Religion as the expression of a primal sense of humanity’s place in the world and the cosmos; religion as a tool of social control. Döblin summed up this contradiction in his 1938 essay Prometheus and the Primitive, but he was already exploring it in his earliest epics (Wang Lun and Wallenstein). The four excerpts here (three Christian, one Hindu) illustrate Döblin’s mastery of tone and image, his delight in language as an infinite toolbox for bringing worlds to life.
A Recruiting Sermon (from Wallenstein Part 3)
Religion was only one of the complex social and political strains that plunged central Europe into the Thirty Years War (1618-48). We start this selection with a bloodthirsty anti-Protestant rant aimed at the common people.
A Court Sermon (from Wallenstein Part 4)
Here is a bleak cheerless lesson aimed at the ruling elite: the ambitious self-flagellating Duke Maximilian of Bavaria and his court.
Priest of Shiva (from Manas Part 3)
Manas, re-embodied, has returned to the land of humans with three demons; together they have defeated efforts by the god Ganesha to take the demons back. In the city of Amber he is confronted by a priest.
Sermon in the Forest (from The Land without Death Part 3)
The Dominican friar Las Casas struggles to befriend and convert Indian tribes in the face of relentless cruelties inflicted by his European countrymen. The Indians perceive that it is he who needs help.
A Recruiting Sermon (from Wallenstein Part 3)
WALLENSTEIN’S recruiters rode to Poland to drum up Cossacks; they entered Wallonia, Lorraine, his money flowed to Hungary Croatia Dalmatia, drew men powerfully en masse to the dice-game that was Germany. He enticed those broken by Bohemia’s misery; the recruiters stung them: “What are you moaning about. You can’t change a thing. Be a man, quick, quick; my men, with pikes and muskets.” They followed groaning, those who had had enough of wailing, who cursed their fate, their homeland; dragged along into a sinister jolly shattering tempest, their step jaunty. Would settle accounts: there lies Germany, settle the account until not the smallest drop of cream floats on the milk.
PRIESTS in the churches began to recruit for Wallenstein. They railed at the Protestant Cyclops and Pelasgians, Epicureans, herders of swine, Calvinists, bloodsuckers, devourers of the Lord God. “What do they do with the gospels of Mark Luke Matthew John? They pick away at the very foundations of the Saviour and His works, split hairs, distil, these quacksalvers in the body of our holy Church. The Gospel is tough, raw, leathery, teeth must be especially sharp and pointed; the Church hangs it well for you, makes it tender, stacks it in the smokehouse, sets about it like a good butcher-woman, cuts for you the best most nourishing morsels; we never stop making a nice little soup for you, stewing, roasting, a joy for your belly.
“Now see those Lutherans and Calvinists; they go about with sour bitter faces, their vitals are overloaded, they cannot digest but will not let it be. I shall purge you, dear souls, so that none of you suffer such shameful distress. Who on this Earth has the best Heaven: the heretic Lutheran, or the Catholic? Now, it is not credible that heretics should enjoy a better Heaven than pious Catholics. And indeed, who can say that heretics may enter Heaven, when Hell lies there better suited to them? But what if we assume, suppose we can, that they are Christian folk who sin all unawares? They have not yet licked at our sugar-cakes, it has not yet run into their mouths, the manna that daily consoles us so heartily through every season and weather. As soon as we open our eyes the manna begins to flow, in indescribable astonishing excess – only not to those wretches who are too idle, who toss and turn abed and find the early morning bells that so delight the Lord a disturbance to their blasphemous repose.
“And so, I say, for these unwitting sinners there is made ready either a purgatorial fire, or at best an antechamber to Paradise. They will be tolerated, perhaps not tormented too greatly; comfort, a somewhat sluggish pleasure is all that blooms for them betimes, and on Sundays. And this would be the case, if it were, as it should be and they sin unwittingly. But care is taken not to allow too great a thronging in the antechamber. People of every estate are summoned by our Saviour and Lord in order to make room. They do not shy, the pious people and true Papists, the banner-wavers and cross-bearers, from belabouring the sinners and their dirty unkempt hides. These the ones who sin knowingly. A jubilation goes now through the world, an end to half-hearted prodding and tapping, now from behind they feel a hard blow on the backside that says: watch out! It is their mercy and mildness that leads true Papists to act thus, so that a trembling and gnashing of teeth overcome the damnable Luther-boobies until repentance squeezes them and drives them like wretched ridiculous clots to the seat of judgement and the confession-stool, begging to be lifted up and received into Paradise. And truly, lifting them requires feats enough.
