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 Shadow of the cathedral; 
 
 3 1924 027 686 876 
 
a Cornell University 
 y Library 
 
 The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027686876 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE 
 CATHEDRAL 
 
 BY 
 
 VINCENT BLASCO IBANEZ 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH 
 BY 
 
 Mrs. W. a. GILLESPIE 
 
 WITH A CRITICAL INTRODUCTION 
 BY 
 
 W. D. HOWELLS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 E. P. DUTTON &• COMPANY 
 
 681 FIFTH AVENUE 
 

 A.3?5"'^5' 
 
 Copyright, 1919, 
 by e. p dutton & company 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 Printed In the United States of America 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 There are three cathedrals which I think will remain 
 chief of the Spanish cathedrals in the remembrance of the 
 traveller, namely the Cathedral at Burgos, the Cathedral 
 at Toledo, and the Cathedral at Seville ; and first of these 
 for reasons hitherto of history and art, and now of 
 fiction, will be the Cathedral at Toledo, which the most 
 commanding taknt among the contemporary Spanish 
 novelists has made the protagonist of the romance follow- 
 ing. I do not mean that Vincent Blasco Ibanez is greater 
 than Perez Galdos, or Armando Palacio Valdes or even 
 the Countess Pardo-Bazan ; but he belongs to their real- 
 istic order of imagination, and he is easily the first of 
 living European novelists outside of Spain, with the ad- 
 vantage of superior youth, freshness of invention and 
 force of characterization. The Russians have ceased to 
 be actively the masters, and there is no Frenchman, 
 Englishman, or Scandinavian who counts with Ibanez, 
 and of course no Italian, American, and, unspeakably, 
 no German. 
 
 I scarcely know whether to speak first of this book 
 or the writer of it, but as I know less of him than of it I 
 may more quickly dispatch that part of my introduction. 
 He was born at Valencia in 1866, of Arragonese origin, 
 and of a strictly middle class family. His father kept 
 a shop, a dry-goods store in fact, but Ibanez, after fit 
 preparation, studied law in the University of Valencia 
 and was duly graduated in that science. Apparently he 
 never practiced his profession, but became a journalist 
 almost immediately. He was instinctively a fevolutionist, 
 
vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 and was imprisoned in Barcelona, the home of revolu- 
 tion, for some political oflFence, when he was eighteen. It 
 does not appear whether he committed his popular of- 
 fence in the Republican newspaper which he established 
 in Valencia; but it is certain that he was elected a Re- 
 publican deputy to the Cortes, where he became a leader 
 of his party, while yet evidently of no great maturity. 
 
 He began almost as soon to write fiction of the natural- 
 istic type, and of a Zolaistic coloring which his Spanish 
 critics find rather stronger than I have myself seen it. 
 Every young writer forms himself upon some older 
 writer ; nobody begins master ; but Ibaiiez became master 
 while he was yet no doubt practicing a prentice hand; 
 yet I do not feel very strongly the Zolastic influence in 
 his first novel. La Barraca, or The Cabin, which paints 
 peasant life in the region of Valencia, studied at first 
 hand and probably from personal knowledge. It is not 
 a very spacious scheme, but in its narrow field it is strict- 
 ly a novela de costumbres, or novel of manners, as we 
 used to call the kind. Ibaiiez has in fact never written 
 anything but novels of manners, and La Barraca pictures 
 a neighborhood where a stranger takes up a waste tract of 
 land and tries to make a home for himself and family. This 
 makes enemies of all his neighbors who after an interval 
 of pity for the newcomer in the loss of one of his chil- 
 dren return to their cruelty and render the place impos- 
 sible to him. It is a tragedy such as naturalism alone 
 can stage and give the effect of life. I have read few 
 things so touching as this tale of commonest experience 
 which seems as true to the suffering and defeat of the 
 newcomers, as to the stupid inhumanity of the neighbors 
 who join, under the lead of the evillest among them, in 
 driving the strangers away ; in fact I know nothing parallel 
 to it, certainly nothing in English; perhaps The House 
 ptnth the Green Shutters breathes as great an anguish. 
 
INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 At just what interval or remove the novel which gave 
 Ibanez worldwide reputation followed this little tale, I 
 cannot say, and it is not important that I should try to 
 say. But it is worth while to note here that he never flat- 
 ters the vices or even the swoier virtues of his country- 
 men ; and it is much to their honor that they have accepted 
 him in the love of his art for the sincerity of his dealing 
 with their conditions. In Sangre y Arena his affair is 
 with the cherished atrocity which keeps the Spaniards in 
 the era of the gladiator shows of Rome. The hero, as 
 the renowned torrero whose career it celebrates, from his 
 first boyish longing to be a bull-fighter, to his death, 
 weakened by years and wounds, in the arena of Madrid, 
 is something absolute in characterization. The whole 
 book in fact is absolute in its fidelity to the general fact 
 it deals with, and the persons of its powerful drama. 
 Each in his or her place is realized with an art which 
 leaves one in no doubt of their lifelikeness, and keeps 
 each as vital as the torrero himself. There is little of the 
 humor which relieves the pathos of Valdes in the equal 
 fidelity of his Marta y Maria or the unsurpassable trag- 
 edy of Galdos in his Dona Perfecta. The torrero' s family 
 who have dreaded his bojrish ambition with the anxiety 
 of good common people, and his devotedly gentle and 
 beautiful wife, — even his bullying and then truckling 
 brother-in-law who is ashamed of his profession and then 
 proud of him when it has filled Spain with his fame, — are 
 made to live in the spacious scene. But above all in 
 her lust for him and her contempt for him the unique 
 figure of Dona Sol astounds. She rules him as her 
 brother the marquis would rule a mistress; even in 
 the abandon of her passion she does not admit him to 
 social equality ; she will not let him speak to her in thee 
 and thoii, he must address her as ladyship; she is mon- 
 strous without ceasing to be a woman of her world, when 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 he dies before her in the arena a broken and vanquished 
 man. The torrero is morally better than the aristocrat 
 and he is none the less human though a mere incident of 
 her wicked life,— her insulted and rejected worshipper, 
 who yet deserves his fate. 
 
 Sangre y Arena is a book of unexampled force and in 
 that sort must be reckoned the greatest novel of the 
 author, who has neglected no phase of his varied scene. 
 The torrero's mortal disaster in the arena is no more 
 important than the action behind the scenes where the 
 gored horses have their dangling entrails sewed up 
 by the primitive surgery of the place and are then ridden 
 back into the amphitheatre to suffer a second agony. No 
 color of the dreadful picture is spared ; the whole thing 
 passes as in the reader's presence before his sight and 
 his other senses. The book is a masterpiece far in ad- 
 vance of that study of the common life which Ibanez calls 
 La Horda; dealing with the horde of common poor and 
 those accidents of beauty and talent as native to them 
 as to the classes called the better. It has the attraction 
 of the author's frank handling, and the power of the 
 Spanish scene in which the action passes; but it could 
 not hold me to the end. 
 
 It is only in his latest book that he transcends the 
 Spanish scene and peoples the wider range from South 
 America to Paris, and from Paris to the invaded 
 provinces of France with characters proper to the times 
 and places. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse has 
 not the rough textures and rank dyes of the wholly Span- 
 ish stories, but it is the strongest story of the great war 
 known to me, and its loss in the Parisian figures is made 
 more than good in the novelty and veracity of the Argen- 
 tinos who supply that element of internationality which 
 the North American novelists of a generation ago em- 
 ployed to give a fresh interest to their work. With the 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 coming of the hero to study art and make love in the 
 conventional Paris, and the repatriation of his father, 
 a cattle millionaire of French birth from the pampas, 
 with his wife and daughters, Ibaiiez achieves effects be- 
 yond the art of Henry James, below whom he neverthe- 
 less falls so far in subtlety and beauty. 
 
 The book has moments of the pathos so rich in the 
 work of Galdos and Valdes, and especially of Emilia 
 Pardo-Bazan in her Morrina or Home Sickness, the 
 story of a peasant girl in Barcelona, but the grief of the 
 Argentine family for the death of the son and brother 
 in battle with the Germans, has the appeal of anguish 
 beyond any moment in La Catedral. I do not know 
 just the order of this last-mentioned novel among the 
 stories of Ibaiiez, but it has a quality of imagination, of 
 poetic feeling which surpasses the invention of any other 
 that I have read, and makes me think it came before 
 Sangre y Arena, and possibly before La Horda. I can- 
 not recall any other novel of the author which is quite 
 so psychological as this. It is in fact a sort of biography, 
 a personal study, of "Sie mighty fane at Toledo, as if 
 the edifice were of human quality and could have its 
 life expressed in human terms. There is nothing 
 forced in the poetic conception, or mechanical in the 
 execution. The Cathedral is not only a single life, it is 
 a neighborhood, a city, a world in itself; and its com- 
 plex character appears in the nature of the different souls 
 which collectively animate it. The first of these is the 
 sick and beaten native of it who comes back to the world 
 which he has never loved or trusted, but in which he was 
 bom and reared. As a son of its faith, Gabriel Luna was 
 to have been a priest; but before he became a minister 
 of its faith, it meant almost the same that he should 
 become a Carlist soldier, and fight on for that cause till 
 it was hopeless. In his French captivity he loses the faith 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 which was one with the Carlist cause, and in England he 
 reads Darwin and becomes an evolutionist of the ardor 
 which the evolutionists have now lost. He wanders over 
 Europe with the English girl whom he worships with an 
 intellectual rather than passionate ardor, and after her 
 death he ends at Barcelona in time to share one of the 
 habitual revolutions of the province and to spend several 
 years in one of its prisons. When he comes out it is 
 into a world which he is doomed to leave; he is sick 
 to death and in hopeless poverty ; he has lost the courage 
 of his revolutionary faith if not his fealty to it; all that 
 he asks of the world is leave to creep out of it and some- 
 where die in peace. He thinks of an elder brother who 
 like himself was born in the precincts of the Cathedral 
 where generations of their family have lived and died, and 
 his brother does not deny him. In fact the kind, dull 
 gardener welcomes him to a share of his poverty, and Ga- 
 briel begins dying where he began living. The kindness be- 
 tween the brothers is as simple in the broken adventurer 
 whose wide world has failed him as in the aging peasant, 
 pent from his birth in the Cathedral close, with no knowl- 
 edge of anything beyond it. All their kindred who serve 
 in their several sort the stepmother church, down to the 
 gardener's son whose office is to keep dogs out of the 
 Cathedral and has the title of perrero, are good to the 
 returning exile. They do not well understand what and 
 where he has been; the tradition of his gifted youth 
 when he was dedicated to the church and forsook her 
 service at the altar for her service in the field, remains 
 unquestioned, and he is safe in the refuge of his family 
 who can offer mainly their insignificance for his protec- 
 tion. The logic of the fact is perfect, and Ga- 
 briel's emergence from the quiet of his retreat inevitably 
 follows from the nature of the agitator as the logic of his 
 own past and has the approval at least of the perrero 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 and the allegiance of the rest. What is very important 
 in the affair is that most of the inhabitants of this Cathe- 
 dral-world, rich and poor, good, bad, and indifferent, 
 mean and generous, are few of them wicked people, as 
 wickedness is commonly understooH"f~fhey all Tiave their 
 habitual or their occasional moments of good will. 
 
 The refugee is tired of his past but he does not deny 
 his faith in humanity; his doctrine only postpones to 
 a time secularly remote the redemption of humanity from 
 its secular suffering. He begins at once to do good; 
 he rescues his kind elder brother from the repudiation 
 of the daughter whom he has cast off because her seduc- 
 tion has condemned her to a life of shame ; he wins back 
 the poor prostitute to her home, and forces her father to 
 tolerate her in it. 
 
 Most of the Cathedral folk are of course miserably 
 poor, but willing to be better than they are if they can 
 keep from starving; the fierce and prepotent Cardinal 
 who is over them all, has moments of the common good 
 will, when he forgives all his enemies except the recal- 
 citrant canons. He likes to escape from these, and talk 
 with the elderly widow of the gardener whom he has 
 known from his boyhood, and to pity himself in her pres- 
 ence and smoke himself free from his rancor and trouble. 
 He is such a prelate as we know historically in enough 
 instances; but he is pathetic in that simplicity which 
 survives in him and almost makes good the loss of inno- 
 cence in Latin souls. He keeps with him the young girl 
 who is the daughter of his youth, and whom it cuts him 
 to the soul to have those opprobrious canons imagine his 
 mistress. He is one out of the many figures that affirm 
 their veracity in the strange world where they haVe their 
 being; and he is only the more vivid as the head of a 
 hierarchy which he rules rather violently though never 
 ignobly. 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 But the populace, the underpaid domestics and laborers 
 of the ^traiige ecclesiastical world in their wretched over- 
 worked lives and hopeless deaths are what the author 
 / presents most vividly. There is the death of the cob- 
 bler's baby which starves at the starving mother's breast 
 which the author makes us witness in its insupportable 
 pathos, but his art is not chiefly shown in such extremes : 
 his affair includes the whole tragical drama of the 
 place, both its beauty and its squalor of fact, but he 
 keeps central the character of the refugee, Gabriel Luna, 
 in the allegiance to his past which he cannot throw off. 
 When he begins to teach the simple denizens of the 
 Cathedral, some of them hear him gladly, and some in- 
 differently, and some unwillingly, but none intelligently." 
 He fails with them in that doctrine of patience which was 
 his failure, as an agitator, with the proletariat wherever 
 he has been; they could not wait through geological 
 epochs for the reign of mercy and justice which he could 
 not reasonably promise the overworked and underfed 
 multitude to-morrow or the day after. His brother, who 
 could not accept his teachings, warns him that the people 
 of the Cathedral will not understand him and cannot 
 accept his scientific gospel, and for a while he desists. 
 In fact he takes service in the ceremonial of the Cathe- 
 dral; he even plays a mechanical part in the procession 
 of Corpus Christi, and finally he becomes one of the 
 night-watchmen who guard the temple from the bur- 
 glaries always threatening its treasures. 
 
 The story is quite without the love-interest which is 
 the prime attraction of our mostly silly fiction. Gabriel's 
 association with the English girl who wanders over 
 Europe with him is scarcely passionate if it is not alto- 
 gether platonic ; his affection for the poor girl for whom 
 he has won her father's tolerance if not forgiveness be- 
 comes a tender affection, but not possibly more; and 
 
INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 there is as little dramatic incident as love interest in the 
 book. The extraordinary power of it lies in_jta._fealty.- 
 to the truth-atid-^its insight into human nature. The 
 reader of course perceives that it is intensely anti-eccle- 
 siastical, but he could make no greater mistake than to 
 imagine it in any wise Protestant. The author shares 
 this hate or slight of ecclesiasticism with all the Spanish 
 novelists, so far as I know them ; most notably with Perez 
 Galdos in Dona Perfecta and Leon Rich, with Pardo- 
 Bazan in several of her stories, with Palacio Valdes in 
 the less measure of Marta y Maria, and La Hermana de 
 San Sidpicio and even with the romanticist Valera in 
 Pepita Jimenez. But it may be said that while Ibaiiez 
 does not go any farther than Galdos, for instance, he is 
 yet more intensively agnostic. He is the standard bearer 
 of the scientific revolt in the terms of fiction which spares 
 us~no hope of relief in the religious notion of human 
 life here or hereafter that the Hebraic or Christian the- 
 ology has divined. 
 
 It is right to say this plainly, but the reader who can 
 suffer it from the author will find his book one of the 
 fullest and richest in modem fiction, worthy to rank with 
 the greatest Russian work and beyond anything yet done 
 in English. It has not the topographical range of Tol- 
 stoy's War and Peace, or Resurrection; but in its climax 
 it is as logically and ruthlessly tragical as anything that 
 the Spanish spirit has yet imagined. 
 
 Whoever can hold on to the end of it will find his re- 
 ward in the full enjoyment of that "noble terror" which 
 high tragedy alone can give. Nothing that happens in the 
 solemn story — in which something significant is almost 
 always happening — is of the supreme effect of the socialist 
 agitator's death at the hands of the disciples whom he 
 has taught to expect mercy and justice on earth, but 
 forbidden to expect it within the reach of the longest life 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 of any man or race of men. His rebellious followers 
 come at night into the Cathedral where Gabriel is watch- 
 ing, to rob an especially rich Madonna, whom he has 
 taught them to regard as a senseless and wasteful idol, 
 and they will not hear him when he pleads with them 
 against the theft. The inevitable irony of the event is 
 awful, but it is not cruel, rather it is the supreme touch 
 of that pathos which seems the crowning motive of the 
 book. 
 
 W. D. HOWELLS. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
THE SHADOW OF 
 THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 The dawn was just rising when Gabriel Luna arrived 
 in front of the Cathedral, but in the narrow street of 
 Toledo it was still night. The silvery morning light 
 that had scarcely begun to touch the eaves and roofs, 
 spread out more freely in the little Piazza del Ayunta- 
 miento, bringing out of the shadows the ugly front of 
 the Archbishop's Palace, and the towers of the municipal 
 buildings capped with black slate, a sombre erection of 
 the time of Charles V. 
 
 Gabriel walked for some time up and down the 
 deserted square, wrapping himself up to his eyes in the 
 muffler of his cloak, while at intervals his hollow cough 
 shook him painfully. Without daring to stop walking 
 on account of the bitter cold, he looked at the great 
 doorway called "del Perdon," the only part of the church 
 able to present a really imposing aspect. He recalled 
 other famous cathedrals, isolated, occupying command- 
 ing situations, showing themselves freely in the full pride 
 of their beauty, and he compared them with this 
 Cathedral of Toledo, the mother-church of Spain,) ^ 
 smothered by the swarm of poverty-stricken buildings, 
 that surrounded it, clinging closely to its walls, permitting 
 
2 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 it to display none of its exterior beauties, beyond what 
 could be seen from the narrow streets that closed it in 
 on every side. Gabriel, who was acquainted with its 
 interior magnificence, thought of the deceptive oriental 
 houses, outwardly squalid and miserable, but inwardly 
 rich in alabasters and traceries. Jews and Moors had 
 not lived in Toledo for centuries in vain, their aversion 
 to outward show seemed to have influenced the building 
 of the Cathedral, now suffocated by the miserable hovels, 
 pushed and piled up against it, as though seeking its 
 protection. 
 
 The little Piazza del Ayuntamiento was the only open 
 space that allowed the Christian monument to display 
 any of its grandeur; under this little patch of open sky 
 the early morning light showed the three immense 
 Gothic arches of its principal front, the hugely massive 
 bell tower, with its salient angles, ornamented by the 
 cap of the Alcuzon, a sort of black tiara, with three 
 crowns, almost lost in the grey mist of the wintry 
 dawn. 
 
 Gabriel looked affectionately at the closed and silent 
 fane, where his family lived, and where he himself had 
 spent the happiest days of his life. How many years had 
 passed since he had last seen it! And now he waited 
 anxiously for the opening of its doorways. 
 
 He had arrived in Toledo by train the previous night 
 from Madrid. Before shutting himself up in his miser- 
 able little room in the Posada del Sangre (the ancient 
 Messon del Sevillano, inhabited by Cervantes) he had 
 felt a feverish desire to revisit the Cathedral, and had 
 spent nearly an hour walking round it, listening to the 
 barking of the Cathedral watch-dog, who growled 
 suspiciously, hearing the sound of footsteps in the sur- 
 rounding streets. He had been unable to sleep; the 
 fact of returning to his native town after so manx 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAU 3 
 
 years of misery and adventures had taken from him all 
 desire to rest, and, while it was still night, he again 
 stole out to await near the Cathedral the moment that 
 it should be opened. 
 
 To while away the time he paced up and down the 
 front, admiring again the beauties of the porch, and 
 noting its defects aloud, as though he wished to call the 
 stone benches of the Piazza and its wretched little trees 
 as witnesses to his criticisms. 
 
 An iron grating surmounted by urns of the seven- 
 teenth century ran in front of the porch, enclosing a 
 wide, flagged space, where in former times the sumptuous 
 processions of the Chapter had assembled, and where 
 the multitude could admire the grotesque giants on high 
 days and festivals. 
 
 The first storey of the fagade was broken in the 
 centre by the great Puerta del Perdon, an enormous 
 and very deeply-recessed Gothic arch, which narrowed 
 as it receded by the gradations of its mouldings, 
 adorned by statues of apostles, under open-worked 
 canopies, and by shields emblazoned with lions and 
 castles. On the pillar dividing the doorway stood 
 Jesus in kingly crown and mantle, thin and drawn 
 out, with the look of emaciation and misery tiiat the 
 imagination of the Middle Ages conceived necessary 
 for the expression of Divine sublimity. In the tym- 
 panum a relievo represented the Virgin surrounded by 
 angels, robed in the habit of St. Ildefonso, a pious 
 legend repeated in various parts of the building as 
 though it were one of its chief glories. 
 
 On one side was the doorway called "de la Torre," ^ 
 on the other side that called "de los Escribanos," * for 
 by it entered in former days the guardians of public 
 
 ' Of the Tower. 
 • Of the Scribes. 
 
4 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 religion to take the oath to fulfil the duties of their 
 office. Both were enriched with stone statues on the 
 jambs, and by wreaths of little figures, foliage, and 
 emblems that unrolled themselves among the mouldings 
 till they met at the summit of the arch. 
 
 Above these three doorways with their exuberant 
 Gothic rose the second storey of Greco-Romano and 
 almost modern construction, causing Gabriel the same 
 annoyance as would a discordant trumpet interrupting 
 a symphony. Jesus and the twelve apostles, all life size, 
 seated at tiie table, each under his own canopied niche, 
 could be seen above the central porch, shut in by 
 the two tower-like buttresses which divided the front 
 into three parts. Beyond, two rows of arcades of 
 inferior design, belonging to the Italian palace, extended 
 as far as those under which Gabriel had so often 
 played as a child when living in the house of the bell- 
 ringer. 
 
 The riches of the Church, thought Luna, were a 
 misfortune for art; in a poorer church the uniformity 
 of the ancient_fro_nt„w^ul4 have been preserve3^ But, 
 then, the Archbishop of Toledo had eleven millions of 
 yearly revenue, and the Chapter as many more; they 
 did not know_Jvhat to do with their money, so started 
 works and made reconstructions, and the decadent 
 art produced monstrosities like that one of the Last 
 Supper. 
 
 Above, again, rose the third storey, two great arches 
 that lighted the large rose of the central nave. The 
 whole > was crowned by a balustrade of openworked 
 stone following the sinuosities of the frontage, between 
 the two salient masses that guarded it, the tower and the 
 Musarabe chapel. 
 
 Gabriel ceased his contemplation, seeing that he was 
 no longer alone in front of the church. It was nearly 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 5 
 
 daylight, and several women with bowed heads, their 
 mantillas falling over their eyes, were passing in 
 front of the iron grating. The crutches of a lame man 
 rang out on the fine tiles of the pavement, and, out 
 beyond the tower, under the great arch of communi- 
 cation between the archbishop's palace and the Cathe- 
 dral, the beggars were gathering in order to take up 
 their accustomed positions at the cloister door. The 
 faithful and "God's creatures"^ knew one another; 
 every morning they were the first occupants of the 
 church, and this daily meeting had established a kind 
 of fraternity, and with much coughing and hoarseness 
 they all lamented the cold of the morning and the 
 lateness of the bell-ringer in coming down to open the 
 doors. 
 
 A door opened beyond the archbishop's arch, that of 
 the tower and the staircase leading to the dwellings in 
 the upper cloister. A man crossed the street rattling a 
 huge bunch of keys, and, followed by the usual morning 
 assemblage, he proceeded to open the door of the lower 
 cloister, narrow and pointed as an arrow-head. Gabriel 
 recognised him, it was Mariano, the bell-ringer. To 
 avoid being noticed he remained" motionless in the 
 Piazza, allowing those to pass first through the Puerta 
 del Mollete,^ who seemed so anxious to hurry into the 
 Metropolitan church, lest their usual places should be 
 stolen from them and occupied by others. 
 
 At last he decided to follow them, and slowly de- 
 scended the same steps leading down into the cloister, 
 for the Cathedral, being built in a hollow, is much lower 
 than the adjacent streets. 
 
 Everything appeared the same. There on the walls 
 were the great frescoes of Bayan y Maella, representing 
 
 ' Pordioseres. 
 
 •Door of the rolls, or loaves. 
 
6 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 the works and great deeds of Saint Eulogio, his preach- 
 ing in the land of the Moors, and the cruelties of the 
 infidels, who, with big turbans and enormous whiskers, 
 were beating the saint. In the interior of the Mol- 
 lete doorway was represented the horrible martyrdom 
 of the Child de la Guardia; that legend born at the 
 same time in so many Catholic towns during the heat 
 of anti-Semitic hatred, the sacrifice of the Christian 
 child, stolen from his home by Jews of grim coun- 
 tenance, who crucified him in order to tear out his heart 
 and drink his blood. 
 
 The damp was rapidly effacing this romantic fresco, 
 that filled the sides of the archway like the frontispiece 
 of a book, causing it to scale off ; but Gabriel could still 
 see the horrible face of the judge standing at the foot of 
 the cross, and the ferocious gesture of the man, who 
 with his knife in his mouth, was bending forward to tear 
 out the heart of the little martyr; theatrical figures, but 
 they had often disturbed his childish dreams. 
 
 The garden in the midst of the cloister showed even in 
 midwinter its southern vegetation of tall laurels and 
 cypresses, stretching their branches through the grating 
 of the arches that, five on each side, surrounded the 
 square, and rising to the capitals of the pillars. Gabriel 
 looked a long time at the garden, which was higher than 
 the cloister; his face was on a level with the ground on 
 which his father had laboured so many years ago ; at last 
 he saw again that charming comer of verdure — ^the 
 'Jews' market converted into a garden by the canons 
 centuries before. The remembrance of it had followed 
 him everywhere — in the Bois de Boulogne, in Hyde 
 Park ; for him the garden of the Toledan Cathedral was 
 the most beautiful of all gardens, for it was the first he 
 had even known in his life. 
 ^,^The beggars seated on the doorsteps watched him 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 7 
 
 curiously, without daring to stretch out their hands ; they 
 could not tell if this early morning visitor with the worn- 
 out cloak, the shabby hat, and the old boots, was simply 
 an inquisitive traveller, or whether he was one of their 
 own order, choosing a position about the Cathedral from 
 whence to beg alms. 
 
 Annoyed by this curiosity, Luna walked down the 
 cloister, passing by the two doors that opened into the 
 church. The one called del Presentacion is a lovely 
 example of Plateresque art, chiselled like a jewel, and 
 adorned with fanciful and happy trifles. Going on fur- 
 ther, he came to the back of the staircase by which the 
 archbishops descended from their palace to the church; 
 a wall covered with Gothic interlacings, and large 
 escutcheons, and almost on the level of the ground was 
 the famous "stone of light," a thin slice of marble as 
 clear as glass, which gave light to the staircase, and was 
 the admiration of all the countryfolk who came to visit 
 the cloister. Then came the door of Santa Catalina, 
 black and gold, with richly-carved polychrome foliage, 
 mixed with lions and castles, and on the jambs two 
 statues of prophets. 
 
 Gabriel went on a few steps further as he saw that 
 the wicket of the doorway was being opened from in- 
 side. It was the bell-ringer going his rounds and open- 
 ing all the doors; first of all a dog came out, stretching 
 his neck as though he was going to bark with hunger, 
 then two men with their caps over their eyes, wrapped 
 in brown cloaks; the bell-ringer held up the curtain to 
 let them pass out. 
 
 "Well, good-day, Mariano," said one of them by way 
 of farewell. 
 
 "Good-night to the caretakers of God. . . . May you 
 sleep well." 
 
 Gabriel recognised the nocturnal guardians of the 
 
8 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 Cathedral; locked into the church since the previous 
 night, they were now going to their homes to sleep. 
 
 The dog trotted off in the direction of the seminary 
 to get his breakfast off the scraps left by the students, 
 free till such time as the guardians came to look for him, 
 to lock themselves in the church once more. 
 
 Luna walked down the steps of the doorway into the 
 Cathedral. His feet had scarcely touched the pavement 
 ^before he felt on his face the cold touch of the clammy 
 air, like an underground vault. In the church it was still 
 dark, but above the stained glass of the hundreds of dif- 
 ferent-sized windows glowed in the earty dawn, looking 
 like magic_flow€rs opening with the first splendours of 
 day. Below, among the enormous pillars that looked like 
 a forest of stone, all was darkness, broken here and 
 there by the 'uncertain red spots of the lamps burning 
 in the different chapels, wavering in the shadows. The 
 bats flew in and out round the columns, wishing to pro- 
 long their possession of the fane, till the first rays of the 
 sun shone through the windows; they fluttered over the, 
 heads of the devotees, who, kneeling before the altars, 
 were praying loudly, as pleased to be in the Cathedral 
 at that early hour as though it were their own house. 
 Others chattered with the acolytes and other servants 
 of the church, who were coming in by the different 
 doors, sleepy and stretching themselves like workmen 
 coming to their work. In the twilight, figures in black 
 cloaks glided by on their way to the sacristy, stopping 
 to make genuflections before each image; and in the 
 distance, invisible in the darkness, you could still divine 
 the presence of the bell-ringer, like a restless'liobgoblin, 
 by the rattle of his bunch of keys and the creaking of 
 the doors he opened on his round. 
 
 The Cathedral was awake. Echo repeated the banging 
 of the doors from nave to nave ; a large broom, making 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 9 
 
 a saw-like noise, began to sweep in front of the 
 sacristy ; the church vibrated under the blows of certain 
 acolytes engaged in removing the dust from the 
 famous carved stalls in the choir; it seemed as though 
 the Cathedral had awoke with its nerves irritated, 
 and that the slightest touch produced complaints. 
 
 The men's footsteps resounded with a tremendous 
 echo, as though the tombs of all the kings, archbishops 
 and warriors hidden under the tiled floor were being 
 disturbed. 
 
 The cold inside the church was even more intense \/ 
 than that ^tifslde ; thts,— together-witlr the -damp-nf-Jts 
 soil traversed by underground water drains, and the 
 leakage of subterranean and hidden tanks that stained 
 the pavement, made the poor canons in the choir cough 
 horribly, "shortening their lives," as they co'mplainingly 
 said. 
 
 The morning light began to spread through the 
 naves, bringing out of the darkness the spotless 
 w,hiteness of the Toledan Cathedral, the purity of 
 its stone making it the lightest and most beautiful 
 of temples. One could now see all the elegant and 
 daring beauty of the eighty-eight pillars soaring auda- 
 ciously into space, white as frozen snow, and the deli- 
 cate ribs interlacing to carry the vaulting. In the 
 upper storey the sun shone through the large stained- 
 glass windows, making them look like fairy gardens. 
 
 Gabriel seated himself on the base of one of the 
 pilasters between two columns ; but he was soon obliged 
 to rise and move on, the dampness of the stone, and the 
 vault-like cold throughout the whole building penetrated 
 to his very bones. 
 
 He strolled through the naves, attracting the attention 
 of the devotees, who stopped in their prayers to watch 
 him. A stranger at that early hour, which belonged 
 
10 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 specially to the familiars of the Cathedral, excited their 
 curiosity. 
 
 The bell-ringer passed him several times, following 
 him with uneasy glance, as though this unknown man, 
 of poverty-stricken aspect, who wandered aimlessly 
 about at an hour when the treasures of the church were, 
 as a rule, not so strictly watched, inspired him with little 
 confidence. 
 
