XI
The Yorbas returned to town on the first of November. It was decidedthat Magdalena should continue her studies, but the rainy days andwinter evenings gave her long hours for her books. She found, to herdelight, that her brain was losing something of its inflexibility; that,by reading slowly, one perusal of an ordinary book was sufficient. Hermemory was still incomplete, but it was improving. Her mother had ceasedto overlook her choice of books, being satisfied that Magdalena wouldnever care for trash.
Magdalena always found the big dark house oppressive after the months inMenlo Park, and went out as often as she could. On fine days, attendedby Julie, she usually walked down to the Mercantile Library, and prowledamong the dusty shelves. The old Mercantile Library in Bush Street,almost in the heart of the business portion of the city, had the mostvenerable air of any building in California. There was, indeed, dangerof coming out covered with blue mould. And it was very dark and verygloomy. It has always been suspected that it was a favourite resort forsuicides, but this, happily, has never been proved.
But Magdalena loved it, for it held many thousand volumes, and they wereall at her disposal. Her membership was worth more to her than all herfather's riches. Julie, who hated the library, always carried a chair atonce to the register and closed her eyes, that she might not bedepressed to tears by the gloom and the walls of books, which were boundas became all that was left of the dead.
It was during one of these visits that Magdalena approached anothercrisis of her inner life. She was wandering about aimlessly, hardlyknowing what she wanted, when her eye was caught by the title of a bookon an upper shelf: "Conflict between Religion and Science." She knewnothing about science, but she wondered in what manner religion couldconflict with anything. She took the book down and read the first fewlines, then the page, then the chapter, still standing. When she hadfinished she made as if to replace the book, then put it resolutelyunder her arm, called Julie, and went home.
She read during the remainder of the afternoon, and as far into thenight as she dared. Before she went to bed she said her prayers morefervently than ever, and the next morning considered deeply whether ornot she should return the book half read. She finally concluded tofinish it. Her intellect was voracious, and she had no other companionbut her religion. Moreover, if she was to aspire to a position in theworld of letters, she must equip her mind with the best that had gonebefore. She had every faith in the power of the Catholic religion tohold its own; her hesitation had been induced, not by fear of disturbingher faith, but because she doubted, pricked by the bigotry in her veins,if it was loyal to recognise the existence of the enemy.
However, she finished the book. On the following Saturday morning shewent down to the library and asked the librarian, who took some interestin her, what he would advise her to read in the way of science; she hadlost all taste for anything else.
"Well, Darwin is about the best to begin on, I should say," he replied."He's easy reading on account of his style. And then I should advise youto read Fiske's 'Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy' before you tackleHerbert Spencer or Huxley or Tyndall."
Magdalena took home Darwin's "Origin of Species" and "Descent of Man."They so fascinated her that not until their contents had become apermanent part of her mental furnishing did she realise their warfare onrevealed religion. But by this time science had her in its mighty grip.
She read all that the librarian had recommended, and much more. It wassome six months later that she fully realised that her faith was gone.There came a time when her simple appeals to the Virgin stuck in herthroat; when she realised that her beloved masters, if they could haveseen her telling a rosary at the foot of her altar, would have thoughther a fool.
There was no struggle, for the work was done, and finally. But her griefwas deep and bitter. Religion had been a strong inherited instinct, andit had been three fourths of her existence for nearly eighteen years.She felt as if the very roots of her spirit had been torn up and laywilting and shrivelling in the cold light of her reason. She wasterrified at her new position. How was she, a mere girl, to think forherself, to make her way through life, which every great writer told herwas a complex and crucifying ordeal, with no guide but her own poorreason?
For the first time she felt her isolation. She had no one to go to forsympathy, no one to advise her. Of all she knew, her parents were thelast she could have approached on any subject involving the surrender ofher reticence.
She lost interest in her books, and brooded, her mind struggling towardwill-o'-the-wisps in a fog-bank, until she could endure her solitaryposition no longer; she felt that she must speak to some one or herbrain would fall to ashes. Her aunt was still in Santa Barbara, andshowed no disposition to return. A priest was out of the question. Therewas no one but Colonel Belmont. Magdalena knew nothing of his privatelife: not a whisper had reached her secluded ears; but she doubted ifreligion were his strong point. But he had always been kind, and sheknew him to be clever. It took her a week to make up her mind to speakto him and to decide what to say; but when her decision was finallyreached, she walked through the connecting gardens one evening with firmtread and set lips.
