General Audience by Pope Paul VI (translated into Spanish)

Miércoles 15 de noviembre de 1972

¿Cuáles son hoy las necesidades mayores de la Iglesia? No os suene como simplista, o justamente como supersticiosa e irreal nuestra respuesta; una de las necesidades mayores es la defensa de aquel mal que llamamos Demonio.

                Antes de aclarar nuestro pensamiento, invitamos al vuestro a que se abra a la luz de la fe sobre la visión de la vida humana, visión que, desde este observatorio, se extiende extraordinariamente y penetra en profundidades singulares. Y verdaderamente el cuadro que estamos invitados a contemplar con realismo global es muy hermoso. Es el cuadro de la creación, la obra de Dios, que Dios mismo, como espejo exterior de su sabiduría y de su poder, admiró en su belleza sustancial (cf Gn 1, 10, etc.).

                Luego es muy interesante el cuadro de la historia dramática de la humanidad, de cuya historia emerge la de la redención, la de Cristo, de nuestra salvación, con sus tesoros estupendos de revelación, de profecía, de santidad, de vida elevada a nivel sobrenatural, de promesas eternas (cf Ef 1, 10). Sabiendo mirar este cuadro, necesariamente debemos sentirnos encantados (cf San Agustín, Soliloquios); todo tiene un sentido, todo tiene un fin, todo tiene un orden y todo permite vislumbrar una Presencia trascendente, un Pensamiento, una Vida y, finalmente, un Amor, de suerte que el universo, por lo que es y por lo que no es, se presenta a nosotros como una preparación entusiasmante y embriagadora para algo todavía más bello y todavía más perfecto (cf 1Co 2, 9; 13, 12; Rm 8, 19-23). La visión cristiana del cosmos y de la vida es, por tanto, triunfalmente optimista; y esta visión justifica nuestra alegría y nuestra gratitud de vivir con las que, al celebrar la gloria de Dios, cantamos nuestra fidelidad (cf el Gloria de la Misa).

                ¿Pero es completa esta visión? ¿Es exacta? ¿Nada nos importan las deficiencias que existen en el mundo? ¿Los desajustes de las cosas respecto de nuestra existencia? ¿El dolor, la muerte, la maldad, la crueldad, el pecado; en una palabra, el mal? ¿Y no vemos cuánto mal existe en el mundo? ¿Especialmente cuánto mal moral, es decir, simultáneo, si bien de distinta forma, contra el hombre y contra Dios? ¿No es este acaso un triste espectáculo, un misterio inexplicable? ¿Y no somos nosotros, justamente nosotros, seguidores del Verbo y cantores del Bien, nosotros creyentes, los más sensibles, los más turbados por la observación y la experiencia del mal? Lo encontramos en el reino de la naturaleza, en el que sus innumerables manifestaciones nos parece que delatan un desorden. Después lo encontramos en el ámbito humano, donde hallamos la debilidad, la fragilidad, el dolor, la muerte; y algo peor, una doble ley opuesta: una que desearía el bien, y otra, en cambio, orientada al mal; tormento que san Pablo pone en humillante evidencia para demostrar la necesidad y la suerte de una gracia salvadora, es decir, de la salvación traída por Cristo (cf Rm 7); ya el poeta pagano había denunciado este conflicto interior en el corazón mismo del hombre: "Video meliora, proboque, deteriora sequor" (Ovidio, Met., 7, 19). Encontramos el pecado, perversión de la libertad humana, y causa profunda de la muerte, porque es separación de Dios fuente de la vida (Rm 5, 12); y además, a su vez, ocasión y efecto de una intervención en nosotros y en el mundo de un agente oscuro y enemigo, el Demonio.

                El mal no es solamente una deficiencia, sino una eficiencia, un ser vivo, espiritual, pervertido y perversor. Terrible realidad. Misteriosa y pavorosa. Se sale del cuadro de la enseñanza bíblica y eclesiástica quien se niega a reconocer su existencia; o bien quien hace de ella un principio que existe por sí y que no tiene, como cualquier otra criatura, su origen en Dios; o bien la explica como una pseudorrealidad, una personificación conceptual y fantástica de las causas desconocidas de nuestras desgracias. El problema del mal, visto en su complejidad y en su absurdidad respecto de nuestra racionalidad unilateral se hace obsesionante: constituye la más fuerte dificultad para nuestra comprensión religiosa del cosmos. No sin razón sufrió por ello durante años san Agustín: "Quaerebam unde malum, et non erat exitus", buscaba de dónde procedía el mal, y no encontraba explicación (Confesiones, VII, 5, 7, 11, etc., PL., 22, 736, 739).