“There is no time now to speak of a Protestant Heaven. Satan has been informed; he has the grim task of gathering supplies of helpers knives tubs barrels kindling bellows, not forgetting slack jaws, strong fists; he will belabour the sinners, drag them hither and thither, iron and hooks to stoke the fire.
“Goats run around, not those that Satan and the witches ride upon, but others, wholesome, they assail sinners with their horns, spear them, throw them through the air and amuse themselves as in a ball game. And as for the proud and the haughty, scrawny monkeys jump around them, clamber up their skirts and doublets from behind, clutch them under the armpits with both hands, legs in front about the belly, and they tickle, tickle to make them laugh. Yes, now they can laugh, roar, fling themselves about until they turn blue and burst. And a devil stands before them, punches them in the mouth, screams Silence! and holds out a jug to the monkey so he does not go thirsty. What laughter is this in the bowels of Hell! Verily, not like the soft melodious laughter of our Heavenly kingdom.
“A beast is there that creeps about, its belly measures a hundred miles square. It has the snout of a dog, its body white and plump like a pig, its feet green with knobbly lumpy toes like a frog. There it sits, the monster, in a corner, and always when the Hell before it is packed right full, it bends down, its tongue cracks like a whip, and slurps up a hundred of the damned, tumbles them in its gorge and belly where they seethe in a muck and a jumble of lye, then it sicks them back out, slurps them up again and another ten and twenty times until it has had enough, and spews them out in a lump. And the beast rinses its mouth, and for the rest snaps with its warty lolling tongue at the hundred lying at its feet, and slides them into a circle until they dry out, and then it lets them go.
“Shall I tell you of the Devil’s locksmiths, who hammer people as if they were red-hot iron, of the carpenters who saw at living people and make chairs and stools from them so they can sit as they go about their evil business. Any Christian would be a fool to endure such torments out of sheer obstinacy. But my Lutherans are not fools, they have been washed by many waters, and those among them who are washed the most are those who proclaim themselves learned men, preachers, who tempt pious souls. For these an especial punishment is created, so that those who in their earthly life were a special thing may preen themselves even here. For delicate little threads hang down from the ceiling of Hell, you must picture it exactly, little threads, not many, for just so many is not too bad. The threads are not easily seen, for a fog, a mist, a steam as from a cooking pot rises constantly from below. And when the devils have caught good hold of such a decrepit old abortion of a preacher, who thought to slip just like that and all at once into Heaven’s antechamber, they lift him gently onto a nice comfy little chair, tie it to two of the threads, pull him aloft, and now let loose with the steam and daub him all over up to the ears in pitch. And every day at the same hour a devil comes, scrapes the pitch from his ears and begins to dispute with him, so that his superior wit may not grow dull.
“This seems nothing to you? Oh, oh! to live, yet eyes see not, ears hear not. They shrivel like apples in the steam, they sit the whole day like washerwomen in sultry dampness, dripping, cannot draw one breath of good air, and are never dry. If they could look around, if they could snap at the smoky air to see if there is anything to see – there is nothing. They drip, and shrivel, rot away over a long while. But a nail sticks out of the back of the chair, digs them in the back when they want to sleep. If great numbers of these were to come, the busy devils would be happy enough, and have their delight. How they twist and turn on the chairs, would you not like to see how they rage, never become dry, try to blow the damp away and always they are boiled from below, how they foam like the enraged boar, how they assail one another in their isolation up there swinging from the two little threads below the ceiling of Hell, how they bite their knuckles, would gladly kill themselves if only they could. There is nothing in them but foaming and vengeance, screams, weeping, until they grow weary, and when they feel fresh again, again they see nothing but their own self, and it is nothing.”
