I.

“Do you see that man with the scarlet cloak and the white plume in his

hat,--the one who seems to wear on his waistcoat all the gold of the

galleons of the Indies,--that man, I mean, just stepping down from his

litter to give his hand to the lady there, who, now that she is out of

hers, is coming our way, preceded by four pages with torches? Well, that

is the Marquis of Moscoso, suitor to the widowed Countess of

Villapineda. They say that before setting his eyes upon this lady, he

had asked in marriage the daughter of a man of large fortune, but the

girl’s father, of whom the rumor goes that he is a bit of a miser,--but

hush! Speaking of the devil--do you see that man coming on foot under

the arch of San Felipe, all muffled up in a dark cloak and attended by a

single servant carrying a lantern? Now he is in front of the outer

shrine.

“Do you notice, as his cloak falls back while he salutes the image, the

embroidered cross that sparkles on his breast?

“If it were not for this noble decoration, one would take him for a

shop-keeper from Culebras street. Well, that is the father in question.

See how the people make way for him and lift their hats.

“Everybody in Seville knows him on account of his immense fortune. That

one man has more golden ducats in his chests than our lord King Philip

maintains soldiers, and with his merchantmen he could form a squadron

equal to that of the Grand Turk----

“Look, look at that group of stately cavaliers! Those are the four and

twenty knights. Aha, aha! There goes that precious Fleming, too, whom,

they say, the gentlemen of the green cross have not challenged for

heresy yet, thanks to his influence with the magnates of Madrid. All he

comes to church for is to hear the music. But if Master Pérez does not

draw from him with his organ tears as big as fists, then sure it is that

his soul isn’t under his doublet, but sizzles in the Devil’s frying-pan.

Alack, neighbor! Trouble, trouble! I fear there is going to be a fight.

I shall take refuge in the church; for, from what I see, there will be

hereabouts more blows than _Pater Nosters_. Look, look! The Duke of

Alcalá’s people are coming round the corner of San Pedro’s square, and I

think I spy the Duke of Medinasidonia’s men in Dueñas alley. Didn’t I

tell you?

“Now they have caught sight of each other, now the two parties stop

short, without breaking their order, the groups of bystanders dissolve,

the police, who on these occasions get pounded by both sides, slip away,

even the prefect, staff of office and all, seeks the shelter of the

portico,--and yet they say that there is law to be had.

“For the poor----

“There, there! already shields are shining through the dark. Our Lord

Jesus of All Power deliver us! Now the blows are beginning. Neighbor,

neighbor! this way--before they close the doors. But hush! What is this?

Hardly have they begun when they leave off. What light is that? Blazing

torches! A litter! It’s His Reverence the Bishop.

“The most holy Virgin of Protection, on whom this very instant I was

calling in my heart, brings him to my aid. Ah! But nobody knows what I

owe to that Blessed Lady,--how richly she pays me back for the little

candles that I burn to her every Saturday.--See him! How beautiful he is

with his purple vestments and his red cardinal’s cap! God preserve him

in his sacred chair as many centuries as I wish to live myself! If it

were not for him, half Seville would have been burned up by this time

with these quarrels of the dukes. See them, see them, the great

hypocrites, how they both press close to the litter of the prelate to

kiss his ring! How they drop behind and, mingling with his household

attendants, follow in his train! Who would dream that those two who

appear on such good terms, if within the half hour they should meet in a

dark street--that is, the dukes themselves--God deliver me from thinking

them cowards; good proof have they given of valor, warring more than

once against the enemies of Our Lord; but the truth remains, that if

they should seek each other--and seek with the wish to find--they would

find each other, putting end once for all to these continuous scuffles,

in which those who really do the fighting are their kinsmen, their

friends and their servants.

“But come, neighbor, come into the church, before it is packed full.

Some nights like this it is so crowded that there is not room left for a

grain of wheat. The nuns have a prize in their organist. When has the

convent ever been in such high favor as now? I can tell you that the

other sisterhoods have made Master Pérez magnificent offers, but there

is nothing strange about that, for the Lord Archbishop himself has

offered him mountains of gold to entice him to the cathedral,--but he,

not a bit of it! He would sooner give up his life than his beloved

organ. You don’t know Master Pérez? True enough, you are a newcomer in

this neighborhood. Well, he is a saint; poor, but the most charitable

man alive. With no other relative than his daughter and no other friend

than his organ, he devotes all his life to watching over the innocence

of the one and patching up the registers of the other. Mind that the

organ is old. But that counts for nothing, he is so handy in mending it

and caring for it that its sound is a marvel. For he knows it so

perfectly that only by touch,--for I am not sure that I have told you

the poor gentleman is blind from his birth. And how patiently he bears

his misfortune! When people ask him how much

[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL, SEVILLE]

he would give to see, he replies: ‘Much, but not as much as you think,

for I have hopes.’ ‘Hopes of seeing?’ ‘Yes, and very soon,’ he adds,

smiling like an angel. ‘Already I number seventy-six years; however long

my life may be, soon I shall see God.’

“Poor dear! And he will see Him, for he is humble as the stones of the

street, which let all the world trample on them. He always says that he

is only a poor convent organist, when the fact is he could give lessons

in harmony to the very chapel master of the Cathedral, for he was, as it

were, born to the art. His father held the same position before him; I

did not know the father, but my mother--God rest her soul!--says that he

always had the boy at the organ with him to blow the bellows. Then the

lad developed such talent that, as was natural, he succeeded to the

position on the death of his father. And what a touch is in his hands,

God bless them! They deserve to be taken to Chicarreros street and there

enchased in gold. He always plays well, always, but on a night like this

he is a wonder. He has the greatest devotion for this ceremony of the

Midnight Mass, and when the Host is elevated, precisely at twelve

o’clock, which is the moment Our Lord Jesus Christ came into the world,

the tones of his organ are the voices of angels.

“But, after all, why should I praise to you what you will hear to-night?

It is enough to see that all the most distinguished people of Seville,

even the Lord Archbishop himself, come to a humble convent to listen to

him; and don’t suppose that it is only the learned people and those who

are versed in music that appreciate his genius, but the very rabble of

the streets. All these groups that you see arriving with pine-torches

ablaze, chorusing popular songs, broken by rude outcries, to the

accompaniment of timbrels, tambourines and rustic drums, these, contrary

to their custom, which is to make disturbance in the churches, are still

as the dead when Master Pérez lays his hands upon the organ, and when

the Host is elevated, you can’t hear a fly; great tears roll down from

the eyes of all, and at the end is heard a sound like an immense sigh,

which is nothing else than the expulsion of the breath of the multitude,

held in while the music lasts. But come, come! The bells have stopped

ringing, and the mass is going to begin. Come inside.

“This night is Christmas Eve for all the world, but for nobody more than

for us.”

So saying, the good woman who had been acting as _cicerone_ for her

neighbor pressed through the portico of the Convent of Santa Inés, and

by dint of elbowing and pushing succeeded in getting inside the church,

disappearing amid the multitude which thronged the inner spaces near the

doors.