                He aquí, pues, la importancia que adquiere el conocimiento del mal para nuestra justa concepción cristiana del mundo, de la vida, de la salvación. Primero, en el desarrollo de la historia evangélica, ¿quién no recuerda, al principio de su vida pública, la página densísima de significados de la triple tentación de Cristo? Y después, en los múltiples episodios evangélicos, en los cuales el Demonio se cruza en el camino del Señor y figura en sus enseñanzas (cf Mt 12, 43). ¿Y cómo no recordar que Cristo, refiriéndose al Demonio en tres ocasiones como a su adversario, lo denomina "príncipe de este mundo"? (Jn 12, 31; 14, 30; 16, 11). Y la incumbencia de esta nefasta presencia está señalada en muchísimos pasajes del Nuevo Testamento. San Pablo lo llama el "dios de este mundo" (2Co 4, 4), y nos pone en guardia sobre la lucha a oscuras que nosotros cristianos debemos mantener no con un solo Demonio, sino con una pluralidad pavorosa: "Revestíos, dice el apóstol, de la coraza de Dios para poder hacer frente a las asechanzas del Diablo, que nuestra lucha no es (solo) contra la sangre y la carne, sino contra los principados y las potestades, contra los dominadores de este mundo tenebroso, contra los espíritus malignos de los aires" (Ef 6, 12).

                Y que se trata no de un solo Demonio, sino de muchos, diversos pasajes evangélicos nos lo indican (cf Lc 11, 21; Mc 5, 9); pero uno es el principal: Satanás, que quiere decir el adversario, el enemigo; y con él muchos, todos criaturas de Dios, pero caídas –porque fueron rebeldes– y condenadas (cf DS 800-428); todo un mundo misterioso, revuelto por un drama desgraciadísimo, del que conocemos muy poco.

                Conocemos, sin embargo, muchas cosas de este mundo diabólico que afectan a nuestra vida y a toda la historia humana. El Demonio está en el origen de la primera desgracia de la humanidad; él fue el tentador engañoso y fatal del primer pecado, el pecado original (cf Gn 3; Sab 1, 24). Por aquella caída de Adán, el Demonio adquirió un cierto dominio sobre el hombre, del que solo la redención de Cristo nos pudo liberar. Es una historia que sigue todavía: recordemos los exorcismos del bautismo y las frecuentes alusiones de la Sagrada Escritura y de la liturgia a la agresiva y opresora "potestad de las tinieblas" (cf Lc 22, 53; Col 1, 13). Es el enemigo número uno, es el tentador por excelencia. Sabemos también que este ser oscuro y perturbador existe de verdad y que con alevosa astucia actúa todavía; es el enemigo oculto que siembra errores e infortunios en la historia humana. Debemos recordar la parábola reveladora de la buena semilla y de la cizaña, síntesis y explicación de la falta de lógica que parece presidir nuestras sorprendentes vicisitudes: "Inimicus homo hoc fecit" (Mt 13, 28). El hombre enemigo hizo esto. Él es "el homicida desde el principio... y padre de toda mentira", como lo define Cristo (cf Jn 8, 44s); es el insidiador sofístico del equilibrio moral del hombre. Es el pérfido y astuto encantador, que sabe insinuarse en nosotros por medio de los sentidos, de la fantasía, de la concupiscencia, de la lógica utópica, o de los desordenados contactos sociales en el juego de nuestro actuar, para introducir en él desviaciones, tanto más nocivas cuanto que en apariencia son conformes a nuestras estructuras físicas o psíquicas o a nuestras instintivas y profundas aspiraciones.

                Este capítulo sobre el Demonio y sobre la influencia que puede ejercer, tanto en cada una de las personas como en comunidades, sociedades enteras o acontecimientos, sería un capítulo muy importante de la doctrina católica que debería estudiarse de nuevo, mientras que hoy se le presta poca atención. Piensan algunos encontrar en los estudios psicoanalíticos y psiquiátricos o en experiencias espiritistas, hoy excesivamente difundidas por muchos países, una compensación suficiente. Se teme volver a caer en viejas teorías maniqueas o en terribles divagaciones fantásticas y supersticiosas.

                Hoy prefieren algunos mostrarse valientes y libres de prejuicios, tomar actitudes positivistas, prestando luego fe a tantas gratuitas supersticiones mágicas o populares; o peor aún, abrir la propia alma –¡la propia alma bautizada, visitada tantas veces por la presencia eucarística y habitada por el Espíritu Santo!– a las experiencias libertinas de los sentidos, a aquellas otras deletéreas de los estupefacientes, como igualmente a las seducciones ideológicas de los errores de moda; fisuras estas a través de las cuales puede penetrar fácilmente el Maligno y alterar la mentalidad humana. No se ha dicho que todo pecado se deba directamente a la acción diabólica (cf ST, I, 104, 3); pero es, sin embargo, cierto que quien no vigila con cierto rigor moral sobre sí mismo (cf Mt 12, 45; Ef 6, 11) se expone a la influencia del "mysterium iniquitatis", a que se refiere san Pablo (2Ts 2, 3-12), y que hace problemática la alternativa de nuestra salvación.

                Nuestra doctrina se hace incierta, por estar como oscurecida por las tinieblas mismas que rodean al Demonio. Pero nuestra curiosidad, excitada por la certeza de su existencia múltiple, se hace legítima con dos preguntas: ¿Existen señales, y cuáles, de la presencia de la acción diabólica? ¿Y cuáles son los medios de defensa contra un peligro tan insidioso?

