J.W. hadn’t said, but now he did, and the two settled to their talk.  This William Tanner, some sort of retired business man, certainly seemed to know his Mexico.  And he had that most subtle of all stimulants to-night, a curious and sympathetic hearer.  By consequence he was eager to give all that J.W. would take.

Before long J.W. had edged in a question about the church.  He said, “You know, Mr. Tanner, we have a pretty good Roman Catholic church in my home town, though Father O’Neill doesn’t tie up much to what the other churches are trying to do, and some of his flock seem to me pretty wild, for sheep.  Now, these churches down here are all Roman Catholic too, yet they certainly don’t look any kin to Saint Ursula’s at Delafield.  Are they?”

It was the sort of question which William Tanner had asked himself many a time when he first came to Mexico.  “This is the way of it, Mr. Farwell,” he said.  “The church came to Mexico, and to all Latin America, from Spain and Portugal.  It had a few great names, we must acknowledge, in those early times.  But in a little while it settled down to two activities—­to make itself the sole religious authority and to get rich.  It was a church of God and gold, and as a matter of course it preached that it was the supreme arbiter of life and death in matters of faith, and extended its authority into every relation of life.  It brought from the lands of the Inquisition the idea of priestly power, and there was none to dispute it in Latin America, as there was in the colonies of our own country.  It gave the people little instruction, and no responsibility or freedom.  It made outward submission the test of piety and faith.  And so when Spain lost its grip on the western hemisphere the church found itself with nothing but its claim of power to fall back on.  Well, you know that would work only with the ignorant and the superstitious.”

“Mexico, and all Latin America for that matter, clear to the Straits of Magellan, is a land of innumerable crosses, but no Christ.  The church has had left to it what it wanted; that is, the priestly prerogatives; it marries, baptizes, absolves, buries, where the people can pay the fees, and the people for various reasons have not cared that this is all.  If they are afraid, or want to make a show, they call in the church; if they don’t care, or if they are poor, they go unbaptized, unmarried, unshriven, and do not see that it makes any difference.  They have no understanding of the church as a Christian institution; in fact, I think it would puzzle most of them to tell what a true church ought to be.  Now, all this is the church’s reward for its ancient choice, which, so far as I can see, is still its choice.  To the average Latin American the church is, and in the nature of things must be, a demander of pay for ceremonial, and a bitterly jealous defender of all its old autocratic claims.  That is of the nature of the church.”

“But I don’t understand,” interposed J.W.  “If the people have no real use for the church, why do they support it?  It certainly is supported.”