In Protestant regions, “German Emperor” was the recruiters’ rallying cry, they toiled mightily to win Protestants over, Wallenstein had insisted on this with the utmost emphasis. He ordered a doubling of the enlistment bounty in the case of Lutheran and Calvinist recruits. Pious circles in the ancestral lands sputtered and foamed in vain against it, the Jesuits were not easily placated. The Duke offered not a word of explanation; he even wants Lutherans in his army, was the talk in Prague. The Court Chamber in Vienna and the college of privy counsellors were given some hint of the Duke’s cunning ploy: in accordance with the general directive, he would deny the opposition the use of religion as a pretext; no longer would people say that the guarantee of religious freedom was threatened by the Emperor.
A Court Sermon (from Wallenstein Part 4)
THROUGH the pair of crystal windows in the ornate pretty chapel of the Residence in Munich shone a red wintry sun. The narrow vaults, white polished plaster, took on purplish flecks and lines, as if breathed upon. Floor of jasper and agate; above it the Bavarian court on kneeling-stools; Spanish costumes, lowered shoulders, bowed heads, grey-haired, white wigs, dark tamed locks. On the pulpit to the left of the big silver altar with the relics and St George on his charger – in gold, three plumes on the helmet set with diamonds, rubies, emeralds – a tall priest with glowing eyes, dressed in a tight-clasped black Jesuit robe, was speaking; in his intimidating zeal he waved his arms over them, though they did not see:
“It is permitted sooner to hate God than to love him. For God is too far from us, too lofty; it is a sin to approach too close to him, even in our thoughts. To dare to love him like this or that everyday person, drape ornaments jewels and gold on him in order to demonstrate tender feelings: this serves only to demean him. It constitutes an insult to his divinity. Crawl before him, shrink from him, resent him even: this well befits a person. In that moment when you no longer fear God, you have already denied him. He has not suffered you to be his friend, is not your father, mother, your paramour, your bosom brother. He is not even your king and prince; he declines to be your judge, his judgement is not accessible to you, he pronounces judgement when he chooses and against whomever he chooses. He does not permit us to comprehend him, or investigate his being, and so in his presence the only proper feeling is one of Awe – and with this you have fulfilled your duty as human beings.
“Woe to those who believe that God is our Father; almost no further step is needed to embrace heresy. So Sunday should be held holy, for the sake of God; yet you do not hold God holy? Forget not who you are, whence you have come. Do you know how the original sin of your life came about? Are you conscious of all the sins you drag around ever since that day – auspicious day, or inauspicious? See the baseness of humanity, its pitiful desires – and you the children of God! Look at your day, filled with toil, the satisfaction of bodily needs, a hundred vexations, a hundred joys, all blown away, of no more weight than a lightning flash. Lawsuits – envy – the urge for riches, for status – rebellious underlings: this is your life once you are fully grown or old. Now more fun, now less, games, men, women, wine, beer, tourneys, deer, boar, music, pictures, sleep, languor, comfort, bitterness – all for nothing and a bit. Gloom and groaning when you grow gouty and bent, crouched behind the stove, your empty jaws sup only broth, pain in the kidneys, constipation, incontinence, stomach cramps, and then sleep and sleeplessness. Such is the life of the child of God. You feel ashamed, I feel it with you all; you need but grasp this, remember it, keep it always in view. Yes, reflect, remember! Calm the soul, quench all desire! Know him alone, God alone; you have the right to know his name, hear of his existence: it is enough and enough for us. Have the right to fear God: see, I have said it.
“And you feel that I speak the truth. We do not cradle ourselves in the sentiments and dreams of a maidservant. For us, life is too serious; it is ever present to us, we have endured it, know what awaits us today, tomorrow. There will be no angel to greet us, no promise will be made to us. Let us leave aside the games of children, dear things, and of fools, dear things.
“Tomorrow bells will ring out and there will be early Mass. Menials will clomp in the courtyards, the steward will sit high on horseback with his whip and plumed hat. Tomorrow early the bells will ring out: we shall lie half asleep on our backs, then sit up, say our prayers; and the cries of infants for milk and attention resound in our ears. We drink our morning broth, it may be thin and cold, we must inspect our cellars where we keep our treasure and our goods, fasten the chests, for soon carts will rattle across the bridge; they must all be loaded and sealed; we shall exchange curses with the labourers who will try to cheat us about their wages, we shall be on guard; peasants shuffle past.