                La respuesta a la primera pregunta impone mucha cautela, si bien las señales del Maligno parecen hacerse evidentes (cf Tert. Apo., 23). Podremos suponer su acción siniestra allí donde la mentira se afirma hipócrita y poderosa contra la verdad evidente; donde el amor es eliminado por un egoísmo frío y cruel; donde el nombre de Cristo es impugnado con odio consciente y rebelde (cf 1Co 16, 22; 12, 3); donde el espíritu del Evangelio es mistificado y desmentido; donde la desesperación se afirma como la última palabra, etc. Pero es una diagnosis demasiado amplia y difícil, que ahora no pretendemos profundizar y autenticar, no carente sin embargo para todos de dramático interés, a la que también la literatura moderna ha dedicado páginas famosas (cf p. e., las obras de Bernanos, estudiadas por Ch. Möeller, Literatura del siglo XX, I., p. 397 ss.; P. Macchi, El rostro del mal en Bernanos; cf también Satán, Estudios Carmelitanos, Desclee de Brouber, 1948). El problema del mal sigue siendo uno de los mayores y permanentes problemas para el espíritu humano, incluso tras la victoriosa respuesta que da el mismo Jesucristo. "Sabemos, escribe el evangelista san Juan, que somos (nacidos) de Dios, y que todo el mundo está puesto bajo el Maligno" (1Jn 5, 19).

                A la otra pregunta sobre qué defensa, qué remedio oponer a la acción del Demonio, la respuesta es más fácil de formular, si bien sigue difícil actualizarla. Podremos decir que todo lo que nos defienda del pecado nos defiende por ello mismo del enemigo invisible. La gracia es la defensa decisiva. La inocencia adquiere un aspecto de fortaleza. Y asimismo cada uno recuerda hasta qué punto la pedagogía apostólica ha simbolizado en la armadura de un soldado las virtudes que pueden hacer invulnerable al cristiano (cf Rm 13, 12; Ef 5, 11; 1Ts 5, 8). El cristiano debe ser militante; debe ser vigilante y fuerte (1P 5, 8); y debe a veces recurrir a algún ejercicio ascético especial para alejar ciertas incursiones diabólicas. Jesús lo enseña indicando el remedio "en la oración y en el ayuno" (Mc 9, 29). Y el apóstol sugiere la línea maestra a seguir: "No os dejéis vencer por el mal, sino venced al mal con el bien" (Rm 12, 21; Mt 13, 29).

                Con el conocimiento, por ello, de las presentes adversidades en que se encuentran hoy las almas, la Iglesia y el mundo, trataremos de dar sentido y eficacia a la acostumbrada invocación de nuestra oración principal: "Padre nuestro..., ¡líbranos del mal!". Que a todo esto os ayude también nuestra bendición apostólica.

Friday's Sung Word: "Hino do Flamengo" by Lamartine Babo (in Portuguese)

Uma vez Flamengo, sempre Flamengo.
Flamengo sempre eu hei de ser.
É meu maior prazer vê-lo brilhar
Seja na terra, seja no mar.
Vencer, vencer, vencer!
Uma vez Flamengo, Flamengo até, morrer!

Na regata ele me mata, me maltrata, me arrebata.
Que emoção no coração! Consagrado no gramado,
Sempre amado, o mais cotado nos fla-flus é o 'ai, Jesus!'

Eu teria um desgosto profundo,
Se faltasse o Flamengo no mundo.
Ele vibra, ele é fibra, muita libra já pesou.
Flamengo até morrer eu sou!

You can hear the Flamengo's Anthem sung by Chorus and Orchestra Cid here.

Thursday's Serial: "The Curse of Capistrano" by Johnston McCulley (in English) - V

Chapter 16 - The Chase That Failed

                Señor Zorro charged his horse down the treacherous slope of the hill, where there was loose gravel and a misstep would spell disaster, and where the troopers were slow to follow. Sergeant Gonzales possessed courage enough, and some of the men followed him, while others galloped off to right and left, planning to intercept the fugitive when he reached the bottom and turned.

                Señor Zorro, however, was before them, and took the trail toward San Gabriel at a furious gallop, while the troopers dashed along behind, calling to one another, and now and then discharging a pistol with a great waste of powder and ball and no result so far as capturing or wounding the highwayman was concerned.

                Soon the moon came up. Señor Zorro had been anticipating that, and knew that it would make his escape more difficult. But his horse was fresh and strong, while those ridden by the troopers had covered many miles during the day, and so hope was not gone.

                Now he could be seen plainly by those who pursued, and he could hear Sergeant Conzales crying upon his men to urge their beasts to the utmost and effect a capture. He glanced behind him as he rode, and observed that the troopers were scattering out in a long line, the stronger and fresher horses gaining on the others.

                So they rode for some five miles, the troopers holding the distance, but not making any gain, and Señor Zorro knew that soon their horses would weaken, and that the good steed he bestrode, which gave no signs of fatigue as yet, would outdistance them. Only one thing bothered him—he wanted to be traveling in the opposite direction.

                Here the hills rose abruptly on either side of the highway, and it was not possible for him to turn aside and make a great -circle, nor were there any trails he could follow; and if he attempted to have his horse climb, he would have to make slow progress, and the troopers would come near enough to fire their pistols, and mayhap wound him.