 Another man met him near the high altar. Luna 
 recognised him also: it was Eusebio, the sacristan of the 
 chapel of the Sagrario, "Azul de la Virgen," ^as he was 
 called by the Cathedral staff, on account of the celestial 
 colour of the cloak he wore on festival days. 
 
 Six years had passed since Gabriel had last seen him, 
 but he had not forgotten his greasy carcase, his surly 
 face with its narrow, wrinkled forehead fringed with 
 bristly hair, his bull neck that scarcely allowed him to 
 breathe, and that made every breath like the blast of a 
 bellows. All the servants of the Cathedral envied him 
 his post, which was the most lucrative of all, to say 
 nothing of the favour he enjoyed with the archbishop 
 and the canons. 
 
 "Virgin's blue" considered the Cathedral as his own 
 peculiar property, and he often came very near turning 
 out those who inspired him with any antipathy. 
 
 He fixed his bold eyes on the vagabond he saw walk- 
 ing about the church, making an effort to raise his over- 
 hanging brows. Where had he seen this strange fellow 
 before? Gabriel noted the effort he made to recall his 
 memory, and turned his back to examine with pretended 
 interest a coloured panel hanging on a pillar. 
 
 Flying from the curiosity excited by his presence in 
 the fane, he went out into the cloister ; there he felt more 
 at his ease, quite alone. The beggars were chattering, 
 * Virgin's blue. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL il 
 
 seated on the doorsteps of the Mollete; many of the 
 clergy passed through them, entering the church hurried- 
 ly by the door of the Presentacion ; the beggars saluted 
 them all by name, but without stretching out their hands. 
 They knew them, they all belonged to the "household," 
 and among friends one does not beg. They were there 
 to fall on the strangers, and they waited patiently for the 
 coming of the English ; for, surely, all the strangers who 
 came from Madrid by the early morning train could only 
 be from England. 
 
 Gabriel waited near the door, knowing that those com- 
 ing from the cloister must enter by it. He crossed the 
 archbishop's arch, and, following the open staircase of 
 the palace, descended into the street, re-entering the 
 church by the Mollete door. Luna, who knew all the 
 history of the Cathedral, remembered the origin of its 
 name. At first it was called "of justice," because under 
 it the Vicar-General of the Archbishopric gave audience. 
 Later it was called "del Mollete," because every day 
 after high mass the acolytes and vergers assembled there 
 for the blessing of the half-pound loaves, or rolls of 
 bread distributed to the poor. Six hundred bushels of 
 wheat — as Luna remembered — were distributed yearly in 
 this alms, but this was in the days when the yearly 
 revenues of the Cathedral were more than eleven mil- 
 lions. 
 
 Gabriel felt annoyed by the curious glances of the.^ 
 clergy, and of the devout entering the church. They j 
 were people accustomed to seeing each other daily at , 
 the same hour, and they felt their curiosity excited by/ 
 seeing a stranger breaking in on the monotony of their | 
 lives. ^ 
 
 He drew back to the further end of the cloister, then 
 some words from the beggars made him retrace his 
 steps. 
 
12 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "Ah! here comes old 'Vara de palo.'"^ 
 
 "Good-day, Seiior Esteban !" 
 
 A small man dressed in black, and shaved like a cleric, 
 came down the steps. 
 
 "Esteban ! Esteban !" cried Luna, placing himself be- 
 tween him and the door of the Presentacion. 
 
 "Wooden Staff" looked at him with his clear eyes like 
 amber, the quiet eyes of a man used to spending long 
 hours in the Cathedral, with never a rebellious thought 
 arising to disturb his immovable beatitude. He stood 
 doubting for some time, as though he could scarcely 
 credit the remote resemblance in this thin, pale face, 
 to another that lived in his memory, but at last, with 
 a pained surprise, he became convinced of its iden- 
 tity, 
 
 "Gabriel! my brother! is it really you?" 
 
 And the rigidly set face of the Cathedral servant, 
 which seemed to have acquired the immobility of its pil- 
 lars and statues, relaxed with an affectionate smile. 
 
 "When did you come ? Where have you been ? What 
 is your life ? Why have you come ?" 
 
 "Wooden Staff" expressed his surprise by incessant 
 questions, never giving his brother time to answer. 
 
 Gabriel at length explained, that he had arrived the 
 previous night, and that he had waited outside the 
 church since early dawn in the hopes of seeing his 
 brother. 
 
 "I have now come from Madrid, but before that I 
 was in many places : in England, in France, in Belgium, 
 who knows where besides. I have wandered from one 
 town to another, always struggling against hunger and 
 the cruelty of men. My footsteps have been dogged 
 by poverty and the police. When I rest a little, worn 
 
 'Wooden staff. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 13 
 
 out by this Wandering Jew's existence, Justice, inspired 
 by fear, orders me to move on, and so once again I 
 begin my march. I am a man to be feared, Esteban, 
 even as you now see me, with my body ruined before 
 old age, and the certainty before me of a speedy death. 
 Again, yesterday in Madrid, they told me I should be 
 sent once more to prison if I stayed there any longer, 
 and so in the evening I took the train. Where shall I , 
 go? The world is wide; but for me and other rebels it \ 
 is very small, and narrows till it does not leave aEand's \ 
 breadth of ground for our feet. In all the world nothing ! 
 was left me but you, and this peaceful silent corner 
 where you live so happily, and so, I came to seek you. 
 If you turn me out, nothing will be left me but to die in 
 prison, or in a hospital, if indeed they would take me 
 in when they know my name." 
 
 And Gabriel, spent with his words, coughed painfully, 
 a hollow cavernous cough that seemed to tear his chest. 
 He expressed himself vehemently, moving his arms 
 freely, with the gestures of a man used to speaking in 
 public, burning with the zeal of his cause. 
 
 "Ah! brother, brother!" said Esteban, with an accent 
 of mild reproof, "what has it profited you reading so 
 many books and newspapers ? What is the use of trying 
 to disturb and upset things that are all right ; and if they 
 are all wrong, is there no other means of righting thera^ 
 possible? If you had followed your own path quietly, 
 you would have been a beneficiary of the Cathedral, 
 and, who knows, you might have had a seat in the choir 
 among the canons, for the honour and profit of the 
 family! But you were always wrong-headed, although 
 you were the cleverest of us all. Cursed talent that 
 leads to such misery! What I have suffered, brother, 
 trying to hear about your affairs! What bitterness 
 have I not gone through since you last came here! 
 
14 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 I thought you were contented and happy in the 
 printing office in Barcelona, receiving a salary that was 
 a fortune compared to what we earn here. I was dis- 
 turbed at reading your name so often in the papers, 
 at those meetings, where the division of everything is 
 advocated, the death of religion and of the family, 
 and I do not know what follies besides. The 'com- 
 panion' Luna said this, or the 'companion' Luna has 
 done the other, and I tried to hide from the people 
 of the 'household' that this 'companion' could be you, 
 guessing that such madness must turn out ill — furi-j 
 ously ill — and after — after came the affairs of the! 
 bombs." 
 
 "I had nothing to do with that," said Gabriel sadly. 
 "I am only a theorist; I condemned the action as pre- 
 mature and inefficacious." 
 
 "I know it, Gabriel. I always thought you innocent. 
 You so good, so gentle, who since you were a little one 
 always astonished us by your kindness ; you who seemed 
 like a saint, as our poor mother used to say! You 
 kill, and so treacherously, by means of such infernal 
 artifices ! ' Holy Jesus !" 
 
 And the "Wooden Staff" was silent, overcome by the 
 recollection of those attempts that had overwhelmed his 
 brother. 
 
 "But what is certain is," he continued after a little, 
 "that you fell into the trap spread by the Government 
 after those affairs. What I suffered for a while ! Now 
 and again I heard firing in the castle ditch beyond there, 
 and I searched anxiously in the papers for the names 
 of those executed, always fearing to find yours. There 
 were rumours current of horrible tortures inflicted on 
 those taken to make them confess the truth, and I 
 thought of you, so frail, so delicate, and I feared that 
 some day you would be found dead in a dungeon. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 15 
 
 And I suffered even more from my anxiety that no 
 one here should know of your situation; you a Luna! 
 a son of Senor Esteban, the old gardener of the 
 Primate, with whom all the canons and even the 
 archbishop talked. You mixed up with those infernal 
 scoundrels who wish to destroy the world. For this 
 reason when Eusebio the 'Virgin's Blue,' asked me if 
 you could possibly be the Luna of whom he read in 
 the papers, I replied that my brother was in America, 
 that I heard from him now and again, but that he was 
 occupied with a big business — ^you see what pain! 
 Fearing from one moment to another that they would 
 kill you, unable to speak, unable to complain, fearful of 
 telling my distress even to my family. How often havfi^ 
 I prayed in there! Accustomed as we of the 'house-l 
 hold' are to associate daily with God and the saints,(, 
 we may be a little hard and narrow-minded, but mis- 
 fortune softens the heart, and I addressed myself to 
 Her who can do everything, to our patroness the Virgin 
 of the Sagrario, begging her to remember you, who used 
 to kneel at her shrine as a little child when you were 
 preparing to enter the seminary." 
 
 Gabried smiled gently as though admiring the sim- 
 plicity of his brother. 
 
 "Do not laugh, I pray you — ^your smile wounds me. 
 The Divine Lady did all she could for you. Months 
 afterwards I learnt that you and others had been 
 put on board ship with orders never to return to Spain, 
 and, up to the present time, never a letter or a scrap 
 of news, good or ill. I thought you had died, 
 Gabriel, in those distant lands, and more than once I 
 have prayed for your poor soul, that I am sure wanted 
 it." 
 
 The "companion" showed in his eyes his gratitude for 
 these words. 
 
i6 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "Thanks, Esteban. I admire your faith, but I did not 
 come out of that dark adventure as well as you imagine. 
 It would have been far better to have died. The 
 aureole of a martyr is worth more than to enter a 
 dungeon a man and come out of it a limp rag. I am 
 very ill, Esteban, my sentence is irrevocable. I have 
 no stomach left, my lungs are gone, and this body 
 that you see is like a dislocated machine that can 
 hardly move, creaking in every joint, as though all 
 the bits intended to fall apart. The Virgin who saved 
 me at your recommendation might really have inter- 
 ceded a little more in my favour, softening my jailors. 
 Those wretches think to save the world by giving 
 free rein to those wild beast instincts that slumbef 
 in us all, relics of a far-away past. Since then, at 
 liberty^fe has- been jcnpre painful than, death. On my 
 return to Spain, pressed by poverty and persecution, 
 my life has been a hell. I dare stop in no place where 
 men congregate; they hunt me like dogs, forcing me 
 to live out of the towns, driving me to the mountains, 
 into the deserts, where no human beings live. It 
 appears I am still a man to be feared, more to be 
 feared than those desperadoes who throw bombs, be- 
 cause I can speak, because I carry in me an irresistible 
 strength which forces me to preach the Truth if I 
 find myself in the presence of miserable and trodden- 
 down wretches — ^but all this is coming to an end. 
 You may be easy, brother, I am a dead man; my 
 mission is drawing to a close, but others will come 
 after me, and again others. The furrow is open and 
 the seed is in its bowels--'GERMiNAL!' ^ as a friend of 
 my exile shouted as he saw the last rays of the setting 
 sun from the scaffold of the gibbet. I am dying, 
 and I think I have the right to rest for a few months. 
 •"It will sprout." 
 
^'HE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 17 
 
 I wish to enjoy for the first time in my Hfe the sweets 
 of silence, of absolute quiet, of incognito ; to be no one, , 
 for no one to know me ; to inspire neither sympathy nor / 
 fear. I shmild wish to be as a statue on thejdoonway, >/ 
 as a pillar in the Cathedral, immovable, over whose 
 surface centuries have glided without leaving the slight- 
 est trace or emotion. To wait for death as a body 
 that eats or breathes, but cannot think or suffer, nor 
 feel enthusiasm ; this to me would be happiness, brother. 
 I do not know where to go ; men are waiting for me out 
 beyond these doors to drive me on again. Will you let 
 me stay with you?" 
 
 For all answer the "Wooden Staff" laid his hand 
 affectionately on Gabriel's arm. 
 
 "Let us come upstairs, madman — ^you shall not die, 
 I will nurse you ; what you want is care and quiet. We 
 will cure that hot head, which seems like that of Don 
 Quixote. Do you remember when you were a child 
 reading us his history in the long evenings? Go along, 
 dreamer, what does it signify to you if the world is bet- 
 ter or worse regulated? As we found it, so it has 
 always been. What does signify is that we should live 
 like Christians, with the certainty that the other life 
 will be a better one, as it will be the work of God and 
 not of man. Go up — ^let us go up." 
 
 And taking hold of the vagabond affectionately, they 
 passed out of the cloister through the beggars, who had 
 followed the interview with curious eyes, without, how- 
 ever, being able to hear a single word. They crossed 
 the street and entered the staircase of the tower. The 
 steps were of red brick, worn and broken; the white- 
 washed walls were covered on all sides with grotesque 
 drawings and various inscriptions, scrawled by those 
 who had ascended the tower, attracted by the fame of 
 the big bell. 
 
I8 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL' 
 
 Gabriel went up slowly, gasping, and stopping at every 
 step. 
 
 "I am ill, Esteban, very ill; these bellows let out the 
 wind in every part." 
 
 Then, as though repenting his forgetfulness, he sud- 
 denly asked: 
 
 "And Pepa, your wife ? I hope she is all right." 
 
 The brows of the Cathedral servant contracted, and 
 his eyes became bright as though full of tears. 
 
 "She died," he said with laconic sadness. 
 
 Gabriel stopped suddenly, clinging to the handrail, 
 struck with surprise ; then, after a short silence, he went 
 on, wishing to console his brother. 
 
 "But, Sagrario, my niece, she must have grown a 
 beauty. The last time I saw her she looked like a' queen, 
 with her crown of auburn hair and her smiling face, 
 with its golden bloom, like a ripe apricot. Did she 
 marry the cadet, or is she still with you?" 
 
 The "Wooden Staff" appeared even more sad, and he 
 looked grimly at his brother. 
 
 "She also died," he said drily. 
 
 "Sagrario also dead !" exclaimed Gabriel astounded. 
 
 "She is dead to me, which is the same thing. Brother, 
 by all you love best in the world, do not speak to me of 
 her." 
 
 Gabriel understood that he had opened some deep 
 wound by his inquiries, and so said no more, beginning 
 once more his ascent. During his absence a terrible 
 event had happened in his brother's life — one of those 
 events that break up a family and separate for ever 
 those that survive. 
 
 They crossed the gallery covered by the archbishop's 
 archway and entered the upper cloister called "the 
 Claverias" : four arcades of equal length to those of the 
 lower cloister, but quite bare of decoration, and with a 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 19 
 
 poverty-stricken aspect. The pavement was chipped and 
 broken, the four sides had a balustrade running round 
 between the flat pillars that supported the old beams of 
 the roof. It had been a provisional work three hun- 
 dred years ago, and had always remained in the same 
 state. All along the whitewashed walls, the doors and 
 windows belonging to the "habitacions" of the Cathedral 
 servants opened without order or symmetry. These 
 were transmitted with the office from father to son. 
 The cloister, with its low arcade, looked like a street 
 having houses on one side only; opposite was the flat 
 colonnade with its balustrade, against which the pointed 
 branches of the cypresses in the garden rested. Above 
 the rqof of the cloister could be seen the windows of an- 
 other fowvpf "habitacions," for nearly all the dwellings 
 in the Claverias had two stories. ^~~^ 
 
 It was the population of a whole town that lived above | 
 the Cathedral, on a level with its roofs; and when night ' 
 fell, and the staircase of the tower was locked, it re- ' 
 mained quite isolated from the city. This semi-ecclesias- [ 
 tical tribe was born and died in the very heart of Toledo \ 
 without ever going down into the streets, clinging with ' 
 traditional instinct to the carved mountain of stone, 
 whose arches served it as a refuge. They lived sat- 
 urated with the scent of incense, breathing the peculiar 
 smell of mould and old iron belonging to ancient build- 
 ings, and with no more horizon than the arches of the 
 bell tower, whose height soared into the small patch of 
 blue sky visible from the cloister. 
 
 The "companion" Luna thought he was returning with 
 one step to the days of his childhood. Little children 
 like the Gabriel of former days were playing about 
 the four galleries, and sitting in that part of the cloister 
 bathed by the first rays of the sun. Women, who re- 
 minded him of his mother, were shaking the bedclothes 
 
20 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 out over the garden, or sweeping the red bricks opposite 
 their dwellings; everything seemed the same. Time 
 had left it quite alone, evidently thinking there was 
 nothing there that he could possibly age. The "com- 
 panion" could now see two sketches of lay brothers that 
 he had drawn with charcoal when he was eight years 
 old; had it not been for the children one might have 
 /thought that life had been suspended in that comer 
 of the Cathedral, as though this aerial population could 
 1 neither be born nor die. 
 
 . The "Wooden Staff," frowning and gloomy since the 
 ijast words were spoken, tried to give some explanation 
 to his brother. 
 
 "I live in our same old house. They left it to me out 
 of respect to the memory 6i my father. I am grateful to 
 the clergy of the Chapter, taking into consideration that 
 I am nothing but a sad old 'Wooden Staff.' Since my 
 misfortune happened I have had an old woman to keep 
 house, and Don Luis, the Chapel-master, lives with me. 
 You will come to know him, a young priest of great 
 talent, but quite hidden here : one of God's souls, whom j 
 they think crazy in the Cathedral, but who lives like an 
 angel." 
 
 They entered into the house of the Lunas, which was 
 one of the best in the Claverias. By the door two rows 
 of flower vases in the shape of a clock-case fastened to 
 the walls were filled with hanging plants; inside, in the 
 sitting room, Gabriel found everything the same as dur- 
 ing his father's lifetime. The white walls that with 
 years had become like ivory, were still decorated with 
 the old engravings of saints, the chairs bf mahogany, 
 bright with constant rubbing, looked like new, in spite 
 of their curves, which showed them to belong to a 
 previous century, and their seats almost ready to drop 
 through. Through a half-open door he could see into 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 21 
 
 the kitchen, where his brother had gone to give some 
 orders to a timid-looking old woman. In one comer of 
 the room, half hidden, was a sewing machine. Luna 
 had seen his niece working at it the last time he came to 
 the Cathedral. It was the permanent remembrance the 
 "little one" had left behind her after that catastrophe 
 which had filled her father with such gloomy sadness. 
 Through a back window of the room Gabriel could see 
 the inner court, which made this "habitacion" one--^, 
 of the most charming in the Claverias, the open 
 expanse of sky, and the upper rooms on all four 
 sides, supported by rows of slender pillars, that 
 made the courtyard look like a little cloister. 
 
 Esteban came back and rejoined his brother. 
 
 "You must say what you would like for breakfast. It '^ 
 would soon be ready ; ask, man, ask for what you want, 
 for though I am poor I shall take little credit to myself 
 unless I can make you pick up a little and lose that look 
 of a resuscitated corpse." 
 
 Gabriel smiled sadly. 
 
 "It is useless your troubling; my stomach is quite 
 gone ; a little milk is enough for it, and I am thankful if 
 it retains it." 
 
 Esteban ordered the old woman to go into the town 
 in search of the milk, and he had hardly seated himself 
 by his brother's side when the door giving into the 
 cloister opened, and the head of a young, man ap- 
 peared. 
 
 "Good-day, uncle!" he exclaimed. 
 
 His face was unhealthy and currish, the eyes were 
 malicious, and above his ears were combed two large 
 tufts of glossy hair. 
 
 "Come in, vagabond, come in," said the "Wooden 
 Staff." 
 
 And he added, turning to his brother: 
 
22 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "Do you know who this is? No? It is the son of our 
 poor brother, whom God has taken to his glory. He 
 lives in the upper dwellings of the cloister with his 
 mother, who washes the linen of the choir, and of the 
 seiiores canons; and it is a delight to see how she 
 crimps the surplices. Thomas, lad, bow to the gentle- 
 man; it is your uncle Gabriel, who has just arrived 
 from America, and from Paris, and I don't know from 
 where else besides ! From very far off countries, very 
 far off." 
 
 The young man saluted Gabriel, though he seemed 
 rather scared by the sad and suffering face of their 
 relative, whom he had heard his mother speak of as a 
 mysterious and romantic being. 
 
 "Here, as you see him," proceeded Esteban, speaking 
 to his brother, and pointing to his nephew, "he is the 
 worst lot in the Cathedral. The Senor Obrero^ would 
 more than once have turned him out into the street, 
 were it not for respect to the memory of his father and 
 grandfather, and also to the name he bears, for every- 
 body knows the Lunas are as ancient in the Cathedral 
 as the stones in its walls. No escapade enters his head 
 but he hastens to carry it out, and he swears like a pagan 
 even in full sacristy, under the very noses of the bene- 
 ficiaries. Don't dare to deny it! Grumbler!" 
 
 And he shook his first at the lad, half severely, half 
 smiling, as though in the bottom of his heart he felt 
 some pride in his nephew's scrapes, who received his 
 reprimand with grimaces that made his face twitch like 
 that of a monkey, while his eyes retained their fixed and 
 insolent stare. 
 
 "It is a real shame," continued the uncle, "that you 
 should comb your hair in that fashion, like the Merry 
 
 'Canon in charge of the fabric 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 23 
 
 Andrews that come to Toledo from the Court on great 
 festivals. In the good old times of the Cathedral they 
 would have shaved your head for you. But in these 
 days of alienation, of universal licence and misfortunes, 
 our holy church is as poor as a rat, and poverty does 
 not give the senores canons much inclination to 
 examine details. It is a grievous pity to see how every- 
 thing is going down. What desolation, Gabriel! If 
 you could only see it! The Cathedral is as beautiful as 
 ever, but we do not now see the former beauty of the 
 Lord's worship. The Chapel-master says the same 
 thing, and he is indignant to see that on great festivals 
 only about half-a-dozen musicians take their place in the 
 middle of the choir. The young people who live in the 
 Claverias have not our great love for the mother-church ; 
 they complain of the shortness of their salaries without 
 considering that it is the temporalities that support re- 
 ligion. If this goes on I should not be surprised to see 
 this popinjay and other rascals like him playing at 
 'Rayuelo' ^ in the crossways in front of the choir. May 
 God forgive me!" 
 
 And the simple "Wooden Staif" made a gesture as 
 though scandalised at his own words. He went on : 
 
 "This young fellow you see here is not satisfied with 
 his position in life, and yet, though he is only a youth, 
 he occupies the place his poor father could only attain toi / 
 after thirty years' service. He aspires to be a toreador,; 
 and often on a Sunday he dares to take part in the buU-^ ■^ 
 fight in the bull-ring of Toledo. His mother came down, 
 dishevelled like a Magdalen, to tell me all about it, and 
 I, thinking that as his father was dead I ought to act 
 in his place, I watched for our gentleman as he re- 
 turned tricked out smartly from the bull-ring, and I 
 
 A game of drawing lines. 
 
24 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 thrashed him up the tower staircase to his rooms with 
 the same wooden staff that I use in the Cathedral, and he 
 can tell you if I have not a heavy hand when I am angry. 
 Virgin of the Sagrario! A Luna of the Holy Metro- 
 politan Church lowering himself to be a bull-fighter! 
 The canons did laugh, and even the Lord Cardinal 
 himself, as I have been told, when they heard about the 
 affair! A witty beneficiary has since nick-named him 
 the 'Tato,'^ and so they all call him now in the Cathe- 
 dral. So you see, brother, how much respect this rascal 
 pays to his family." 
 
 The "Silenciario" ^ attempted to annihilate the "Tato" 
 with his glance, but this latter only smiled without pay- 
 ing much attention, either to his uncle's words or^ 
 looks. 
 
 "You would hardly believe, Gabriel," he continued, 
 "that this creature often wants a bit of bread, and it is 
 for this reason he commits all these follies. In spite of 
 his wrongheadedness, since the age of twenty he has 
 occupied the position of 'Perrero' ' in the holy church, 
 he has obtained what in better times only those could 
 obtain who had served well and striven hard for years. 
 He gets his six reals a day, and as he can go freely about 
 the church he can show the curiosities to strangers ; and 
 so with the salary and the tips he gets, he is much better 
 off than I am. The foreigners who visit the Cathedral, 
 excommunicated people who look upon us as strange 
 monkeys, and who think that anything interesting of 
 ours is only worthy of a laugh, take a fancy to him. 
 The English ask him if he is a toreador, and he — ^what 
 does he want better than that! When he sees they 
 pay him according as he pleases them, he brings out his 
 
 * Tato — Armadillo. 
 
 * Silenciario — Officer appointed to keep silence. 
 
 'Perrero — Beadle whose special duty it is to chase the dogs 
 out of church. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 25 
 
 pack of lies, for, unfortunately, no one has any check on 
 the deceit, and he tells them about all the great bull- 
 fights in which he has taken part in Toledo, and all 
 about the bulls he has killed ; and these blockheads from 
 England make a note of it in their albums, and even 
 some coarse hand may make a sketch of this imposter's 
 head; all he cares for is that they should believe all his 
 lies and give him a peseta on leaving. It matters very 
 little to him, if when these heretics return to their own 
 country they spread the report that in Toledo, in the 
 Holy Metropolitan Church of all Spain, the Cathedral 
 servants are bull-fighters, and assist in the ceremonies 
 of worship between the bull runs. The sum total is, that 
 he earns more than I do, but in spite of this he con- 
 siders his employment beneath him. And such beautiful 
 duties, too. To walk in the great processions before 
 everyone, close to the Primate's great banner, with a 
 staff covered with red velvet to support him should he 
 chance to fall, and wearing a robe of scarlet brocade 
 like a cardinal. Our Chapel-master, who knows a great 
 deal about such things, says that when he wears that 
 robe he looks like a certain Diente, or some name of the 
 sort, who lived hundreds of years ago in Italy, and went 
 down into hell, and afterwards described his journey in 
 poetry." 
 
 Sounds of footsteps were heard on the narrow circular 
 staircase in the thickness of the wall that led from the 
 sitting-room to the storey above. 
 
 "It is Don Luis," said the "Wooden Staflf," "he is 
 going to say his mass in the chapel of the Sagrario, and 
 afterwards to the choir." 
 
 Gabriel rose from his sofa to salute the priest. He 
 was feeble and small of stature, but the thing about him 
 that struck you at first sight was the disproportion be- / 
 tween his shrunken body arid his immense head. The ' 
 
26 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 forehead, round and prominent, seemed to crush with its 
 weight the dark and irregular features, much pitted by 
 smallpox. He was very ugly, but still the expression of 
 his blue eyes, the brilliancy of his white and regular 
 teeth, and the ingenuous smile, almost childlike, that 
 played on his lips, gave his face that sympathetic expres- 
 sion which showed him to be one of those simple souls 
 wrapped up in their artistic fancies. 
 
 "And so this gentleman is the brother of whom you 
 have spoken to me so often," said he, hearing the intro- 
 duction made by Esteban. 
 
 He held out his hand in a friendly way to Gabriel. 
 They both looked very sickly, but their bodily infirmities 
 seemed to be a bond of attraction. 
 
 "As the senor has studied in the seminary," said the 
 ; Chapel-master, "he will know something about music." 
 
 "It is the only thing that I remember of all those 
 studies." 
 
 "But having travelled so much all over the world, you 
 must have heard a great deal of good music." 
 
 "That is so. Music is to me the most pleasing of all 
 the arts. I do not know much about it, but I feel it." 
 
 "Very well, very well, we shall be good friends. You 
 must tell me all sorts of things ; how I envy you having 
 travelled so much." 
 
 He spoke like a restless child, without sitting down. 
 Although the "Silenciario" offered him a chair at each 
 of his Sittings round the room, he wandered from side 
 to side in his shabby cloak, his hat in his hand — a poor 
 worn-out hat with not a trace of pile left, knocked in, 
 with a layer of grease on its flaps, miserable and old, 
 like the cassock and the shoes. But in spite of this 
 poverty the Chapel-master had a certain refinement about 
 him. His hair, rather too long for his ecclesiastical 
 dress, curled round his temples, and the dignified way 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 27 
 
 in which he folded his cloak round his body re- 
 minded one of the cloak of a tenor at the opera. 
 He had a sort of easy grace that betrayed the artist 
 who, under the priestly robes, was longing to get 
 rid of them, leaving them at his feet like a winding 
 sheet. 
 
 Some deep notes from the bell, like distant thunder, 
 floated into the room through the cloister. 
 
 "Uncle, they are calling us to the choir," said the 
 "Tato." "We ought to have been in the Cathedral be- 
 fore now; it is nearly eight o'clock." 
 
 "It is true, lad. I am glad you were here to remind 
 me ; let us be going." 
 
 Then he added, speaking to the musical priest : 
 
 "Don Luis, your mass is at eight o'clock. You can 
 talk with Gabriel later on; now we must fulfil our obli- 
 gations, for those who are late will, as you say, be turned 
 out, even though our office hardly gives us enough to 
 eat." 
 
 The Chapel-master assented sadly with a movement 
 of his head, and went out, following the two Cathedral 
 servants. He seemed to go unwillingly, as though forced 
 to a task that was to him both irksome and painful. 
 He hummed absently while giving his hand to Gabriel, 
 who thought he recognised a fragment of Beethoven's 
 Seventh Symphony in the low and uneven tones that 
 came from the lips of the young priest. - 
 
 Now that he was alone Luna stretched himself on the 
 sofa, giving himself up to the fatigue he felt from his 
 long wait before the Cathedral. His brother's old ser- 
 vant placed a little pitcher of milk by his side, and 
 filling a cup, Gabriel drank, endeavouring to overcome 
 the repugnance of his weak stomach, which almost 
 refused to retain the liquid. His body, fatigued by his 
 restless night and the long morning wait, at last assimi- 
 
28 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 lated the nourishment, and a soft, dreamy languor spread 
 over him that he had not felt for a long time. He soon 
 fell asleep, remaining for more than an hour motionless 
 on the sofa, and though his breathing was disturbed, 
 and his chest racked by his hollow cough, they were 
 unable to wake him from his slumber. 
 
 When he did awake, it was suddenly, with a nervous 
 start that shook him from head to foot, making him 
 bound from the sofa as though a spring had been 
 touched. It was the wariness produced by his ever 
 present danger, that had become habitual to him; the 
 habit of restlessness formed in dark dungeons, expecting 
 hourly to see the door open, to be beaten like a dog, or 
 led off between a double file of muskets to the square 
 of execution ; the habit of living perpetually watched, of 
 feeling in every country the espionage of the police 
 around him, the habit of being awoke in the middle of 
 the night in his wretched room in some inn by the order 
 to leave at once; the unrest of the ancient Asheverus, 
 who, as soon as he could enjoy a moment's rest, heard 
 the eternal cry — "Go on. Go on." 
 
 He did not try to sleep again, he preferred the present 
 reality, the silence of the Cathedral which was to him 
 as a gentle caress, the noble calm of the temple, that im- 
 mense pile of worked stone, which seemed to press on 
 •^ him, enveloping him, hiding for ever his weakness and 
 I his persecutions. 
 
 He went out into the cloister, and, resting his elbows 
 on the balustrade, looked down into the garden. 
 
