Death Comes for the Archbishop

Latour was gone for nearly a year, as it took him months to travel to and from Rome; when he returned, he brought four young priests from France and an older priest from Spain, whom he dispatched to Taos. Soon enough, Martínez went to war with this new priest, and he and Father Lucero mutinied and declared a new church. The men then declared that celibacy was not a condition of priesthood in their new church.

Though Martínez and Father Marino Lucero had always been close, the two men have little in common. Lucero is known as a miser, and he boasts that his greed has kept him thin and active while Martínez has grown fatter and less healthy. Neither priest, however, seemed concerned when Vaillant rode to their parishes to warn them of impending excommunication.

But in short order, Martínez died. Soon after, a robber (having heard the stories of Lucero’s wealth) tried to attack the old man. Lucero was able to fight the robber off—but though he retained his wealth, the shock of this violence impacted Lucero greatly, and he grew ill. Eventually, on the verge of death, Lucero summoned Vaillant to his bedside, hoping to repent.

Trinidad brought Vaillant the news of Lucero’s illness, and the next day, Vaillant sets off to Arroyo Hondo, one of his favorite places. Vaillant admires this green valley and rushing river: from the cliffs above town, the people look like “the figures of a child’s Noah’s Ark.” The water flows so fast that the villagers had routed it to go uphill, “an ever-ascending ladder” that reminded Vaillant of Rome.

Nearly the whole town has gathered at Lucero’s death bed. When Vaillant takes in the room, he is surprised to see hundreds of candles glowing. One of Lucero’s caretakers explains that, though Lucero had never used candles in his life (another money-saving tactic), he was now losing his sight and desperate for more light. Lucero seems especially afraid that, if darkness falls, another thief will come and try to rob him.

Lucero now explains that Martínez had left him a sum of money to be offered at Abiquiu for the repose of Martínez’s soul. Lucero tells Vaillant that he never actually spent the money this way; instead, it is under the floor, along with his life’s savings. Lucero wants Vaillant to spend one third of the money on Martínez’s soul, one third on Lucero’s soul, and one third on an inheritance for Trinidad. Vaillant agrees, but he also pushes Lucero to focus less on material concerns—if the old man cannot “fix [his] thoughts upon Heaven,” Vaillant will not administer the Sacrament.

At last, Lucero closes his eyes, and Vaillant begins to bless him. The ceremony calms Lucero, who confesses and drifts off. For the villagers of Hondo Arroyo, witnessing this moment is almost sacred; after all, in this era, the last words of great men like Napoleon were “still printed in gift-books,” a guide to what might lie ahead in the mysterious afterlife.

The stillness of Lucero’s final moments was broken only twice. First, when Trinidad came to pray, Lucero panicked, thinking it was a thief. And then, in his very last moments, Lucero cries out “comete tu cola, Martínez” (meaning, “eat your tail, Martínez”). For decades after, the villagers would whisper that Lucero had seen Martínez in torment in the other world. Later, when all of Lucero’s money was counted (he had French, Spanish, American, and English coins), it was valued at 20,000 American dollars.