                So he rode straight ahead, gaining a bit now, knowing that two miles farther up the valley there was a trail that swung off to the right, and that by following it he would come to higher ground and so could double back on his tracks.

                He had covered one of the two miles before he remembered that it had been noised abroad that a landslide had been caused by the recent torrential rain and had blocked this higher trail. So he could not use that even when he reached it; and now a bold thought came to his mind.

                As he topped a slight rise in the terrain, he glanced behind once more and saw that no two of the troopers were riding side by side. They were well scattered, and there was some distance between each two of them. It would help his plan.

                He dashed around a bend in the highway and pulled up his horse. He turned the animal's head back toward whence he had come, and bent forward in the saddle to listen. When he could hear the hoofbeats of his nearest pursuer's horse, he drew his blade, took a turn of the reins around his left wrist, and suddenly struck his beast in the flanks cruelly with his sharp rowels.

                The animal he rode was not used to such treatment, never having felt the spurs except when in a gallop and his master wished greater speed. Now he sprang forward like a thunderbolt, dashed around the curve like a wild stallion, and bore down upon the nearest of Señor Zorro's foes.

                "Make way," Señor Zorro cried.

                The first man gave ground readily, not sure that this was the highwayman coming back, and when he was sure of it he shrieked the intelligence to those behind, but they could not understand because of the clatter of hoofs on the hard road.

                Señor Zorro bore down upon the second man, clashed swords with him, and rode on. He dashed around another curve, and his horse struck another fairly, and hurled him from the roadway. Zorro swung at the fourth man, and missed him, and was glad that the fellow's counterstroke missed as well.

                And now there was nought but the straight ribbon of road before him, and his galloping foes dotting it. Like a maniac he rode them through, cutting and slashing at them as he passed. Sergeant Conzales, far in the rear because of his jaded mount, realized what was taking place and screeched at his men, and even as he screeched a thunderbolt seemed to strike his horse, unseating him.

                And then Señor Zorro was through them and gone, and they were following him again, a cursing sergeant at their head, but at a distance slightly greater than before.

                He allowed his horse to go somewhat slower now, since he could keep his distance, and rode to the first cross trail, into which he turned. He took to higher ground and looked back to see the pursuit streaming out over the hill, losing itself in the distance, but still determined.

                "It was an excellent trick," Señor Zorro said to his horse. "But we cannot try it often!"

                He passed the hacienda of a man friendly to the governor, and a thought came to him—Gonzales might stop there and obtain fresh horses for himself and his men.

                Nor was he mistaken in that. The troopers dashed up the driveway, and dogs howled a welcome. The master of the hacienda came to the door, holding a candelero high above his head.

                "We chase Señor Zorro!" Gonzales cried. "We require fresh steeds, in the name of the governor!"

                The servants were called, and Gonzales and his men hurried to the corral. Magnificent horses were there, horses almost as good as the one the highwayman rode, and all were fresh. The troopers quickly stripped saddles and bridles from their jaded mounts and put them on the fresh steeds, and then dashed for the trail again and took up the pursuit. señor Zorro had gained quite a lead, but there was only one trail he could follow, and they might overtake him.

                Three miles away, on the crest of a small hill, there was a hacienda that had been presented to the mission of San Gabriel by a caballero who had died without leaving heirs. The governor had threatened to take it for the state, but so far had not done so, the Franciscans of San Gabriel having a name for protecting their property with determination.

                In charge of this hacienda was one Fray Felipe, a member of the order who was along in years, and under his direction the neophytes made the estate a profitable one, raising much livestock and sending to the storehouses great amounts of hides and tallow and honey and fruit, as well as wine.

                Gonzales knew the trail they were following led to this hacienda, and that just beyond it there was another trail that split, one part going to San Gabriel and the other returning to Reina de Los Angeles by a longer route.

                If Señor Zorro passed the hacienda, it stood to reason that he would take the trail that ran toward the pueblo, since, had he wished to go to San Gabriel, he would have continued along the highway in the first place, instead of turning and riding back through the troopers at some risk to himself.

                But he doubted whether Zorro would pass. For it was well known that the highwayman dealt harshly with those who prosecuted the frailes, and it was to be believed that every Franciscan held a friendly feeling for him and would give him aid.

                The troopers came within sight of the hacienda, and could see no light. Gonzales stopped them where the driveway started, and listened in vain for sounds of the man they pursued. He dismounted and inspected the dusty road, but could not tell whether a horseman had ridden toward the house recently.

                He issued quick orders, and the troop separated, half of the men remaining with their sergeant and the others scattering in such manner that they could surround the house, search the huts of the natives, and look at the great barns.

                Then Sergeant Gonzales rode straight up the driveway with half his men at his back, forced his horse up the steps to the veranda as a sign that he held this place in little respect, and knocked on the door with the hilt of his sword.

               

Chapter 17 - Sergeant Gonzales Meets a Friend

                Presently light showed through the windows, and after a time the door was thrown open. Fray Felipe stood framed in it, shading a candle with his hand—a giant of a man now past sixty, but one who had been a power in his time.

