The church was profusely illumined. The torrent of light which fell
from the altars and filled the edifice sparkled on the rich jewels of
the great ladies, who, kneeling on the velvet cushions which their
pages laid at their feet, and taking their missals from the hands of
their duennas, formed a brilliant circle around the chancel grating.
Behind them, in bright gold-embroidered cloaks thrown back with
studied carelessness in order to display glittering orders of green
and red, their broad-brimmed felts in one hand, the plumes sweeping
the floor, the left hand resting on the polished hilts of their
rapiers or caressing the pommel of their chiselled daggers, stood the
Twenty-four, who with a great part of the best nobility of Seville
seemed to form a wall around their wives and daughters to protect
them from the contact of the populace. The latter, moving about in
the rear of the nave with a murmur like that of a stormy sea, burst
into a jubilant acclamation, accompanied by the discord of timbrels
and tambourines, at the appearance of the bishop. The prelate,
surrounded by his attendants, took his seat under a crimson canopy,
beside the high altar, and blessed the people three times.
It was time for Mass to begin. Several minutes elapsed, however, and
the celebrant did not appear. The crowd began to show evidences of
impatience; the knights exchanged whispers among themselves; and the
bishop sent one of his attendants to the sacristy to inquire into the
cause of the delay.
"Maese Pérez has been taken ill, very ill; and it will be impossible
for him to attend Mass to-night."
This was the word that the attendant brought back.
The news spread through the church in an instant. It produced a most
unpleasant effect. The noise was such in the temple that the chief
officer of justice rose to his feet, and the constables entered the
church to enforce silence.
At that moment an ill-looking man, ungainly, bony, and cross-eyed to
boot, stepped up to the place where the prelate sat.
"Maese Pérez is ill," said he; "the ceremony cannot begin. If you see
fit, I will play the organ in his absence, for Maese Pérez is not the
greatest organist in the world, nor will the instrument fall into
disuse after his death for the lack of a musician to take his place."
The archbishop made a movement of assent; and already some of the
faithful, who knew this individual to be an envious rival of the
organist of Santa Inés, were breaking into exclamations of disgust
when suddenly a great noise was heard in the portico.
"Maese Pérez is here! Maese Pérez is here!"
All heads were turned toward the crowded doorways from which these
shouts came.
In truth, Maese Pérez, pale and disfigured, was entering the church,
carried in an armchair, which everybody claimed the honor of bearing
upon his shoulders. Neither the doctor's commands nor his daughter's
tears had been able to keep him in bed.
"No," he had said; "this is the last--the last--I know it. I will
not die without hearing the voice of my organ again, on this solemn
night, this good-night. Come, I implore, I command you, let us go to
the church!"
His desire was gratified. The people carried him in their arms to the
organ-loft. Mass began.
The cathedral clock struck twelve. After the introit came the Gospel,
the offertory, then the solemn moment when the priest, after having
consecrated the bread, takes the Sacred Form between his fingers and
begins to elevate it. A cloud of incense in bluish waves floated
through the church. The little altar-bells began to ring in vibrating
peals, and Maese Pérez laid his aged fingers upon the keys of the
organ.
The multitudinous voices of its metal pipes resounded in a prolonged
and majestic chord, which grew gradually fainter, as though the
breath of the wind had borne away its last echoes.
The first chord, which seemed like a voice from the earth calling
out to heaven, was answered by another, that seemed to come from
a great distance, soft at first, then swelling until it became a
torrent of thundering harmony.
It was the voice of the angels, which had traversed space and reached
the earth.
Then followed what seemed like canticles sung far away by the
hierarchies of seraphim, a thousand hymns at once blending into one,
which itself was no more than an accompaniment for a strange melody
that floated upon that ocean of mysterious echoes as a mist floats
over the waves of the sea.
Then various chants dropped out of the harmony, leaving two voices
which finally melted into each other; and this last isolated voice
lingered long, sustaining a note as brilliant as a thread of light.
The priest bent his brow, and above his white head, through the
blue gauzes of the incense, he held up the Host to the eyes of the
faithful. At that moment the tremulous note that Maese Pérez held
swelled and swelled until an immense explosion of joyous harmony
filled the church. In the far-off corners of the temple the air
seemed to buzz, and the jewel-windows quivered in their tight frames.
Each one of the notes which formed the mighty chord developed a
theme of its own, some near, some far, some brilliant, some muffled.
It seemed as though the waters and the birds, the breezes and the
forests, heaven and earth, were each in its own tongue singing the
birth of the Saviour.
The crowd held its breath and listened, amazed. There were tears
in every eye, and every heart was swelled with emotion. The priest
at the altar felt his hands tremble, for that which he held in
them--that before which men and archangels bowed--was his God; and he
thought he saw the heavens opened and the Host transfigured. After
that the voices of the organ gradually grew fainter like a sound that
dies as it is blown from echo to echo.
Suddenly, the cry of a woman, a piercing, heart-rending cry, was
heard in the organ-loft. The organ exhaled a strange discord,
something like a sob, and was silent. The people rushed to the
stairs, toward which the faithful, drawn from their religious
ecstasy, had all turned their gaze.
"What has happened? What is it?" whispered they; but nobody knew what
to answer, and the confusion increased, threatening the good order
and pious stillness proper to a church.
"What has happened?" inquired the great ladies of the officer of
justice, who, preceded by the beadles, had first penetrated into the
organ-loft, and who now, pale and deeply distressed, was making his
way to where the bishop awaited him, anxious like the rest of the
congregation to learn the cause of the disturbance.
"What has happened?"
"Maese Pérez is dead!"
And so it was. Those who first reached the organ-loft, jostling
one another up the stairs, had found the poor organist, fallen
face downwards on the keys of the old instrument, which was still
vibrating; while his daughter, kneeling at his feet, was calling to
him in vain with sobs and cries.