Page:Once a Week June to Dec 1863.pdf/412

 402 Another move was requisite, and, on the following Sunday, when the ladies came to church, they found a band of soldiers drawn up outside, ready to barricade the way against any inroad of chocolate; a stern determination was depicted on the faces of the military—that if cups and saucers did enter the sacred edifice, it should be over their corpses.

The foremost damsels halted, the matrons stood still, the crowd thickened, but not one of the pretty angels would set foot within the cathedral precincts: a busy whisper circulated, then a hush ensued, and with one accord the ladies trooped off to the monastery churches, and there was no congregation that day at the Minster.

The brethren of S. Dominic and of S. Francis were nothing loath to see their chapels crowded with all the rank and fashion of Chiapa; for, with the ladies came money-offerings, and they blinked at the chocolate cups for—a consideration. This was allowed to continue a few Sundays only:—our friend the bishop was not going to be shelved thus, and a new manifesto appeared, inhibiting the friars from admitting parishioners to their chapels, and ordering the latter to frequent their cathedral.

The regulars were forced to obey; not so the ladies—they would go when they pleased, quotha! and for a month and more, not one of them went to church at all. The prelate was in sore trouble: he hoped that his froward charge would eventually return to the path of duty, but he hoped on from Sunday to Sunday in vain.

Would that the story ended, as stories of strife and bitterness always should end; so that we might tell how the ladies yielded at length, how that rejoicings were held and a general reconciliation effected:—but the historian may not pervert facts, to suit his or his readers’ gratification.

On Saturday evening the old bishop was more than usually anxious; he paced up and down his library, meditating on the sermon he purposed preaching on the following morning—a fruitless task, for he knew that no one would be there but a few poor Mexicans. Sick at heart, he all but wished that he had yielded for peace-sake, but conscience told him that such a course would have been wrong; and the great feature in Salazar’s character was his rigid sense of duty. He leaned on his elbows and looked out of a window which opened on a lane between the palace and the cathedral.

“Silly boy!” muttered the prelate. “Luis is always prattling with that girl. I thought better of the fair sex till of late.” He spoke these words as his eyes caught his page, chattering at the door, with a dark-eyed Creole servant-maid of the De Solis family. Presently the bishop clapped his hands, and a domestic entered. “Send Luis to me.”

When the page came up, the old man greeted him with a half-smile.

“Well, my son, I wish my chocolate to be brought me; I could not think of breaking off that long tête-à-tête with Dolores, but this is past the proper time.”

“Your Holiness will pardon me,” said the lad; “Dolores brought you a present from the Donna de Solis; the lady sends her humble respects to your Holiness, and requests your acceptance of a large packet of very beautiful chocolate.”

“I am much obliged to her,” said the bishop; “did you express to the maiden my thanks?” Luis bowed.

“Then, child, you may prepare me a cup of this chocolate, and bring it me at once.”

“The Donna de Solis’ chocolate?”

“Yes, my son, yes!”

When the boy had left the room, the old man clasped his hands with an expression of thankfulness.

“They are going to yield! This is a sign that they are desiring reconciliation.”

Next day the cathedral was thronged with ladies. The service proceeded as usual, but the bishop was not present.

“How is the Bishop?” was whispered from one lady to another, with conscious glances; till the query reached the ears of one of the canons who was at the door.

“His Holiness is very ill,” he answered. “He has retired to the monastery of S. James.”

“What is the matter with him?”

“He is suffering from severe pains, internally.”

“Has he seen a doctor?”

“Physicians have been sent for.”

For eight days the good old prelate lingered in great suffering.

“Tell me,” he asked very feebly; “tell me truly, what is my complaint?”

“Your Holiness has been poisoned,” replied the physician.

The Bishop turned his face to the wall. Some one whispered that he was dead, when he had been thus for some while. The dying man turned his face round, and said:

“Hush! I am praying for my poor sheep! May God pardon them.” Then, after a pause: “I forgive them for having caused my death, most heartily. Poor sheep!”

And he died.

Since then there has been a proverb prevalent in Mexico: “Beware of tasting Chiapa chocolate.”

Gage, the Dominican, did not remain long in Chiapa after the death of his patron: he seldom touched chocolate in that town unless quite certain of the friendship of those who offered it to him; and when he did leave, it was from fear of a fate like the Bishop’s,—he having incurred the anger of some of the ladies.

The cathedral presented the same scene as before; the prelate had laboured in vain, and chocolate was copiously drank at his funeral. 2em

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