                "What is all this noise?" he demanded in his deep voice. "And why do you, son of evil, ride your horse on my veranda?"

                "We are chasing this pretty Señor Zorro, fray—this man they call the Curse of Capistrano," Gonzales said.

                "And you expect to find him in this poor house?"

                "Stranger things have happened. Answer me, fray! Have you heard a horseman gallop past within a       short time?"

                "I have not."

                "And has this Señor Zorro paid you a visit recently?"

                "I do not know the man you mean."

                "You have heard of him, doubtless?"

                "I have heard that he seeks to aid the oppressed, that he has punished those who have committed sacrilege, and that he has whipped those brutes who have beaten Indians."

                "You are bold in your words, fray."

                "It is my nature to speak the truth, soldier."

                "You will be getting yourself into difficulties with the powers, my robed Franciscan."

                "I fear no politician, soldier."

                "I do not like the tone of your words, fray. I have half a mind to dismount and give you a taste of my whip!"

                "Señor!" Fray Felipe cried. "Take ten years off my shoulders and I can drag you in the dirt!"

                "That is a question for dispute. However, let us get to the subject of this visit. You have not seen a masked fiend who goes by the name of Señor Zorro?"

                "I have not, soldier."

                "I shall have my men search your house."

                "You accuse me of falsehood?" Fray Felipe cried.

                "My men must do something to pass the time, and they may as well search the house. You have nothing you wish to hide?"

                "Recognizing the identity of my guests, it might be well to hide the wine jugs," Fray Felipe said.

                Sergeant Gonzales allowed an oath to escape him, and got down from his horse. The others dismounted, too, and the sergeant's mount was taken off the veranda and left with the horse holder.

                Then Gonzales drew off his gloves, sheathed his sword, and stamped through the door with the others at his heels, as Fray Felipe fell back before him, protesting against the intrusion.

                From a couch in a far corner of the room there arose a man, who stepped into the circle of light cast by the candelero.

                "As I have eyes, it is my raucous friend!" he cried.

                "Don Diego! You here?" Gonzales gasped.

                "I have been at my hacienda looking over business affairs, and I rode over to spend the night with Fray Felipe, who has known me from babyhood. These turbulent times! I thought that here, at least, in this hacienda that is a bit out of the way and has a fray in charge of it, I could for a time rest in peace without hearing of violence and bloodshed. But it appears that I cannot. Is there no place in this country where a man may meditate and consult musicians and the poets?"

                "Meal mush and goat's milk!" Gonzales cried. "Don Diego, you are my good friend and a true caballero. Tell me—have you seen this Señor Zorro tonight?"

                "I have not, my sergeant."

                "You did not hear him ride past the hacienda?"

                "I did not. But a man could ride past and not be heard here in the house. Fray Felipe and I have been talking together, and were just about to retire when you came."

                "Then the rogue has ridden on and taken the trail toward the pueblo!" the sergeant declared.

                "You had him in view?" Don Diego asked.

                "Ha! We were upon his heels, caballero! But at a turn in the highroad he made connection with some twenty men of his band. They rode at us and attempted to scatter us, but we drove them aside and kept on after Señor Zorro. We managed to separate him from his fellows and give chase."

                "You say he has a score of men?"

                "Fully a score, as my men will testify. He is a thorn in the flesh of the soldiery, but I have sworn to get him! And when once we stand face to face—"

                "You will tell me of it afterward?" Don Diego asked, rubbing his hands together. "You will relate how you mocked him as he fought, how you played with him, pressed him back, and ran him through—"

                "By the saints! You make mock of me, caballero?"

                "'Tis but a jest, my sergeant. Now that we understand each other, perhaps Fray Felipe will give wine to you and your men. After such a chase, you must be fatigued."

                "Wine would taste good," the sergeant said.

                His corporal came in then to report that the huts and barns had been searched, and the corral also, and that no trace had been found of señor Zorro or his horse.

                Fray Felipe served the wine, though he appeared to do it with some reluctance, and it was plain that he was but answering Don Diego's request.

                "And what shall you do now, my sergeant?" Don Diego asked, after the wine had been brought to the table. "Are you always to go chasing around the country and creating a tumult?"

                "The rogue evidently has turned back toward Reina de Los Angeles, caballero," the sergeant replied. "He thinks he is clever, no doubt, but I can understand his plan."

                "Ha! And what is it?"

                "He will ride around Reina de Los Angeles and take the trail to San Luis Rey. He will rest for a time, no doubt, to throw off all pursuit, and then will continue to the vicinity of San Juan Capistrano. That is where he began this wild Me of his, and for that reason the Curse of Capistrano he is called. Yes, he will go to Capistrano."'

                "And the soldiers?" Don Diego asked.

                "We shall follow him leisurely. We shall work toward the place, and when the news of his next outrage is made known, we shall be within a short distance of him instead of in the presidio at the pueblo. We can find the fresh trail, and so take up the chase. There shall be no rest for us until the rogue is either slain or taken prisoner."

                "And you have the reward," Don Diego added.

                "You speak true words, caballero. The reward will come in handy. But I seek revenge, also. The rogue disarmed me once."