“When the bells ring out tomorrow, a mother will have given birth, she will rejoice, her husband will rejoice, and the siblings gaze on the poor little worm. And in many places during this night a change has occurred, one has died of hunger, or of cold by a well, at a stable door, one has been struck down by robbers, one swept away by fever, someone old, sick, who welcomes death, snuffed out in the bedroom. Our life, our life! How can anyone be proud! How can anyone dare be proud, and claim the title Human in a boastful tone – unless he has formed an image based on the strength of his muscles, the cunning of his thoughts, the immoderation of his desires! And what dumb beast is not, in this respect, his superior.
“Our life, our life! We have died a thousand times, out of pride, when we have seen what we are; and it is not by the emperor’s crown, the prince elector’s crown resting on our head, nor by the bishop’s mitre, the tons of gold, that we are lifted up, but rather by Awe, and horror.
“Our only comfort is our inability to reflect. Forgetfulness, intoxication only pretend to carry us across the abyss. As far as we can see, the only salvation against death and nothingness is Awe.
“Break, o my knees! O my heart, let your pillars fall! Roof above, crush me! Let a hundred cannon, a hundred siege guns be aimed at me: here are my heart, my eyes. I am frozen. Yet I still can laugh at you. You turn your iron and marble to dust in the air. I can pray, can tremble!”
Ailing elderly Duke William had fallen forward from his stool, his white face slumped, the stool scraped sideways. His son the Prince Elector, hard-faced, grabbed at him.
Priest of Shiva (from Manas Part 3)
Now the priest stood up.
He was naked, the triple mark of Shiva on his forehead,
His body ash-smeared.
He saw giant naked Manas, rat-tail around his hips, at his back a nervous crowd.
Recognised who it was,
Rumours of this one, his marauding like a pack of tigers,
Had raced across radiant Punjab.
This was the one. Standing right in front of him. This one.
He laid the book aside,
Made an averting gesture, was unafraid.
‘Begone from here. You! Begone from here.
Do not stand there, you. You cannot stay here.’
‘What’s that you’re whispering, priest?’
‘You hear me. Be on your way.
Dog, the sight of you is loathsome, loathsome!
You – who could say your name.’
Manas dreamy, looking at him: ‘Yes.’
‘Shiva sent you back here, to our shame.
Now you are among us. It has come to us.
We are to suffer like all the others.
Let me look at you.
What did Shiva have in mind for you, you scourge.
We are meant to see: that we are you,
As wicked as you are, a horror just like you!
Shiva now does so, and then does so.
Now he sends us spirits that should save us,
And then sends beasts, evildoers, mirrors.’
‘Go on.’
‘Go on! Still you stand there in my sight, you sinful creature.
I already know myself. Have long known it.
That’s why I sit here.
I know your father, Jayanta of Udaipur, and your mother.
You were on the Field of the Dead,
You for sure are not the same one who went away,
Our jewel who kept us safe from slaughter by the enemy.
Then your eyes were not so big and wild.
Who now would want to gaze into them.
Those lips: how you thrust them out, how you smack them.
This moist entry to your mouth: worse than the Field of the Dead.’
‘Go on.’
‘It is enough already.
I can keep watching you, watch how you bloom,
You sleek monster, standing there.
I must look at you, for I am pious, and the Gods sent you here.
You don’t know, d’you hear, what I have long known,
You do not know extinction.
Do you know, you, you, what it is to be extinguished?
And what it is, the sea of birth and death?’
The holy man, the priest, coughed, had swallowed the wrong way,
Stood up.
Ash-smeared, he stepped down close to Manas,
Leaving the ancient book behind him on the stair.
‘Revulsion and delusion, you hear me,
Revulsion and delusion, nothing else!
Repeat it after me!
Wash your mouth out as you say it.
Extinction, you,’ he pressed close to Manas,
‘The world must be extinguished, we with it, you with it!
All must be extinguished, so that calm may come!
You do not know this, you with your beast-face.’
‘No.’
‘No. You rampage, and you know nothing.
You run around like a Shade, and do not know whose Shade you are.
And turn up here, you,
You feel your fat thighs, you beast-face,
Squeeze your plump cheeks, twirl your moustache.
Now it is thick and black.
Once you had none, and soon it will be grey,
Grey and bristly like a cat’s.
Why do you stare at me? I am telling you the truth.