 The Claverias seemed quite deserted. The children 
 who had enlivened them in the early morning had gone 
 to school, the women were inside their houses preparing 
 their mid-day meal, there seemed to be no one in the 
 cloister except himself ; the sunlight bathed all one side, 
 and the shadow of the pillars cut obliquely the great 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 29 
 
 golden spaces flooding the pavement. The majestic si- 
 lence, the holy calm of the Cathedral overpowered the 
 agitator like a_ gentlsjiaiCfttic. The seven centuries sur- 
 rounding those stones seemed to him like so many veils 
 hiding him from the rest of the world. In one of the 
 dwellings of the Claverias you could hear the incessant 
 tap, tap, of a hammer; it was that of a shoemaker 
 whom Gabriel had seen through the window-panes, bend- 
 ing over his bench. In the square of sky framed by 
 the roofs some pigeons were flying, lazily moving their 
 wings, soaring in the vault of intense blue; some flew 
 down into the cloister, and, perching on the balustrade, 
 broke the religious silence with their gentle cooing; 
 now and again the heavy door-curtains of the church 
 were lifted, and a breath of air charged with incense 
 floated over the garden of the Claverias, together with 
 the deep notes of the organ, and the sound of voices 
 chanting Latin words and solemnly prolonging the 
 cadences. 
 
 Gabriel looked at the garden surrounded by its arcades 
 of white stone, with its rough buttresses of dark granite, 
 in the chinks of which the rain had left an efflorescence 
 of fungus, like little tufts of black velvet. The sun 
 struck on one angle of the garden, leaving the rest in 
 cool green shade, a conventual twilight. The bell-tower 
 hid one portion of the sky, displaying on its reddish 
 sides, ornamented with Gothic tracery and salient but- 
 tresses, the fillets of black marble with heads of mys- 
 terious personages, and the shields with the arms of the 
 different archbishops who had assisted at its building; 
 above, near the pinnacles of white stone, were seen the 
 bells behind enormous gratings ; from below they looked 
 like three bronze birds in a cage of iron. 
 
 Three deep strokes from a bell, echoing round the 
 Cathedral, announced that the High Mass had arrived 
 
30 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 at its most solemn moment, the mountain of sfone 
 seemed to tremble with the vibration, which was trans- 
 mitted through the naves and galleries, to the arcades 
 and down to the lowest foundations. 
 
 Again there was silence, which seemed even deeper 
 after the bronze thunders; the cooing of the pigeons 
 could again be heard, and, down in the garden, the twit- 
 tering of the birds, warmed by the sun's rays that began 
 to gild its cool twilight. 
 
 Gabriel felt himself deeply moved; the sweet silence, 
 the absolute calm, the feeling almost of non-existence 
 overpowered him ; and beyond those walls was the world, 
 but here it could not be seen, it could not be felt; it 
 remained respectful but indifferent before that monu- 
 ment of the past, that splendid sepulchre, in whose 
 interior nothing excited its curiosity. Who would ever 
 imagine he was there? That growth of seven centuries, 
 built by vanished greatness for a dying faith, should be 
 his last refuge. In the full tide of unbelief the church 
 should be his sanctuary, as it had been in former days* 
 to those great criminals of the Middle Ages, who, from^ 
 the height of the cloister mocked at justice, detained 
 at the doors like the beggars. Here should be con- 
 summated in silence and calm the slow decay of his 
 body, here he would die with the serene satisfaction of 
 having died to the world long before. At last he 
 realised his hope of ending his days in a corner of the 
 sleepy Spanish Cathedral, the only hope that had sus- 
 tained him as he wandered on foot along the highways 
 of Europe, hiding himself from the civil guards and 
 the police, spending his nights in ditches, huddled up, 
 his head on his knees, fearing every moment to die of 
 cold. 
 
 He clung to the Cathedral as a shipwrecked and 
 drowning man clings to the spar of a sinking ship ; this 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 31 
 
 had been his hope, and he was beginning to realise it. 
 The church would receive him, like an old and infirm 
 mother, unable to smile, but who could still stretch out 
 her arms. 
 
 "At last ! At last !" murmured Luna. 
 
 And he smiled, thinking of the world of sorrows and 
 persecutions that he was leaving behind him, as though 
 he were going to some remote place, situated in another 
 planet, from whiclj he would never return ; the Cathedral 
 would shelter him for ever. 
 
 In the profound stillness of the cloister, that the sound 
 of th« street could not reach, the "companion" Luna 
 thought he heard far off, very far off, the shrill sound of 
 a trumpet and the muffled roll of drums, then he remem- 
 bered the Alcazar of Toledo, dominating the Cathedral 
 from its height, intimidating it with the enormous mass 
 of its towers; they were the drums and trumpets of the^ 
 M,ilitary Academy. > 
 
 These sounds were painful to Gabriel ; the world had 
 faded from his sight, and when he thought himself so 
 very far from it, he could still feel its presence only a 
 little way beyond the roof of the temple. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 Since the times of the second Cardinal de Bourbon 
 Sefior Esteban Luna had been gardener of the Cathedral, 
 by the right that seemed firmly established in his family. 
 Who was the first Luna that entered the service of the 
 Holy Metropolitan Church? As the gardener asked 
 himself this question he smiled complacently, raising 
 his eyes to heaven, as though he would inquire of the 
 immensity of space. The Lunas were as ancient as the 
 foundations of the church; a great many generations 
 had been born in the abode in the upper cloister, and 
 even before the illustrious Cisneros built the Claverias 
 the Lunas had lived in houses adjacent, as though they 
 could not exist out of the shadow of the Primacy. To 
 no one did the Cathedral belong with better right than 
 to them. Canons, beneficiaries, archbishops passed; 
 they gained the appointment, died, and others came in 
 their places. It was a constant procession of new faces, 
 of masters who came from every comer of Spain to 
 take their seats in the choir, to die a few years after- 
 wards, leaving the vacancies to be filled again by other 
 newcomers; but the Lunas always remained at their 
 post, -as though the ancient family were another column 
 of the many that~sapptirted the temple. It mi^tTiap- 
 pen that the archbishop who to-day was called Don 
 Bernardo, might next year be called Don Caspar, or 
 again another Don Fernando. But what seemed utterly 
 impossible was that the Cathedral could exist without 
 
 32 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 33 
 
 Lunas in the garden, in the sacristy, or in the cross- 
 ways of the choir, accustomed as it had been for cen- 
 turies to their services. 
 
 The gardener spoke with pride of his descent, of his 
 noble and unfortunate relative the constable Don Alvaro, 
 buried like a king in his chapel behind the high altar; 
 of the Pope Benedict XIIL, proud and obstinate hke all 
 the rest of his family; of Don Pedro de Luna, fifth of 
 his name to occupy the archiepiscopal throne of Toledo, 
 and of other relatives not less distinguished. 
 
 "We are all from the same stem," he said with pride. 
 "We all came to the conquest of Toledo with the good 
 King Alfonso VI. The only difference has been, that 
 some Lunas took a fancy to go and fight the Moors, and 
 they became lords, and conquered castles, whereas my 
 ancestors remained in the service of the Cathedral, like 
 the good Christians they were." 
 
 With the satisfaction of a duke who enumerates his 
 ancestors, the Seiior Esteban carried back the line of the 
 Lunas till it became misty and was lost in the fifteenth 
 century. His father had known Don Francisco III. 
 Lorenzana, a magnificent and prodigal prince of the 
 church, who spent the abundant revenues of the arch- 
 bishopric in building palaces and editing books, like a 
 great lord of the Renaissance. He had known also the 
 first Cardinal Bourbon, Don Luis II., and used to 
 narrate the romantic life of this Infante. Brother of 
 the King Carlos III., the custom that dedicated some 
 of the younger branches to the church had made him a 
 cardinal at nine years old. But that good lord, whose 
 portrait hung in the Chapter House, with white hair, 
 red lips and blue eyes, felt more inclination to the joys 
 of this world than to the grandeurs of the church, and 
 he abandoned the archbishopric to marry a lady of 
 modest birth, quarrelling for ever with the king, who 
 
34 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 sent him into exile. And the old Luna, leaping from 
 ancestor to ancestor through' the long centuries, remem- 
 bered the Archduke Alberto, who resigned the Toledan 
 mitre to become Governor of the Low Countries, and the 
 magnificent Cardinal Tavera, protector of the arts, all 
 excellent princes, who had treated his family affection- 
 ately, recognising their secular adhesion to the Holy 
 Metropolitan Church. 
 
 The days of his youth were bad ones for the Senor 
 Esteban; it was the time of the war of Independence. 
 The French occupied Toledo, entering into the Cathedral 
 like pagans, rattling their swords and prying into every 
 comer at full High Mass. The jewels were concealed, 
 the canons and beneficiaries, who were now called 
 prebendaries, were living dispersed over the Peninsula. 
 Some had taken refuge in places that were still Spanish, 
 others were hidden in the towns, making vows for the 
 speedy return of "the desired." It was pitiful to hear 
 the choir with its few voices; only the very timid, who 
 were bound to their seats and could not live away from 
 them, had remained, and had recognised the usurping 
 king. The second Cardinal de Bourbon, the gentle and 
 insignificant Don Luis Maria, was in Cadiz, the only 
 one of the family remaining in Spain, and the Cortes 
 had laid their hands on him to give a certain dynastic 
 appearance to their revolutionary authority. 
 
 When the war was over and the poor cardinal returned 
 to his seat, the Senor Esteban was moved to pity to see 
 his sad and childlike face, with the small round head, 
 and insignificant appearance; he returned discouraged 
 and disheartened, after receiving his nephew Ferdinand 
 VII. in Madrid. All his colleagues in the regency were 
 either in prison or in exile, and that he did not suffer 
 a like fate was solely due to his mitre and to his name. 
 The unfortunate prelate thought he had done good ser- 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 35 
 
 vice in maintaining the interests of his family during 
 the war, and now he found himself accused of being 
 Liberal, an enemy to religion and the throne, without 
 being able to imagine how he had conspired against 
 them. The poor Cardinal de Bourbon languished sadly 
 in his palace, devoting his revenues to works in the 
 Cathedral, till he died in 1823 at the beginning of the 
 reaction, leaving his place to Inguanzo, the tribune of 
 absolutism, a prelate with iron-grey whiskers, who had 
 made his career as deputy in the Cortes at Cadiz, at- 
 tacking as deputy every sort of reform, and advocating 
 a return to the times of the Austrians as the surest 
 means of saving his country. 
 
 The good gardener saluted with equal cordiality the 
 Bourbon Cardinal, hated by the kings, as the prelate with 
 the whiskers, who made all the diocese tremble with his 
 bitter and harassing temper, and his arrogance as a 
 revolutionary Absolutist. For him, whoever occupied 
 the throne of Toledo was a perfect man, whose acts no 
 one should dare to discuss, ,and--he. turned a deaf ear to 
 the murmurs of the canons and beneficiaries, who, smok- 
 ing their cigarettes in the arbour of his garden, spoke 
 of the genialities of this Seiior de Inguanzo, and were 
 indignant at the Government of Ferdinand VII. not 
 being sufficiently firm, through fear of the foreigners, 
 to re-establish the wholesome tribunal of the Inquisi- 
 tion. 
 
 The only thing that troubled the gardener was to 
 watch the decadence of his beloved Cathedral. The 
 revenues of the archbishop and of tGeXhapteriiad been 
 greatly wasted during the war. What had occurred 
 was what happens after a great flood, when the waters 
 begin to subside and carry everything away with them, 
 leaving the land bare and uninhabited. The Primacy 
 lost many of its rights, the tenants made themselves 
 
36 JHE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 masters, taking advantage of the disorders of the State ; 
 the towns refused to pay their feudal services, as though 
 the necessity of defending themselves and helping in 
 the war had freed them for ever from vassalage; fur- 
 ther, the turbulent Cortes had decreed the abolition of 
 all lordships, and had very much curtailed the enormous 
 revenues of the Cathedral, acquired in the centuries 
 when the archbishops of Toledo put on their casques, 
 and went out to fight the Moors with double-handed 
 swords. 
 
 Even so, a considerable fortune remained to the 
 church of the Primacy, and it maintained its splendour 
 as if nothing had happened, but the Senor Esteban 
 scented danger from the depths of his garden, hearing 
 from the canons of the Liberal conspiracies, the execu- 
 tions by shooting and hanging, and the exiling, to which 
 the king Seiior Don Fernando appealed, in order to 
 repress the audacity of the "Negros," the enemies of the 
 Monarchy and of religion. 
 
 "They have tasted the sweets," said he, "and they will 
 return — see if they do not return, and take what is left ! 
 During the war they took the first bite, taking from the 
 Cathedral more than half that was hers, and now they 
 will come and take the rest ; they will try and catch hold 
 of the handle of the fryingpan." 
 
 The gardener was angry at the possibility of such a 
 thing happening. Ay! and was it for this that so many 
 lord archbishops of Toledo fought against the Moors? 
 Conquering towns, assaulting castles and annexing pas- 
 ture lands, which all came to be the property of the 
 Cathedral, contributing to the great splendour of God's 
 worship! And was everything to fall into the dirty 
 hands of the enemies of anything that was holy ? Every- 
 thing that so many faithful souls had willed to them 
 on their deathbeds, queens and magnates, and simple 
 
THE SHADOW OP THE CATHEDRAL 37, 
 
 country gentlemen, who left the best part of their 
 fortunes to the Holy Metropolitan Church, in the hope 
 of saving their souls! What would happen to the 
 si x hundred souls, big and little, clerics and seculars, 
 dignitaries and simple servants who lived from the 
 revenues of the Cathedral? .... And was this called 
 liberty? To rob what did not belong to them, leav- 
 ing in poverty innumerable families who were now 
 supported by the "great pot" of the Chapter? 
 
 When the sad forebodings of the gardener began to , 
 be realised, and Mendizabal decreed the dismemberment, \f 
 the Serior Esteban thought he would have died of rage. 
 But the Cardinal Inguanzo did better. Placed in his 
 seat by the Liberals as his predecessor had been by the 
 Absolutists, he thought it best to die in order to take no 
 part in these attempts against the sacred revenues of the 
 Church. 
 
 The Seiior Luna, who was only a humble gardener, 
 and who therefore could not imitate the illustrious 
 Cardinal, went on living. But every day he felt more 
 and more sorrowful, knowing that for shamefully low 
 prices, many of the Moderates, who still came to 
 High Mass, were stealthily acquiring to-day a house, 
 to-morrow a farm, another day pasture lands, prop- 
 erties all belonging to the Primacy, but which had lately 
 been put on the list of what was called national prop- 
 erty. 
 
 Robbers! this slow subversion and sale, that rent in 
 pieces the revenues of the Cathedral, caused the Seiior 
 Esteban as much indignation as though the bailiffs had ] 
 entered his house in the Claverias to remove the family 
 furniture, each piece of which embalmed the memory of \ 
 some ancestor. *■** 
 
 There were times in which he thought of abandoning 
 his garden, and going *o Maestrazgo, or to the northern 
 
38 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 provinces, in search of some of the loyal defenders of 
 the rights of Charles V. and of the return to the old 
 times. He was then forty years of age, strong and 
 active, and though his temperament was pacific and he 
 had never touched a musket, he felt himself fired by the 
 example of certain timid and pious students, who had 
 fled from the seminary, and were now, so it was said, 
 fighting- in .CataLoma behind the red cloak of Don Ramon 
 jCabrera. "~ '-■■■.- -^ — - — 
 
 But the gardener, in order not to be alone in his big 
 "habitacion" in the Claverias, had married three years 
 previously the daughter of the sacristan, and he had now 
 one son; besides, he could not tear himself away from 
 the church, he was another square block in the mountain 
 of stone, he moved and spoke as a man, but he felt a 
 certainty that he should perish at once if he left his 
 garden. Besides, the Cathedral would lose one of the 
 most important props if a Luna were wanting in its 
 service, and he felt terrified at the bare thought of living 
 out of it. How could he wander over the mountains 
 fighting, and firing shots, when years had passed without 
 his treading any other profane soil beyond the little bit 
 of street between the staircase of the Claverias and the 
 Puerta del Mollete? 
 
 And so he went on cultivating his garden, feeling the 
 melancholy satisfaction that he was at least sheltered 
 from all the wicked revolutionaries under the shadow of 
 that colossus of stone, which inspired awe and respect 
 from its majestic age. They might curtail the revenues 
 of the temple, but they would be powerless against 
 the Christian faith of those who lived under its protec- 
 tion. 
 
 The garden, deaf and insensible to the revolutionary 
 tempests that broke over the church, continued to unfold 
 its sombre beauty between the arcades, the laurels grew 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 39 
 
 till they reached the balustrade of the upper cloister, 
 and the cypresses seemed as though they aspired to 
 touch the roofs; the creepers twined themselves among 
 the iron railings, making thick lattices of verdure, and 
 the ivy mantled the wall of the central arbour, which 
 was surmounted by a cap of black slate with a rusty 
 iron cross. After the evening choir the clergy would 
 come and sit in here and read, by the soft green light 
 that filtered through the foliage, the news from the 
 Carlist Camp, and discuss enthusiastically the great 
 exploits of Cabrera, while above, the swallows quite 
 indifferent to human presence, circled and screamed in 
 the clear blue sky. The Senor Esteban would watch, 
 standing silently, this bat-like evening club, which was 
 kept quietly hidden from those belonging to the Na- 
 tional Militia of Toledo. 
 
 When the war terminated, the last illusions of the 
 gardener vanished, he fell into the silence of despair and 
 wished to know of nothing outside the Cathedral. God 
 had abandoned the good and faithful, and the traitors 
 and evil-doers were triumphant ; his only consolation was 
 the stronghold of the temple, which had lived through 
 so many centuries of turmoil, and could still defy its 
 enemies for so many more. 
 
 He only wished to be the gardener, to die in the upper 
 cloister like his forefathers, and to leave fresh Lunas 
 to perpetuate the family services in the Cathedral. His 
 eldest son, Tomas, was now twelve years old, and able 
 to help him in the care of the garden. After an interval 
 of many years a second son had been bom, Esteban, 
 who, almost before he could walk, would kneel be- 
 fore the images in the "habitacion," crying for his 
 mother to carry him down into the church to see the 
 saints. 
 
 Poverty entered into the Cathedral, reducing the num- 
 
40 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 ber of canons and prebendaries; at the death of any of 
 the old servants, their places were suppressed, and a 
 great many carpenters, masons, and glaziers who pre- 
 viously had lived there as workmen specially attached 
 to the Primacy, and were continually working at 
 its repairs, were dismissed. If from time to time cer- 
 tain repairs were indispensable, workmen were called in 
 from outside, by the day; many of the "habitacions" in 
 the Claverias were unoccupied, and the silence of the 
 grave reigned where previously the population of a small 
 town had gathered and crowded. The Government of 
 Madrid (and you should have seen the expression of 
 contempt with which the old gardener emphasised tiiose 
 words) was in treaty with the Holy Father to arrange 
 something called the Concordat. The number of canons 
 was limited as though the Holy Metropolitan was a col- 
 lege, they were to be paid by the Government the same 
 as the servants, and for the maintenance of worship 
 in this most famous Cathedral of all Spain — ^which, when 
 it formerly collected its tithe, scarcely knew where to 
 lock up such riches — a monthly pension of twelve hun- 
 dred pesetas was now granted. 
 
 "One thousand two hundred pesetas, Tomas!" said 
 he to his son, a silent boy, who took very little interest 
 in anything but his garden. "One thousand two hun- 
 dred pesetas, when I can remember the Cathedral having 
 more than six millions of revenue! Bad times are in 
 store for us, and were I anyone else I would bring 
 you up to an office, or something outside the church; 
 but the Lunas cannot desert the cause of God, like so 
 many traitors who have betrayed it. Here we were 
 born, here we must die, to the very last one of the 
 family." And furious with the clergy, who seemed to 
 put a good face on the Concordat and their salaries, 
 thankful to have come out of the revolutionary tumults 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 41 
 
 even as well as they had done, he isolated himself in his 
 garden, locking the door in the iron railing, and shrink- 
 ing from the assemblies of former times ! 
 
 His little floral world did not change, its sombre 
 verdure was like the twilight that had enveloped thfe 
 gardener's soul. It had not the brilliant gaiety, over- 
 flowing with colours and scents of a garden in the open, 
 bathed in full sunlight, but it had the shady and melan- 
 choly beauty of a conventual garden between four walls, | 
 with no more light than what came through the eaves | 
 and the arcades, and no other birds but those flying 
 above, who looked with wonder at this little paradise 
 at the bottom of a well. The vegetation was the same 
 as that of the Greek landscapes, and of the idylls of 
 the Greek poets — ^laurels, cypress and roses, but the 
 arches that surrounded it, with their alleys paved with 
 great slabs of granite in whose interstices wreaths of 
 grass grew, the cross of its central arbour, the mouldy 
 smell of the old iron railings, and the damp of the 
 stone buttresses coloured a soft green by the rain, gave 
 the garden an atmosphere of reverend age and a charac-/' 
 ter of its own. 
 
 The trees waved in the wind like censers, the flowers, 
 pale and languid with an anaemic beauty, smelt of 
 incense, as though the air wafted through the doors of 
 the Cathedral had changed their natural perfumes. 
 
 The rain, trickling from the gargoyles and gutters of 
 the roofs, was collected in two large and deep stone 
 tanks ; sometimes the gardener's pail would disturb their 
 green covering, letting one perceive for an instant the 
 blue-blackness of their depths, but as soon as the circles 
 disappeared, the vegetation once more drew together and 
 covered them over afresh, without a movement, without 
 a ripple, quiet and dead as the temple itself in the still- 
 ness of the evening. 
 
42 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 At the feast of Corpus, and that of the Virgin of the t 
 Sagrario in the middle of August, the townspeople I 
 brought their pitchers into the garden, and the Senor I 
 Esteban allowed them to be filled from these two cis- | 
 terns. It was an ancient custom and one much appre- 
 ciated by the old Toledans, who thought much of the 
 fresh water of the Cathedral, condemned as they were 
 during the rest of the year to drink the red and muddy 
 liquid of the Tagus. At other times people came into 
 the garden to give little presents to Senor Esteban, 
 the devout entrusted him with palms for their imagesj 
 or bought little bunches of flowers, believing them 
 to be better than those they could buy at the farms, 
 because they came from the Metropolitan Church, and 
 the old women begged branches of laurel for flavour- 
 ing and for household medicines. These incomings, 
 and the two pesetas that the Chapter had assigned to 
 the gardener after the final dismemberment, helped the 
 Seiiolr Esteban and his family to get on. When he 
 was getting well on in years his third son Gabriel was 
 bom, a child who from his fourth year attracted the 
 attention of all the women in the Claverias; his mother 
 affirmed with a blind faith that he was a living image 
 of the Child Jesus that the Virgin of the Sagrario 
 held in her arms. Her sister Tomasa, who was mar- 
 ried to the "Virgin's Blue," and was the mother of a 
 numerous family which occupied nearly the half of the 
 upper cloister, talked a great deal about the intelligence 
 of her little nephew, when he could hardly speak, and 
 about the infantile unction with which he gazed at the 
 images. 
 
 "He looks like a saint," she siid to her friends. "You 
 should see how seriously he says his prayers. . . . 
 Gabrielillo will become somebody; who knows if we 
 may not see him a bishop ! Acolytes that I knew when 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 43 
 
 my father had charge of the sacristy now wear the 
 mitre, and possibly some day we may have one of them 
 in Toledo." 
 
 The chorus of caresses and praises surrounded the 
 first years of the child like a cloud of incense ; the family 
 only lived for him, the Senor Esteban, a father in the 
 good old Latin style who loved his sons, but was severe 
 and stem with them in order that they might grow up 
 honourable, felt in the presence of the child a return of 
 his own youth; he played with him, and lent himself 
 smilingly to all his little caprices ; his mother abandoned 
 her household duties to please him, and his brother hung 
 on his babbling words. The eldest, Tomas, the silent 
 youth who had taken the place of his father in the care 
 of the garden, and who even in the depths of winter 
 went barefooted over the flower-beds and rough stones 
 of the alleys,; came up often bringing handfuls of sweet- 
 scented herbs, so that his little brother might play with 
 them. Esteban, the second, who was now thirteen and 
 who enjoyed a certain notoriety among the other acolytes 
 on account of his scrupulous care in assisting at the 
 mass, delighted Gabriel with his red cassock and his 
 pleated tunic, and brought him taper ends and little 
 coloured prints, abstracted from the breviary of some 
 canon. 
 
 Now and then he carried him in his arms to the store- 
 room of the giants, an immense room between the but- 
 tresses and the arches of the nave, vaulted with stone. 
 Here were the heroes of the ancient feasts and holidays. 
 The Cid with a huge sword, and four set pieces repre- 
 senting as many parts of the world: huge figures with 
 dusty and tattered clothes and broken faces, which had 
 once rejoiced the streets of Toledo, and were now rot- 
 ting under the roofs of its Cathedral. In one corner 
 reposed the Tarasca, a frightful monster of cardboard, 
 
44 iTHE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 which terrified Gabriel when it opened its jaws, while 
 on its wrinkled back sat smiling, idiotically, a di- 
 shevelled and indecent doll, whom the religious feeling 
 of former ages had baptised with the name of Anne 
 Boleyn. 
 
 When Gabriel went to school all were astonished at 
 his progress. The youngsters of the upper cloister who 
 were such a trial to "Silver Stick," the priest charged 
 with niantaining good order among the tribe established 
 in the roofs of the Cathedral, looked upon the little 
 Gabriel as a prodigy. When he could scarcely walk he 
 could read easily, and at seven he began to recite his 
 Latin, mastering it quickly, as though he had never 
 spoken anything else in his life, and at ten he could 
 argue with the clergy who frequented the gardens, 
 and who delighted in putting before him questions and 
 difficulties. 
 
 The Senor Esteban, growing daily more bent and 
 feeble, smiled delightedly before his last work; he was 
 going to be the glory of his house ! His name was Luna, 
 and therefore he could aspire to anything without fear, 
 because even Popes had come from that family. 
 
 The canons would take the boy into the sacristy after 
 choir, and question him as to his studies. One of the 
 clergy belonging to the archbishop's household presented 
 him to the cardinal, who, after hearing him, gave him a 
 handful of sugared almonds and the promise of a 
 scholarship, so that he could continue his studies at the 
 seminary gratuitously. 
 
 The Lunas and all their relations more or less distant, 
 who were ireally nearly the whole population of the upper 
 cloister, were rejoiced at this promise; what else could 
 Gabriel be but a priest? For these people, attached to 
 the church from the day of their birth, like excrescences 
 of its stones, who considered the archbishops of Toledo 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 45 
 
 as the most powerful beings in the world after the Pope, 
 the only profession worthy of a man of talent was the 
 Church. 
 
 Gabriel went to the Seminary, and to all the family 
 the Claverias seemed quite deserted. The long, pleasant 
 evenings in the house of the Lunas came to an end, at 
 which the bell-ringer, the vergers, the sacristans and 
 other church servants had been used to assemble, and 
 listen to the clear and well modulated voice of Gabriel, 
 who read like an angel — sometimes the lives of the 
 saints, at other times Catholic newspapers that came 
 from Madrid, or chapters from a Don Quixote with 
 pages of vellum and antiquated writing — a venerable 
 copy which had been handed down in the family for 
 generations. 
 
 Gabriel's life in the Seminary was the ordinary and 
 monotonous life of a hard-working student : triumphs in 
 theological controversies, prizes in heaps, and the satis- 
 faction of being held up to his companions as a model. 
 
 Sometimes one of the canons who lectured in the sem- 
 inary would come into the garden : — 
 
 "The lad is getting on very well, Esteban ; he is first in 
 everything, and besides, is as steady and pious as a saint. 
 He will be the comfort of your old age." 
 
 The gardener, always growing older and thinner, 
 shook his head. He should only be able to see the end 
 of his son's career from the heavens, should it please 
 God to call him there. He would die before his son's 
 triumph; but this did not sadden him, for the family 
 would remain to enjoy the victory and to give thank^ to 
 God for His goodness. 
 
 Humanities, theology, canons, everything, the young 
 man mastered with an ease which surprised his masters, 
 and they compared him to the Fathers of the Church, 
 who had attracted attention by their precocity. He 
 
46 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 would very soon finish his studies, and they all predicte'd 
 that his Eminence would give him a professorship in the 
 seminary, even before he sang his first mass. His thirst 
 for learning was insatiable, and it seemed as though the 
 library really belonged to him. Some evenings he would 
 go into the Cathedral to pursue his musical studies, 
 and talk with the Chapel-master and the organist, and 
 at other times in the hall of sacred oratory he would 
 astound the professors and the Alumni by the fer- 
 vour and conviction with which he delivered his ser- 
 mons. 
 
 "He is called to the pulpit," they said in the 
 Cathedral garden. "He has all the fire of the apostles; 
 he will become a Saint Bernard or a Bossuet. Who 
 can tell how far this youth will go, or where he will 
 end?" 
 
 One of the studies which most delighted Gabriel was 
 that of the history of the Cathedral, and of the ecclesi- 
 astical princes who had ruled it. All the inherent love of 
 the Lunas for the giantess who was their eternal mother 
 surged up in him, but he did not love it blindly as all 
 his belongings did. He wished to know the why and the 
 wherefore of things, comparing in his books the vague 
 old stories that he had heard from his father, that 
 seemed more akin to legends than to historical facts. 
 
 The first thing that claimed his attention was the 
 chronology of the archbishops of Toledo — a long line of 
 famous men, saints, warriors, writers, princes, each with 
 his number after his name, like the kings of the difiFerent 
 dynasties. At certain times they had been the real 
 kings of Spain. The Gothic kings in their courts were 
 little more than decorative figureheads that were raised 
 or deposed according to the exigencies of the moment. 
 The nation was a theocratic republic, and its true head 
 ,was the Archbishop of Toledo. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 47 
 
 Gabriel grouped the long line of famous prelates by 
 characters. First of all the saints, the apostles in the 
 heroic age of Christianity, bishops as poor as their own 
 people, barefooted, fugitives from the Roman persecu- 
 tion, and bowing their heads at last to the executioner, 
 firm in the hope of gaining fresh strength to the 
 doctrine for which they sacrificed their lives — Saint 
 Eugenio, Melancio, Pelagio, Patruno and other names 
 that shone in the past scarcely breaking through the 
 mists of legend. Then came the archbishops of the 
 Gothic era; those kingly prelates who exercised that 
 superiority over the conquering kings by which the 
 spiritual power succeeded in dominating the barbarian 
 conquerors. Miracles accompanied them to confound 
 the Arians, and celestial prodigies were at their orders 
 to terrify and crush those rude men of war. The 
 Archbishop Montano, who lived with his wife, and was 
 indignant at the consequent murmurs, placed red-hot 
 coals in his sacred vestments the while he said mass, 
 and did not bum, demonstrating by this miracle the 
 purity of his life. Saint Ildefonso, not content with 
 only writing books against heretics, induced Santa 
 Leocadia to appear to him, leaving in his hands a piece 
 of her mantle, and he enjoyed the further honour of 
 this same Virgin descending from heaven to present him 
 with a chasuble embroidered by her own hands. Sigi- 
 berto, many years after, had the audacity to vest himself 
 in this chasuble, and was in consequence deposed, 
 excommunicated and exiled for his temerity. 
 