                "Ah! That was the time he held a pistol in your face and forced you to fight not too well?"

                "That was the time, my good friend. Oh, I have a score to settle with him."

                "These turbulent times." Don Diego sighed. "I would they were at an end. A man has no chance for meditation. There are moments when I think I shall ride far out in the hills, where there can be found no life except rattlesnakes and coyotes, and there spend a number of days. Only in that manner may a man meditate."

                "Why meditate?" Gonzales cried. "Why not cease thought and take to action? What a man you would make, caballero, if you let your eye flash now and then, and quarreled a bit, and showed your teeth once in a while. What you need is a few bitter enemies."

                "May the saints preserve us!" Don Diego cried.

                "It is the truth, caballero! Fight a bit—make love to some señorita—get drunk! Wake up and be a man!"

                "Upon my soul! You almost persuade me, my sergeant. But—no, I never could endure the exertion."

                Gonzales growled something into his great mustache, and got up from the table.

                "I have no special liking for you, fray, but I thank you for the wine, which was excellent," he said. "We must continue our journey. A soldier's duty never is at an end while he lives."

                "Do not speak of journeys!" Don Diego cried. "I must take one myself on the morrow. My business at the hacienda is done, and I go back to the pueblo."

                "Let me express the hope, my good friend, that you survive the hardship," Sergeant Gonzales said.

               

Chapter 18 - Don Diego Returns

                Señorita Lolita had to tell her parents, of course, what had happened during their absence, for the despensero knew and would tell Don Diego when he returned, and. the señorita was wise enough to realize that it would be better to make the first explanation.

                The despensero, having been sent for wine, knew nothing of the love scene that had been enacted, and had been told merely that Señor Zorro had hurried away. That seemed reasonable, since the señor was pursued by the soldiers.

                So the girl told her father and mother that Captain Ramón had called while they were absent, and that he had forced his way into the big living-room to speak to her, despite the entreaties of the servant. Perhaps he had been drinking too much wine, else was not himself because of his wound, the girl explained, but he grew too bold, and pressed his suit with ardor that was repugnant, and finally insisted that he should have a kiss.

                Whereupon, said the señorita, this Señor Zorro had stepped from the corner of the room—and how he came to be there, she did not know—and had forced Captain Ramón to apologize, and then had thrown him out of the house. After which —and here she neglected to tell the entire truth—Señor Zorro made a courteous bow and hurried away.

                Don Carlos was for getting a blade and going at once to the presidio and challenging Captain Ramón to mortal combat; but Doña Catalina was more calm, and showed him that to do that would be to let the world know that their daughter had been affronted, and also it would not aid their fortunes any if Don Carlos quarreled with an officer of the army; and yet again the don was of an age, and the captain probably would run him through in two passes and leave Dona Catalina a weeping widow, which she did not wish to be.

                So the don paced the floor of the great living-room and fumed and fussed and wished he were ten years the younger, or that he had political power again, and he promised that when his daughter should have wedded Don Diego, and he was once more in good standing, he would see that Captain Ramón was disgraced and his uniform torn from his shoulders.

                Sitting in the chamber that had been assigned to her, Señorita Lolita listened to her father's ravings, and found herself confronted with a situation. Of course, she could not wed Don Diego now. She had given her lips and her love to another, a man whose face she never had seen, a rogue pursued by soldiery—and she had spoken truly when she had said that a Pulido loved but once.

                She tried to explain it all to herself, saying that it was a generous impulse that had forced her to give her lips to the man; and she told herself that it was not the truth, that her heart had been stirred when first he spoke to her at her father's hacienda during the siesta hour.

                She was not prepared yet to tell her parents of the love that had come into her life, for it was sweet to keep it a secret; and, moreover, she dreaded the shock to them, and half feared that her father might cause her to be sent away to some place where she never would see Señor Zorro again.

                She crossed to a window and gazed out at the plaza—and she saw Don Diego approaching in the distance. He rode slowly, as if greatly fatigued, and his two native servants rode a short distance behind him.

                Men called to him as he neared the house, and he waved his hand at them languidly in response to their greeting. He dismounted slowly, one of the natives holding the stirrup and assisting him, brushed the dust from his clothes, and started toward the door.

                Don Carlos and his wife were upon their feet to greet him, their faces beaming, for they had been accepted anew into society the evening before, and knew it was because they were Don Diego's house guests.

                "I regret that I was not here when you arrived," Don Diego said, "but I trust that you have been made comfortable in my poor house."

                "More than comfortable in this gorgeous palace!" Don Carlos exclaimed.

                "Then you have been fortunate, for the saints know I have been uncomfortable enough."

                "How is that, Don Diego?" Dona Catalina asked.

                "My work at the hacienda done, I rode as far as the place of Fray Felipe, there to spend the night in quiet. But as we were about to retire, there came a thundering noise at the door, and this Sergeant Gonzales and a troop of soldiers entered. It appears that they had been chasing the highwayman called Señor Zorro, and had lost him in the darkness!"

                In the other room, a dainty señorita gave thanks for that.

