Carmen Ariza Part 137

Whatever is good will stand, and needs no defense. Whatever is erroneous must go. And there is no excuse, for salvation is at hand."

"Salvation? And your thought regarding that?" he said in a skirmis.h.i.+ng tone.

"_Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts_,"

she replied earnestly. "_To him that soweth righteousness_--right thinking--_shall be a sure reward_. Ah, Monsignor, do you at heart believe that the religion of the Christ depends upon doctrines, signs, dogmas? No, it does not. But signs and proofs naturally and inevitably follow the right understanding of Jesus' teachings, even according to these words: _These signs shall follow them that believe_. Paul gave the formula for salvation, when he said: _But we all with open face beholding as in a gla.s.s the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord_. Can you understand that? Can you see that, taking Jesus as our model and following his every command--seeing Him only, the Christ-principle, which is G.o.d, good, without any admixture of evil--we change, even though slowly, from glory to glory, step by step, until we rise out of all sense of evil and death? And this is done by the Spirit which is G.o.d."

"Yes," said Father Waite, taking up the conversation when she paused.

"Even the poorest human being can understand that. Why, then, the fungus growth of traditions, ceremonies, rites and forms which have sprung up about the Master's simple words? Why the wretched formalistic wors.h.i.+p throughout the world? Why the Church's frigid, lifeless traditions, so inconsistent with the enlarging sense of G.o.d which marks this latest century? The Church has yet to prove its utility, its right to exist and to pose as the religious teacher of mankind. Else must it fall beneath the axe which is even now at the root of the barren tree of theology. Her theology, like the Judaism of the Master's day, has no prophets, no poets, no singers. And her priests, as in his time, have sunk into a fanatical observance of ritual and form."

"And yet," observed Carmen, "you still urge me to unite with it."

Lafelle was growing weary. Moreover, it irked him sore to be made a target for the una.s.sailable logic of the apostate Waite. Then, too, the appearance of the ex-priest there that afternoon in company with this girl who held such radical views regarding religious matters portended in his thought the possibility of a united a.s.sault upon the foundations of his cherished system. This girl was now a menace. She nettled and exasperated him. Yet, he could not let her alone. Did he have the power to silence her? He thought he had.

"Have you finished with me?" he asked, with a show of gaiety. "If so, I will depart."

"Yes," replied Carmen, "you may go now."

Lafelle paled. He had not expected that reply. He was stung to the quick. What! dismissed like a lackey? He, Monsignor, a dignitary of Holy Church? He could not believe it! He turned upon the girl and her companion, furious with anger.

"I have been very patient with you both," he said in a voice that he could not control. "But there is a reasonable limit. Abuse the Church as you will, the fact remains that the world fears her and trembles before her awful voice! Why? Because the world recognizes her mighty power, a power of unified millions of human beings and exhaustless wealth. She is the leader, the guide, the teacher, the supreme object of wors.h.i.+p of a countless army who would lay down their lives to-day for her. Her subjects gather from every quarter of the globe. They are English, French, German, American--_but they are Catholics first_!

Emperor, King, Ruler, or Government--all are alike subject to her supreme, divine authority! Nationalities, customs, family ties--all melt away before her, to whom her followers bow in loyal consecration.

The power which her supreme leader and head wields is all but omnipotent! He is by divine decree Lord of the world. Hundreds of millions bend before his throne and offer him their hearts and swords!

I say, you have good reason to quake! Aye, America has reason to fear!

The onward march of Holy Church is not disturbed by the croaking calumnies of such as you who would a.s.sault her! And to you I say, beware!" His face was purple, as he stopped and mopped his damp brow.

"What we have to beware of, Monsignor," said Father Waite gravely, "is the steady encroachments of Rome in this country, with her weapons of fear, ignorance, and intolerance--"

"Intolerance! You speak of intolerance! Why, in this country, whose Const.i.tution provided toleration for every form of religion--"

Carmen had risen and gone to the man. "Monsignor," she said, "the founders of the American nation did provide for religious tolerance--and they were wise according to their light. But we of this day are still wiser, for we have some knowledge of the wonderful working of mental laws. I, too, believe in toleration of opinion. You are welcome to yours, and I to mine. But--and here is the great point--the opinion which Holy Church has held throughout the ages regarding those who do not accept her dogmas is that they are d.a.m.ned, that they are outcasts of heaven, that they merit the stake and rack. The Church's hatred of heretics has been deadly. Her thought concerning them has not been that of love, such as Jesus sent out to all who did not agree with him, but deadly, suggestive hatred. Now our Const.i.tution does not provide for tolerance of hate and murder-thoughts, which enter the minds of the unsuspecting and work destruction there in the form of disease, disaster, and death. That is what we object to in you, Monsignor. You murder your opponents with your poisonous thoughts.

