The Penance of Magdalena and Other Tales of the California Missions

by J. Smeaton Chase

At some involuntary sound that she made, the young man—it was Te-filo—turned and saw her. Her eyes were fixed upon him, wide with wonder, and her hands half raised in childlike rapture, while her slender figure, so different from the heavier forms of the Indian girls, gave her, to his eyes, the look and bearing of one of the very angels he had been copying. It was a marvel on his side, too; and for a few moments the two regarded each other, while love (that is born so often of sudden wonder in innocent hearts) awoke and stirred in both their breasts. They had often met before, but it had been casually, and the hour had not been ripe. Now he saw her and loved her; she saw him, an Indian, indeed, but transfigured, for he was an Indian who worked wonders. And the Spaniard in her gave way, that moment, to the Indian, and she loved an Indian, as her father had done.

He was the first to recover his self-possession. "The Father is not here," he said. "He will be back soon, for he set me my task until he should return, and I have almost done it." "Is that your task?" she asked. "How beautiful! How wonderful!" And she stepped nearer the table. "Show me, how do you make them? I never thought that Indians could make such things. I have heard my father say that holy men in Spain could make angels, but you are an Indian: how can you do it?" "I cannot tell you," he said slowly: then "Yes, I will tell you," and a flush came on his dark face, and a light into his eyes, as he looked at her. "I do not make them, these angels; they come to me because the Father has taught me to love them. He says the angels come to those who love them, and any one can love them. And when I saw you," he went on, his eyes upon her eager face, "I thought you were the angel I was painting, for you are like an angel, too; and now I shall always love you, and it will be easy to paint. Listen! the Father is coming. You must go quickly, but now I have seen you I must see you again. You are Magdalena, Agust'n's daughter. I shall find you to-morrow when I take the orders for the work to your father."

Magdalena slipped away, and thus was begun the short but happy love of Te-filo and Magdalena short, like the history of the beautiful Mission itself; happy, as all love is happy, let its end be what it may. Many a time they met in secret, for sweet interviews or even a hurried word or glance; but love grows best in the shade. And meanwhile, the great church had been growing too, and now it was Te-filo's proud task to paint the frescoes on the walls and dome, as the Father had hoped. Simple designs they were to be at first,—floral emblems and the symbols used for ages by the Church, but later Te-filo was to essay much more ambitious things, perhaps even the archangels, and San Juan, the soldier-saint, himself.

It was the winter of 1812, and Te-filo and Magdalena had loved each other for over a year, when Te-filo one day spoke to the Father of Magdalena, and said that he wished to marry her. For months Magdalena had tried to be dutiful and to engage the Father's interest, on her side, in their favor, in preparation for Te-filo's broaching of the subject to him. But she felt always that he remembered her old hostility, and that he still considered her a mere disaffected Indian of his flock. They had often talked of this, but Te-filo, who loved the Father for the special kindness he had always shown him, believed that he would agree to the marriage. Why should he not? he said. It would make no difference to him, and he, Te-filo, would work better than ever, to show his gratitude.

When at last he spoke of the matter, the Father peremptorily denied his request. Agust'n's daughter was an obstinate, perverse child, and would only lead Te-filo away too. He would give thought to the matter, and would see what girl there was suitable for him, and then, if he wished to marry, well and good. He would give them two rooms in the corridor, near his own, and would allow him pay as his body servant and for his work, and perhaps other privileges as well. And that was all; for Te-filo knew that he would not be moved from his decision. Good man as the Father was, he had the Spaniard's failing in dealing with a subject race a certain hardness arising from a position of authority not allied with responsibility—except to God, and that, indeed, the Father felt, but he conceived that his duty to his Indians, apart from his spiritual ministrations, was entirely comprised in the teaching, feeding, and just governing of them.

When Te-filo told Magdalena, at their next meeting, what the Father had said, the girl was enraged. "So he thinks I am not good enough for you!" she cried: "And I have done everything to please him. But he is only a priest, and has no heart. Ah! those Spaniards, I hate them!" And then, with a woman's illogical turn—"Well, he shall see that I am Spanish too. We will go away to the Mission at San Diego, Te-filo. My father's brother is there, and I have heard my father say that he has influence with the priest. He will marry us, and you can work there as well as here."

But Te-filo was in doubt. His love for Magdalena and his love and reverence for the Father contended. He was a simple, guileless soul, and the thought of ingratitude to his benefactor was a misery to him. Some other way must be found: the saints would help them; he would pray to San Lucas, who, the Father had told him, was his patron, for he had been born on his day and christened by his name: and Magdalena must pray, too.

Magdalena, however, took up now an attitude of open rebellion, and absented herself entirely from the services of the Church. This was another trouble to Te-filo, and daily over his work he prayed to San Lucas, and pondered what was best to do. But days and weeks went on, and his inward disquiet began to take effect in his appearance and behavior. The Father, busy with the multitudinous affairs of the Mission, had entirely forgotten the matter of Te-filo's request: but one day he chanced to notice his favorite's listless air, and it recalled the affair to his mind. A day or two afterwards he said to Te-filo, as the latter was with him in the sacristy, "Te-filo, you are dull and not yourself. You were right, it is time you were married, and I have the very one for you. It is Ana, the daughter of Manuel, who works in the smith's shop. She is a good girl. I will speak of it to her father."

"Padre," said Te-filo, "I cannot marry Ana, nor any one else but Magdalena, for I love her. Oh, Padre,"—and he dropped on his knees before the priest,—"let us be married. You do not know, she has tried hard to be good, and to please you. And I will work for you all my life. I have been praying to San Lucas ever since I told you, but he has not done anything."

The priest was moved by the earnestness of the boy—for boy he had always considered him, and indeed he was little more in age. "Well, hijo mio," he said, "I do not know about that. The saints always hear us, as I have told you, and perhaps—who knows?—San Lucas may do something yet. Or, perhaps," he added with a smile, "it is because we changed your name, and he does not look on you as his son. Well, that was my fault. But you say that Magdalena has tried to please me? Good, then we will see. I will set her a penance, for she has not behaved well; then I shall see if she wishes to please me. To-morrow will be a day of observance, and there will be early mass in the church. Tell Magdalena, Te-filo, that she must come to mass and carry a penitent's candle. Let her be in the front row of the women. If I see her there I shall know she is obedient, and perhaps, yes, perhaps,—well, we will see about the rest."