The Doomswoman: An Historical Romance of Old California

  V.

  I went upstairs and found Chonita reading Landor's "ImaginaryConversations." (When Chonita was eighteen,--she was nowtwenty-four--Don Alfredo Robinson, one of the American residents,had at her father's request sent to Boston for a library of severalhundred books, a birthday gift for the ambitious daughter of theIturbi y Moncadas. The selection was an admirable one, and a ranchowould not have pleased her as well. She read English and French withease, although she spoke both languages brokenly.) As I entered shelaid down the book and clasped her hands behind her head. She lookedtranquil, but less amiable than was her wont.

  "Thou hast been far away from the caballeros and the donas ofMonterey," I said.

  "Not even among Spanish ghosts."

  "I think thou carest at heart for nothing but thy books."

  "And a few people, and my religion."

  "But they come second, although thou wilt not acknowledge it even tothyself. Suppose thou hadst to sacrifice thy religion or thy books,never to read another? Which wouldst thou choose?"

  "God of my soul! what a question! No Spanish woman was ever a truerCatholic; but to read is my happiness, the only happiness I want onearth."

  "Art thou sure that to train the intellect means happiness?"

  "Sure. Does it not give us the power to abstract ourselves from lifewhen we are tired of it?"

  "True, but there is another result you have not thought of. The morethe intellect is developed, the more acute and aggressive is thenervous system; the more tenacious is the memory, the more has one tolive with, and the higher the ideals. When the time comes for you tolive you will suffer with double the intensity and depth of the womanwhose nerves are dull or stunted."

  "To suffer you must love, and I never shall love. Who is there tolove? Books always suffice me, and I suppose there are enough in theworld to make the time pass as long as I live."

  I did not continue the argument, knowing the placid superiority ofinexperience.

  "But thou hast not yet told me which thou wouldst give up."

  "The books, of course. I hope I know my duty. I would sacrifice allthings to my religion. But the priests do not interfere now as theydid in the last generation."

  I was very religious in those days, and my heart beat with approval."I have always said that the Church may let women read what theychoose. The good principles they are born with they will adhere to."

  "We are by nature conservatives, that is all. And we have need ofreligion. We must have something to lean on, and men are poor props,as far as I have observed. Sometimes after having read a long while inan absorbing book, particularly one that seemed to put something witha living hand into my brain and make it feel larger, I find that I ammiles away from the Church; I have forgotten its existence. I always_run_ back."

  "_Dios!_ I should think so. Yes, it is well we do need our religion.Men do not; for that reason they drop it the moment the wings on theirminds grow fast--as they would, when the warm sun came out, drop thethick blanket of the Indian, borrowed and gratefully worn in darkuncertain weather. I do not dare ask Diego Estenega what he believes,lest he tell me he believes nothing and I should have to hear it. Howdost thou like my friend, Chonita?"

  "Art thou asking me how I like the enemy of my house? I hate him."

  "If he goes to Santa Barbara with Alvarado this summer wilt thou askhim to be thy guest?"

  "Of course. The enmity has always been veiled with much courtesy; andI would have him see that we know how to entertain."

  I watched her covertly; I could detect no sign of interest. Presentlyshe took up the volume of Landor and read aloud to me, the statelyEnglish sounding oddly with her Spanish accent.