Clutch your loins, your genitals that give you so much pleasure.
Some time something else will spurt from them:
Bitterness revulsion misery,
Just what I feel when I see you.
Then everything turns bad. Then you gasp and groan.
But your belly brings you no more pleasure.
You are withering, Manas, as everything must wither,
People, animals, plants, all of it,
All the stars and suns.
Better to be extinguished, to make an end.
For there must come an end, d’you see, Manas?
Perhaps you are human enough still to see it.
There comes a time to spit out this life of ours,
Like a rotten fruit, a mushroom that is poison to us.
A slug lies at our feet, decaying. We must kick it aside.
The decay is in your belly,
You understand me, hey? You understand?’
Sermon in the Forest (from The Land without Death Part 3)
THREE times Las Casas sent envoys to the Motilones with presents. The envoys brought them back. Las Casas wept. He tipped the last of the envoys and shut himself away. But this envoy went back to the Motilones and reported what he had seen. They debated a long while. The white priest’s distress unsettled them. They arranged a meeting with him.
Near Mahates, Las Casas climbed from the boat and up towards a plane tree where he could see a cluster of dark people wearing festive plumes, one group was armed. As he approached across the grass the spear-bearers made a sign. Those escorting Las Casas explained: he was to take himself to the spot assigned him, within earshot of the group. When the priest heard this and saw the spearmen, he stood still. He sent one of his escort ahead to announce that he came as a friend, unarmed, they could search the boat. They answered at once that he was welcome, it was their custom to arrange things so.
Slowly and sorrowfully, almost fifty paces from the natives, Las Casas lowered himself onto the grass at the spot they had marked with a broken branch. He prayed and asked help from God. Then he began to speak boldly. He asked if they were his enemies, had he harmed them or any of their tribe. – They denied this. – Then he asked why they had abandoned their old villages. – Because of the animals they hunt, they have moved away from the old places. – And why they no longer come to the lovely little church and let themselves and their children receive instruction. They are baptised, after all. – They replied: also because of the animals. When they and their children go to church, the hunting is poor.
Las Casas was hurt to hear this, he knew their dreadful superstitions. His eyesight was no longer keen, he strove to make out their faces. He recognised the two chiefs and their eldest sons, named them: “Have you been busy again with reeds and leaves, making mask costumes? Have you built another hut for your masks?”
They shook their heads, but he could not see their faces at that distance. He turned to one of his dark escorts and whispered: “What are they doing? Are they signing to one another?”
The man said: “They look calmly across to us, Father.”
“They do not wrinkle their brows?” – “No, Father.”
Now Las Casas tried again: “You know I am well disposed towards you. You have guided me for great distances and have spoken for me to your friends. I have often sat by your fires.”
“You are still our friend. So we have come to greet you and sit across from you. We rely on your friendship.”
“Tell me in accordance with the truth, why you who have been baptised avoid my instruction and keep your children away.”
“It is hard for us, Father Las Casas. We are poor people and have much to do, and we cannot send our children by themselves. It is our poverty, Father Casas.”
“You were not nearly so poor before. Now you live in a bad area.”
“We are not as clever as white people. We like to sit with you when you talk to us. We are not clever. Do not scold us for that.”
“You have made no masks?” – “No, Father Las Casas.”
He prayed quietly that it might be true. “Listen to me, my friends. You are Christians like me. There is no barrier between you and me. We are brothers. I beseech you, do not go into the forest. The Devil dwells there. You are my brothers, but your faith is a tender plant, and weak. You risk its destruction. You must strengthen it. I will keep you from temptation. Here I have several rosaries for you, they bestow great strength when you take them in your hand and speak the words I have taught you.”
Las Casas stretched the hand with the bundle of rosaries out towards them. They whispered, then two young people came slowly over with spears, stopped a good way from him and one of them held out a spear: “Give.” Las Casas, red with anger, berated them: “What? Are you not ashamed?” They stood there uncertain, glanced back at their people. The elder of the chiefs said: “We have experienced many bad things from the Whites, and we are afraid.”
In anger Las Casas flourished the bundle: “These are holy chains.”
“We know them, Father Las Casas. Be our friend still. Several of us and our children have them. When the rains come we shall sit in our huts and carve some more.”