 The only books that were produced in those times 
 were written by the prelates of Toledo. They compiled 
 the laws, they anointed the heads of the monarchs 
 with the holy oil, they set up Wamba as king, they 
 conspired against the life of Egica, and the councils 
 assembled in the basilica of Santa Leocadia were 
 
48 (THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 political assemblies in which the mitre was on the 
 throne and the crown of the king at the feet of the 
 prelate. 
 
 At the coming of the Saracen invasion the series of 
 persecuted prelates begins again. They did not now 
 fear for their lives as during the time of Roman intoler- 
 ance; for Mussulmen as a rule do not martyr, and 
 furthermore, they respect the beliefs of the conquered. 
 
 All the churches in Toledo remained in the hands of 
 the Christian Muzarabes,^ with the exception of the 
 Cathedral, which was converted into the principal 
 mosque. 
 
 The Catholic bishops were respected by the Moors, 
 as were also the Hebrew rabbis; but the Church was 
 poor, and the continual wars between the Saracens and 
 the Christians, together with the reprisals which set a 
 seal on the barbarities of the reconquest, made the con- 
 tinuance and life of worship extremely difficult. 
 
 Having arrived at this point Gabriel read the obscure 
 names of Cixila, Elipando and Wistremiro. Saint 
 Eulogio termed this last "the torch of the Holy Spirit, 
 and the light of Spain"; but history is silent as to his 
 deeds, and Saint Eulogio was martyred and killed by 
 the Moors in Cordova on account of his excessive re- 
 ligious zeal. Benito, a Frenchman who succeeded to the 
 chair, not to be behind his predecessors, made the Virgin 
 send him down another chasuble to a church in his own 
 country before he came to Toledo. 
 
 After these, came the interesting chronology of the 
 warrior archbishops, warriors of coat-of-mail and two- 
 edged sword, the conquerors who, leaving the choir to 
 the meek and humble, mounted their war-horses and 
 
 ' Muzarabes — Christians living among the Moors and mixing 
 with them; also an ancient form of service still contintied in 
 one chapel in Toledo and in one at Salamanca. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 49 
 
 thought they were not serving God unless during the year 
 they added sundry towns and pasture lands to the 
 goods of the Church. They arrived in the eleventh 
 century, with Alfonso VI., to the conquest of Toledo. 
 The first were French monks from the famous Abbey 
 of Cluny, sent by the Abbot Hugo to the convent of 
 Sahagun, and they were the first to use the "don'^as 
 a sign of lordship. To the pious tolerance of the preV 
 ceding bishops, accustomed to friendly intercourse 
 with Arabs and Jews in the full liberty of the Muzarab^ 
 worship, succeeded the ferocious intolerance of th^ 
 Christian conqueror. The Archbishop Don Bernardo, 
 was scarcely seated in the chair before he took advan- 
 tage of the absence of Alfonso VI. to violate all his 
 promises. The principal mosque had remained in the 
 hands of the Moors by a solemn compact with the 
 king, who, like all the monarchs of the reconquest, was 
 tolerant in matters of religion. The archbishop, using 
 his powerful influence over the mind of the queen, 
 made her the accomplice of his plans, and one night, 
 followed by clergy and workmen, he knocked down the 
 doors of the mosque, cleansed it and purified it, and 
 next morning when the Saracens came to pray towards 
 the rising sun, they found it changed into a Catholic 
 cathedral. The conquered, trusting in the word given 
 by the conqueror, protested, scandalised, and that they 
 did not rise was solely due to the influence of the 
 Alfaqui Abu-Walid, who trusted that the king would 
 fulfil his promises. In three days Alfonso VI. arrived 
 in Toledo from the further end of Castille, ready to 
 murder the archbishop and even his own wife for their 
 share in this villainy that had compromised his word as 
 a cavalier, but his fury was so great that even the 
 Moors were moved, and the Alfaqui went out to meet 
 him, begging him to condone the deed as it was 
 
50 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 accomplished, as the injured parties would agree to it, 
 and in the name of the conquered he relieved him from 
 keeping his word, because the possession of a building 
 was not a sufficient reason for breaking the peace. 
 
 Gabriel admired as he read the prudence and modera- 
 tion of the good Moor Abu-Walid; but with his enthu- 
 siasm as a seminarist he admired still more those proud, 
 intolerant and warlike prelates, who trampled laws and 
 people under foot for the greater glory of God. 
 
 The Archbishop Martin was Captain-General against 
 the Moors in Andalusia, conquering towns, and he 
 accompanied Alfonso VIII. to the battle of Alarcos. 
 The famous prelate Don Rodrigo wrote the chronicle of 
 Spain, filling it with miracles for the greater prosperity 
 of the Church, and he practically made history, parsing 
 more time on his war-horse than on his throne in the 
 choir. At the battle de las Navas he set so fine an 
 example, throwing himself into the thick of the fight, 
 that the king gave him twenty lordships as well as that 
 of Talavera de la Reina. Afterwards, in the king's 
 absence, he drove the Moors out of Quesada and 
 Cazorla, taking possession of vast territories, which 
 passed under his sway, with the name of the Adelan- 
 tamiento.^ Don Sancho, son of Don Jaime of Aragon, 
 and brother to the Queen of Castille, thought more of 
 his title of "Chief Leader" than of his mitre of Toledo, 
 and on the advance of the Moors went out to meet 
 them in the martial field. He fought wherever the 
 fighting was fiercest, and was finally killed by the 
 Moslems, who cut off his hands and placed his head on 
 a spear. 
 
 Don Gil de Albornoz, the famous cardinal, went to 
 Italy, flying from Don Pedro the Cruel, and, like a great 
 
 ' Adelantamiento — ^Advancement. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 51 
 
 captain, reconquered all the territory of the Popes, who 
 had taken refuge in Avignon. Don Gutierre III. went 
 with Don Juan II. to fight against the Moors. Don 
 Alfonso de Acuna fought in the civil war during the 
 reign of Enrique IV. ; and as a fitting end to this series 
 of political and conquering prelates, rich and powerful 
 as true princes, there arose the Cardinal Mendoza, who 
 fought at the battle of Toro, and at the conquest of 
 Granada, afterwards governing that kingdom; and 
 Jimenez de Cisneros, who, finding no Moors left in the 
 Peninsula to fight, crossed the sea and went to Oran, 
 waving his cross and turning it into a weapon of war. 
 
 The seminarist admired these men, magnified by the 
 mists of ancient history and the praises of the Church. 
 Fot him they were the greatest men in the world after 
 the Popes, and, indeed, often far superior to them. He 
 was astonished that the Spaniards of the present times 
 were so blind that they did not entrust their direction 
 and government to the archbishops of Toledo, who in 
 former centuries had performed such heroic deeds. 
 The glory and advancement of the country was so 
 intimately connected with their history, their dynasty 
 was quite as great as that of the kings, and on more 
 than one occasion they had saved these latter by their 
 counsels and energy. 
 
 After these eagles came the birds of prey; after the 
 prelates with their iron morions and their coats-of- 
 mail came the rich and luxurious prelates, who cared 
 for no other combats but those of the law courts, and 
 were in perpetual litigation with towns, guilds, and 
 private individuals in order to retain the possessions and 
 the vast fortune accumulated by their predecessors. 
 
 Those who were generous like Tavera built palaces, 
 and encouraged artists like El Greco, Berruguete and 
 others, creating a Renaissance in Toledo, an echo from 
 
52 [THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 Italy. Those who were miserly, like Quiroga, reduced 
 the expenses of the pompous church, to turn themselves 
 into money-lenders to the kings,, giving millions of 
 ducats to those Austrian monarchs on whose dominions 
 the sun never set, but who, nevertheless, found them- 
 selves obliged to beg almost as soon as their galleons 
 returned from their voyages to America. 
 
 The Cathedral was the work of these priestly ecclesi- 
 astics; each one had done something in it which 
 revealed his character. The rougher and more war- 
 like its framework, that mountain of stone and wood 
 which formed its skeleton; those who were more cul- 
 tivated, elevated to the See in times of greater refine- 
 ment, contributed the minutely-worked iron railings, 
 the doors of lace-like stonework, the pictures, and the 
 jewels which made its sacristy a veritable treasure 
 house. The gestation of the giantess had lasted for 
 three centuries; it seemed like those enormous pre- 
 historic animals who slept so long in their mother's womb 
 before seeing the light. 
 
 When its walls and pilasters first rose above the soil 
 Gothic art was in its first epoch, and during the two 
 and a half centuries that its building lasted architec- 
 ture made great strides. Gabriel could follow this slow 
 transformation with his mind's eye as he studied the 
 building, discovering the various signs of its evolution. 
 
 The magnificent church was like a giantess whose 
 feet were shod with rough shoes, but whose head was 
 covered with the loveliest plumes. The bases of the 
 pillars were rough and devoid of ornament, the shafts 
 of the columns rose with severe simplicity, crowned by 
 plain capitals at the base of the arches, on which the 
 Gothic thistle had not yet attained the exuberant branch- 
 ing of a later florid period; but the vaulting which 
 was finished perhaps two centuries after the first 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 53 
 
 beginning, and the windows with their multi-coloured 
 ogives, displayed the magnificence of an art at its cul- 
 minating point. 
 
 At the two extreme ends of the transepts Gabriel 
 found the proof of the immense progress made during 
 the two centuries in which the Cathedral had been 
 rising from the ground. The Puerta del Reloj,^ 
 called also de la Feria,^ with its rude sculptures of 
 archaic rigidity, and the tympanum, covered with small 
 scenes from the creation, was a great contrast to the 
 doorway at the opposite end of the crossway, that of 
 Los Leones,^ oi- by its other name, de la Alegria,* 
 built nearly two hundred years afterwards, elegant and 
 majestic as the entrance to a palace, showing already 
 the fleshly audacities of the Renaissance, .endeavouring 
 to thrust themselves into the severity of Christian 
 architecture, a siren fastened to the door by her curling 
 tail serving as an example. 
 
 The Cathedral, built entirely of a milky white stone 
 from the quarries close to Toledo, rose in one single 
 elevation from the base of the pillars to the vaulting, 
 with no triforium to cut its arcades and to weaken and 
 load the naves with superimposed arches. Gabriel saw / 
 in this a f)etrified , sxrobjQl._xii— pcayer,--«sing^direct to^^' 
 Heaven, without assistance or support. The smooth, 
 soft stone was used throughout the building, harder 
 stone being used for the vaultings, and on the exterior 
 the buttresses and pinnacles, as well as the flying but- 
 tresses like small bridges between them, were of the 
 hardest granite, which from age had taken a golden 
 colour, and which protected and supported the airy 
 
 ^ Reloj— Clock. 
 'Feria — Of the fair. 
 'Los Leones — Lions. 
 ' Alegria — Joy. 
 
54 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 delicacy of the interior. The two sorts of stone made a 
 great contrast in the appearance of the Cathedral, dark 
 and reddish outside, white and delicate inside. 
 
 The seminarist found examples of every sort of archi- 
 tecture that had flourished in the Peninsula. The 
 primitive Gothic was found in the earliest doorways, 
 the florid in those del Perdon and de los Leones, and 
 the Arab architecture showed its graceful horseshoe 
 arches in the triforium running round the whole abside 
 of the choir, which was the work of Cisneros, who, 
 though he burnt the Moslem books, introduced their 
 style of architecture into the heart of the Christian 
 temple. The plateresque style showed its fanciful grace 
 in the door of the cloister, and even the chirruguesque 
 showed at its best in the famous lanthorn of Tome, 
 which broke the vaulting behind the high altar in order 
 to give light to the abside. 
 
 In the evenings of the vacation Gabriel would leave 
 the seminary, and wander about the Cathedral till the 
 hour at which its doors were closed. He delighted in 
 walking through the naves and behind the high altar, 
 the darkest and most silent spot in the whole church. 
 Here slept a great part of the history of Spain. Behind 
 the locked gates of the chapel of the kings, guarded by 
 the stone heralds on pedestals, lay the kings of Castille 
 in their tombs, their effigies crowned, in golden armour, 
 praying, with their swords by their sides. He would 
 slQpL_h£fQre_the chapel of Santiago, admiring through 
 the railings of its three^irfteJ arches the legendary 
 saint, dressed as a pilgrim, holding his sword on high, 
 and tramping on Mahomedans with his war-horse. 
 Great shells and red shields with a silver moon adorned 
 the white walls, rising up to the vaulting, and this 
 chapel his father, the gardener, regarded as his own 
 peculiar property. It was that of the Lunas, and though 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 55 
 
 some people laughed at the relationship, there lay his 
 illustrious progenitors, Don Alvaro and his wife, on their 
 monumental tombs. That of Dona Juana Pimental had 
 at its four corners the figures of four kneeling friars in 
 yellow marble, who watched over the noble lady 
 extended on the upper part of the monument. That of 
 the unhappy constable of Castille was surrounded by 
 four knights of Santiago, wrapped in the mantle of their 
 Order, seeming to keep guard over their grand master, 
 who lay buried without his head in the stone sarcoph- 
 agus, bordered with Gothic mouldings. Gabriel 
 remembered what he had heard his father relate about 
 the recumbent statue of Don Alvaro. In former times 
 the statue had been of bronze, and when mass was 
 said in the chapel, at the elevation of the Host, the 
 statue> by means of secret springs, would rise and 
 remain kneeling till the end of the cer-emony. Some 
 said that the Catholic queen caused the disappearance 
 of this theatrical statue, believing that it disturbed the 
 prayers of the faithful; others said that some soldiers, 
 enemies of the constable, on a day of disturbance, had 
 broken in pieces the jointed statue. On the exterior of 
 the church the chapel of the Lunas raised its battle- 
 mented towers, forming an isolated fortress inside the 
 Cathedral. 
 
 In spite of his family considering this chapel as their 
 own, the seminarist felt himself more attracted by that 
 of Saint Ildefonso close by, which contained the tomb 
 of the Cardinal Albornoz. Of all the great past in the 
 Cathedral, that which excited his greatest admiration 
 was the romantic figure of this warlike prelate ; lover of 
 letters, Spanish by birth, and Italian by his conquests. 
 He slept in a splendid marble tomb, shining and 
 polished by age, and of a soft fawn colour ; the invisible 
 hand of time had treated the face of the recumbent 
 
S6 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 effigy rather roughly, flattening the nose, and giving the 
 warlike cardinal an expression of almost Mongolian 
 ferocity. Four lions guarded the remains of the prelate. 
 Everything in him was extraordinary and adventurous 
 even to his death. His body was brought back from 
 Italy to Spain with prayers and hymns, carried on the 
 shoulders of the entire population, who went out to 
 meet it in order to gain the indulgences granted by the 
 Pope. This return journey to his own country after his 
 death lasted several months, as the good cardinal 
 only went by short journeys from church to church, pre- 
 ceded by a picture of Christ, which now adorns his 
 chapel, and spreading among the multitude the sweet 
 scent of his embalming. 
 
 For Don Gil de Albornoz nothing seemed impossible; 
 he was the sword of the Apostle returned to earth in 
 order to enforce faith. Flying from Don Pedro the 
 Cruel, he had taken refuge in Avignon, where lived 
 exiles even more illustrious than himself. There were 
 the Popes driven out of Rome by a people who, in their 
 mediaeval nightmare, tried to restore at the bidding of 
 Rienzi the ancient republic of the Consuls. Don Gil 
 was not a man to live long in the pleasant little Pro- 
 vencal court; like a good archbishop of Toledo, he 
 wore the coat-of-mail underneath his tunic, and as 
 there were no Moors to fight he wished to strike at 
 heretics instead. He went to Italy as the champion 
 of the Church; all the adventurers of Europe and the 
 bandits of the country formed his army. He killed and 
 burnt in the country, entered and sacked the towns, 
 all in the name of the Sovereign Pontiff, so that before 
 long the exile of Avignon was again able to return and 
 occupy his throne in Rome. The Spanish cardinal 
 after all these campaigns, which gave half Italy to the 
 Papacy, was as rich as any king, and he founded the 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 57 
 
 celebrated Spanish college in Bologna. The Pope, well 
 aware of his robberies and rapacity, asked him to give 
 some sort of accounts. The proud Don Gil presented 
 him with a cart laden with keys and bolts. 
 
 "These," said he proudly, "belong to the towns and 
 castles I have gained for the Papacy. These are my 
 accounts." 
 
 The irresistible glamour that a powerful warrior 
 throws over a man physically feeble was strongly felt 
 by Gabriel, and it was augmented by the thought that 
 so much bravery and haughtiness had been joined in a 
 servant of the Church. Why could not men like this 
 arise now, in these impious times, to give fresh strength 
 to Catholicism? 
 
 In his strolls through the Cathedral Gabriel greatly 
 admired the screen before the high altar, a wonderful 
 work of Villalpando, with its foliage of old gold, and 
 its black bars with silvery spots like tin. These spots 
 made the beggars and guides in the church declare 
 that all the screen was made of silver, but that the canons 
 had had it painted black so that it might not be plundered 
 by Napoleon's soldiers. 
 
 Behind it shone the majestic decorations of the high 
 altar, splendid with soft old gilding, and a whole host 
 of figures under carved canopies representing various 
 scenes from the Passion. Behind the altar and the 
 screen the gilding seemed to spring spontaneously from 
 the white walls, marking with brilliant lights the 
 divisions between the stalls. Beneath highly-decorated 
 pointed arches were the tombs of the most ancient kings 
 of Castille, and that of the Cardinal Mendoza. 
 
 Under the arches of the triforium an orchestra of 
 Gothic angels with stiif dalmatics and folded wings 
 sang lauds, playing lutes and flutes, and in the central 
 parts of the pillars the statues of holy bishops were 
 
58 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 interspersed with those of historical and legendary 
 personages. 
 
 On one side the good Alfaqui Abu-Walid, immortal- 
 ised in a Christian church for his tolerant spirit, on the 
 opposite side the mysterious leader of Las Navas who, 
 after showing the Christians the way to victory, suddenly 
 disappeared like a divine envoy — a statue of exceeding 
 ugliness with a haggard face covered by a rough hood. 
 At either end. of the screen stood as evidences of the 
 past opulence of the church two beautiful pulpits of 
 rich marbles and chiselled bronze. 
 
 Gabriel cast a glance at the choir, admiring the 
 beautiful stalls belonging to the canons, and he thought 
 enthusiastically that perhaps some day he might succeed 
 in gaining one to the great pride of his family. In his 
 wanderings about the church he would often stop before 
 the immense fresco of Saint Christopher, a picture as 
 bad as it was huge — a figure occupying all one divi- 
 sion of the wall from the pavement to the cornice, and 
 which by its size seemed to be the only fitting inhabitant 
 of the church. The cadets would come in the evenings 
 to look at it; that colossus of pink flesh, bearing the 
 child on its shoulders, advancing its angular legs care- 
 fully through the waters, leaning on a palm tree that 
 looked like a broom, was for them by far the most 
 noticeable thing in the church. The light-hearted 
 young men delighted in measuring its ankles with their 
 swords and afterwards calculating how many swords 
 high the blessed giant could be. It was the readiest 
 application that they could make of those mathematical 
 calculations with which they were so much worried in 
 the academy. The apprentice of the church was 
 irritated at the impudence with which these dressed up 
 popinjays, the apprentices of war, sauntered about the 
 church. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL S9 
 
 Many mornings he would go to the Muzarabe Chapel, 
 following attentively the ancient ritual,^ intoned by the 
 priests especially devoted to it. On the walls were 
 represented in brilliant colours scenes from the conquest 
 of Oran by the great Cisneros. As Gabriel listened to 
 the monotonous singing of the Muzarabe priests he 
 remembered the quarrels during the time of Alfonso VI. 
 between the Roman liturgy and that of Toledo — the 
 foreign worship and the national one. The believers, 
 to end the eternal disputes, appealed to the "Judgment 
 of God." The king named the Roman champion, and 
 the Toledans confided the defence of their Gothic rite 
 to the sword of Juan Ruiz, a nobleman from the borders 
 of Pisuerga. The champion of the Gothic breviary 
 remained triumphant in the fight, demonstrating its 
 superiority with magnificent sword thrusts, but, in spite 
 of the will of God having been manifested in this war- 
 like way, the Roman rite by slow degrees became 
 master of the situation, till at last the Muzarabe ritual 
 was relegated to this small chapel as a curious relic of 
 the past. 
 
 Sometimes in the evenings, when the services were 
 ended and the Cathedral was locked up, Gabriel would 
 go up to the abode of the bell-ringer, stopping on the 
 gallery above the door del Perdon. Mariano, the bell- 
 ringer's son, a youth of the same age as the seminarist, 
 and attached to him by the respect and admiration his 
 talents inspired, would act as guide in their excursions 
 to the upper regions of the church ; they would possess 
 themselves of the key of the vaultings and explore that 
 mysterious locality to which only a few workmen 
 ascended from time to time. 
 
 ^The Muzarabe ritual is still sung in Arabic both in Toledo 
 and Salamanca. 
 
6o THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 The Cathedral was ugly and commonplace seen 
 from above. In the very early days the stone vaultings 
 had remained uncovered, with no other concealment 
 beyond the light-looking carved balustrade, but the 
 rain had begun to damage them, threatening their 
 destruction, and so the Chapter had covered the 
 Cathedral with a roof of brown tiles, which gave the 
 Church the appearance of a huge warehouse or a great 
 bam. The pinnacles of the buttresses seemed ashamed 
 to appear above this ugly covering, the flying buttresses 
 became lost and disappeared among the bare-looking 
 buildings, built on to the Cathedral, and the little 
 staircase turrets became hidden behind this clumsy mass 
 of roofing. 
 
 The two youths climbing along the cornices, green 
 and slippery from the rain, would mount to quite the 
 upper parts of the building. Their feet would become 
 entangled in the plants that a luxuriant nature allowed 
 to grow amid the joints of the stones, flocks of birds 
 would fly away at their approach; all the sculptures 
 seemed to serve as resting-places for their nests, and 
 every hollow in the stone where the rain-water collected 
 was a miniature lake where the birds came to drink; 
 sometimes a large black bird would settle on one 
 of the pinnacles like an unexpected finial; it was 
 a raven who settled there to plume his wings, and 
 it would remain there sunning itself for hours; to 
 the people who saw it from below it appeared about the 
 size of a fly. 
 
 These vaultings caused Gabriel a strange impression; 
 no one could guess the existence of such a place in 
 the upper regions of the building. He would walk 
 through the forest of worm-eaten posts which supported 
 the roof, through narrow passages between the cupolas 
 of the vaulting that arose from the flooring like white 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 6i 
 
 and dusty tumours; sometimes there would be a shaft 
 through which he could see down into the Cathedral, 
 the depth of which made him giddy. These shafts were 
 like narrow well-mouths at the bottom of which could 
 be seen people walking like ants on the tile flooring of the 
 church. Through these shafts were lowered the ropes 
 of the great chandeliers, and the golden chains that 
 supported the figure of Christ above the railing of the 
 high altar. Enormous capstans showed through the 
 twilight their cogged and rusty wheels, their levers 
 and ropes like forgotten instruments of torture. This 
 was the hidden machinery belonging to the great religious 
 festivals; by these artifices the magnificent canopy of 
 the holy week was raised and fastened. 
 
 As the sun's rays shone in between the wooden 
 posts the dust of ages that lay like a thick mantel 
 on the roof of the vaulting would rise and dance 
 in them for a few seconds, and the huge old spiders' 
 webs would wave like fans in the wind, while the 
 footsteps of the intruders would occasion wild and 
 precipitous scrambles of rats from all the dark comers. 
 In the furthest and darkest comers roosted those black 
 birds who by night flew down into the church through 
 the shafts in the vaulting, and the eyes of the owls 
 glowed with phosphorescent brilliancy, while the bats 
 flew sleepfly about sweeping the faces of the lads with 
 their wings. 
 
 The bell-ringer's son would examine the deposits 
 dropped in the dust, and would enumerate all the 
 different birds who took refuge in the summit of the 
 mountains of stone: this belonged to the hooting owl, 
 and that to the red owl, and this again to the raven, 
 and he spoke with respect of a certain nest of eagles 
 that his father had seen as a young man, fierce birds 
 who had endeavoured to tear out his eyes, and who 
 
^2 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 had so thoroughly frightened him that he had been 
 obliged to borrow the gun belonging to the night 
 watchers on each occasion that his duties took him 
 to the roof. 
 
 Gabriel loved that strange world, harbouring above 
 the Cathedral with its silence and its imposing solitude. 
 It was a wilderness of wood, inhabited by strange 
 creatures who lived unnoticed and forgotten under the 
 roof-tree of the church. Truly the good God had a 
 house for the faithful down below, and an immense garret 
 above for the creatures of the air. 
 
 The savage solitude of the higher regions was a great 
 contrast to the wealth of the chapel of the Ochava, 
 full of relics in golden vessels and caskets of enamel 
 and precious marbles, to the quantities of pearls and 
 emeralds in the magnificent treasury, heaped up as 
 though they had been peas, and to the elegant luxury 
 of the wardrobe, full of rare and costly stuffs and 
 vestments exquisitely embroidered with every colour of 
 the rainbow. 
 
 Gabriel was just eighteen when he lost his father. 
 The old gardener died quietly, happy in seeing all his 
 family in the service of the Cathedral and the good 
 old tradition of the Lunas continued without interrup- 
 tion. Thomas, the eldest son, remained in the garden, 
 Esteban, after serving many years as acolyte and assist- 
 ant to the sacristans, was Silenciario, and had been 
 given the Wooden Staff and seven reals a day, the height 
 of all his ambition ; and as far as regarded the youngest, 
 the good Senor Esteban had the firm conviction that 
 he had begotten a Father of the Church, for whom a 
 place in heaven was especially reserved at the right hand 
 of God Omnipotent. 
 
 Gabriel had acquired in the seminary that ecclesiastic 
 sternness that turns the priest into a warrior more intent 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 63 
 
 on the interest of the Church than on the concerns of his 
 family. For this reason he did not feel the death of 
 his father very greatly ; besides, much greater misfortunes 
 soon occurred to preoccupy the young seminarist. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 There was great excitement both in the Cathedral 
 and in the seminary, everyone discussing from morning 
 till night the news from Madrid, for these were the 
 days of the September revolution. The traditional and 
 healthy Spain, the Spain of the great historical tradition 
 had fallen. The Cortes Constituyentes were a volcano, 
 a breath from the infernal regions, to those gentlemen 
 of the black cassock who crowded round the unfolded 
 newspaper, and, if they found comfort and satisfaction 
 in a speech of Maesterola's they would suifer the agonies 
 of death at the revolutionary harangues, which dealt 
 such terrible blows at the olden days. The clergy had 
 turned their eyes towards Don Carlos, who was 
 beginning the war in the northern provinces; the king 
 of the Vascongados^ mountains would be able to remedy 
 everything when he came down into the plains of 
 Castille. But years passed by, Amadeus had come and 
 gone, they had even proclaimed a republic! And yet 
 the cause of God did not seem to advance much, and 
 Heaven seemed deaf. A republican deputy proclaimed 
 a war against God, challenging Him to silence him; 
 and so impiety stalked along immune and triumphant, 
 and its eloquence flowed abroad like a poisonous 
 spring. 
 
 Gabriel lived in a state of bellicose excitement — ^he 
 
 'Provinces of Alava, Guipuscoa, and the lordship of Biscay. 
 
 64 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 65 
 
 forgot his books, he disregarded his future, he never 
 thought now of singing his mass. What would happen 
 to his career now that the Church was in peril, and that 
 the sleepy poetry of past ages, that had enveloped him 
 from his cradle like a perfumed cloud of old incense and 
 dried roses, was on the point of vanishing? 
 
 Often some of the pupils disappeared from the semi- 
 nary, and the professors would reply to the inquiries of 
 the curious with a sly wink. 
 
 "They have gone out — ^with the good sort. They could 
 not see quietly what was happening — 'child's play,' 
 'follies.' " 
 
 But nevertheless such follies made them smile with 
 paternal satisfaction. 
 
 He thought to be himself among those who fled, as 
 the world seemed to be coming to an end. In certain 
 towns the revolutionary mob had invaded and profaned 
 the churches; as yet they had not murdered any of the 
 ministers of God as in other revolutions, but still the 
 priests were unable to go about the streets in their 
 cassocks for fear of being hooted and insulted. The 
 remembrance of the archbishops of Toledo, those 
 brave ecclesiastical princes, implacable warriors against 
 the infidels, fired his warlike feelings. As yet he had 
 never been away from Toledo, away from the shadow 
 of its Cathedral; Spain seemed to him as vast as alk, 
 the rest of the world put together, and he began to feel \ 
 the ardent desire of seeing something new, of seeing | 
 closer all the wonderful things he had read about in his *l 
 books, stirring within him. { 
 
 One day he kissed his mother's hand, without feeling 
 any very great emotion towards the trembling and 
 nearly blind old woman, for the seminary had for him 
 more tender memories than the house of his fathers, 
 smoked his last cigar with his brothers in the garden. 
 
66 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 without revealing his intentions to them, and that night 
 he fled from Toledo with a scapulary of the Heart of 
 Jesus sewed into his waistcoat, and a beautiful silk scarf 
 in his wallet, one of those worked by white hands in 
 the convents of the city. The son of the bell-ringer 
 went with him. They joined one of the insignificant 
 bands who were devastating Murcia, but they soon went 
 on to Valencia and Catalonia, anxious to perform 
 greater exploits for the cause of God than merely 
 (Stealing mules and extorting contributions from the 
 rich. 
 
 Gabriel felt an intense delight in this wandering life, 
 with its continual alarms owing to the proximity of the 
 troops. 
 
 He had been made an officer at on~.e, on account of 
 his education, and because of the letters of recommenda- 
 tion that certain of the prebends of the Metropolitan 
 Church had given him; letters lamenting greatly that a 
 youth of so much theological promise should go and 
 risk his life like a simple sacristan. 
 
 Luna enjoyed the free and lawless life of war with 
 the zest of a collegian out of bounds ; but he could not 
 hide the feeling of painful disillusion that the sight of 
 those armies of the Faith caused him. He had expected 
 to find something akin to the ancient crusading expedi- 
 tions: soldiers who fought for an ideal, who bent the 
 knee before beginning the fight, so that God might be 
 on their side, and who at night, after a hard-fought 
 field, slept the pure sleep of an ascetic; instead of 
 which he found an armed mob, mutinous to their 
 leaders, incapable of that fanaticism which rushes blind- 
 fold to death, anxious only that the war might last as 
 long as possible, so that they might continue the life of 
 lawless wandering at the expense of the country, which 
 they considered the best life possible; people who at 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL (fj 
 
 the sight of wine, women or plunder would disband 
 themselves, hungering, turning against their leaders. 
 
 It was the ancient life of the horde, surging up 
 through civilisation, the atavic custom of stealing the 
 stranger's bread and women by force of arms, the 
 ancient Celtiberic love of factions and internal strife, 
 that only caught hold of a political pretext in order to 
 revive. 
 
 Gabriel, with very rare exceptions, found none in 
 those badly-armed and worse-clothed bands who fought 
 with a fixed idea; they were adventurers who wished 
 for war for the sake of war; visionaries anxious for 
 fortune; country lads from the fields, who in their 
 passive ignorance had joined the factions, just as they 
 would have stayed at home if they had had better 
 counsels; simple souls who firmly believed that in the 
 towns they were burning and destroying God's ministers, 
 and who had thrown themselves into the fray so that 
 society should not lapse into barbarism. 
 