                "These are turbulent times," Don Diego continued, sighing and mopping the perspiration from his forehead. "The noisy fellows were with us an hour or more, and then continued the chase. And because of what they had said of violence, I endured a horrible nightmare, so got very little rest. And this morning I was forced to continue to Reina de Los Angeles."

                "You have a difficult time," Don Carlos said. "Señor Zorro was here, caballero, in your house, before the soldiers chased him."

                "What is this intelligence?" Don Diego cried, sitting up straight in his chair and betraying sudden interest.

                "Undoubtedly he came to steal, else to abduct you and hold you for ransom," Doña Catalina observed. "But I scarcely think that he stole. Don Carlos and myself were visiting friends, and Señorita Lolita remained here alone. There—there is a distressing affair to report to you—"

                "I beg of you to proceed," Don Diego said.

                "While we were gone, Captain Ramón, of the presidio, called. He was informed we were absent, but he forced his way into the house and made himself obnoxious to the señorita. This Señor Zorro came in and forced the captain to apologize and then drove him away."

                "Well, that is what I call a pretty bandit!" Don Diego exclaimed. "The señorita suffers from the experience?"

                "Indeed, no," said Dona Catalina. "She was of the opinion that Captain Ramón had taken too much wine. I shall call her."

                Doña Catalina went to the door of the chamber and called her daughter, and Lolita came into the room and greeted Don Diego as became a proper maiden.

                "It makes me desolate to know that you received an insult in my house," Don Diego said. "I shall consider the affair."

                Doña Catalina made a motion to her husband, and they went to a far corner to sit, that the young folk might be somewhat alone, which seemed to please Don Diego, but not the señorita.

Chapter 19 - Captain Ramón Apologizes

                "Captain Ramon is a beast!" the girl said in a voice not too loud.

                "He is a worthless fellow," Don Diego agreed.

                "He—that is—he wished to kiss me," she said.

                "And you did not let him, of course."

                "Señor!"

                "I—confound it, I did not mean that. Certainly you did not let him. I trust that you slapped his face."

                "I did," said the señorita. "And then he struggled with me, and he told me that I should not be so particular, since I was daughter of a man who stood in the bad graces of the governor."

                "Why, the infernal brute!" Don Diego exclaimed.

                "Is that all you have to say about it, caballero?"

                "I cannot use oaths in your presence, of course."

                "You do not understand, señor? This man came into your house, and insulted the girl you have asked to be your wife!"

                "Confound the rascal! When next I see his excellency, I shall ask him to remove the officer to some other post."

                "Oh!" the girl cried. "Have you no spirit at all? Have him removed? Were you a proper man, Don Diego, you would go to the presidio, you would call this Captain Ramón to account, you would pass your sword through his body and call upon all to witness that a man could not insult the señorita you admired and escape the consequences."

                "It is such an exertion to fight," he said. "Let us not speak of violence. Perhaps I shall see the fellow and rebuke him."

                "Rebuke him!" the girl cried.

                "Let us talk of something else, señorita. Let us speak of the matter regarding which I talked the other day. My father will be after me again soon to know when I am going to take a wife. Cannot we get the matter settled in some manner? Have you decided upon the day?"

                "I have not said that I would marry you," she replied.

                "Why hold off?" he questioned. "Have you looked at my house? I shall make it satisfactory to you I am sure. You shall refurnish it to suit your taste, though I pray you do not disturb it too much, for I dislike to have things in a mess. You shall have a new carriage and anything you may desire."

                "Is this your manner of wooing?" she asked, glancing at him from the corners of her eyes.

                "What a nuisance to woo," he said. "Must I play a guitar, and make pretty speeches? Can you not give me your answer without all that foolishness?"

                She was comparing this man beside her with Señor Zorro, and Don Diego did not compare to him favorably. She wanted to be done with this farce, to have Don Diego out of her vision, and none but Señor Zorro in it.

                "I must speak frankly to you, caballero," she said. "I have searched my heart, and in it I find no love for you. I am sorry, for I know what our marriage would mean to my parents, and to myself in a financial way. But I cannot wed you, Don Diego, and it is useless for you to ask."

                "Well, by the saints! I had thought it was about all settled," he said. "Do you hear that, Don Carlos? Your daughter says she cannot wed with me—that it is not in her heart to do so."

                "Lolita, retire to your chamber!" Doña Catalina exclaimed.

                The girl did so gladly. Don Carlos and his wife hurried across the room and sat down beside Don Diego.

                "I fear you do not understand women, my friend," Don Carlos said. "Never must you take a woman's answer for the last. She always may change her mind. A woman likes to keep a man dangling, likes to make him blow cold with fear and hot with anticipation. Let her have her moods, my friend. In the end, I am sure, you shall have your way."

                "It is beyond me!" Don Diego cried. "What shall I do now? I told her I would give her all her heart desired."

                "Her heart desires love, I suppose," Doña Catalina said, out of the wealth of her woman's wisdom.

                "But certainly I shall love and cherish her. Does not a man promise that in the ceremony? Would a Vega break his word regarding such a thing?"

                "Just a little courtship," Don Carlos urged.

                "But it is such a nuisance."