“You will carve idols.”
“Father Las Casas, do not be angry. Be our friend still. Accept presents from us.”
The two young warriors ran back and fetched a live graceful deer, a dwarf deer, pulled it along by a string, and one held a pretty parrot. The young men at once ran back to their people.
Las Casas stroked the creatures, his escorts held them: “I am greatly pleased. I see that you love me still. But will you accord me one more gladness? Will you listen to me?”
“What would our friend Father Las Casas say to us?”
“Oh, but see how I must talk to you, you placed leaves here where I must sit and you sit over there, this is my misfortune. But I will admonish you and beseech you to the best of my ability. My dear friends, for whose salvation I would give my life, do not forget what you have learned from us.”
“The white man should not weep. He knows we have learned much from him.”
“When tribes first meet, they are ignorant of the other’s language and their customs, and if they come from different parts of the world, discord easily arises. But the hour also comes when they understand one another. For we are of different skin colour but are all the same humanity, created by the one and only God, and the one and only Saviour appeared to us all.”
“You speak clearly, Father Las Casas, and your words are honey to our ears. But why do you speak to us and not to your own people? We never encountered your people because we never sought them. Our ancestors and fathers lived here in peace.”
“In Heaven dwells eternal God, who created Earth and Heaven and everything above and below, in six days. He has ordained all that shall pass. He separated light and darkness, set sun and moon in their place. He formed the grasses and herbs, trees and plants that bring nourishment, and fishes in the waters, and everything that creeps upon the earth, and the fowl of the air. He ordained that the sun shall revolve and there shall be day and then night when stars and moon shall shine. He directed the rivers to rise and fall, drought and rain to follow one another so that every plant and animal finds sustenance. On the last day He delved in the earth and from the clay in His hand fashioned the figure of Man, in the likeness of Himself the great Creator, and when He saw the likeness He blew His own breath into him. Then He placed the man among the trees and plants, birds and creeping things, and gave to humans dominion over all that lives, even all plants and herbs. And this was the creation of the world.
“And then men grew wicked and heedless of His word. And then – He sent a great flood over the whole Earth, and all the seas and rivers rose and the floodgates of Heaven were opened. The waters rose over every valley and hill, all flesh that moved on the earth was drowned, birds found no tree where they could perch, and found no nourishment and starved and fell into the mighty waters. And the waters rose and rose. Men fled. But the waters that poured down from the heavens and swelled up from the earth were too fast for them, and even though they climbed the highest mountains and clung to the tops of the tallest trees, they were drowned. And even those who took to boats could not withstand the tempest and were thrown into the water. And if they withstood the storm for day after day, they became weak from hunger. Great whales emerged from the water, Leviathan, and rammed their ships, none were left on the water.
“And so, my dear friends, all the people and beasts and plants of the earth would have been destroyed by the deluge, sent by almighty God in His wrath at mankind’s wickedness and depravity, were it not for one who was good and who took pity on living things. And He set this man the task of going into a ship with all his family. He was to build this ship, a large one, with doors and windows and decks, lower, middle and upper. And into this ship the good man led his wife, his sons and their wives and a pair of every kind of animal and every kind of bird. And when seven days had passed the man, whose name was Noah, closed up the windows and doors, for the great flood broke over the earth, as had been ordained so that all flesh would be destroyed because of the terrible, unfathomable, incorrigible wickedness of mankind. The judgement lasted forty days and forty nights, the waters overran the highest peaks. Everything that lived on dry land died because of man’s guilt. And when the waters receded, Noah and his family left the boat, and animals and birds spread across the earth again.”
Las Casas paused. He stroked the delicate deer, which nuzzled against him. Las Casas thought of the unfathomable ineradicable depravity of humankind and how he was now sitting among his friends.
The chief praised the white priest: “Truly you are a man of great knowledge. We rejoice that you remain our friend, for we would learn from you more that we do not yet understand.”
The other chief: “All people are descended from the great father Noah, who travelled in a ship over the mountains?” – “Yes.”
“Do the white people know this? Have you told this to them?”
“You ask something, but leave something unsaid.”
“They do bad things to us, and you say to them that great father Noah is the common father of them and of us.”