And toward such thoughts we have a right to be very intolerant, even to the point of destroying them in human mentalities. Again I say, I war not against people, but against the murderous carnal thought of the human mind!"

Monsignor had fallen back before the girl's strong words. His face had grown black, and his hands were working convulsively.

"Monsignor," continued Carmen in a low, steady voice, "you have threatened me with something which you apparently hold over me. You are very like the people of Galilee: if you can not refute by reason, you would circ.u.mvent by law, by the Const.i.tution, by Congress. That failing, you would destroy. Instead of threatening us with the flames of h.e.l.l for not being good, why do you not show us by the great example of Jesus' love how to be so? Are you manifesting love now--or the carnal mind? I judge your Church by such as manifest it to me.

How, then, shall I judge it by you to-day?"

He rose slowly and took her by the hand. "I beg your pardon," he said in a strange, unnatural voice. "I was hasty. As you see, I am zealous.

Naturally, I resent misjudgment. And I a.s.sure you that you quite misunderstand me, and the Church which I represent. But--I may come again?"

"Surely, Monsignor," returned the girl heartily. "A debate such as this is stimulating, don't you think so?"

He bowed and turned to go. Just then the Beaubien appeared.

"Ah, Monsignor," she said lightly, as she stepped into the room. "You are exclusive. Why have you avoided me since your return to America?"

"Madam," replied Lafelle, in some confusion, "no one regrets more than I the press of business which necessitated it. But your little friend has told me I may return."

"Always welcome, Monsignor," replied the Beaubien, scanning him narrowly as she accompanied him to the door. "By the way, you forgot our little compact, did you not?" she added coldly.

"Madam, I came out of a sense of duty."

"Of that I have no doubt, Monsignor. _Adieu_."

She returned again to the music room, where Carmen made her acquainted with Father Waite, and related the conversation with Lafelle. While the girl talked the Beaubien's expression grew serious. Then Carmen launched into her a.s.sociation with the ex-priest, concluding with: "And he must have something to do, right away, to earn his living!"

The Beaubien laughed. She always did when Carmen, no matter how serious the conversation, infused her sparkling animation into it.

"That isn't nearly as important as to know what he thinks about Monsignor's errand here this afternoon, dearie," she said.

Father Waite bowed. "Madam," he said with great seriousness, "I would be very wide awake."

The Beaubien studied him for a moment. "Why?" she asked.

"I think--I think--" He hesitated, and looked at Carmen.

"Well?" impatiently.

"I think he--has been greatly angered by--this girl--and by my presence here."

"Ah!" Her face set hard. Then abruptly: "What are you going to do now?"

"I have funds enough to keep me some weeks, Madam, while making plans for the future."

"Then remain where I can keep in touch with you."

For the Beaubien had just returned from a two hours' ride with J.

Wilton Ames, and she felt that she needed a friend.

CHAPTER 20

The Beaubien sat in the rounded window of the breakfast room. Carmen nestled at her feet. The maid had just removed the remains of the light luncheon.

"Dearest, please, _please_ don't look so serious!"

The Beaubien twined her fingers through the girl's flowing locks. "I will try, girlie," she said, though her voice broke.

Carmen looked up into her face with a wistful yearning. "Will you not tell me?" she pleaded. "Ever since Monsignor Lafelle and Father Waite were here you have been so quiet; and that was nearly a week ago. I know I can help, if you will only let me."

"How would you help, dearie?" asked the woman absently.

"By knowing that G.o.d is everywhere, and that evil is unreal and powerless," came the quick, invariable reply.

"My sweet child! Can nothing shake your faith?"

"No. Why, if I were chained to a stake, with fire all around me, I'd know it wasn't true!"