                "A few soft words, a pressure of the hand now and then, a sigh or two, a languishing look from the eyes—"

                "Nonsense!"

                "It is what a maiden expects. Speak not of marriage for some time. Let the idea grow on her—"

                "But my august father is liable to come to the pueblo any day and ask when I am to take a wife. He has rather ordered me to do it."

                "No doubt your father will understand," said Don Carlos. "Tell him that her mother and myself are on your side and that you are enjoying the pleasure of winning the girl."

                "I believe we should return to the hacienda tomorrow," Doña Catalina put in. "Lolita has seen this splendid house, and she will contrast it with ours. She will realize what it means to marry you. And there is an ancient saying that when a man and a maid are apart they grow fonder of each other."

                "I do not wish to have you hurry away."

                "I think it would be best under the circumstances. And do you ride out, say in three days caballero, and I doubt not you will find her more willing to listen to your suit."

                "I presume you know best," Don Diego said. "But you must remain at least until tomorrow. And now I think I shall got to the presidio and see this Captain Ramón. Possibly that will please the señorita. She appears to think I should call him to account."

                Don Carlos thought that such a course would prove disastrous for a man who did not practice with the blade and knew little of fighting, but he refrained from saying so. A gentleman never intruded his own thoughts at such a time. Even if a caballero went to his death, it was all right so long as he believed he was doing the proper thing, and died as a caballero should.

                So Don Diego went from the house and walked slowly up the hill towards the presidio building. Captain Ramón observed his approach, and wondered at it, and snarled at the thought of coming to combat with such a man.

                But he was cold courtesy itself when Don Diego was ushered into the comandante's office.

                Don Diego bowed in answer, and took the chair Ramón indicated. The captain marveled that Don Diego had no blade at his side.

                "I was forced to climb your confounded hill to speak to you on a certain matter," Don Diego said. "I have been informed that you visited my house during my absence, and insulted a young lady who is my guest."

                "Indeed?" the captain said.

                "Were you deep in wine?"

                "Señor?"

                "That would excuse the offense in part, of course. And then you were wounded, and probably in a fever. Were you in a fever, captain?"

                "Undoubtedly," Ramón said.

                "A fever is an awful thing—I had a siege of it once. But you should not have intruded upon the señorita. Not only did you affront her, but you affronted me. I have asked the señorita to become my wife. The matter—er—is not settled as yet, but I have some rights in this case."

                "I entered your house seeking news of this Señor Zorro," the captain lied.

                "You—er—found him?" Don Diego asked.

                The face of the comandante flushed red.

                "The fellow was there and he attacked me," he replied. "I was wounded, of course, and wore no weapon, and so he could work his will with me."

                "It is a most remarkable thing," observed Don Diego, "that none of you soldiers can meet this Curse of Capistrano when you can be on equal terms. Always he descends upon you when you are helpless, or threatens you with a pistol while he fights you with a blade, or has his score of men about him. I met Sergeant Gonzales and his men at the hacienda of Fray Felipe last night, and the big sergeant told some harrowing tale of the highwayman and his score of men scattering his troopers."

                "We shall get him yet," the captain promised. "And I might call your attention to certain significant things, caballero. Don Carlos Pulido, as we know, does not stand high with those in authority. This Señor Zorro was at the Pulido hacienda, you will remember, and attacked me there, emerging from a closet to do it."

                "Ha! What mean you?"

                "Again, on last night, he was in your house while you were abroad and the Pulidos were your guests. It begins to look as if Don Carlos has a hand in the work of the Señor Zorro. I am almost convinced that Don Carlos is a traitor and is aiding the rogue. You had better think twice, or half a score of times, before seeking a matrimonial alliance with the daughter of such a man."

                "By the saints, what a speech!" Don Diego exclaimed, as if in admiration. "You have made my poor head ring with it. You really believe all this?"

                "I do, caballero."

                "Well, the Pulidos are returning to their own place tomorrow, I believe. I but asked them to be my guests so they could be away from the scenes of this Señor Zorro's deeds."

                "And Señor Zorro followed them to the pueblo. You see?"

                "Can it be possible?" Don Diego gasped. "I must consider the matter. Oh, these turbulent times! But they are returning to their hacienda tomorrow. Of course I would not have his excellency think that I harbored a traitor."

                He got to his feet, bowed courteously, and then stepped slowly toward the door. And there he seemed to remember something suddenly and turned to face the captain again.

                "Ha! I am at the point of forgetting all about the insult!" he exclaimed. "What have you to say, my captain, regarding the events of last night?"

                "Of course, caballero, I apologize to you most humbly," Captain Ramón replied.

                "I suppose that I must accept your apology. But please do not let such a thing happen again. You frightened my despensero badly, and he is an excellent servant."

                Then Don Diego Vega bowed again and left the presidio, and Captain Ramón laughed long and loudly, until the sick men in the hospital room feared that their commandante must have lost his wits.

                "What a man!" the captain exclaimed. "I have turned him away from that Pulido Señorita, I think. And I was a fool to hint to the governor that he could be capable of treason. I must rectify that matter in some way. The man has not enough spirit to be a traitor!"