Читать книгу Val Sinestra - Martha Morton - Страница 15

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Father Cabello was an indispensable part of the Gonzola family, from the Celtic help in the kitchen, to the aristocratic old man on the top floor, whose guest he was on Friday evenings, when he shared a simple meal of vegetables and fruit, washed down with a glass of delicious Palestinian wine; after that, a game of chess, and a long theological discussion which lasted many a time until the small hours. The two men, of the same origin but of different creeds, understood each other perfectly. When it came to a burning question, such as the sincerity of Paul—whether his hatred of the High Priests of Judea had not instigated him to dethrone them, by putting another in their place, one he had never seen, or whether it was an inspiration, “a voice out of the wilderness”—then Joseph Abravanel’s eyes took on a fiery gleam. Father Cabello, seeing the danger signal, would evade the question by a witty remark, ending with a laugh. Julie gave Floyd a hint. He invited the good Father to lunch with him at the club.

He sat in the window watching the priest shaking hands with one and the other—a man of Church and World, known to rich and poor, and generally beloved. Floyd had a feeling of embarrassment, but Father Cabello put him at once in smooth waters by a remark about the “exclusive policy” of the club.

“Yes,” answered Floyd. “This distinction against aliens is very reactionary.” He forgot he was on the membership committee before he was engaged; then he ventured to say:

“I—I am very glad you do not oppose my marriage with Julie.”

“Why should I?”

He knew Floyd was not a Catholic; why did he make him emphasize that?

“I was prepared for your opposition on account of my religion.”

The priest smiled.

“The man who fights the inevitable destroys no one but himself. I have had one great battle in that family; I don’t want a second—if—it can be avoided. When Julie was born, her mother and I together fought and conquered Joseph Abravanel; a fine fellow, deeply learned. In the great days of the Church in Spain, he would have been a distinguished Cardinal.” The priest puffed regretfully at his cigar. “His ancestors were foolishly fanatic; they chose the evil of emigration to the glory of power and the Pope.”

Floyd answered eagerly.

It was a question of principle; they should be admired, respected, for such noble self-sacrifice.

The priest liked the boy; there was no complication to fight in him.

“This marriage was a question of you and one other. I chose you.”

Floyd’s face grew hot. It had all been arranged between the mother and the priest.

“Then you considered me the lesser of two evils?”

The priest smiled again.

“You are not an evil, you are a concession; we make them, if they do not bring us future harm; the children will be ours, but don’t let it worry you now.”

“Pedro Gonzola’s marriage with a Jewess was also a concession. Why did you allow that?”

“This boy is no fool,” thought the priest; he took pains to answer the question.

“We were mistaken in our calculations, we are sometimes; we remained passive because we were sure Joseph Abravanel would fight it with all his might; and he did. But another power mightier than he and the Church together won out; the strongest combination in the world—youth and love. Ruth was his only child, she threatened to leave him, he worshipped her, he had to give in, but he went to live with the young couple, with a firm resolve to counteract our influence. The inevitable happened; she came to us for consolation. Julie was born in the church.”

They were silent. The priest lived again that interesting conflict. The old man had fought well, he was wonderful with his unanswerable arguments, but reason went down under the great emotional rising of the soul—the need of forgiveness.

Floyd’s voice brought him back.

“Why did he remain in his daughter’s house?”

“Because with the obstinate patience of his race, he had hopes of Julie’s children.” Then he bent nearer, lowering his voice. “There is something else you should know. From the day Julie was baptized, Joseph Abravanel has never seen or spoken to his daughter.”

The atmosphere of tragedy folded itself about Floyd; he felt the clashing of spiritual powers, within the walls of that outwardly peaceful home, now creeping like slow fire into his life.