 The common danger, the misery of the interminable 
 marches to deceive the enemy, the scarcity suifered in 
 the barren fields and on the rough hilltops on which 
 they took refuge, made them all equals, enthusiasts, 
 sceptics or rustics. They all felt the same desire to 
 compensate themselves for their privations, to appease 
 the ravenous beast they felt inside, awakened and irri- 
 tated by a life of such sudden changes ; as much by the 
 wild abundance and plundering of a sack as by the 
 distress endured in the long marches over interminable 
 plains without ever seeing the slightest sign of life. On 
 entering a town they would shout, "Long live religion," 
 but on the slightest provocation they would do this, that 
 and the other in the name of God and all the saints, not 
 omitting in their filthy oaths to swear by everything 
 most sacred in that same religion. 
 
68 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 Gabriel, who soon became accustomed to this wander- 
 ing life, ceased to feel shocked. The former scruples of 
 the seminarist vanished, smothered under the crust of the 
 fighting man, which became hardened with war. 
 
 The romantic figure of Dona Blanca, the king's sister- 
 in-law passed before him, like a person in a novel; in 
 her romantic energy this princess wished to emulate 
 the deeds of the heroines of La Vendee, and mounted 
 on a small white horse, her pistol in her belt, and the 
 white scarf tied over her floating tresses, she put herself 
 at the head of these armed bands, who revived in the 
 centre of the Peninsula the strife of almost prehistoric 
 times. The flutter of the dark riding-habit of this 
 heroine served as a standard to the battalions of 
 Zouaves, to the troop of French, German, and Italian 
 adventurers, the scum of all the wars on the globe, who 
 found it pleasanter to follow a woman anxious for fame 
 than to enlist themselves into the foreign legion of 
 Algeria. 
 
 The assault of Cuenca, the sole victory of the cam- 
 paign, made a deep impression on Gabriel's memory; 
 the troops of men wearing the scarf, after they had 
 knocked down the ramparts as weak as mud walls, 
 rushed like overflowing streams through the streets. 
 The firing from the windows could not stop them ; they 
 rushed in pale, with discoloured lips and eyes brilliant 
 with homicidal mania, the danger overcome, and the 
 knowledge that they were at length masters of the place 
 drove them mad ; the doors of the houses fell under their 
 blows, terrified men rushed out to be pierced with bay- 
 onets in the streets, and in the houses you could see 
 women struggling in the arms of the assailants, striking 
 them in the face with one hand, while with the other they 
 struggled to retain their clothes. 
 
 Gabriel saw how the roughest of the mountaineers 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 69 
 
 destroyed in the Institute all the apparatus of the 
 Cabinet of Physical Science, breaking it in pieces. They 
 were furious with these inventions of the evil one, with 
 which they thought the unbelievers communicated with 
 the Government of Madrid, and they smashed on the 
 ground with the butt ends of their muskets, and trampled 
 with their feet, all the gilt wheels of the apparatus, and 
 all the discs and batteries of electricity. 
 
 The seminarist was delighted at all this destruction; 
 he also hated, but it was with a calm, reflective hate bred 
 in the seminary, all positive and material sciences, for the 
 sum total of his reasoning was that they came perilously 
 near to the negation of God ; those sons of the mountains 
 in their blessed ignorance, had without knowing it done 
 a great deed. Ah! if only the whole nation would imi- 
 tate them! In former times there were none of these 
 ridiculous inventions of science, and Spain was far 
 happier. To live a holy life, the learning of the priests 
 and the ignorance of the people was sufScient, for both 
 together produced a blessed tranquillity; what did they 
 want more? For so the country had existed for 
 centuries, all through the most glorious period of its 
 existence. 
 
 The war came to an end, the closely pursued rebels 
 passed through the centre of Catalonia and were finally 
 driven over the frontier, where they were compelled to 
 give up their arms to the French custom-house officers. 
 Many availed themselves of the amnesty, anxious to 
 return to their own homes. Mariano, the bell-ringer, 
 was one of these. He did not wish to live in a foreign 
 land; besides, during his absence his father had died, 
 and it was extremely probable that he might succeed to 
 the charge of the Cathedral tower if he laid due stress 
 on the merits of his family, his three years' campaigning 
 for the sake of religion, and a wound he had received in 
 
70 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 his leg ; he would really be able to compare himself with 
 the martyrs for Christianity. 
 
 Gabriel preferred emigration. "He was an officer and 
 
 therefore could not take the oath of allegiance to a 
 
 usurping dynasty." This declaration he made with all 
 
 the pride learnt in this caricature of an army, which 
 
 emphasised all the ceremonies of ancient warfare, and 
 
 who, ragged and shoeless as they were, with their 
 
 ,. swords by their sides, never failed to transmit orders to 
 
 each other as "high-born officer." But the real reason 
 
 i which prevented Luna from returning to Toledo was 
 
 \ that he wished to follow the course of events, to see new 
 
 ^ countries and different customs. To return to the 
 
 ' Cathedral would mean to remain there for ever, to 
 
 : renounce everything in life, and he, who during the war 
 
 ; had tasted of worldly delights, had no desire to turn his 
 
 ;. back on them quite so soon ; also he was not yet of age, 
 
 so he had plenty of time before him in which to finish 
 
 his studies ; the priesthood was a sure retreat, but one to 
 
 which he was in no hurry to return just at present; 
 
 besides, his mother was dead, and his brother's letters 
 
 told him of no alteration in the sleepy life of the upper 
 
 cloister, beyond that the gardener was married and that 
 
 the "Wooden Staff" was courting a girl in the Claverias, 
 
 it being against, all the good traditions of these people 
 
 to ally themselves with anyone outside the Cathedral. 
 
 Luna lived for more than a year in the emigrants' 
 cantonments; his classical education and the sympathy 
 aroused by his youth smoothed his path to a certain 
 extent ; he talked Latin with the French abbes, who were 
 delighted to hear about the war from the young theolo- 
 gian, and at the same time they taught him the language 
 of the country. These friends procured for him Spanish 
 lessons among the upper middle classes who were 
 friendly to the Church. In these days of penury he was 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 71 
 
 saved by his friendship with an old legitimist Countess, 
 who invited him to spend several days in her country 
 house, introducing the warlike seminarist to all the grave 
 and pious friends at her assemblies as though he had been 
 a crusader newly returned from Palestine. j, 
 
 Gabriel's great, desire wasjto_ go.Jta Parisj^his life \\/ 
 France had radically changed his ideas, he really felt as 
 though he had fallen into a new planet. Accustomed 
 to the monotonous life in the seminary, and to 
 nomadic existence during that mountainous and inglo- 
 rious war, he was astonished at the material progress, 
 the refinement of civilisation, the culture and the well- 
 being of the people in France. He remembered now with ] 
 shame his Spanish ignorance, all that Castilian phan- 
 tasmagoria, fed by lying literature, that had made him / 
 believe that Spain was the first country in the world, \ 
 and its people the noblest and bravest, and that all the V 
 other nations were a sort of wretched mob, created by | 
 God to be victims of heresy, and to receive overwhelm- | 
 ing punishment each time that they ventured to interfere ,' 
 with this privileged country, which, though it eats little / 
 and drinks less, has yet produced the holiest saints and * 
 the greatest captains of Christendom. 
 
 When Gabriel could express himself fluently in French 
 and had contrived to save a few francs for his journey, 
 he went to Paris. A friendly abbe had procured him 
 employment as corrector of proofs in a religious library 
 clo5£.iQ,5ain.t_S«lBice. In this priestly quarter of Paris, 
 with its hostels for the clergy and for religious families, 
 as gloomy as convents, with its shops full of pious 
 images, which flood the globe with varnished and smiling 
 saints, was accompl ished the ^re3,t;_4 ran siQ«FmattQH- of 
 Gabriel. 
 
 This quarter of Saint Sulpice with its streets almost 
 Spanish in their silence and peacefulness, with the sisters 
 
72 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 in black veils gliding by the walls of the seminary, drawn 
 by the sound of the bells, was for the Spanish seminarist 
 what the road to Damascus had been for the Apostle. 
 ThFT<TeTrch-€athdieism7~Tul!ivatedrTeason^ and re- 
 spectful to human progress, bewildered Gabriel, whose 
 fierce Spanish bigotry had taught him to despise all 
 profane science. There was only one true learning in the 
 world, and that was theology. The other sciences were 
 only toys, only fit to amuse the eternal infancy of 
 humanity. To know God and to meditate on the great- 
 ness of His power, this was the only serious study to 
 which men could devote themselves ; machinery, the dis- 
 coveries of the positive sciences, in fact everything which 
 did not treat of divinity and the future life, was only a 
 bagatelle for the amusement of fools and people of no 
 faith. 
 
 The former seminarist, who from his earliest child- 
 hood had despised all human progress, was stupefied 
 when he perceived how earnestly all French Catholicism 
 spoke of it. In correcting the proofs of so many religious 
 works he could not but notice the profound respect 
 which this despised science inspired in the good French 
 priests, men of such far superior culture to that. of the 
 canons down there. And moreover he noticed a certain 
 humble shrinking in the representatives of religion when 
 they came face to face with science — a desire to please, 
 not to be censorious, to help on with their sympathy 
 any conciliatory solutions, so that dogma should not 
 fall to the ground, finding no place in the rapid march 
 of events that was hurrying humanity into the future 
 with the whirl of its new discoveries. Entire books 
 were written by eminent priests with the view of adjust- 
 ing and bringing into line the revelations of the holy 
 books and the discoveries of modem science, even at 
 the risk of doing some violence to the former. The 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 73 
 
 ancient and venerable Church that Gabriel had seen in 
 his own country, immovable in its antiquated majesty, 
 unwilling to move a single fold of its mantle for fear of 
 losing some of the dust of ages, was stirring in France, 
 endeavouring to renew itself, throwing on one side the 
 ancient garments of tradition, like old rags that would 
 tunuit into ridicule, and stretching out its hands with 
 almost despairing strength to cateTi hold of the -modern , 
 achievements of science ; the great enentiy of yesterday, / 
 whose appearance had been ushered in with bonfires and/ 
 shameful abjurations was triumphant to-day. 
 
 What had that fatal apple of Paradise contained, that 
 after six thousand years of malediction that same Church 
 had begun to venerate it, striving to make it forget its 
 ancient persecutions? Why was religion, firm as a rock 
 throughout the centuries, which had defied persecutions, 
 schisms and wars, beginning to dissolve before the dis- 
 coveries of a few men, and entering into that wild current 
 which sought for the cause and explanation of every- 
 thing ? If it had the secular support of faith, why should 
 it seek the assistance of reason to maintain its traditions 
 and to justify its dogmas ? 
 
 Gabriel felt the same fever of curiosity which hadV 
 obliged him as a child to bend his back over the old 
 volumes, bound in parchment, in the library of the sem- 
 inary; he wished to be acquainted with the mysterious 
 perfume of that hated science which had so disturbed 
 God's priests, and had made them indirectly deny the 
 beliefs of nineteen centuries. He wished to know why 
 the sacred books were being dislocated and tortured in 
 order to explain by geological periods the creation which 
 God had accomplished in six days. What danger did 
 they hope to avoid by making the divinity appear before 
 science in order to explain its acts and fit them into 
 the decisions of the latter? Whence came the instinc- 
 
74 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 tive fear of the religious authors of roundly affirming 
 miracles ? attempting instead to justify them by intricate 
 and tentative reasonings, without daring to adduce as the 
 decisive proof the incomprehensibility of supernatural 
 prodigies. 
 
 For the time being Gabriel abandoned the tranquil 
 atmosphere of the religious library. His reputation as a 
 humanist had reached the ears of an editor living near 
 the Sorbonne, so, without leaving the left bank of the 
 Seine, he moved into the Latin quarter to undertake the 
 correction of proofs in Latin and Greek. He earned in 
 this way twelve francs a day — far more than those 
 canons of Toledo, who formerly had appeared to him as 
 great dukes. He lived in a small inn for students near 
 to the School of Medicine, and his vehement discussions 
 at night with his fellow-lodgers over the smoke of their 
 pipes taught him as much as the books of that hated 
 science. Those students who lent him books, or who 
 told him of those he should search for in his free hours, 
 in the library on the hill of Saint Genevieve, laughed 
 like pagans at the exalted ideas of the former seminar- 
 ist. 
 
 For two years young Luna did little else but read; 
 now and again he accompanied his friends in some 
 escapade, throwing himself into the free and joyous life 
 of the Quartier, wearing out the elbows of his sleeves 
 on the tables of the beershops. The Mimi of Murgfer 
 often passed before him, but less melancholy than the 
 creation of the poet, and the ex-seminarist found his 
 Sunday evening idylls in the woods surrounding Paris. 
 But Gabriel was not of an amorous temperament ; curios- 
 ity and the thirst for knowledge mastered him, and after 
 these escapades from which he returned fresher, and 
 with his brain keener, he threw himself with greater 
 ardour into his studies. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 75 
 
 Histoqf, true _hisJaiy,,HlMise. colddearness cpiUragted 
 so strongly with that intricate morass of miracles in the 
 chronicles that he had read in his childhood, beat down 
 thegreater part of his beliefs. Catholicism was no Tohger 
 forKim the' only religion^ neither could he any longer 
 divide the history of humanity into two periods, that 
 before and that after the appearance in Judea of a 
 handful of obscure men, who, spreading themselves over 
 the world, preached a cosmopolitan morality drawn from 
 the maxims of Orientals, and from the teachings of 
 Greek philosophy. 
 
 Religions were for him human inventions, subject to , 
 the conditions of existence- belonging to all organisms, | 
 its generous infancy capable of blind'sacriffces", its self- : 
 contained and masterful manhood, in which the early | 
 sweetness was changed by the authoritative imposition of f 
 its power, and its inevitable age, with a long agony, in ; 
 which the sick man, guessing his speedy end, clings to life < 
 with all the energy of desperation. ; 
 
 His faith in Catholicism as the only religion dis- 
 appeared completely; losing his belief in dogmas he 
 lost also, by inevitable logic, that belief in the monarchy 
 which had driven him to fight in the mountains, and he 
 understood clearly now the history of his country without y/ 
 prejudices of race. The foreign historians showed him 
 the sad fate of Spain, arrested in the most critical period 
 of her development, when she was emerging young and 
 strong during the most fertile period of the Middle 
 Ages, by the fanaticism of priests and inquisitors, and 
 the folly of some of her kings, who, with utterly 
 inadequate means, wished to revive the empire of 
 the Caesars, draining the country for this mad en- 
 terprise. Those people who had broken with the 
 Papacy, turning their backs for ever on Rome, were 
 far happier and more prosperous than that Spain, 1 
 
76 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 which slept like a beggar at the door of the 
 Church. 
 
 At this period of his intellectual development Gabriel 
 had an ideal, and often of an evening he would leave 
 his work to go and listen to him for an hour at the 
 College of France :._iliis- ^a s - Erne s t -^Bgnan ; Gabriel 
 admired him for a double reason, for his talent and for 
 his history. The great man had also passed through a 
 seminary, and even now had a priestly look as though 
 he had suffered deeply from the pressure of the eccle- 
 siastical yoke ; he was a rebel, and Gabriel felt as though 
 he belonged to his own family. "Truly the hammers to 
 destroy the temple are forged within the temple," and 
 the law fatal to all religions was being accomplished, 
 when faith vanishes, and the multitude no longer feel 
 the fervour of early days. 
 
 Gabriel was astonished to hear how the teacher could 
 penetrate the intellectual development of the Hebrew 
 people, which had served as the basis of Christianity, 
 as he heard him demolish bit by bit the immense altar- 
 piece, before which humanity had knelt for over 
 nineteen centuries. The Spanish seminarist revolted 
 against his old faith with all the impetuosity of his 
 vehement temperament. How could he have believed 
 all that and have considered it the height of human 
 wisdom! Certainly Christianity had exercised a bene- 
 ficial influence at one period of the infancy of humanity, 
 it had filled men's lives in the Middle Ages when there 
 was little to think of beyond religion, and, in a land 
 desolated by strife, there was no other refuge for intel- 
 lectual thought but the cathedral in the towns and the 
 monastery in the country. "The fairs — the assemblies 
 for business and pleasure," said the master, "were 
 religious feasts; the scenic representations were mys- 
 teries, the journeys were pilgrimages and the wars 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL ^7 
 
 crusades." After this the ways of life divided — re- 
 hgious life took one way and human life the other. Art 
 placed nature above the ideal, and men thought more of 
 earth than of heaven. Reason was born, and every 
 advance that it made was one step backward for faith, 
 and at last the time arrived when the clear-sighted, those 
 who were anxious about the future, began to ask them- 
 selves what the new belief was likely to be which would 
 replace the moribund religion. Luna had no doubts on 
 the point — it was science, and science alone, which could 
 fill the vacuum caused by that religion now dead for 
 ever. 
 
 Influenced by the Hellenism of his master, which he 
 assimilated easily, being accustomed to daily intercourse 
 with the Greek authors, he dreamed that the humanity 
 of the future would be an immense Athens, an artistic 
 and learned democracy governed by great thinkers, with 
 no strifes but those of the mind, with no ambition but 
 that of cultivating the intellect, of gentle manners, 
 and devoted to the joys of the mind and the culture of 
 reason. 
 
 Of all his old beliefs, Gabriel only .retained.ihat.of -a 
 creative God-Jkom as certain su ggiistitiQUs- scruple. His 
 ideas were rather disconcerted by astronomy, which he 
 had taken up with an almost childish eagerness, at- 
 tracted by the charm of the marvellous. That infinite 
 space in which in olden days legions of angels had 
 manoeuvred, and which had served the Virgin as a 
 pathway in her terrestrial descents, he suddenly found 
 to be peopled with thousands of millions of worlds, and 
 the more powerful men's instruments became the more 
 numerous they seemed to be, the distances being 
 infinitely prolonged to immeihsities that were incon- 
 ceivable. Bodies were attracted to one another 
 travelling in space at the rate of millions of miles a 
 
78 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 minute, and all this cloud of worlds revolved without 
 ever passing twice over the same spot in this immensity 
 of silence, in which fresh stars, and again others and 
 others, were continually being discovered as the instru- 
 ments of observation became more perfect. 
 
 This God of Gabriel's having lost the corporeal form 
 given to Him by religion, and as divulged in the history 
 of the creation, lost at once all His attributes, and being 
 magnified to fill the infinite and being absorbed into it, 
 became so impalpable and subtle to the intellect as to 
 appear a phantasm. 
 
 Nothing remained to Gabriel of all his ancient beliefs. 
 
 His mind was like a bare field over which the whirlwind 
 
 had passed, for his last belief, which had remained 
 
 standing like a monolith in the midst of ruins, the beUef 
 
 ..ia~the4Mstor}t..ef^creation, had nowjaljeh. 
 
 But it was impossible to the former seminarist to | 
 remain inactive with his cargo of new ideas. He felt 
 obliged to believe in something, to devote to the defence 
 of some ideal all the faith in his character, to make 
 some use of that fervour of proselytising which had 
 been so much admired in the class of eloquence in the 
 seminary, and so revolutionary sociology took possession 
 of him. First of all it was Proudhon with his audacious 
 writings, and afterwards the work was completed by 
 some "militantes" who were working in the same print- 
 ing office as himself — old soldiers of the Commune, who 
 had lately returned from their exile in the prisons of 
 Oceania, and were renewing their campaign against 
 social organisation with an ardour increased tenfold by 
 their painful sufferings and their desire of vengeance. 
 With them he went to the anarchist meetings; there he 
 heard Reclus and Prince Kropotkine, and the words of 
 the since deceased Miquel Bakronhine came to him as 
 the gospel of a Saint Paul of the future. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 7^ 
 
 Gabriel had met with his new religion, and he gave 
 himself over to it entirely, drearaing..ftf^jthe regmergiiQib 
 of humanity_through its stoijiach. Believing m a future 
 life, misfortunes gave the false consolation of happiness 
 after death ; but all religion was a lie, there was no other 
 life but that of the present, and Luna rose in anger 
 against the social injustice that condemned millions 
 of beings to poverty and misery for the happiness of 
 a few privileged thousands. Authority, which was the 
 fount of all evil, was to him the greatest enemy; it 
 must be destroyed, but men must be created who 
 were capable of living without masters, priests or sol- 
 diers. The natural gentleness of his character, and 
 the horror of violence with which his three years* 
 campaigning had filled him, caused him rather to draw 
 back from his new companions, who, dreaming of 
 hecatombs from dynamite and the dagger to reform the 
 world, obliged him to accept these new doctrines 
 through fear. No; he believed in the strength of the 
 "idea," and in the innocent evolution of humanity; he 
 had only to work like the first apostles of Christianity 
 certain of the future, but without hurrying, to see his 
 ideas realised; he had only to fix his eyes on the day's 
 work, without thinking of the long years and centuries 
 before it would bear its fruit. 
 
 The ardour of his proselytising made him leave Paris 
 at the end of five years. He was anxious to see the 
 world, to study for himself all these social miseries, so 
 as to judge what forces these disinherited could com- 
 mand for their great transformation. Besides, he began 
 to find himself incommoded by the vigilance of the 
 French police, on account of his intimacy with the Rus- 
 sian students of the Quartier Latin — ^young men with 
 cold eyes and limp and dishevelled hair who were en- 
 deavouring to implant in Paris the vengeances of Nihil- 
 
8o THE SHADOW OE THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 ism. In London he came to know a young English- 
 woman of weak health, but burning like himself with all 
 ^he ardour of revolutionary propaganda, who would 
 ( walk from morning till night in the lanes and surround- 
 1 ings of workshops and laboratories, distributing pam- 
 phlets and printed leaflets that she kept in a band-box 
 -that was always hanging on her arm. In a short time 
 Lucy became Gabriel's companion ; they loved each other 
 without excitement, with a cold and quiet passion, more 
 from community of ideas than anything else, for the 
 love of revolutionists, dominated with the thought of 
 rebellion against everything existing, has not much room 
 for any other feeling. 
 
 Luna and his companion went to Holland and thence 
 to Belgium, settling afterwards in Germany, always 
 travelling from group to group of "companions," taking 
 up different work with that facility of adaptation which 
 seems universal among revolutionaries, who wander over 
 the world penniless, enduring every sort of privation, 
 but finding always in their difficulties some brotherly 
 hand to raise them and set them again on the 
 path. 
 
 After eight years of this life Gabriel's friend died of 
 consumption. They were then in Italy, and Luna, find- 
 ing himself alone, understood for the first time how 
 much support the gentle companion of his life had given 
 him. In his sorrow for the loss of Lucy he forgot for a 
 while his revolutionary enthusiasm, lamenting only the 
 void left in his life. He had not loved her as most men 
 love, but she was his companion, his sister, they were 
 alike in their pleasures and their sorrows, and their 
 common poverty had welded them into one will. More- 
 over, Gabriel felt himself aged before his time by this 
 life of soul-stirring adventures and painful privations. 
 He had been imprisoned in many places in Europe, 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 8i 
 
 being suspected of complicity with the terrorists, he had 
 often been beaten by the police, and he began to find a 
 difficulty in travelling about the Continent, as his photo- 
 graph figured with that of several other "companions" 
 in the central police offices of the principal nations. He 
 was a vagabond and dangerous dog, who would end by 
 being kicked out of every place. 
 
 Gabriel could not live alone; he was accustomed to 
 see those kind blue eyes near him, and to hear the 
 caressing voice with its bird-like inflexions which had so 
 much encouraged him in times of trial and difficulty, 
 and he could not endure the solitude in a strange land 
 after Lucy's death. A great longing for his native land 
 awoke in him, he wished to return to Spain, to that land 
 he had so often ridiculed, and which now in spite of its 
 backwardness seemed to him so attractive. He thought 
 of his brothers, fixed like plants to the stones of the 
 Cathedral, never interesting themselves with what took 
 place in the world, never seeking for news of him, as 
 though they had entirely forgotten him. 
 
 With a sudden impulse, as though he were afraid of 
 dying away from his native land, he returned to Spain. 
 In Barcelona some of the "companions" had obtained 
 for him the management of a printing press, but before 
 taking up his post he wished to spend a few days in 
 Toledo. He returned an old man, though he was barely ■ 
 forty, speaking four or five languages, and poorer than 
 when he had left it. He found that his brother the 
 gardener had died, and that the widow and her son 
 had taken refuge in a garret in the Claverias, where she 
 supported herself by washing the canon's linen. Este- 
 ban, the "Wooden Staff," received him with the same 
 admiration he had felt for him while in the seminary. 
 He talked a great deal about his travels, gathering 
 together all the people in the upper cloister, so that 
 
82 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 they should listen to this man who had travelled all over 
 the world, just as though he were going about his own 
 house. In their inquiries they painfully entangled 
 geography, as they could only comprehend two divisions 
 in it, the countries of heretics, and the countries of 
 Christians. 
 
 Gabriel pitied the great poverty of these people, and 
 admired the humbleness of these Cathedral servants, 
 content to live and die in the same place, without any 
 curiosity as to what was taking place outside the walls. 
 The church seemed to him a huge derelict. It was 
 like the petrified skeleton of one of those immense and 
 powerful animals of former days, that had been dead 
 for ages, its body decayed, its soul evaporated, and 
 nothing left but this framework, like to the shells found 
 by geologists in prehistoric strata by whose structure 
 they can guess at the soft parts of the vanished being. 
 Seeing the ceremonies of worship which in former days 
 had so moved him, he felt roused to protest, a longing 
 to shout to the priests and acolytes to stop, and with- 
 draw, as their times were passed, and faith was dead, 
 and it was only from routine and the fear of outside 
 opinion that people now frequented these places, which 
 formerly religious fervour had filled from morning till 
 night. 
 
 On his arrival in Barcelona Gabriel's life was a whirl- 
 wind of proselytising, of struggles, and of persecutions. 
 The "companions" respected him, seeing in him the 
 friend of all the great propagandists of "the idea," 
 and one who might himself rank among the most 
 famous revolutionists. No meeting could be held with- 
 out the "companion" Luna; that natural eloquence 
 which had caused such wonder on his entry into the 
 seminary, bubbled up and spread like an intoxicating gas 
 in these revolutionary assemblies, firing that ragged, 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 83 
 
 hungry, and miserable crowd, making them tremble 
 with emotion at the description of future societies set 
 forth by the apostle, that celestial city of the dreamers 
 of all ages, without property, without vices, without 
 inequalities, where work would become a pleasure, and 
 where there would be no other worship but that of 
 science and art. Some of his hearers, the darker spirits, 
 would smile with a compassionate gesture, listening to 
 his maledictions against authority, and his hymns to the 
 sweetness and triumph to be won by passive resistance. 
 He was an idealist, one to whom they must listen be- 
 cause he had served the cause well; they who were the 
 strong men, the fighters, knew well enough how to crush 
 in silence that cursed society if it should show itself 
 deaf to the voice of Truth. 
 
 When they exploded bombs in the streets the "com- 
 panion" Luna was the first to be surprised at the 
 catastrophe, he was also the first to be taken to prison 
 on account of the popularity of his name. Oh! those 
 two years passed in the castle of Montjuich! They 
 had ploughed a deep furrow in Gabriel's memory, a 
 deep wound that could not heal, that made him tremble 
 at the slightest remembrance, disturbing his calm, and 
 making him hot and cold with terror. 
 
 The madness of fear had taken possession of society, 
 and all laws and regard to hunianity were trampled 
 under foot to defend it. The justice of former ages, 
 with its violent procedure was resuscitated in full 
 civilisation. The judge was distrusted as being too cul- 
 tured and scrupulous, and a free hand was given to the 
 petty officers of justice, ordering them to introduce 
 afresh all the old instruments of torture. 
 
 In the darkness of the night Gabriel saw his Moorish 
 dungeon lighted up; some men in uniform seized him 
 and dragged him down the staircase to a room where 
 
84 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 others were waiting with huge cudgels. A young man 
 with a soft voice, in the uniform of a lieutenant, and 
 with the lazy manners of a Creole, questioned him as to 
 the various attempts that had occurred months before 
 down in the town. Gabriel knew nothing, had seen 
 nothing. But all the same these men were your com- 
 panions; but he, having fixed his eyes on high, contem- 
 plating his visions of the future, had never realised that 
 all around him this violence was surging and germinat- 
 ing. His reiterated negative rendered the men furious; 
 the soft voice of the creole became harsh with anger, 
 and with menaces and blasphemies they all threw 
 themselves upon him, and the cruel hunt of the man 
 round and round the dungeon began, the cudgels falling 
 on his body, beat his head or his legs indifferently, 
 pursuing him into corners, following him as with a des- 
 perate bound he reached the opposite wall, opening the 
 way with his bent head, his back resounding like an 
 empty box beneath the blows. Now and then the des- 
 peration of pain inflamed the victim, the lamb turned 
 into a wild beast, and before falling to the ground, 
 cowering like a child before superior numbers, he would 
 throw himself on the executioners, tearing them, and 
 trying to bite them. Gabriel kept a button from the 
 lieutenant's uniform which had remained in his fingers 
 after one of these revolts of his weakness. 
 
 Afterwards, his tormentors, wearied by the inutility 
 of their violence, left him forgotten in the dungeon. 
 A loaf of bread and some bits of dry salt cod were his 
 only food. Thirst, an infernal thirst, racked his bowels, 
 contracted his throat, and burnt his mouth. At first he 
 called piteously under the door for water, but after- 
 wards he would beg no more, knowing beforehand what 
 the answer would be. It was a calculated torture; they 
 promised him as much water as he wished, after he 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 85 
 
 should have disclosed the names of the guilty, con- 
 fessing things of which he had no knowledge. Hunger 
 strove in him against thirst, but fearing this latter most, 
 he would throw this salted fooa into a corner as though 
 it were poison. He was delirious with the delirium of a 
 shipwrecked man tormented with visions of fresh water 
 in the midst of the salt waves. In his nightmare he saw 
 clear and murmuring brooks, great rivers; and seeking 
 freshness for his mouth he would pass his tongue over 
 the filthy walls, finding a certain alleviation in the lime 
 of the whitewash. 
 
 The privations and the incarceration disturbed his 
 mind with horrible ravings ; often Gabriel was surprised 
 at finding himself on all fours, growling and barking 
 opposite the door without knowing how or why. 
 
 His tormentors seemed to forget him; they had other 
 prisoners to look after. The jailors gave him water, but 
 whole months passed without anyone entering his cell. 
 Some nights he would hear vaguely and far off through 
 the greasy walls wailing and sobs in the adjacent dun- 
 geons. One morning he was awoke by sounds as of 
 thunder, in spite of a tiny ray of sunlight filtering 
 through his loophole ; hearing the jailors in the corridors 
 near, he understood the mystery. Th€y had been shoot- 
 ing some of the prisoners. 
 
 Luna received as a happiness this hope of death; he 
 would renounce with pleasure that shadow of a life in 
 a small stone box, tormented by physical pain and the 
 fear of men's ferocity. His stomach, weakened by all 
 these privations, refused for many days, with horrible 
 nausea, to receive the bitter bread and the coppery 
 mess. His want of exercise, the want of air, and the 
 bad and scanty nourishment had made him fall into a 
 mortal anaemia; he coughed continually, suffering great 
 oppression on his chest. The knowledge he had acquired 
 
86 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 of the human body in his thirst for knowing everything 
 did not admit of his being mistaken; he would die as 
 poor Lucy had died. 
 
