My night was troubled by the ghostly crying of the watchman: 'Protect
us, Mary, Queen of Heaven; protect us, Mary!' Every hour it rang out
stridently as soon as the heavy bells of the cathedral had ceased their
clanging, and I thought of the woman kneeling at the cross, and wondered
if her soul had found peace.
In the morning I threw open the windows and the sun came dancing in,
flooding the room with gold. In front of me the great wall of the
cathedral stood grim and grey, and the gargoyles looked savagely across
the square.... The cathedral is admirable; when you enter you find
yourself at once in darkness, and the air is heavy with incense; but, as
your eyes become accustomed to the gloom, you see the black forms of
penitents kneeling by pillars, looking towards an altar, and by the
light of the painted windows a reredos, with the gaunt saints of an
early painter, and aureoles shining dimly.
But the gem of the Cathedral of Xiormonez is the Chapel of the Duke de
Losas, containing, as it does, the alabaster monument of Don Sebastian
Emanuel de Mantona, Duque de Losas, and of the very illustrious Senora
Dona Sodina de Berruguete, his wife. Like everything else in Spain, the
chapel is kept locked up, and the guide-book tells you to apply to the
porter at the palace of the present duke. I sent a little boy to fetch
that worthy, who presently came back, announcing that the porter and his
wife had gone into the country for the day, but that the duke was coming
in person.
And immediately I saw walking towards me a little, dark man, wrapped up
in a big _capa_, with the red and blue velvet of the lining flung
gaudily over his shoulder. He bowed courteously as he approached, and I
perceived that on the crown his hair was somewhat more than thin. I
hesitated a little, rather awkwardly, for the guide-book said that the
porter exacted a fee of one peseta for opening the chapel--one could
scarcely offer sevenpence-halfpenny to a duke. But he quickly put an end
to all doubt, for, as he unlocked the door, he turned to me and said,--
'The fee is one franc.'
As I gave it him he put it in his pocket and gravely handed me a little
printed receipt. _Baedeker_ had obligingly informed me that the Duchy of
Losas was shorn of its splendour, but I had not understood that the
present representative added to his income by exhibiting the bones of
his ancestors at a franc a head....
We entered, and the duke pointed out the groining of the roof and the
tracery of the windows.
'This chapel contains some of the finest Gothic in Spain,' he said.
When he considered that I had sufficiently admired the architecture, he
turned to the pictures, and, with the fluency of a professional guide,
gave me their subjects and the names of the artists.
'Now we come to the tombs of Don Sebastian, the first Duke of Losas,
and his spouse, Dona Sodina--not, however, the first duchess.'
The monument stood in the middle of the chapel, covered with a great
pall of red velvet, so that no economical tourist should see it through
the bars of the gate and thus save his peseta. The duke removed the
covering and watched me silently, a slight smile trembling below his
little, black moustache.
The duke and his wife, who was not his duchess, lay side by side on a
bed of carved alabaster; at the corners were four twisted pillars,
covered with little leaves and flowers, and between them bas-reliefs
representing Love, and Youth, and Strength, and Pleasure, as if, even in
the midst of death, death must be forgotten. Don Sebastian was in full
armour. His helmet was admirably carved with a representation of the
battle between the Centaurs and the Lapithae; on the right arm-piece were
portrayed the adventures of Venus and Mars, on the left the emotions of
Vulcan; but on the breast-plate was an elaborate Crucifixion, with
soldiers and women and apostles. The visor was raised, and showed a
stern, heavy face, with prominent cheek bones, sensual lips and a
massive chin.
'It is very fine,' I remarked, thinking the duke expected some remark.
'People have thought so for three hundred years,' he replied gravely.
He pointed out to me the hands of Don Sebastian.
'The guide-books have said that they are the finest hands in Spain.
Tourists especially admire the tendons and veins, which, as you
perceive, stand out as in no human hand would be possible. They say it
is the summit of art.'
And he took me to the other side of the monument, that I might look at
Dona Sodina.
'They say she was the most beautiful woman of her day,' he said, 'but in
that case the Castilian lady is the only thing in Spain which has not
degenerated.'
She was, indeed, not beautiful: her face was fat and broad, like her
husband's; a short, ungraceful nose, and a little, nobbly chin; a thick
neck, set dumpily on her marble shoulders. One could not but hope that
the artist had done her an injustice.
The Duke of Losas made me observe the dog which was lying at her feet.
'It is a symbol of fidelity,' he said.
'The guide-book told me she was chaste and faithful.'
'If she had been,' he replied, smiling, 'Don Sebastian would perhaps
never have become Duque de Losas.'
'Really!'
'It is an old history which I discovered one day among some family
papers.'