She entered the house by a side door and went to the library, where sheknew Colonel Belmont smoked his after-dinner cigar when at home. Acordial voice answered her knock. When she entered he rose and cameforward with the graceful hospitality which never failed him in themoments of his liveliest possession, and with the acute interest whichanything feminine and young never failed to inspire.
"Well, honey!" he exclaimed, kissing her warmly and handing her to achair; "you might have done this before. I'm such a lonely childless oldwidower."
"Oh!" said Magdalena, with contrition; "I never thought you'd care tosee me." She could not know that he seldom permitted himself to bealone.
"Well, now you know it, you'll come oftener, won't you? Have you heardfrom my baby lately? I had a letter a yard long this morning. She canwrite!"
"I had one too." She hesitated a moment, then determined to speak atonce. She could not hold this nor any man's attention in ordinaryconversation, and she wanted to finish before she wearied him.
"Uncle Jack," she said, "I've come to see you about something inparticular. I know so few people, or I wouldn't bore you--"
"Don't you talk about boring me, honey,--you! Why, your old Uncle Jackwould do anything for you."
A light sprang into Magdalena's eyes. Colonel Belmont forgot for themoment that she was not beautiful, and warmed to interest at once. Fewpeople had ever withstood Jack Belmont's magnetism, and Magdalena foundit easy to speak.
"It is this," she said. "I have been reading books lately that havetaken my religion from me; it has gone utterly. I want to ask you what Ishall do,--if there is anything to take its place. I--I--feel as if Icould not get along without something."
Colonel Belmont made a faint exclamation and wheeled about, staring atthe fire. His first impulse was to laugh, so ludicrous was the idea thatanyone should come to him for spiritual advice; his second to get out ofthe room. He did neither, however, and ordered his intelligence to work.
He did not speak for some time; and Magdalena, for the first moment,watched him intently, scarcely breathing. Then her attention wanderedfrom herself, and she studied his profile. She noted for the first timehow worn it was, the bags under the injected eyes, the heavy lines aboutthe mouth. She had no name for what she saw written in that face, butshe suddenly felt herself in the presence of one of life's mysteries. Ofman's life she knew nothing--nothing. What did this man do when he wasnot at home? Who were his friends besides her morose father, her colddry uncle? She felt Belmont's difference from both, and could not knowthat they had much in common. What circumstances had imprinted that faceso differently from the few faces familiar to her? For the first timeman in the concrete interested her. She suddenly realised how profoundwas her ignorance, despite the lore she had gathered frombooks,--realised dimly but surely that there was a vast region calledlife for her yet
to explore, and that what bloomed for a little on itssurface was called human nature. She gave an involuntary shiver and sankback in her chair. At the same moment Colonel Belmont looked round.
"Someone walking over your grave?" he asked, smiling. "What you askedcame on me right suddenly, 'Lena. I couldn't answer it all in a minute.You didn't say much--you never do; so I understand how you've beentaking this thing to heart. I'm sorry you've lost your religion, for itstands a woman in mighty well. They have the worst of it in this life."Perhaps he was thinking of his wife. His face was very sober. "But ifyou have lost it, that is the end of the chapter as far as you areconcerned. All I can think of is this--" the words nearly choked him,but he went on heroically: "Do what you think is right in little mattersas well as in great. You've been properly brought up; you know thedifference between right and wrong; and all your instincts are naturallygood, if I know anything about women. As you grow older, you will seeyour way more clearly. You won't have the temptations that many womenhave, so that it will be easier for you than for some of the poor littledevils. And you'll never be poor. You'll find it easier than most--andI'm glad of it!" he added with a burst of warm sympathy. Emotional bynature, the unaccustomed experience had brought him to the verge oftears; and Magdalena, forlorn and lonely, but thanking him mutely withher eloquent eyes, appealed to the great measure of chivalry in him.
"I am glad I spoke to you, Uncle Jack," she said after a moment. "Youhave given me much to think about, and I am sure I shall get along muchbetter. Thanks, ever so much."
She did not rise to go, but was silent for several moments. Then sheasked abruptly,--
"What do you mean by women having temptations? I know by the way yousaid it that you don't mean just ordinary every-day temptations."