 After a year and a half of imprisonment he appeared 
 before a council of war, mixed up with a mob of old 
 men, women, and even quite young people, all weakened 
 and broken by imprisonment, with their skin white and 
 thick as chewed paper, and that dazed look in their 
 eyes that comes from solitary confinement. Gabriel 
 hoped he would be executed. When the fiscal came to 
 the name of Luna on the long list he stopped an instant, 
 shooting a ferocious glance at him — ^this man was 
 among the theorists. It appeared from the declarations 
 of witnesses that he took no direct part in the deeds 
 of violence, and that in his speeches he had always 
 deprecated them; still it must be remembered that he 
 was one of the principal propagandists of anarchism, 
 and that he had delivered speeches in all the work- 
 men's societies frequented by the authors of the 
 attempts. 
 
 An elderly captain bent towards another member of 
 the council, speaking in his ear, but Gabriel caught his 
 words : 
 
 "It is on these gentlemen who make speeches that we 
 must lay our hand, so that they may be warned not to 
 lecture any more on Tolstoi or Ibsen, or any of those 
 foreign worthies who advocate throwing bombs." 
 
 Gabriel spent many months of solitary confinement 
 in his prison. From words now and then dropped byjiis 
 jailors he could guess at the fluctuations of his fate. 
 Sometimes he would gather that he and all his com- 
 panions in misfortune were to be sent to the jail in 
 Africa, or again they would hint at his immediate 
 liberation, or would prophesy that they were all to be 
 shot en masse. When at the end of two years he left 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 87 
 
 this gloomy castle, it was to be embarked with all his 
 companions for exife. He was only the shadow of a^ 
 man; his weakness made his walk as uncertain and 
 tremulous as that of a child, but he forgot his own 
 misery in trying to assist those of his companions who 
 were even weaker than himself, and who bore the cruel 
 scars of the torments they had endured. 
 
 The return to liberty recalled^ all bis former gentleness 
 and the philosophic pity with .wthichJie^urrounded all 
 menj pitying and pardoning their faults. On landing in 
 England the more violent of his companions spoke of 
 future vengeance on their persecutors, while Gabriel 
 asked pardon for them, as blind instruments employed 
 by society in a moment of terror, thinking they had 
 saved it by their barbarity. 
 
 The climate of London aggravated Gabriel's illness, 
 and in about two years he was obliged to move to the 
 Continent, although England with its absolute liberty 
 was the only land where he could have lived quietly and 
 ignored. 
 
 His existence was a cruel one, always a fugitive 
 through the diflferent countries of Europe, driven from 
 one place to another by the vigilance of the police, 
 thrown into prison, or expelled on the slightest sus- 
 picion. It was a return to the ancient persecution of the 
 gipsips, thft xpns tant hunting o f independe nt peop le, 
 leading vagabond lives, of the Mi33Ie~Ages. His illness 
 and -his desire for rest and peace made him return to 
 Spain. Time had produced a certain amount of toler- 
 ance towards the exiles, and in Spain everything is soon 
 forgotten, and though the authorities are harder and less 
 scrupulous than in other countries, still they interfere 
 less on account of their improvidence and the careless- 
 ness natural to the race. 
 
 Sick and without any work by which he could earn 
 
88 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 his living, precluded from seeking work among the 
 printers, as his name was encircled by a halo which 
 terrified the masters, Gabriel fell into such extreme pov- 
 erty that the little help and succour his companions 
 could afford were unable to relieve it, and he travelled 
 from end to end of the Peninsula begging from his fel- 
 lows and hiding from the police. 
 
 His spirit was broken, he was conquered, and he had 
 no longer strength to continue the struggle. Nothing 
 remained for him but to die, but merciful death came 
 slowly to his call. He thought of his brother, the only 
 affection remaining to him in the world ; he remembered 
 the quiet family in the Claverias, of which he had 
 caught a glimpse on his last visit to the Cathedral, and 
 he turned to seek them as his last hope. 
 
 On his return to Toledo, he found the happy family 
 dissolved; misfortune had come even to that silent and 
 stagnant comer. 
 
 But the Cathedral, insensible to all human vicissitudes 
 was there, the same as ever, and to it he clung, hiding 
 himself in its recesses, hoping to die there in peace, with 
 no other hope but to be forgotten; dying before his 
 proper time, tasting the bitter happiness of annihilation, 
 leaving behind him at the door, like an animal who 
 sheds its skin, all that rebellion which had drawn upon 
 him the hatred of society. 
 
 His happiness was not to think, not to speak, to 
 mould himself to that dead world; he would be among 
 the living statues peopling the upper cloister, one more 
 automaton; he would imitate those beings who seemed 
 to haye_ absorbed into themselves something of the 
 austerity of the "graH-it-e-butt-ressesTTie^ would inhale like 
 a healing balsam the scent of the rusty iron railings and 
 the incense that spread through the church, the ancient 
 perfume of the past centuries, 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 On leaving the cloister in the mornings soon after 
 daybreak, the first person Gabriel would see was Don 
 Antolin, the "Silver Stick." This priest exercised an / 
 authority like that of Governor of the.,Cathedral,^for all / 
 the lay^ servants were' under his orders, and all the re- r 
 pairs of little importance were done under his super- 
 vision. 
 
 Down below, in the church, he watched the sacristans 
 and the acolytes, careful that the canons and bene- 
 ficiaries should have no cause of complaint in the ser- 
 vices. Upstairs, in the cloister, he watched over the 
 good behaviour and cleanliness of the families, being by 
 the grace of the cardinal archbishop a sort of magistrate 
 over that little town. 
 
 He occupied the best "habitacion" in the Claverias. 
 At the great ceremonies he walked in front of the Chap- 
 ter in his pluvial, carrying a silver stick nearly as tall as 
 himself, making the tiles of the pavement re-echo with 
 its blows. During High Mass and the choir in the 
 evening he walked about the naves to check any irrever- 
 ence on the part of the congregation or any inatten- 
 tion on that of the staff. At eight o'clock at night in the 
 winter, and at nine in summer, he locked the door of the 
 staircase leading to the upper cloister, jputting the key in • 
 his pocket, and so all the people in the cloister remained 
 quite isolated from the town. If now and again anyone 
 
 89 
 
90 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAi: 
 
 was taken ill in the night, it was necessary to wake Don 
 Antolin who, plunging his hand into the depths of his 
 cassock, would produce his key, and deign to restore 
 communication with the outer world. 
 
 He was about seventy years of age, small and 
 wizened ; age had scarcely tinged his shaven crown with 
 grey, his forehead was broad and square, and rose 
 straight beneath the silk cap he wore in winter. His 
 features were rather drawn out, without a single 
 wrinkle, and devoid of any expression that showed 
 emotion, the jaw-bone narrow and sharp, and the eyes 
 as inexpressive and motionless as the rest of the face, 
 but with a cold, penetrating glance_thatjwas--extremely 
 disconcertmg. 
 
 Gabriel had known him from his childhood; he was, 
 to use his own expression, like a private soldier of the 
 church, who by reason of his years and services had 
 attained the rank of sergeant, but who could rise no 
 further. When Luna first entered the seminary Don 
 Antolin had just been ordained priest, and since then 
 had passed his life in the sacristy of the Primacy where 
 he had begun as acolyte. 
 
 On account of his absolute and irrational faith and 
 his unbending adhesion to the Church, the_prof€ssor§^ in 
 the seminary had pushed lilm on in his career, in spite 
 of his ignorance; he was a son of the soil, having been 
 born in a village in the mountains round Toledo. The 
 Holy Metropolitan Church was to him the second house 
 of God in the world, only ranking after Saint Peter's in 
 Rome, and all ecclesiastical learning was to him like rays 
 emanating from the Divine wisdom, which blinded him, 
 and were to be adored with the profound respect of 
 ignorance. 
 
 He had that blessed and entire want of education so 
 appreciated by the Church in former years, Gabriel 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 91 
 
 felt sure that if Silver Stick had been born in the 
 flourishing times of Catholicism he would have become 
 a saint on dedicating himself to the spiritual life, or he 
 would have played an excellent part in the Inquisition 
 on the arrival of that militant society. Having come 
 into the world at the wrong time, when faith was weak- 
 ened and the Church could no longer impose its laws by 
 violence, the good Don Antolin had remained hidden in 
 the lower administration of the Cathedral, assisting the 
 Canon Obrero in the division and assignment of the 
 money that the State allowed to the Primacy, giving 
 long thought over the spending of each handful of 
 farthings, endeavouring that the holy house, like the 
 ruined families, should keep up its good outward ap- 
 pearance without revealing the poverty inside. 
 
 He had been promised several times a chaplaincy of 
 nuns, but he was one of those faithful to the Cathedral, 
 one of those quite in love with the great ^tablishment. 
 He was proud of~the~cwiE3ence'that the Lord Arch- 
 bishop placed in him, and of the frank friendliness with 
 which the canons and beneficiaries spoke to him, and 
 of his administrative conferences with the Obrero and 
 the Treasurer. For this reason he could not repress 
 a gesture of contemptuous superiority when having 
 donned his pluvial, and clutching his silver stick, he 
 advanced and spoke to any strange clergy from the 
 neighbouring villages who visited the Primacy. 
 
 His faults were purely ecclesiastic ; he saved in secret, 
 with that cold, determined avarice so usual at all times 
 in people attached to the Church. His greasy skull cap 
 had been discarded as too old by its former owner, one 
 of the canons; his cassock of a greenish black and his 
 shoes had also belonged to some one of the beneficiaries ; 
 in the Claverias they all whispered of the monies 
 hoarded b^ Don Antolin, and of his savings that were 
 
92 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 devoted to usury — ^loans that never went beyond two or 
 three duros to the poorer servants of the church ground 
 down by poverty, and which he recovered with interest 
 at the beginning of every month when they were paid 
 by the Canon Obrero. In hi m avarice and usu ry were 
 joined to the most impIicit^ honesty in regard to the 
 interests of the church ; he would punish relentlessly 
 the smallest pilfering in the sacristy, and he made up 
 his accounts for the Chapter with a minuteness that 
 annoyed the Obrero. To every one his own, the church 
 was poor and it would be a sin worthy of hell to 
 deprive her of a single farthing; he, as a good servant 
 of God was poor also, and he thought he was doing no 
 wrong in drawing a certain profit from the money he 
 had gathered together by dint of bargaining, and 
 by many painful privations in the midst of his pov- 
 erty. 
 
 His niece, Mariquita, lived with him, an ugly woman 
 with masculine features and a fresh colour, who had 
 come from the mountains to look after her uncle, of 
 whose riches and power in the Primacy all his relations 
 and friends in the village talked a great deal. She rode 
 roughshod over all the other women in the Claverias, 
 taking undue advantage of Don Antolin's supreme 
 authority. The more timid formed round her a circle of 
 adulation, endeavouring to evoke her protection by 
 cleaning her house and cooking for her, while Mariquita, 
 dressed in the habit, and with her hair most carefully 
 combed — the only luxury allowed by her uncle — ^loitered 
 about the cloister hoping to meet there some cadet, or 
 that some of the foreigners visiting the tower or the 
 hall of the giants would take notice of her. She made 
 sheep's eyes at every man; and she, so hard and 
 imperious to all the women, would smile sweetly on all 
 the bachelors living in the Claverias. The "Tato" jvas 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 93 
 
 a great friend of hers; he would come and visit her 
 when her uncle was absent in order to air his graces as 
 apprentice to a Torrero. Gabriel, with his delicate 
 looks, his mysterious self-containment, and the con- 
 fused story of all his great travels about the world inter- 
 ested her not less; she would even speak with marked 
 deference to the "Wooden Staff," as he was both a 
 man and a widower, and, as the "Perrero" wickedly 
 said, the very sight of a pair of trousers nearly drove 
 the poor woman mad in that establishment where the 
 greater part of the men wore petticoats. 
 
 Don Antolin had known Gabriel since his childhood, 
 and spoke to him in the second person. The ignorant 
 priest still retained the remembrance of Luna's great 
 triumphs obtained in the seminary, and though he saw 
 him so poor and ailing, taking refuge in the Cathedral 
 almost on charity, his "tuteo" of superiority was not 
 free from admiration. Gabriel, on his side, feared Sil- 
 ver Stick, knowing his intolerant fanaticism. For this 
 reason he confined himself to listening to him, careful 
 in their conversation that not a single word should slip 
 in which could betray his past. He would be the first 
 to demand his expulsion from the Cathedral, where he 
 wished to live unknown and silent. 
 
 On meeting each other in the cloister, the two men 
 began with the same questions every morning : 
 
 "How is your health to-day ?" 
 
 Gabriel showed himself an optimist. He knew that 
 his illness had no remedy; still, that quiet life free from 
 all emotions, and his brother's care, feeding him at all 
 hours, like a bird and almost by force, had arrested the 
 decay of his health. The course of the illness was 
 slower — death was meeting with obstacles. 
 
 "I am better, Don Antolin. And yesterday, what sort 
 of a day had you ?" 
 
94 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 Silver Stick plunged his dirty and horny hands into 
 the recesses of his cassock, and produced three greasy 
 little ticket-books, one red, one green and the third 
 white. He turned over the leaves, considering the coun- 
 terfoils of those he had torn out; he took the most 
 respectful care of these little books, as though they were 
 far more important than the big music books in the 
 choir. 
 
 "A very slack day, Gabriel! Being in the winter, so 
 few people travel. Our best time is in the spring, when 
 they say the English come in by Gibraltar. They go 
 first to the fair in Seville, and afterwards they come to 
 have a look at our Cathedral. Besides, in milder 
 weather the people come from Madrid, and although 
 they grumble, the flies crowd to see the giants and 
 the big bell, then I have to hurry with the tickets; one 
 day, Gabriel, I took eighty duros. I remember it was 
 at the last 'Corpus'; Mariquita had to sew up the 
 pockets of my cassock, for they tore with the weight of 
 so many pesetas ; it was a blessing from the Lord." 
 
 He looked sadly at the little books, as though regret- 
 ting that many days passed in winter when he only tore 
 out one or two leaves. This plan of selling entrance 
 tickets to see the treasures and curiosities of the - 
 Cathedral filled all his thoughts. It was the salvation 
 of the church, the modem proceeding to help it on, 
 and he felt proud of fulfilling this function, which 
 made him one of the most important persons in the life 
 of the temple. 
 
 "You see these green tickets?" said he to Gabriel. 
 "These are the dearest, they cost two pesetas each. 
 With these you can see everything that is most impor- 
 tant — the treasury, the chapel of the Virgin, and the 
 Ochavo with its relics which are unique in the world. 
 The other cathedrals are dirt compared with ours, and 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 95 
 
 their relics lies, many of them invented on account of 
 the envy that our Holy Metropolitan Church inspired. 
 You see these red ones? These only cost six reals, and 
 with them you can visit the sacristies, the wardrobe, 
 the chapels of Don Alvaro de Luna and of Cardinal 
 Albornoz, and the Chapter-house, with its two rows of 
 portraits of the archbishops which are wonders. Who 
 would not scrape their purse to see such prodigies ?" 
 
 Afterwards he added, showing the last ticket book 
 with contempt: 
 
 "These white ones are only worth two reals. They 
 are to see the giants and the bells. We sell a great 
 many of those to the lower class who come to the 
 Cathedral on feast days. Could you believe it, but 
 many of the Protestants and Jews call this a robbery? 
 The other day three soldiers came from the Academy 
 with some country folks to see the giants, and they 
 made quite a scandalous scene because we would not 
 let them in for an old song. As if we were asking 
 their charity! Many of them commit all sorts of 
 nuisances about the Cathedral, just as if they were 
 heretics, to say nothing of their drawing all sorts of 
 abominable things and writing obscene words on the 
 ,walls of the staircase. What shocking times, eh, 
 Gabriel? What shocking times!" 
 
 Luna smiled silently, and Silver Stick, encouraged 
 by what seemed to him acquiescence, went on with 
 pride: 
 
 "And about these tickets, I invented them — that is 
 to say, I am not really their inventor, but their intro- 
 duction into this house is owing to me. You have 
 travelled so much, and must have seen in those foreign 
 countries that everything is shown on payment. The 
 Lord Cardinal before this one, who is now in blessed 
 glory (and he raised his hand to his skull cap) had also 
 
96 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 travelled a great deal — he was quite a 'modern/ and 
 had he lived would have ended by putting electric light 
 in the naves of the Cathedral. I heard him on one 
 occasion speak of what was done in the museums and 
 other interesting places in Rome and other towns; 
 unrestricted entrance at all hours — on payment, an 
 immense convenience to the public, who required to 
 get no tickets beforehand to visit these things. So one 
 day when the Obrero and I were biting our nails, seeing 
 that this miserable thousand and odd pesetas (God 
 forgive me!) that this unhappy State allows us, could 
 not possibly sufifice for our monthly expenses, I pro- 
 pounded my idea. Now, could you believe that some of 
 the gentlemen in the Chapter opposed it? Some of the 
 young canons spoke of the sellers in the Temple, .you 
 know who they were — certain Jews who drove the Lord 
 out with scourges in their hand, for I know not what 
 misdemeanours. The older ones said the Cathedral had 
 always had its treasures open to all for centuries, and so 
 it ought to go on. All the gentlemen were quite right, 
 but you cannot do anything with a stupid canon, and 
 at last the defunct cardinal, who is now in the enjoy- 
 ment of God (another tug at his cap) interfered, and 
 the Chapter were obliged, though with much grumbling, 
 to accept the reform, and they ended by praising it. 
 In all bitter there is a sweet! Do you know how much 
 money I handed to the Lord Cardinal last year? More 
 than three thousand duros, nearly as much as this sinful 
 State allows us, and this without prejudice to anybody. 
 The public pays, they admire and they go; in any case 
 they are only birds of passage who come once, and 
 when they go they do not return. And what are four 
 wretched pesetas, when for that money you can see 
 one of the most glorious churches in Christendom, the 
 cradle of Spanish Catholicism, the Cathedral of Toledo I" 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 97 
 
 The two men were walking in the cloister on the side 
 warmed by the sun at that early hour, the cleric had 
 put away his ticket books, and his eyes were fixed on 
 Gabriel, who thought that to smile in his enigmatic 
 way, which Don Antolin accepted as assent, quite met 
 the situation, and it encouraged him to continue his 
 confidences. 
 
 "Ay, Gabriel! You cannot think that my heavy 
 duties can be fulfilled without hard work; the Cardinal 
 trusts me, the Chapter distinguish me with their regard, 
 and the Obrero has no other hope but in my assistance. 
 Thanks to these tickets we can carry the Cathedral 
 along, and keep up its ancient appearance of grandeur, 
 so that the public will come and admire. But we are 
 poorer than rats, and we must be thankful that even 
 some crumbs are left us from the past. If the wind or 
 the hail break some of our glass in the naves, we can 
 still lay our hands on some of the stores left by the 
 Obreros of former days. Ay, senor! And to thin|c 
 there was a time when the Chapter maintained at its^ 
 own expense inside the church, cutters and painters of 
 glass, plumbers, and I know not what beside, so that 
 any great works could be undertaken without seeking 
 any help outside the house! If one of the tombs gets 
 broken, even now we have quantities of borderingS] 
 carved with saints and flowers that are wonderful to 
 see. But what will happen when all these are finished? 
 When the last pane of glass in the stores has been 
 broken, and the last fragments of carving in the 
 Obreria u^ up? We shall have to put cheap white 
 panes in the windows to prevent the. rain and wind 
 coming in. The Cathedral will look like an inn— may 
 God forgive me the comparison — and the priests of the 
 Primacy will praise God dressed like the chaplain of a 
 hermitage." 
 
98 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 And Don Antolin laughed sarcastically, as though this 
 future that he was anticipating was an absurd contra- 
 diction of the eternal laws. 
 
 "You will easily believe," he went on, "that they do 
 not waste anything, and that they make money out of 
 every possible thing. The garden that was for so many 
 years in your family is now leased out by the Chapter, 
 since your brother's death; twenty duros a year your 
 Aunt Tomasa pays for her son to cultivate it, and this 
 only because, as you know, the old woman is such a 
 great friend of His Eminence, as they have known each 
 other since they were children. I go about like a water 
 carrier, all round the church and the cloisters, watching 
 that no one plays tricks, for there are a lot of young 
 light-hearted people, whom you cannot trust One 
 minute I am in the Ochavo, watching that your nephew 
 the 'Tato' has sold the tickets to the foreigners (for he 
 is quite capable of letting them in gratis if they tip him 
 on leaving), and the next I am up in the cloister looking 
 after that shoemaker who repairs the giants; they can- 
 not deceive me, no one escapes me without paying; but, 
 ay! it is a long while since I have sung mass. You can 
 see me at mid-day when the Cathedral is closed reading 
 my hours hurriedly in the cloisters, watching the clock 
 in order to go down the moment the church is opened, 
 when the strangers begin to come to see the treasury. 
 This is not the life of a good Catholic, and if God does 
 not lay it to my account that I am doing it all for the 
 glory of His house, I fear that I shall lose my soul." 
 
 The two men walked up and down some time in si- 
 lence, but Don Antolin could not hold his tongue for 
 long when the subject was the economic life of the 
 Primacy. 
 
 "And to think, Gabriel," he continued, "that having 
 been what we were in former times, we should have 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 99 
 
 come to this! You and most of those alive have no 
 idea how rich this house used to be — as rich as a king, 
 and often far richer. From a child no one has known 
 as you have the history of our glorious archbishops, 
 but of the fortune they amassed for God, you know 
 nothing. Of course these temporalities do not interest 
 learned people like you. Have you any idea what 
 donations the kings and great lords gave in their life- 
 time to our Cathedral, or the legacies they left her on 
 their deathbeds? You have a great deal to learn! I 
 know all about it, I have searched in the Obreria, in the 
 archives, in the library; everyone does what interests 
 them, and I and the Senor Obrero have often raged at 
 the indigence of the house, but I console myself by 
 thinking of what we had, long before any of us were 
 born. We were very rich, Gabriel — very, very rich. 
 The archbishops of Toledo could have placed one or two 
 crowns on their mitre, I dare not say three, for I 
 think of the Supreme Pontiff. First of all, there is the 
 Deed of Gift to the Cathedral, made by the King 
 Alfonso VI., by reason of his having conquered Toledo. 
 It was made a hermitage, after the election of the 
 Bishop Don Bernardo, and I have seen it in the archives 
 with my own sinful eyes, a parchment with Gothic 
 letters, and at the head is written, 'The privileges of 
 this Holy Church.' The good king gave to the Cathe- 
 dral nine towns — if I wished I could tell you their 
 names — several mills, and vineyards innumerable, houses 
 and shops in the town, and he ends by saying with all 
 the munificence of a Christian cavalier, 'This, therefore, 
 in such a way I give, and I grant to this church and to 
 you, Bernard, Archbishop, in free and perfect gift, 
 that neither by homicide, nor any other calumny, shall 
 it ever be forfeited. Amen.' Afterwards, Don Al- 
 fpnso VII. gave us eight towns on the other side of 
 
loo THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 the Guadalquiver, several ovens, two castles, the salt 
 works of Belinchon, and a tenth of all the money coined 
 in Toledo, for the vestments of the prebendaries. The 
 Vni. of the name showered on the Cathedral a perfect 
 rain of gifts, towns, villages, and mills. Illescas is 
 ours, and a great part of Esquivias, as also the mort- 
 gage on Talavera. Afterwards came the fighting pre- 
 late, Don Rodrigo, who took much land from the 
 Moors, and the Cathedral possesses one principality, 
 the Adelantamiento de Cazorla, with towns like Baza, 
 Niebla, and Alcaraz. And besides the kings there is a 
 great deal to be said about the nobles, great princes who 
 showed their generosity to the Holy Metropolitan 
 Church. Don Lope de Haro, Lord of Vizcaya, not 
 content with paying the cost of the building from the 
 Puerta de los Escribanos as far as the choir, gave us 
 the town of Alcubilete, with its mills and fisheries, and 
 he also left a legacy so that in the choir when complines 
 are sung, that lamp called the Preciosa should be lighted, 
 which is placed by the great bronze eagle belonging to 
 the big missal. Don Alfonso Tello de Meneses gave us 
 four towns on the banks of the Guadiana, granted us 
 tithes and bridge tolls, and I know not what riches 
 besides. We have been very powerful, Gabriel ; the ter- 
 ritory of this diocese is larger than a principality. The 
 Cathedral had property on the earth, in the air, and 
 in the sea! Our dominions extended throughout the 
 .whole nation from end to end; there was not a single 
 province in which we did not hold possessions. Every- 
 thing contributed to the glory of the Lord, and to the 
 comfort and welfare of His ministers; everything paid 
 to the Cathedral : bread when it was baked in the ovens, 
 the casting of the net, wheat as it passed through the 
 mill, money as it came from the Mint, the traveller as 
 he went on his way; the country people who then paid 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL loi 
 
 no taxes or contributions served their king and saved 
 their own souls, giving the best sheaf in every ten, so 
 that the granaries of the Holy Metropolitan Church 
 were quite insufficient to contain such abundance. What 
 times were those, Gabriel! There was faith, Gabriel," 
 and faith is the chief thing in life — without faith there 
 is no virtue nor decency — nor nothing." 
 
 He stopped for a moment, quite out of breath with 
 talking. The priest was so saturated with the atmos- 
 phere of the Cathedral, that in himself he seemed to 
 unite all the various scerits_of the church ; his cassock / 
 had^'coHected the mouldy^ smell of the old stones and 
 the rusty iron railings, and his mouth seemed to 
 breathe of the gutters and the gargoyles, and the rank 
 damp of the garrets. 
 
 With the rapid enumeration of all 'the past wealth 
 Don Antolin warmed, even to indignation. 
 
 "And having been so rich, now we find ourselves in 
 extreme poverty. And I, my son, a priest of the Lord, 
 am obliged to go hither and thither with those tickets 
 so that we may all live, just as though I were a seller 
 of entrance tickets to a bull-fight, and the Lord's house 
 were a theatre, having to endure all those foreign 
 heretics, who come in without blessing themselves, and 
 who look at everything through opera-glasses. And I 
 have to smile at them because they pay us and provide 
 us with some dessert for our poor stew ! Carape ! Jesus 
 have mercy on me ! I was going to say a sacrilege." 
 
 Don Antolin continued his angry complaints till, in 
 passing the front of his house, Mariquita of the scowl- 
 ing and ugly countenance appeared at the door. 
 
 "Uncle, enough of walking. Your chocolate is getting 
 cold." 
 
 But before the priest disappeared into his house, she 
 jvent on, smiling amiably at Luna: 
 
102 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAE 
 
 "Will you have some, Don Gabriel?" 
 
 And with her bold eyes, like a hungry wolj^ she 
 invited Luna to enter. She "liked the masterful ways of 
 the man, she said, and the ease which his former inter- 
 course with the world had given him, and, moreover, 
 for her woman's imagination Ga^jel'^^jiiystedoiis-past 
 possessed a great attraction ; his proud silence, the vague 
 reports of his adventures, and the smile, as much com- 
 passionate as disdainful, with which he listened to the 
 people of the upper, cloister. 
 
 The insinuating Mariquita withdrew, and Gabriel con- 
 tinued his walk through the cloister, after finishing the 
 little jar of milk that his brother brought him up every 
 morning. 
 
 At eight o'clock, Don Luis, the Chapel-master, came 
 out, his cloak wrapped as usual theatrically round" him, 
 and his big hat well tilted back, like a glory, round his 
 enormous head; he was humming absently, restless with 
 perpetual nervous movements; he inquired anxiously 
 if the bell had yet rung for the choir, frightened by 
 the threats of a fine in case he were late. Gabriel 
 felt himself very much attracted by this poor priestly 
 musician, who lived so despised in the furthest comer 
 of the church, thinking far more of music than of 
 dogma. 
 
 In the evenings Gabriel would often go up to the 
 little room inhabited by the Chapel-master, on the upper 
 floor of the Lunas' house; the room contained all the 
 priest's fortune — a little iron bed, which had belonged 
 formerly to the seminarist, two plaster busts of Bee- 
 llioven and Mozart, and an enormous pile of bundles 
 of music, bound scores, loose sheets of ruled paper, 
 so big and so piled up and disorderly that every now 
 and then a pile would slip down, covering the floor of 
 the little room with white sheets to its furthest corner. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 103 
 
 "That is how all his money goes," said the Wooden 
 Staff with an air of good-natured reproof, "he will 
 never have a farthing. As soon as he gets his pay he 
 orders-more. music, f roni^adrid. It would be far better 
 for Don Luis if he were to buy himself a new hat, even 
 if it were a cheap one, so that the gentlemen of the 
 choir should not laugh at the covering he has on his 
 head." 
 
 In the winter evenings, after the choir, the musician 
 and Gabriel took refuge in this little room. The canons, 
 wishing to avoid the cold winds and the rain, took their 
 daily walk in the galkries of the upper cloister, not 
 wishing to forego this exercise to which their methodical 
 existence had accustomed them. The rain would beat 
 on the window of the little room, and in the dull grey 
 twilight the musician would turn over his portfolios, 
 or letting his hands wander over the harmonium, 
 he would talk the while with Gabriel, who was seated on 
 the bed. 
 
 The musician would grow excited, speaking of his 
 love of art. In the midst of some peroration he would 
 become suddenly silent, and bending over the instru- 
 ment its melodies would fill the room, and floating 
 down the staircase would reach the ears of the walkers 
 in the cloister like a distant echo. Suddenly he would 
 cease playing and resume his chattering, as though 
 afraid that with his absent-mindedness his ideas would 
 evaporate. 
 
 The silent Luna was the only listener he had met 
 with in the Cathedral; the first who would listen to 
 him for long hours without ridiculing him or thinking 
 him crazy, and who often showed by his short inter- 
 ruptions and questions the pleasure with which he 
 listened. 
 
 The end of the evening's conversation was always 
 
1104 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 the same— the greatness of Beethoven, the idol of the 
 poor musician. 
 
