavity
turned the conversation upon the country rather than the
people. It was a glorious day in the dawn of spring. The
tenderest greens, the softest blues, the freshest scents, the
clearest air, the most delightful sunshine were everywhere.
The white old town, with its picturesque crowds, its murmur of
voices and laughter, its echoes of fife and drum, its
loves and its hatreds, was at his feet; and, far off, the hazy
glory of the mountains, the greenness and freshness of
Paradise, the peace and freedom