Colonel Belmont glanced about helplessly. His eloquence had carried himaway; he had not paused to take feminine curiosity into account. Heencountered Magdalena's eyes. They were fixed on him with solemninquiry, and they were very intelligent eyes. Did he take refuge inverbiage, she would not be deceived. Did he refuse to continue theconversation, she would be hurt. In either case her imagination wouldhave been set at work, and she might go far, and in the wrong direction,to satisfy her curiosity. Once more he stared at the fire.
To his daughter he could have said nothing on such a subject: he was tooold-fashioned, too imbued with the chivalrous idea of the South of hisgeneration that women were of two kinds only, and that those who hadbeen segregated for men to love and worship and marry must never brushthe skirts of their thought against the sin of the world. They wereideal creatures who would produce others like themselves, and men--likehimself.
But as he considered he realised that he had a duty toward Magdalena,which grew as he thought: she needed help and advice and had come tohim, having literally no one else to go to. After all, might she nothave temptations which would pass his beautiful, quick-witted,triumphant daughter by? Helena, with the world at her feet, would havelittle time for brooding, little time for anything but the lighterpleasures of life under his watchful eye, until she loved and passed tothe keeping of a man who, he hoped, would be far stronger and finer thanhimself. But Magdalena? Repressed, unloved, intellectual, disappointedat every turn, passionate undoubtedly,--there was no knowing to whatsudden extremes desperation might drive her. And the woman, no matterhow plain, had yet to be born who could not be utterly bad if she puther mind to it. It was not only his duty to warn Magdalena, but to giveher such advice as no mortal had ever heard from his lips before, norever would hear again.
He drew a long breath and wheeled about. Magdalena was leaning forward,staring at him intently. There was no self-consciousness in her face,and he realised in a flash that he would merely talk into a brain. Herwoman's nature would not be awakened by the homily of an elderly man.The task became suddenly light.
"Well, it's just this: There's no moral law governing the animalkingdom; but men and women were allowed to develop into speaking,reasoning, generally intelligent beings for one purpose only: to makethe world better, not worse. Their reasoning faculty may or may not be aspark of the divine force behind the universe; but there's no doubtabout the fact, not the least, that every intelligent being knows thathe ought to be at least two thirds good, and in his bettermoments--which come to the worst--he has a desire to be wholly good, orat least better than he has ever been. In other words, the best of menstrive more or less constantly toward an ideal (and the second-beststrive sometimes) which, if realised, would make this world a verydifferent place. I believe myself that it is this instinct alone whichis responsible for religions,--a desire for a concrete form of goodnessto which man can cling when his own little atom is overwhelmed by thegreat measure of weakness in him. Do you follow me?"
Magdalena nodded, but she did not look satisfied.
"Well, this is the point: The world might be prosaic without sin, but itis right positive that women would suffer less. And if it could bepounded into every woman's head that she was a fool to think twice aboutany man she could not marry, and that she threatened the whole socialstructure every time she brought a fatherless child into the world; thatshe made possible such creatures as you saw in Dupont Street, and a longand still more hideous sequelae, every time she deliberately violated herown instinct for good,--we'd all begin to develop into what the Almightyintended us to be when He started us off on our long march. Don'tmisunderstand me! Even if I were not such a sinner myself, I'd be deucedcharitable where love was concerned, marriage or no marriage--O Lord! Ididn't mean to say that. Forget it until you're thirty; then remember itif you like, for your brain is a good one. Look, promise me something,'Lena;" he leaned forward eagerly and took her hand. "Promise me, swearit, that until you are thirty you'll never do anything your instinctsand your intelligence don't assure you is right,--really right withoutany sophistry. Of course I mean in regard to men. I don't want you tomake yourself into a prig--but I am sure you understand."
"I think I do," said Magdalena. "I promise."
"Thank goodness, for you'll never break your word. You may be temptedmore than once to kick the whole stupid game of life to the deuce and goout on a bat like a man, but console yourself with this: you'd be a longsight worse off when you got through than when you started, and you'deither go to smash altogether or spend the rest of your life trying toget back where you were before; and sackcloth hurts. There isn't one bitof joy to be got out of it. If you can't get the very best in thisworld, take nothing. That's the only religion for a woman to cling to,and if she does cling to it she can do without any other."
Magdalena rose. "Good-night," she said. "I'll never forget a word of it,and I'm very much obliged."
She kissed him and had half crossed the room before he sprang to hisfeet and went hastily forward to open the door. He went to her father'shouse with her, then returned to his library fire. To the surprise ofhis servants, he spent the evening quietly at home.
The Californians Page 11