 "I have loved him all my life," said the Chapel- 
 master, "I was educated by a Jeronomite friar, an old 
 man driven from his convent who, after leaving it, 
 had wandered over the world as a professor of the 
 violoncello. The Jeronomites were the great musicians 
 of the Church. You did not know this, neither should 
 I have known it if this holy man had not taken me 
 under his protection soon after I was bom, and been 
 to me a real father. It appears that in olden days 
 each order devoted itself to some special thing. One, 
 I think the Benedictines, copied and annotated old 
 books ; others made sweet liqueurs for the ladies, others 
 were wonderfully clever in training cage birds, and the 
 Jeronomites studied music for seven years, each one 
 playing the instrument of his choice, and to these we 
 owe that there has been preserved in the Spanish 
 churches a little, but very little, good musical taste. 
 And from what my little father told me, what wonder- 
 ful orchestras these Jeronomites must have had in their 
 convents! For the ladies it was a great delight to 
 go on Sunday evenings to the parlour, where they 
 met the good fathers, each one a master of his own 
 particular instrument. These were the only concerts 
 in those days, and with their pittance assured, and 
 no anxiety as to housing or clothing themselves, and 
 with the love of art as their only duty, you may 
 imagine, Gabriel, what musicians they could become. 
 For this reason, when the friars were expelled from 
 their convents the Jeronomites were not the worst off. 
 There was no need to beg masses in the churches or 
 to live on the charity of devout families; they were 
 able to earn their bread by an art conscientiously 
 studied, and consequently they soon got places as 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 105 
 
 organists' and Chapel-masters; the Chapters really 
 fought for them. Some were more venturesome, andl, 
 anxious to see more of that musical world which had 
 seemed to them while in their convents a vision of 
 Paradise, entered the orchestras of theatres, many- 
 travelling even to Italy, transforming themselves so 
 entirely that even their own former prior could not 
 have recognised them. One of these was my little 
 father. What a man! He was a good Christian, but 
 he had thrown himself so thoroughly into music that 
 he retained very little of the former friar. When he 
 was told that probably the convents would be re-estab- 
 lished, he shrugged his shoulders with indifference, a 
 new sonata interested him much more. He sometimes 
 said things that have always lived in my memory. 
 I remember one day when I was a child he took me 
 to a meeting of musical friends in Madrid, who played, 
 for their own pleasure only, the famous 'Seventh 
 Symphony.' Do you know it? It is the freshest and 
 most graceful of all .Beethoven's works. I remember 
 my little father leaving the room quite wrapped up 
 in himself, with his head bent, dragging me along, 
 for I could hardly keep up with his long footsteJ)S, 
 and when we got home he looked at me fixedly, as 
 though I had been a grown-up person. 'Listen, 
 Luis,' he said, 'and remember this well. There is 
 only one Lord in the world, Our Lord Jesus Christ, 
 and there are two lesser lords, Galileo and Bee- 
 thoven.' " 
 
 The musician looked lovingly at the plaster bust 
 which faced the room from one corner, with its leonine 
 brows and the diffident eyes of a deaf person. 
 
 "I do not know much about Galileo," continued Don 
 Luis. "I know that he was a very wise man, and a 
 scientific genius. I am only a musician and I know 
 
io6 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 very littk about other things, but I adore Beethoven, 
 and I think my little father did the same — he is a god; 
 the most extraordinary man the world has ever pro- 
 duced. Don't yourthink so, Gabriel?" 
 
 His nerves were quivering with his excitement, and 
 getting up, he walked rapidly up and down the room, 
 trampling on all the loose sheets of music. 
 
 "Ay! how I envy you, Gabriel, having travelled so 
 much, and having heard so many good things! The 
 other night I could not sleep for thinking of all you had 
 
 ' told me about your life in Paris — those beautiful Sun- 
 day afternoons when you would go to the Lamoureux 
 concerts, or sometimes to Colonnas, giving yourself a 
 surfeit of sublimity ! And here am I, shut up, my only 
 hope being perhaps to conduct a Mass of Rossini's at 
 one of the great festivals ! My only comfort is to read 
 music, instructing myself thoroughly in those great 
 works that so many fools in the towns can listen to half 
 asleep and bored. Here I have, in this pile, the nine 
 symphonies of the great man — ^his innumerable sonatas, 
 his masses, and together with him, Haydn, Mozart, 
 Mendelssohn, in fact all the great writers. I have even 
 Wagner. I read them, and I play what is possible on 
 the harmonium. But — it is just as if you were to 
 
 - describe the drawing and colours of a picture to a 
 blind man, buried in this cloister. I know, blindly, that 
 there are most beautiful things in this world — for those 
 
 ' ;who can hear them." 
 
 I The Chapel-master kept from the previous year the 
 
 ^remembrance of a great happiness, and he spoke of it 
 
 enthusiastically. He had been chosen by the Cardinal 
 
 Archbishop to go to Madrid, to be one of a board of 
 
 examiners for organists. 
 
 "That was the best time I ever had in my life, 
 Gabriel. One evening I listened to Wagner, dressed in 
 
I tin. CSiiAJJUW Ui< itiii CA i JriliUJKAL I07 
 
 the clothes of a friend of mine, a violinist, who plays 
 here in Toledo at the great festivals. I heard the 
 Walkyria in the pit of the Real Theatre, another night 
 I went to a concert; but the greatest night of all was 
 the one on which I heard the Ninth Symphony of that 
 ugly old fellow, of that deaf, bad-tempered genius who 
 is listening to us." 
 
 And with one bound the musician rushed to the bust, 
 kissing it with childish humility, just as a child would 
 caress a stern and domineering father. 
 
 "You know the Ninth Symphony; true, Gabriel? 
 And what did you feel aS you listened to it? When I 
 listen to music strange things happen to me. I close 
 my eyes and I see unknown countries and strange faces, 
 and whenever I hear the same works the same visions 
 are repeated. If I speak about this with any of the peo- 
 ple down below they say I am mad, but I know that you 
 feel as I do, and I am not afraid that you will laugh at 
 me. There are musical passages that make me see the 
 sea, blue and boundless, with silvery waves, and this, 
 though I have never seen the ocean; other works bring 
 before me woods and castles, or groups of shepherds 
 with white flocks; with Schubert I always see two 
 lovers sighing at the foot of a linden tree, and certain 
 French composers bring before my mind's eye beautiful 
 women walking among beds of roses, dressed in violet, 
 always violet. And you, Gabriel, do not you see these 
 things?" 
 
 The anarchist assented — yes, music awoke in him also 
 a world of fantastic visions, far rnore beautiful than 
 reality. 
 
 "I remember," went on the priest, "what the Ninth 
 Symphony made me see. I see it still if I only hum 
 some of its passages. Oh! that graceful Scherzo with 
 its strange tremolos! I thought, hearing it, that God 
 
io8 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 and his court of saints had left the heavens to take a 
 walk, leaving the little angels masters of the house, full 
 liberty! Universal gambols! The heavenly children, 
 without any restraint, sported from cloud to cloud, 
 amusing themselves by scattering on the earth the gar- 
 lands of flowers that the saints had left behind them; 
 one let loose the rain and made it fall on the earth; 
 another seized the key of the thunder and touched it, 
 fearful peals which frightened all the revellers and made 
 them fly. But they returned again to continue their 
 graceful play, beginning afresh their noisy games that 
 the thunder had disturbed. And the Adagio! What 
 do you say about that? Do you know anything softer, 
 more loving or so divinely peaceful? Human beings 
 will never speak like this again, however much progress 
 they make. Hearing it, I thought of those fresco- 
 painted ceilings with mythological figures — ^gods and 
 goddesses with pink flesh and flowing curves, Apollo and 
 Venus reclining on a mountain of_pink and gold clouds, 
 like^ajovefy dawn." ~ ~~~ ^ 
 
 "Chaplain^ what has come to you?" said Gabriel; 
 "this is not very Christian." 
 
 "No, "but it is artistic," said the musician simply. "I 
 do not trouble myself much about religion, I believe 
 what" I was taught, and I have never taken the trouble 
 to inquire any further. Music alone occupies me, of 
 which someone has said 'that it will be the religion of 
 the future,' the purest manifestation of the ideal. Every- 
 thing that is beautiful delights me, and I believe in it 
 as a work of God. 'I believe in God and in Bee- 
 thoven,' as his pupil said — and besides, how much re- 
 ligion the grandeur of music contains! Do you know 
 the last quartet that Beethoven wrote? He felt he was 
 dying, and he wrote on the edge of the score this terrible 
 question : 'Must it be ?' and lower down he added* 'Yes, 
 
liiii Mn/vuuw ue itiii l./\ i ntLjjKAjL, 109 
 
 it must be, it must be.' It was necessary's to die, even for 
 such a genius to leave life, while he stjll carried in his 
 mind such glorious things, to pay the tribute of human 
 renovation; and then he wrote that lament, that fare- 
 well to life, whose greatness cannot be equalled by any 
 song, or by any words of religion." 
 
 The musician sat down to the harmonium, and for a 
 long while played that last lament of the genius, his sor- 
 rowful complaint on crossing the threshold, not despair- 
 ing and trembling through fear of the unknown, but 
 with a brave melancholy, sinking into the eternal shadow, 
 confident that nothing could obscure his genius. 
 
 These evenings of artistic communion in that comer 
 of the sleepy Cathedral drew the two men together with 
 an ever increasing aifection. The musician talked, turn- 
 ing over his scores, or playing his harmonium; the 
 revolutionist listened silently, only interrupting his 
 friend by his painful cough. They were evenings of 
 sweet sadness that these two men spent together, one ' 
 dreaming of leaving the stone prison of the Cathedral i 
 to see the world, the other returning from life wounded 
 and breathless, content with the obscure repose of the 
 beautiful church, and guarding with prudent silence the 
 secret of his past. Art shone for them like the rays of 
 the sun in the grey and monotonous atmosphere of the 
 Cathedral. 
 
 When they met in the early mornings in the cloister 
 the conversation between the two friends generally ran 
 on the same lines. 
 
 "This evening, eh?" the Chapel-master would say 
 mysteriously. "I have some fresh music, we shall enjoy 
 something new that I have been sent to-day, and besides, 
 I wrote a little thing last night." 
 
 The anarchist nodded affirmatively, quite ready to 
 serve as entertainment for this pariah of art, who saw in 
 
no THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 him his only audience, and who took so much kindly 
 trouble to interest him. 
 
 While the services lasted Gabriel would walk alone 
 in the cloisters; all the men were in the Cathedral, 
 except the shoemaker, who was mending the giants. 
 Tired of the chattering of the women who stood at the 
 doors of the Claverias, he would go up to the dwelling 
 of the bell-ringer, his old companion in arms, or he 
 would go down into the garden by the remarkable stair- 
 case del Tenorio when it was open, or by the arch- 
 bishop's archway crossing the street. 
 
 He delighted in passing an hour under the trees; he 
 found in the garden as many memories of his family as 
 in the "habitacion" upstairs. Besides, he was tired of 
 always finding his walks bounded by stone walls, which 
 reminded him of his prison, and he wanted the move- 
 ment of the vegetation caressed by the breeze to foster 
 the illusion that he was living in complete liberty in the 
 open country. 
 
 In the arbour, where he had formerly so often seen 
 his father, infirm and crippled wi."% age, directing his 
 eldest son, who received all his orders impassively, he 
 would now meet his Aunt Tomasa, knitting her stock- 
 ings, and watching with vigilant eyes the work of a boy 
 whom she had taken into her service. 
 
 Gabriel's aunt was by far the most important person 
 in the Claverias ; her word was worth quite as much as 
 Don Antolin's, the Silver Stick was afraid of her, bend- 
 ing before the powerful protection that they all guessed 
 stood behind the poor old woman. In the days when 
 her father, Gabriel's maternal grandfather, was sacristan 
 in the Cathedral the functions of acolyte were exer- 
 cised by a small boy, nephew of one of the beneficiaries 
 of the Cathedral, who ended by paying for his education 
 jn the seminary. This little acolyte of half a century 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL iii 
 
 before was now a prince of the church, and the Cardinal 
 Archbishop of Toledo. Old Tomasa and he had known 
 each other as children, fighting over trifles in the upper 
 cloister, or playing tricks on the beggars who sat at the 
 Puerta del Mollete. The imposing Don Sebastian, 
 whose look alone made the Chapter and all the clergy 
 in the diocese tremble, became happy, fraternal and 
 confidential, when now and then in the evenings he 
 saw Tomasa. She was the only living reminder of his 
 childhood in the Cathedral. The old woman would 
 kiss his ring with great reverence, but very soon she 
 would lapse into talking to him as one of her own 
 family, often very nearly speaking to him in the second 
 person. The cardinal, always surrounded by fear and 
 adulation, often felt the necessity--Qi_t he old w oman's 
 careless and frank conveiaatipn. The people belonging 
 to the CatEe3rat""3ecrared that the Sefiora Tomasa was 
 the only person who dared to tell the cardinal home- 
 truths face to face, and the neighbours in the Claverias 
 felt their pride flattered when they saw the prince of the 
 church sweeping down the stone steps in his brilliant 
 scarlet robes to sit in the arbour and gossip for a 
 good hour with the old woman, while his attendants 
 remained respectfully standing at the gate of the iron 
 railings. 
 
 Tomasa was not puffed up with this honour; to her 
 this ecclesiastical prince was only the friend of her 
 childhood, who had had a certain amount of good luck ; 
 and in the end, he was only Don Sebastian, without) 
 going any further into ceremonies and formulas of re- 
 spect. But her family knew how to take advantage of 
 this friendship, especially her son-in-law, "Virgin's 
 Blue," a hypocrite, as the old woman decfared, who 
 would make money out of the very cobwebs of the 
 Cathedral; an insatiable locust who, profiting by the 
 
112 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 friendship of the cardinal and his mother-in-law, went 
 on continually obtaining fresh privileges, without the 
 priests and sacristans daring to make the slightest pro- 
 test, seeing him so well protected. 
 
 I Gabriel much enjoyed his aunt's talk. She was the 
 only person born in the cloister who seemed to have 
 f reed..h£r£ell-from t3ie_s gporific influ ence_af-the church. 
 She loved the Cathedral, as being her ancient roof-tree, 
 but she did not retain much respect for the saints in the 
 chapels, nor for the human dignitaries who sat in the 
 choir. She laughed with the happiness of a healthy and 
 placid old woman, her seventy years being, as she said, 
 quite free from any evil done to her neighbour. Her lan- 
 guage was free and easy, like that of a woman who has 
 seen much, and does not believe in human majesty or ir- 
 reproachable virtues; but the bed-rock of her character 
 was its tolerance, her compassion for all faults, but she 
 was indignant with those who attempted to hide them. 
 I "They are all men, Gabriel," she would say to her 
 nephew, speaking of the clergy of the Cathedral. "Don 
 Sebastian is only a man; all sinners who have much to 
 answer for before God. They cannot be anything else, 
 and so I forgive them. But believe me, nephew, I often 
 feel inclined to laugh when I see the people kneeling 
 before them. I believe in the Virgin of the Sagrario, 
 and a little in God; but in these gentlemen! If you 
 only knew them as I do! But, when all is said and 
 done, we must all live, and the evil is not in having 
 faults, but in attempting to hide them; playing a farce 
 with the shamelessness of my son-in-law who, here as 
 you see him, is as proud as a castle, beats his breast, 
 kisses the ground like the Beatas,^ and yet he is anxious 
 for my death, thinking I have something laid away in 
 
 *Beofa— woman engaged in works of charity who wears the 
 religious habit. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 113 
 
 my chest; he filches what he can from the Virgin's 
 poor-box, steals the wax tapers, and plays tricks with 
 what is paid for masses, and yet he would be in the 
 street if it were not for me, who always think of my 
 poor sick daughter and my poor little grandchildren." 
 
 When Gabriel went down to see her in the garcien, 
 she always received him with the same salutation : 
 
 "Hola, you ghost! but to-day you are looking better, 
 you are being patched up. I believe your brother will 
 pull you through with all his care." 
 
 And then followed a comparison between her healthy 
 and vigorous old age and his ruined youth, which was 
 fighting so tenaciously against death. 
 
 "Here you see my seventy years, and never an 
 illness in all my life. Summer and winter I never hear 
 four o'clock strike in bed, and all my teeth are as sound 
 as in the days when Don Sebastian came in his red 
 dress as server in the church and wanted to steal half 
 my breakfast. You Lunas have always been delicate ; , 
 your father, long before he was my age, could barely 
 walk, and was always complaining of rheum and of the '^ 
 damp in this garden. Here am I in it constantly, and 
 I feel just the same as when I am upstairs in the 
 Claverias. We, the Villalpandos, are made of iron ; for, 
 of course, we are descended from that famous Villal- 
 pando who made the screen of the high altar, the 
 custodia, and an innumerable quantity of other things. 
 He really must have been a giant, to judge by the ease 
 with which he twisted and moulded every sort of 
 metal." 
 
 Gabriel's ill-health awoke in her the deepest com- 
 passion, but all the same not quite free from malicious 
 suggestions. 
 
 "How much you must have amused yourself about 
 the world, eh, nephew? But that war was your per- 
 
114 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEUKAi: 
 
 dition ; without it you would now have had your stall in 
 the choir, and who knows if you might not have come 
 to be another Don Sebastian. The truth is, that from 
 his childhood no one spoke half as much about him in 
 the seminary as they did of you, and he certainly was 
 no prodigy of learning. But you saw the world, and 
 you took a fancy to those countries where they say the 
 ladies are very pretty, and wear hats as large as parasols. 
 ,You are a monster of ugliness now, but you were very 
 smart, though I, who am your aunt, say so. And now 
 you have come back so lean and suffering! You must 
 have lived very fast; who knows what you have done 
 in the world — sly boots! And your poor mother, who 
 thought you would be a saint! God have mercy on 
 us! Don't deny it; you have done no good and I hate 
 lies. You did right to enjoy yourself and to take advan- 
 tage of every opportunity, but the misfortune is that 
 you should have returned as you are, for it is pitiful 
 to see you, but I have known a great many like you. 
 I don't know what evil spirit possesses people belong- 
 ing to the church, but once they throw themselves into 
 life, they don't know where to stop, and they bum 
 the candle at both ends till there is next to nothing 
 left; many of them, like you, have passed through the 
 seminary." 
 
 One morning Gabriel asked a question of his aunt 
 that he had been long thinking about, but that he had 
 never before dared to put into words. He wanted to 
 know all about his niece, Sagrario, and what had hap- 
 pened in his brother's house. 
 
 "You who are so kind, aunt, you will tell me; every- 
 one seems afraid to speak about it ; even my nephew the 
 Tato, who is such a chatterer and skins everyone in 
 the Claverias, is silent when I ask him. What happened, 
 aunt?" 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 115 
 
 The old woman's face grew very sad. 
 
 "A great misfortune, my son, such as was never 
 known before in the upper cloister. The madness of the 
 world came into the Cathedral, and made a nest in the 
 most honoured, most ancient, and most respectable house 
 in the Claverias. . We are all good people, though 
 we have never seen as much of the world as can be seen 
 from a skylight, and live here as though wrapped in cot- 
 ton wool, but you Lunas have always been the best 
 among the best, to say nothing of us Villalpandos, who 
 come close behind. Ay! if your mother could raise 
 her head ! If your father were alive ! But I lay all the 
 blame on your brother, as being weak and a simpleton, 
 having that cursed blindness of all fathers, who ignore 
 the danger in the hope of marrying their daughters 
 well;"- ■ -- 
 
 "Well, but how was it, aunt? What passed between 
 my niece and the cadet ?" 
 
 "What happens frequently in the world, but what has 
 never happened here before. A thousand times I said 
 to my brother, 'See, Esteban, this young gentleman is 
 not for your daughter' — ^very sympathetic, very lively, 
 and wearing the uniform of the Academy like no one 
 else, leader of a group of the wildest cadets in all their 
 escapades about the town, besides a son of a great 
 family — ^wealthy people who did not allow him to come 
 to Toledo with his purse empty. And she — the poor 
 Sagrario, crazy with love, flattered by her cadet, as 
 proud as possible when she walked on Sundays through 
 the Zocodover and the Miradero between her mother 
 and that handsome young lover, that all the girls in the 
 place envied her. The beauty of your niece was the 
 talk of all Toledo; the girls in the college for noble 
 ladies, nicknamed her the 'sacristana' of the Cathedral; 
 but the poor girl lived only for her cadet, and she 
 
Ii6 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 seemed to devour him with her beautiful blue eyes. 
 That idiot, your brother, let him come to the house, 
 proud of the honour that was being done to the family. 
 You know, Gabriel, the eternal blindness of those 
 ■"middk-class Toledans, who encourage with pride the 
 courtship of one of their girls by a cadet, though they 
 are perfectly well aware that it is most rare that one of 
 these courtships should end in marriage. There is no 
 woman here with the slightest pretence to a pretty face 
 who has escaped without her mouthful of love for one 
 of those red pantaloons. Even I remember when I was 
 a girl how I would smooth my hair and pull out my 
 dress when I heard the rattle of a sword on the flags of 
 the cloister. It is^ a blindness that descends from moth- 
 ers to daughters, and the^worins, that~^T)se cursed 
 ones have all their cousins and their lovers in their own 
 country, and to them they return as soon as they leave 
 the Academy." 
 
 "That is true, aunt, but what happened to my 
 niece ?" 
 
 "When the young man passed out a lieutenant, his 
 family decided he ought to return to Madrid. The 
 farewells were like a scene at the theatre. I believe 
 that even your brother and that simpleton his wife, 
 who is now in glory, wept as though the lover were 
 theirs. The young people sat for hours with clasped 
 hands, gazing into each other's eyes, as though they 
 would devour each other. He was the calmest; he 
 promised to come every Sunday and to write every 
 day, and at first he did so, but before long many weeks 
 passed without his coming, and the postman came up 
 less often to the Claverias, and at last did not come at 
 all— it was ended, the young lieutenant found other 
 amusements in Madrid. Your poor niece was like one 
 demented; the colour in her face faded, she was no 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 117 
 
 longer like the beautiful ripe apricot, with the soft skin 
 that made you long to bite it. She wept like a Magdalen 
 in every corner — and one day the foolish girl fled — and 
 up to now " 
 
 "But where was she? Did no one search for her?" 
 
 "Your brother seemed quite dazed. Poor Esteban! 
 several nights we found him half dressed in the upper 
 cloister, as stiff as a post, gazing up at the heavens with 
 eyes that looked like glass. He became furious if any of 
 us spoke of searching for the child ; the scandal was past 
 remedy, and he did not wish to aggravate it by her 
 return, bringing back a lost one to the Holy Metro- 
 politan Church, and to the honoured house of the 
 Lunas. For more than a year everyone in the 
 Claverias seemed crushed by this blow; it seemed as 
 though we were all in mourning. You see, that such 
 a thing should occur in the Cathedral where the years 
 pass by in blessed peace without any of us saying one 
 word louder than the other! And then I remembered 
 you. It seemed impossible that from these Lunas, so 
 quiet and steady, should have sprung a girl with suf- 
 ficient pluck to run away to Madrid, where she. had / 
 never been before, to joina man, without fear of God or ' 
 of her own people. To whom could I liken the unhappy 
 child ? JTp her uncle, to Gabriel_who_Eass£d_£Qr_a_saint, 
 but who, neverthelessr after fi ghting l ike-a-wolf. wan- 
 dered all over the world just like a gipsy." 
 
 Gabriel made no protest at the conception his aunt 
 had formed of his past. 
 
 "And after her flight ? What did you know about the 
 child?" 
 
 "At first a good deal, but latterly not a word. The 
 two were living in Madrid together, peacefully and 
 quietly, away from the world, as though they were man 
 and wife. This lasted for a good while, and I, hearing 
 
ii8 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 about it, began to wonder if I had not been mistaken, 
 and that the man we had blamed so much had repented 
 and would end by marrying Sagrario. But at the end 
 of the year everything was ended; he grew tired, and 
 the family intervened, in order that the escapade should 
 not cut short the career they had marked out for the 
 young man. They even sought the aid of the police, 
 to frighten the child, so that she should not molest the 
 young officer in the first angry transports of her deser- 
 tion. Afterwards — nothing certain is known. Now and 
 again those who have gone to Madrid told me a little; 
 some of them had seen her, but it would have been 
 far better if they had not seen her. It is a dis- 
 grace, Gabriel; a dishonour for your family which is 
 mine. This unhappy girl is the worst of the worst. 
 I heard that she had been very ill, and I believe that 
 she is so still. Just imagine, what a life! And for 
 five years! What will have happened to the unfor- 
 tunate girl! And to think that she is my sister's 
 daughter !" 
 
 The Seiiora Tomasa spoke with deep feeling. 
 
 "Afterwards, Gabriel, you know what happened here; 
 your poor sister-in-law died, we hardly knew why, it 
 was only a matter of a few days ; possibly she may have 
 died of the shame, as she died saying that the fault 
 was entirely hers. It broke one's heart to see the state 
 your brother was in after all this. Esteban has never 
 been good for much, and now after this affair of his 
 daughter„.he^eemed to become quite imbecile. Ay, 
 nephew ! I also~Kave~felt-it grealTy, evei~5iStigh you 
 see me so happy, and so satisfied with life, every now 
 and then the remembrance of that unhappy girl strikes 
 me here, in my head, and I eat badly and sleep worse, 
 thinking that a girl who, after all, is of our own blood, 
 is wandering lost over the world, a plaything for men, 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 119 
 
 without anyone sheltering her, as though she were all 
 alone, as though she had no family." 
 
 The Seiiora Tomasa wiped her eye with the point of 
 her forefinger, her voice shook and the tears fell over 
 her wrinkled old cheeks. 
 
 "Aunt, you are very kind," said Gabriel, "but yovT'] 
 ought to have searched more for this poor girl; you 
 ought to have recovered her, to have saved her, to have ; 
 brought her back here. We must be merciful to the 1 
 weakness of others, especially when that other is one of I 
 our own flesh." ^ 
 
 "Ay, son ! Who do you say it to ? A thousand times 
 I have thought this, but I was afraid of your brother. 
 He is like a bit of dough, but he turns into a wild beast 
 if you speak to him of his daughter. Even if we found 
 her and brought her here he would not receive her; 
 he would be as angry as if you were proposing some 
 sacrilege to him. He could not calmly bear her pres- 
 ence in the house which was that of your forefathers. 
 Besides, though he does not say so<he fears the scandal *• 
 among the neighbours in the Claverias who know whaf 
 had happened. This is the easiest part to arrange, as 
 they would be very careful not to open their mouths 
 when I am among them. But your brother frightens 
 me, and I do not dare." 
 
 "I will help you," said Gabriel firmly. "Let us seek 
 for the child, and once we have found her I will under- 
 take to manage Esteban." 
 
 "It will be most difficult to find her. For a long time 
 we have heard nothing. Doubtless those who do see 
 her are careful to say nothing for fear of paining us. 
 But I will try and find out — we will see, Gabriel— we 
 will think about her." 
 
 "And the canons? and the cardinal? Will they not 
 oppose the return of the poor girl to the Claverias ?" 
 
120 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "Bah! The thing happened some time ago, and few 
 of them will remember it; besides, we might place the 
 girl in a convent, where she would be looked after and 
 quiet, and cause scandal to no one." 
 
 "No, not that, aunt. It is a cruel remedy. We have 
 no right to try and save this poor girl at the cost of her 
 liberty." 
 
 "You are right," said the old woman, after a few 
 moments' reflection. "I don't care much for these nuns 
 myself. Where would she be more likely to follow 
 a good example than in the heart of her own family? 
 We will bring her back to this house if she repents 
 and wishes for peace. And I will scratch out the eyes 
 of the first woman in the Claverias who dares to say 
 anything against her. My son-in-law will probably pre- 
 tend to be scandalised, but I will settle him. It would 
 be much better if he did not wink at the walks that 
 Juanito, that cadet nephew of Don Sebastian's, takes in 
 the cloister whenever my granddaughter stands at the 
 door. The crackbrained fellow dreams of nothing less 
 than becoming related to the cardinal, and seeing his 
 daughter a general's wife; he might remember poor 
 Sagrario. And as far as regards Don Sebastian, you 
 may be quite easy, Gabriel. He will say nothing but 
 that we ought to bring the child back — and what should 
 . he say? People ought to be charitable one to another, 
 and none more than they ; for after all, Gabriel, believe 
 me — they are only men, nothing but men 1" 
 
CHAPTER V; 
 
 The people of the Primacy always received with 
 obstinate silence the slightest allusion to the reigning 
 prelate. It was a traditional custom in the Claverias, 
 and Gabriel remembered to have noticed the same in his 
 childhood. 
 
 If they spoke of the preceding archbishop, these 
 people, so used to grumbling, like all those who live in 
 solitude, would loose their tongues and comment on his 
 history and his defects. There was nothing to fear 
 from a dead prelate, and besides, it was an indirect 
 praise to the living archbishop and his favourites to 
 speak ill of the defunct. But if during the conversation 
 the name of His reigning Eminence arose, they were n, 
 all silent, raising their hands to their caps to salute, as 
 though the prince of the church were able to see them 
 from the neighbouring palace. 
 
 Gabriel, listening to his companions of the upper 
 cloister, remembered the funeral judgment of the 
 Egyptians. In the Primacy no one dared to speak the 
 truth about the prelates, or to discuss their faults till 
 death had taken possession of them. 
 
 The most that they dared to do was to comment on 
 the disagreements among the canons, to compare their 
 lists of those who saluted one another in the choir, or 
 who glared at one another between versicle and antiphon 
 like mad dogs ready to fly at one another, or to 
 speak with wonder about a certain polemic discussed 
 
 121 
 
122 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAK 
 
 by the Doctoral and the Obrero in the Catholic papers 
 in Madrid, which had lasted for three years, as to 
 whether the deluge was partial or universal; an- 
 swering each other's articles with an interval of four 
 months. 
 
 A group of friends had collected round Gabriel. They 
 sought him, feeling the necessity of his presence, ex- 
 periencing that attraction exercised by those who are 
 bom to be leaders of men even though they remain 
 silent. In the evenings they would meet in the 
 dwelling of the bell-ringer, or when it was fine weather 
 they would go out into the gallery above the Puerta 
 del Perdon. In the mornings the assembly would be 
 in the house of the shoemaker who mended the giants, a 
 yellow little man, who suffered from continual pains in 
 his head, which obliged him to wear sundry coloured 
 handkerchiefs tied iround his head in the fashion of a 
 turban. 
 
 He was the poorest in all the Claverias; he had no 
 appointment, and mended the giants without any 
 remuneration in the hopes of succeeding to the first 
 vacant place, feeling very grateful to those gentlemen of 
 the Chapter who gave him his house rent free, on ac- 
 count of his wife being the daughter of a former old 
 servant of the church. The smell of the paste and of 
 the damp floor infected his house with the rank atmos- 
 phere of poverty. A hopeless fecundity aggravated this 
 poverty; his sad, placid wife with her big yellow eyes 
 appeared every year with a new baby tugging at her 
 flabby breast, and several children crept along the 
 cloister walls, dull and inert with hunger, with enormous 
 heads and thin necks, always sickly, though none of 
 them managed to die; afflicted by all the pains of 
 ansemia, by boils that arose and vanished on their faces, 
 and watery eruptions covering their hands, 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 123 
 
 The shoemaker worked for the shops in the town, 
 without, however, earning much money. From the 
 rising of the sun one could hear the sound of his ham- 
 mer in the cloister. This sole evidence of profane work 
 attracted all the unoccupied to the miserable and evil- 
 smelling dwelling. Mariano, the Tato, and a verger 
 who also lived in the cloister, were those who most 
 frequently met Gabriel, seated on the shoemaker's 
 ragged and broken chairs, so low that one could touch 
 the floor of red and dusty bricks with one's hands. 
 
 Often the bell-ringer would run to his tower to ring 
 the usual bells, but his vacant place would be imme- 
 diately occupied by an old organ-blower, or some of the 
 servants from the sacristy, all attracted by what theyv 
 heard of these meetings of the lower servants of the 
 Primacy. The object of the assembly was to listen to 
 Gabriel. The revolutionary wished to keep silence, and,' 
 listened absently to their grumblings at the daily round '' 
 of worship; but his friends longed to hear about those! 
 countries in which he had travelled, with all the curi- 
 osity of people who lived confined and isolated ; listening 
 to his descriptions of the beauties of Paris and the 
 grandeur of London they would open their eyes like 
 children listening to a fairy tale. 
 