“I have not told you the end of my story, what happened on the earth after they rode on the waters that drowned the wicked people. Once the waters receded people spread again across the earth, and many tribes and peoples arose. They dwelt under other skies, they were of different colours, they began to speak different tongues. They forgot their common father and almighty God, the one and only, who created them out of clay according to His own image and blew His breath into their nostrils. They no longer knew one another. And afflictions again grew great.”
The chief: “You will tell us of this also.” The little deer had settled calmly at Las Casas’ feet, the brown people were pleased.
Las Casas raised his arms in their flowing Dominican sleeves: “I have still not reached the end. If this were the end, I would have to sit here before you and lament: see, my friends, it has come to this, the great destruction of the earth was to no avail, humanity did not pass the test, it again fell into iniquity. War, murder and hatred ruled. I would have to sit here before you, embrace this placid creature and beseech great God in Heaven: Lord, do with us as Thou wilt, we deserve nothing else! But it is not so. Now I shall bring my report to a conclusion. Great God in Heaven saw what we see. His ears were assailed by lamenting over the crimes of humanity, over their iniquity and wickedness. The poor also gained a voice from Him, He hears poor and rich, ruler and servant. And as the lamenting grew beyond all bounds, this time He did not send a punishment upon man. For it was He Himself who created him from clay. Instead, in His goodness He sent succour. He came down to a human virgin, whose name was Mary, and she conceived a son by Him. The son of God was called Jesus. He appeared on the Earth. God sent him to humans because He pitied them. Jesus lived among people, in a distant land, a long time ago, in the form of a man. We know the words he spoke. He became the saviour and redeemer of people, of all people, of every tongue and every colour. The Whites and many dark peoples know of him. They rejoice in him. Now all can attain in Heaven the state of happiness and peace that they cannot attain on earth. God has opened His own Heaven to those who believe in Him and his son.”
For a long time no one spoke. Then the chiefs whispered among themselves, the elder thanked Las Casas for his report: “You are our friend, and we shall ask you later about those things we do not understand. But tell us, Father Las Casas, if it is no trouble to you: we would like to go to this heaven where peace and happiness are. Our old men speak of this place but do not agree on where it is. Tell us, where is this heaven of peace and happiness, and what paths must we follow or cut to reach there. Some of our tribes have sought in vain.”
“Heaven lies above the clouds, beyond the sun, moon and stars. There sits the Creator of us all, the one mighty God. His son sits at His right hand, Mary and many angels are with Him. No road leads from earth to there. God alone calls those to Him who die believing in Him, loving His son and obedient to His commandments. To these He shows the way, these only.”
This seemed not to satisfy the dark men. The chief asked: “What are these commandments?”
“Not to kill, to be peaceable, to worship God, Jesus and the saints. Come to me as you were before. I shall tell you everything again.”
But the dissatisfied expression on the faces of the people did not change. The chief sat up straight, his voice was very firm: “With these words, Father Las Casas, you yourself betray that God wants to know nothing of the Whites. We have discussed your words that you have repeated to us and came a long way to say to us. If you had travelled alone across the wide ocean, Father Las Casas, we would have welcomed you as a friend. You would have become our brother. We would have made you our leader and teacher. But you came with warriors. You know the bad things they do to us. They chase us from our huts and drive us into the mines. Preach to them, hinder their actions. But we have seen that you are powerless among them. They just take you along when they attack us. Father Las Casa, either you are playing a false game, or you are seeking help from us.”
Las Casas pushed aside the little deer, which at once stood and ran around him. He was shocked: “You are my enemies?”
“We know you are honest. What help do you seek from us?”
“I want to advise you to be peaceable, leave the forest, attend the church and school that you built.”
“They’ll force us to do work we do not want to do. Will they release our brothers from the mines?”
“Everyone must work, and obey their superiors.”
“We are not prisoners.”
Las Casas sat slumped, he held a hand over his eyes and they saw that he was weeping. The elder chief spoke more gently: “Tell your Whites that they must release our people from the mines. Then come back.” Las Casas nodded and remained sitting. The chief screwed up his eyes and spoke more softly, as if he were alone with Las Casas: “Perhaps our friend does not dare to speak out in front of these men. Perhaps he fears betrayal. None of our people will betray him. If you are afraid of your escorts, who are known to us, we shall seize them.”
