“I don’t care whether he is king or rogue. For us there is no king other than the true——”
“Stop this immediately!” shouted the lieutenant in a threatening manner, and as though he were commanding his own soldiers. “Take back what you have said, or to-morrow I shall inform His Excellency.”
“Go and tell him at once! Go tell him!” answered Father Dámaso, sarcastically, at the same time approaching the lieutenant with his fists doubled. “Don’t you think for a moment that, because I wear the dress of a monk, I’m not a man. Hurry! Go tell him! I’ll lend you my carriage.”
The discussion began to grow ridiculous as the speakers became more heated, but, at this point, fortunately, the Dominican interfered.
“Gentlemen!” he said in a tone of authority, and with that nasal twang which is so characteristic of the friars, “there is no reason why you should thus confuse matters or take offense where it is not intended. We should distinguish between what Father Dámaso says as a man, and what he says as a priest. Whatever he may say as a priest cannot be offensive, for the words of a priest are understood to be absolutely true.”
“But I understand what his motives are, Father Sibyla!” interrupted the lieutenant, who saw that he would be drawn into a net of such fine distinction that, if he allowed it to go on, Father Dámaso would get off scot free. “I know very well what his motives are, and Your Reverence will also perceive them. During the absence of Father Dámaso from San Diego, his assistant buried the body of a very worthy person. Yes, sir, an extremely worthy person! I had known the man from time to time and had often been his guest. What if he never had been to confession? I do not confess, either. To say that he committed suicide is a lie, a slander. A man such as he, with a son whose success and love were more than all the world to him; a man who believed in God, who fulfilled his duty to society, who was honorable and just—such a man does not commit suicide. That is what I say! I am not telling you all that I think about this matter, and Your Reverence should be very thankful that I restrain myself.”
Turning his back on the Franciscan, he continued: “As I was saying, this priest, when he returned to the town, after maltreating his coadjutor, ordered that the man’s body be taken up and thrown out of the cemetery, to be buried I know not where. The town of San Diego was too cowardly to protest, though, in fact, very few people knew much about the matter. The dead man had no relatives in the town and his only son was in Europe. His Excellency, however, learned about the affair, and being at heart upright and just, he ordered that the priest be punished. As a result, Father Dámaso was transferred to another but better town. That is all there was to it. Now you can make all the distinctions you like.”
So saying, he left the group.
“I am very sorry to have touched upon so delicate a subject,” said Father Sibyla, “but, after all, if the change from one town to another was to your advantage——”
“How could it be to my advantage? How about all the things that I lost?” interrupted Father Dámaso, fairly boiling over with rage.