 The shoemaker with his head bent, never ceasing his 
 work, listened attentively to the recital of such marvels ; 
 when Gabriel was silent they all agreed on one point, 
 those cities must be far more beautiful than Madrid ; and 
 just think how beautiful Madrid was ! Even the shoe- 
 maker's wife, standing in the corner forgetful of her 
 sickly children, would listen to Luna with wonder, her 
 face enlivened by a feeble smile, which showed the wom- 
 an through the animal resigned to misery, when Luna 
 described the luxury of the women in foreign parts. 
 
 All these servants of the church fielt their narrowed 
 
124 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 and dulled minds stirred by these descriptions of a dis- 
 tant world that they were never likely to see ; the splen- 
 dours of modern civilisation touched them much more 
 nearly than the beauties of heaven as described in the 
 sermons,, and in the pungent and dusty atmosphere of 
 the dirty little house they would see unrolled before their 
 mind's eye beautiful and fantastic cities, and they would 
 ask questions in all innocence as to the food and habits 
 of those distant people, as though they believed them 
 beings of a different jpecies. 
 
 Towards evening, at the~h6ur of the choir, when the 
 shoemaker was working alone, Gabriel, tired of the 
 monotonous silence of the cloister, would go down into 
 the church. 
 
 His brother, in a woollen cloak with a white neck 
 band, and a staff as long as an ancient alguacil's, stood 
 as sentry in the crossways, to prevent the inquisitive 
 passing between the choir and the high aJtar. 
 
 Two tablets of old gold with Gothic letters, hung on 
 to one of the pilasters, set forth that anyone talking in 
 a loud voice or making signs in the church would be . 
 excommunicated; but this menace of former centuries 
 failed to impress the few people who came to vespers 
 and gossiped behind one of the pillars with some of the 
 church servants. The evening light, filtering through 
 the stained glass, threw on the pavement great patches 
 of colour, and the priests as they walked over this 
 carpet of light would appear green or red according to 
 the colours flashed from the windows. 
 
 In the choir the canons sang for themselves only in 
 the emptiness of the church; the shutting of the iron 
 gates of the screen, opened to admit some late-coming 
 priest, echoed like explosions throughout the building, 
 and above the choir the organ joined in at times between 
 the plain song, but it sounded lazily, timidly, as though 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 125 
 
 from necessity, and seemed to lament its feebleness in 
 the gathering twilight. 
 
 Gabriel had not completed the round of the Cathedral 
 before he was joined by his nephew, the Perrero, who 
 left his conversation with the servers and acolytes, and 
 with the errand boy belonging to the Secretary of the 
 Chapter, whose fixed seat .was at the door of the Qiap- 
 ter-house. Luna was always very much diverted by the 
 pranks of the Tato, and the confidence and carelessness 
 with which he moved about the temple, as though having 
 been bom in it deprived him of all feeling of respect. 
 The entry of a dog into the nave caused great excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "Uncle," said he to Luna, "you shall see how I can 
 open my cloak." 
 
 Seizing the two ends of his garment he advanced to- 
 wards the dog with the contortions and bounds of a , 
 wrestler; the animal, knowing this of old, endeavoured / 
 to escape through the nearest door, but the Tato, cutting^ / 
 off his retreat, drove him into the nave, and, pretending 
 to pursue him, drove him from chapel to chapel, finally 
 rounding him up where he could give him some good 
 sound whacks. The dismal bowlings disturbed the sing- 
 ing of the canons, and the Tato laughed more than ever 
 to see behind the iron railing of the choir, the angry 
 gesture of the good Esteban threatening him with his 
 wooden staff. 
 
 "Uncle," said the depraved Perrero one evening, "you, 
 who think you know the Cathedral so well, have you } 
 ever seen the lively things in it?" \ 
 
 The wink of his eye, and the gesture accompanying 
 the words showed that the things might very well be 
 more than lively. 
 
 "I am always very much interested," he went on, "with 
 the jokes the ancients allowed themselves. Come along, 
 
 1, f 
 
126 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 uncle, it will amuse you for a little; you, like all 
 those who think they know the Cathedral, will 
 have passed many times by these things without no- 
 ticing them." 
 
 Going along the outside of the choir, the Tato led 
 Gabriel to the front opposite the door del Perdon. Un- 
 der the great medallion, which serves as a back to the 
 Mount Tabor, the work of Berruguete, opens the little 
 chapel of the Virgin of the Star. "Look well at that 
 image, uncle. Is there another like it in all the world? 
 She is a courtezan, a siren who would drive men mad if 
 she only fluttered her eyelids." 
 
 For Gabriel this was no new discovery; from his 
 
 childhood he had known that beautiful and sensual fig- 
 
 J ure, with its worldly smile, its rounded outlines, and its 
 
 ; eyes with their expression of wanton gaiety as though 
 
 ^; she were just going to dance. 
 
 The child in her arms was also laughing and placing 
 his hand on the bosom of the beautiful woman, as 
 though he intended to tear the covering from her 
 breast. The image of painted stone, stuffed and gilt, 
 wore a blue mantle strewn with stars, from whence its 
 name. 
 
 "Even you, who have read so much, uncle, may 
 possibly not know the history of this chapel, which is 
 far more ancient than the Cathedral. The woolstaplers, 
 carders, and weavers of Toledo had their patroness 
 here long before the church was built, and tiiey only 
 gave up their right to the ground on the condition that 
 they should be entire masters of the chapel, and do in it 
 whatever they pleased and in all this piece of the 
 Cathedral as far as those nearest pillars. Oh! the 
 trouble this wrought! On the days they held their 
 feasts to the Virgin they never paid any heed to the 
 canons in the choir, and they greatly disturbed all the 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 127 
 
 offices with 'rabeles,'^ lutes and disorderly songs. If 
 the canons begged them to be silent, they replied that it 
 was they in the choir who ought to keep silence, consid- 
 ering that they were in their own chapel, which was far 
 more ancient than the Cathedral. Did you know this, 
 uncle?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember it now. The Archbishop Valero 
 Loza brought a suit against them at the beginning of the 
 eighteenth century; you can see his tomb at the foot of 
 the altar. He lost his suit, and died from disappoint- 
 ment. He desired to be buried in that place, so that 
 the insolent wool merchants should trample on him in 
 death, even as they had vanquished him in his lifetime. 
 The haughtiness of these ecclesiastical princes drove 
 them to the proudest humility. But is this all you 
 wished to show me ?" 
 
 "You shall see better things than this. Let us say 
 good-bye to the Virgin. But do look at her! What a 
 face! What alluring eyes! The beautiful woman! I 
 spend hours looking at her ; she is my sweetheart. Oh ! 
 the many nights I have dreamt of her." 
 
 They walked on a little towards the great doorway of 
 the Cathedral, so as to obtain a better view of the ex- 
 terior face of the choir. Above 'the three hollows or 
 chapels that pierce it runs a frieze of ancient relievos, 
 the work of some obscure mediaeval artist. Gabriel rec- 
 ognised these coarse sculptures as being contempora- 
 neous with the Puerta del Reloj, and by far the most 
 ancient work in the Cathedral. 
 
 "Look you, in the first medallion Adam and Eve are 
 as naked as worms ; but the Lord drives them out of 
 Paradise, and they are obliged to dress themselves to 
 appear in the world ; and see what they do directly they 
 
 'An ancient instrument with three strings, played with a bow. 
 
128 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 get their clothes. But look at the fifth medallion on 
 our right hand ; the old gossip who cut that had a lively 
 turn of mind." 
 
 Gabriel looked for the first time attentively at these 
 forgotten sculptures. They were carved with all the 
 naturalistic simplicity of the Middle Ages, with all the 
 directness with which the artists represented their pro- 
 fane conceptions, with the desire to perpetuate the 
 triumph of the flesh in some ignored comer of the 
 mystical buildings, in order to testify that human life 
 was not dead. 
 
 The Tato was delighted at the surprise on his uncle's 
 face. 
 
 "Eh! what do you think of that? I discovered it 
 wandering about the church. The canons sing every 
 day on the other side of this wall without ever suspect- 
 ing what gay doings they have over their heads. And 
 the stained glass, uncle, look at it well. At first so many 
 colours bhnd one and the forms are indistinct; besides, 
 the lead cuts the figures and it is difficult to make out 
 anything, but I know them to my fingers' ends. They 
 are stories, things of their own times, that these glass- 
 workers painted; the intrigues have been forgotten, and 
 no one has disentangled them." 
 
 He pointed to the windows of the second nave, 
 through which the evening light was shining with a 
 ruddy glow. 
 
 "Look up there," went on the Perrero. "A gallant 
 in a red cape and sword mounts by a rope ladder; at 
 the window a nun is waiting for him. It seems some- 
 thing like the Don Juan Tenorio that they represent at 
 All Saints'. Further on, you see those two in bed, and 
 people knocking at the door. They must be the same 
 pair of birds with the family surprising them. Then in 
 the next window — look well at it— lovers, with scarcely 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 129 
 
 any clothes beyond bare skin. These things belong to 
 the days when people had no sham^, when they went 
 with their heads covered and the rest of their flesh 
 bare." 
 
 Gabriel smiled at the whimsical ideas with which 
 ancient art inspired the Perrero. 
 
 "But in the choir, uncle, there is also something to 
 see. Let us go there ; the service is over and the canons 
 are coming out." 
 
 Luna felt overpowered by admiration as he always , 
 did on entering the choir. Those magnificent stalls, the ' 
 work on one side of Philip of Burgundy, and on the, 
 other side of Berruguete, bewildered him with their 
 profusion of marbles, jaspers, gildings, statues and me- 
 dallions. It was the genius of Michael Angelo reviving 
 in the Toledan Cathedral. 
 
 The Perrero examined the lower stalls, ferreting out 
 among the Gothic relievos the discoveries enjoyed by 
 his unwholesome curiosity. This first row of stalls, 
 almost on a level with the ground, were occupied by 
 the inferior clergy, and were anterior by half a century 
 to the upper stalls ; but in those fifty years art had made 
 a great stride, from the hard and rigid Gothic to the 
 flowing lines and good taste of the Renaissance. They 
 had been carved by Maestre Rodrigo at the time when 
 Christian' Spain, roused to enthusiasm, was helping the 
 Catholic kings with all its strength to complete the re- 
 conquest. On the backs of the stalls, and on the 
 entablature of the frieze fifty-four carved pictures 
 represented the principal incidents of the conquest of 
 Granada. 
 
 The Tato did not look at these carvings of walnut or 
 oak, with troops of horsemen and companies of soldiers 
 scaling the walls of Moorish towns. What interested 
 him most were the arms of the stalls, the handrails of 
 
130 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 the steps leading to the upper seats, and the salients 
 dividing the stalls which served to rest the head, all cov- 
 ered with animals, grotesque beings, dogs, monkeys, big 
 birds, friars, and little birds, all in difficult postures, 
 / some beautiful, some obscene. Hogs and frogs wound 
 themselves up together in inextricable tangles, monkeys 
 with ignoble gestures were mixed up with interlaced 
 I birds in never ending variety — it was a world of carica- 
 F^ tures of voluptuousness, of monkey-like actions and 
 \ satirical suggestions, in which appeared carnal passion 
 j with the most grotesque animal grimaces. 
 
 "Look here, uncle. Is not this capital — it is far the 
 best." 
 
 And the T^to showed Gabriel the little chubby figure 
 of a preaching friar with enormou s donkey's ears . 
 i WheiTthey caTne~oun)f"~tKe~cEoir Gabriel spied the 
 Chapel-master close to the fresco of Saint Christopher. 
 He had just emerged from a little door close to the 
 giant, which led by a circular staircase to the musical 
 archives. He was carrying under his arm a big book 
 with dusty pages which he showed to Gabriel. 
 
 "I am taking it upstairs. You shall hear something 
 out of it ; it is worth the trouble." 
 
 And turning his eyes from the book to the little door 
 close by he exclaimed : 
 
 "Ay! these archives, Gabriel, how it pains one! 
 Each time I visit them I come out sadder. The vandals 
 have been at work there; nearly all the music books 
 have pages torn out, pieces cut out wherever there was 
 an illuminated letter, a vignette or anything pretty. The 
 seiior canons do not care for music, neither do they 
 understand it, and they are incapable of devoting a few 
 pesetas so that it might be heard on festival days. It 
 is quite enough for them to walk in procession to some 
 piece of Rossini's; and as far as regards the organ, all 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 131 
 
 they care about is that it must play slowly, very slowly. 
 The slower it plays, the more religious they think it, 
 even though the organist may be playing a Habanera." 
 
 He continued looking at the little door with melan- 
 choly eyes as though he were ready to weep over the 
 decay of music. 
 
 "In there, Gabriel, are many beautiful works, that 
 ought not to be forgotten as long as art lives in the 
 world. In profane music we have not been great, but 
 believe me that Spain has been far otherwise with 
 religious authors. That is, provided that profane music 
 and religious music really exist, which I doubt; for me 
 there is only — music — and I think he will be a clever 
 marTwho draws theTine where one ends and where the 
 other begins. Behind this wall of Saint Christopher's, 
 the works of all the great Spanish musicians sleep, 
 mutilated and covered with dust. Perhaps it is better 
 they do sleep, when you hear what is sung in this choir ! 
 Here you will find Christobal Morales, who three hun- 
 dred years ago was Chapel-master here, and began 
 the reform of music twenty years before Palestrina. In 
 Rome he shares the glory with the famous master; 
 his portrait is in the Vatican, and his lamentations, his 
 motets, and his Magnificat rest here, forgotten for cen- 
 turies. And Victoria ? Do you know him ? Another of 
 the same period; his jealous contemporaries called 
 him 'Palestrina's monkey' taking all his works to be 
 imitations, in consequence of his long sojourn in 
 Rome; but, believe me, instead of being plagiarisms 
 from the Italian, they are far superior. Here also is 
 Rivera, a Toledan master who no one remembers, but 
 in the archives there is a whole volume of his masses, 
 and Romero de Avila, who more than anyone had 
 studied the Muzarabe chants, and Ramos de Pareja, 
 not the least musician of the fifteenth century, who 
 
132 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 wrote in Bologna his book 'De Musica Tractatus,' and 
 destroyed the ancient system of Guido de Arezzo, dis- 
 covering the tonality of sound; and the Monk Urena, 
 who added the note 'si' to the scale, and Javier Garcia, 
 who in the last century reformed music, leading it 
 towards Italy (God forgive him!), a beaten track from 
 which we have not yet emerged; and Nebra, the great 
 organist of Carlos HI., who, a century before Wagner 
 was born, used musical discords. When he wrote the 
 Requiem for the funeral of Doiia Barbara di Braganza, 
 foreseeing the surprise and difficulties that the musicians 
 and singers would meet with in the innovations in his 
 score, he wrote on the margin, 'This is to give notice 
 that there are no mistakes in the score.' His Litany 
 became so celebrated that it was forbidden to copy it, 
 under pain of excommunication; but I think to-day the 
 persons who remember it would be the excommunicated. 
 Believe me, Gabriel, these archives are a pantheon of 
 great men, but a pantheon, unluckily, from which no 
 one emerges." 
 
 Then he added, lowering his voice: 
 
 "The Church has never been a great lover of music. 
 To feel and understand it you must be born a musician, 
 and you know well enough that these gentlemen who 
 are paid to sing in the choir know nothing about music. 
 When I see you, Gabriel, smiling at religious things, I 
 guess by your manner how much you conceal, and I am 
 sure you are right. I was interested to know the history 
 of music in the Church. I have followed step by step 
 the long Calvary of this unhappy art, carrying the cross 
 of worship uphill through the long centuries. You 
 have heard people often talk of religious music, as if it 
 were a thing apart, believed in by the Church ; but it is 
 aH a lie, for religious music does not exist." 
 
 The Perrero had moved off when he heard that the 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 133 
 
 Chapel-master, whose loquacity was indefatigable when 
 he spoke of his art, had started on the theme of music. 
 He had formed his own opinion of Don Luis and told it 
 to everyone in the upper cloister. He was a simpleton 
 who only knew how to play melancholy ditties on his 
 harmonium, without ever thinking of enlivening the poor 
 people in the Claverias by playing something to which 
 they could dance, as the niece of Silver Stick had asked 
 him. 
 
 The priest and Gabriel walke^ slowly through the 
 silent naves talking the while; the only people to be 
 seen were a group of the household at the door of the 
 sacristy, and two women kneeling before the railing of 
 the high altar praying aloud. The early twilight of the 
 winter evenings was beginning to darken the Cathedral, 
 and the first bats were coming down from the vaulting 
 and fluttering through the columns. 
 
 "Ecclesiastical music," said the artist, "is a real / 
 anarchy; but in_the Church everything is anarcliji:^ I \/ 
 believe there is a great deal to be said for the unity of 
 the Catholic worship throughout the world. When 
 Christianity began to form itself into a religion it did 
 not invent even a single bad melody; it borrowed its 
 hymns and the manner of singing them from the Jews, a 
 primitive and barbarous music that would shock our 
 ears if we heard it now. Out of Palestine, and where 
 there were no Jews, the earliest Christian poets — 
 Saint Ambrose, Prudencio and others — adopted their 
 new hymns and psalms to the popular songs that were 
 then in vogue in the Roman world, or possibly to Greek 
 music. It seems as though that word 'Greek music' 
 ought to mean a great deal; is it not so, Gabriel? The 
 Greeks were so great in their poetry and in the plastic 
 arts that anything that bears their name would seem^to 
 be surrounded by an atmosphere of undying beauty. 
 
134 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 But it is not so: the march of the arts has not been 
 parallel in human life; when sculpture had its Phidias, 
 and had reached its climax, painting had hardly passed 
 that rudimentary stage that we see in Pompeii, and music 
 was only a childish babbling. Writing could not per- 
 petuate music, for there seemed as many musical styles 
 as there were peoples, and everything was left to the 
 judgment of the executant. You could not fix on 
 parchment what mouths and instruments played, and 
 so progress was impossible. For this reason, though 
 there was a Renaissance for sculpture, for painting, for 
 architecture, at the revival of the arts after the Middle 
 Ages, music was found in the same elementary stage in 
 which it was at the break-up of the ancient world." 
 
 Gabriel nodded his head assenting to the words of the 
 Chapel-master. 
 
 "This was the first Christian music," continued Don 
 Luis. "Confided to tradition and transmitted orally, 
 the religious songs soon became disfigured and corrupt. 
 In every church they sang in a different way, and 
 religious music became a hotch-potch. The mystics 
 leaned to rigid unity, and in the sixth century Saint 
 Gregory published his 'Antifonario,' a collection of all 
 liturgic melodies, purifying them according to his ideas. 
 They were a mixture of two elements: the Greek, 
 rather oriental and florid, very much like the present 
 debased style; and the grave and rough Roman. The 
 notes were expressed by letters, the Phrygian and 
 Lydian styles followed, and so the intricacies of Greek 
 music continued though much altered, with fioriture, 
 rests, and breathing pauses. The collection became 
 lost, and many who think a return to the old style 
 would be best, much regret it. To judge by the frag- 
 ments that remain, if such music was now executed it 
 would have very little that was religious about it, as we 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 135 
 
 understand religion in art to-day; it would more 
 resemble the songs of the Moors, or the Chinese, or 
 those of some schismatic Greeks who still use the 
 ancient liturgies. The harp was the principal instru- 
 ment in the churches till the organ appeared in the 
 tenth century, a rough and barbarous instrument that 
 had to be played with blows, and was supplied with 
 wind from inflated skins. Guido di Arezzo made a 
 musical rule on the basis of Gregory's collection, and 
 this was sufficient for the invention of the pentagramma '■ 
 to be assigned to the Benedictine. They continued to 
 use the letters of Boccio and Saint Gregory as notes, 
 but they placed them on lines of three different colours. 
 The imbroglio continued; to learn music badly took 
 twelve years, and then they could not manage that 
 singers from different towns could read from the same 
 score. Saint Bernard, dry and austere as his times, 
 ridiculed this music as not being solemn enough; he was 
 a man antagonistic to all art; he would have liked to 
 see the churches dismantled and without any architec- 
 tural adornments; and the slower the music was, the 
 better it seemed to him. He was the father of plain 
 song, and he maintained that the more drawn out the 
 music was, the more religious it became. But in the 
 thirteenth century Christians found this chant most 
 wearisome. The cathedrals in those days were the 
 point of attraction: the theatre, the centre of all life. 
 People went to the church to pray to God and to amuse 
 themselves, forgetting for the moment all the wars and 
 the violence and confusion outside. Once again popular 
 music came into the churches, and you could hear 
 intoned in the cathedrals all the songs most in vogue, / 
 andwhidi were often obscene. The people took part in ''* 
 
 'The stave. 
 
136 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 the religious music, singing in different tones, each one 
 as seemed best to him, and these were the first begin- 
 nings of concerted singing. In those days j:eligion was 
 joyful, popular— democratic as you would say, Gabriel; 
 there was no Inquisition, nor suspicion of heresy to 
 embitter the soul with fanaticism and fear. All the 
 coarse wind and stringed instruments that the artisans 
 had in the towns, or the labourers in the fields, came 
 into the churches, and the organ was accompanied by 
 violas, violins, bagpipes, flutes, guitars and lutes. 
 The plain song was the established liturgy almost 
 throughout Europe; but the people disliked it, 
 and interspersed it with songs, and at the great 
 festivals, religious hymns were sung, adapted to the 
 popular melodies then in fashion, such as 'The song of 
 the armed man,' 'Morencia, give me a kiss,' 'I know 
 not what confuses me,' 'Weep for me, lady,' 'Bad luck 
 to him who married you,' and others in the same style. 
 And Rome, you will ask, and the Church? What did 
 it say about such disorders? The Church lived without 
 artistic perception: it never had any. What are the 
 boundaries between religious and profane music ? From 
 the sixteenth to the seventeenth century all critics 
 have asked themselves this question, but the Church let 
 them talk, accepting everything without remark. Now 
 and again Rome made itself heard by a Papal bull, to 
 which no one paid any attention, because the Pontiff 
 was incapable of saying this is religious art, and the 
 other is profane. Pakstrina was entrusted with the 
 task of reforming church music; the Pope showed 
 himself disposed not to leave anything but plain song, 
 and to suppress even that if necessary. The mass of 
 Papa Marcelo and other melodies was the result of this, 
 but things did not advance much. It was necessary in 
 order that music should be purified inside the Church 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 137 
 
 that the great secular musical movement should begin 
 with the Italian Monteverde, with the Frenchman 
 Rameau, and with the Germans Sebastian Bach and 
 Handel; what splendid times, Gabriel! And just think 
 what genius followed: Gluck, Haydn, Mozart, Mehiil, 
 Boieldieu, and, above all, our good friend Beethoven." 
 
 The Chapel-master was silent for a little as though 
 the name of his idol imposed on him a religious silence. 
 Presently he continued. 
 
 "All this avalanche of art passed over the Church, 
 and she, according to her habit, appropriated everything 
 that was most to her taste; in any country the Catholic 
 religion adopted the music most in accordance with 
 its traditions — in Spain we have been saturated with 
 the Italian style since the days of Palestrina, and 
 German or French music never came to us. We were 
 first of all fuguists and contrapuntists; but after the 
 'Stabat Mater' of Rossini we felt the attraction of 
 theatrical melody so strongly that we have never 
 wished to taste a fresh dish. Religious music in Spain ~ 
 has run parallel with Italian opera, a thing of which , 
 the canons are ignorant ; they would be furious if at the j 
 mass you played them anything by Beethoven, which '> 
 they would consider profane, but they listen with '| 
 mystic unction to fragments which have gone the \ 
 round of all the theatres in Italy. And about the plain 
 song, you will ask? The plain song had its nest in this 
 Primacy. It was preserved here for centuries and 
 purified; all the best was collected in Toledo, and from 
 the books in this Cathedral have gone forth the chorales 
 of all the churches in Spain and America. Poor plain 
 song! it has long been dead. You see for yourself, 
 Gabriel, who comes to the Cathedral at the hour of the 
 choir? No one, absolutely no one. The matins are 
 recited, and all the offices are intoned in the midst 
 
138 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 of perfect solitude. The people who still believe know 
 nothing of the liturgy ; they do not prize it and have for- 
 gotten all about it; they are only attracted by the 
 novenas, the triduos and retreats, all that is termed 
 tolerated and extra-liturgic worship. The Jesuits, with 
 their cunning, guessed that they must give their 
 services a theatrical attraction, and for this reason their 
 churches — gilt, carpeted, and decked with flowers like 
 dressing-rooms — are always full, whereas the old 
 cathedrals are as empty as tombs. They have not 
 proclaimed the necessity for this reform aloud, but 
 they have put it into practice by abolishing the singing 
 in Latin, and substituting all sorts of romances and 
 songs. In the churches, with the exception of the 
 Tantum-ergo, nothing is sung in Latin, sermons and 
 hymns are in the language of the country, just as in 
 a Protestant church. For the mass of devout people, 
 who believe without thinking, religions only differ in 
 their exterior forms. It would be impossible to consign 
 such a multitude to the bonfires, or that half Europe 
 should again be in the clutches of the thirty years' 
 war, or that the Popes should launch excommunication 
 after excommunication, only to find in the end that 
 the only difference between a Catholic or an evan- 
 gelical church is a few images and a few wax tapers, 
 but that the worship in both is the same. But we must 
 go, Gabriel; they are going to lock up." 
 
 The bell-ringer was hurrying through the naves, 
 shaking his bunch of keys and startling the bats which 
 were becoming more and more numerous. The two 
 devout women had disappeared; no one remained in 
 the Cathedral save Gabriel and the Chapel-master. 
 From the farther end of the nave were coming the 
 night watchmen, to take up their charge till the 
 following morning, preceded by the dog. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 139 
 
 The two friends went out into the cloister, guided 
 through the dusk by the rich glow from the stained 
 glass windows; outside, the last rays of the sun were 
 touching both the garden and the cloister of the 
 Claverias with crimson. 
 
 "I repeat," continued the musical priest, looking 
 back at the door from which they had come out, "that 
 in there they do not love music and they do not under- 
 stand it. The Church has only rendered one service 
 to music, and that without wishing it: they have been 
 obliged to have instrumentalists and vocalists for the 
 services, and that made them support the chapels and 
 choir-schools that have served for musical education 
 in default of schools. We who represent art in the 
 cathedrals are as much despised as were the minstrels 
 in the old chapels, players of the clarion and bassoon. 
 For the canons, all that sleeps in the musical archives 
 is so much Greek, and we, the artistic priests, form 
 a race apart, and are only just a step above the 
 sacristans. The Chapel-master, the organist, the tenor, 
 contralto, and the bass form the chapel. We are 
 clergy like the canons, we become beneficiaries by 
 appointment, we have studied religious science as' they 
 have, and, moreover, we are rriusicians; but in spite 
 of this we receive less than half the salary of a canon, 
 and to remind us constantly of our inferior position 
 we have to sit in the lower stalls. We, the only ones 
 in the choir who know anything about music, have 
 to occupy the lowest places. The precentor is by right 
 the chief of the singers, and the precentor is a canon 
 named by Rome without competition, probably not 
 knowing a note of the pentagramma. Oh ! the anarchy, 
 friend Gabriel! Oh! the contempt of the Church 
 for music which has always been its slave and never 
 its daughter! In many convents of nuns the organist 
 
140 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 and the singers are despised and called sergeants. 
 There seems money for everything in the Church: 
 the revenues of the building are ample for ever)rthing 
 except for music. The canons look upon us as fools 
 masking in ecclesiastical robes. When the feast of 
 Corpus or that of the Virgin of the Sagrario comes 
 round, and I dream of a fine mass worthy of the 
 Cathedral, the Canon Obrero attacks me and begs 
 for something Italian and simple, an affair of half-a- 
 dozen musicians that I must pick up in the town, and 
 then I have to conduct a few bungling musicians, 
 iSiging to hear how the miserable orchestra sounds 
 under these vaults, which were built for something 
 grander. In the end, friend Luna, it is dead, quite 
 dead." 
 
 The complaint of the Chapel-master did not surprise 
 Gabriel. Everyone in the Cathedral complained of the 
 miserable and sordid way in which the services were 
 conducted. Some, like the Silver Stick, declared that 
 it was due to the impiety of the age, others, like the 
 musician, made that same religion responsible, but they 
 did not dare to say so aloud. Respect to the Church 
 and to the higher powers, instilled since their child- 
 hood, kept the population of the Cathedral silent. The 
 greater part of the servitors of the Church were living 
 morally in the sixteenth century, in an atmosphere of 
 servility and superstitious fear of their superiors, feeling 
 the injustice of their position, but without daring to 
 give form, even in their thoughts, to their vague notions 
 of protest. 
 
 Only at night, in the silence of the upper cloister, in 
 the privacy of those families who were born and died 
 among the stones of the Cathedral, did they dare to 
 repeat the murmurs of the Church, the interminable 
 tangle of tattle jvhich grew over the monotonous 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 141 
 
 ecclesiastical existence, the complaints of the canons 
 against His Eminence, and what the cardinal said about 
 the Chapter, an underground war which was reproduced I 
 at every archiepiscopal elevation, intrigues and heart- i 
 burnings of ceHbates, embittered by ambition and 
 favouritism, primitive hatreds that reminded one of the 
 time when the clergy elected their own prelates and 
 ruled over them, instead of groaning as now under the 
 iron rule of the archbishop's will. 
 
 Everyone in the cloister knew of these quarrels, and 
 the remarks that the canons allowed themselves to 
 make in the sacristy reached their ears; but these 
 humble servitors kept silence when these murmurs were 
 repeated in their presence, fearing to be reported by 
 their neighbour, who possibly might covet their post. 
 It was the terror of the Inquisition still alive amidst 
 this little stagnant world. 
 
 The Perrero was the only one who seemed to have no 
 fear, and who spoke openly about the Chapter and the 
 cardinal. What did it matter to him! Possibly he may 
 have wished to be turned out of "that den" to give 
 himself up to his favourite pursuit, going to the bull- 
 ring without any objections from the household. 
 Moreover, he delighted in speaking evil of the gentlemen 
 of the Chapter, who had given him more than one cuff 
 when he was an acolyte. 
 
 He gave nicknames to all the canons, and pointing 
 them out one by one to Gabriel, related the most 
 intimate secrets of their lives. He knew the houses 
 where each prebendary passed the evening after the 
 choir time, and the names of all the ladies and nuns who 
 crimped their surplices, and could tell of the fierce and 
 deadly rivalries between these admirers of the Chapter, 
 endeavouring to vanquish each other by the exquisite way 
 in which they washed and ironed the canonical batiste. 
 
142 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 As the choir were coming out he pointed out the pre- 
 centor, an obese prebendary with his face covered with 
 red spots. 
 
 "Look at him, uncle," he said to Gabriel, "that rash 
 on his face is a record of the past. He was a great 
 gallant, never fixing himself long anywhere. The other 
 evening he said to a chaplain of the chapel of the 
 kings, 'Those captain professors at the Academy think 
 that in point of women they cull the best in Toledo, 
 but where is the Church! The seculars must lower 
 their flag!'" 
 
 He laughed as he pointed out a group of young 
 priests, carefully shaved, with their cheeks blue and 
 shining, dressed in silk mantles that diffused a strong 
 scent of musk as they moved. These were the dandies 
 of the Chapter, the young canons, who often made 
 journeys to Madrid to confess their patronesses — 
 ancient marchionesses who, by dint of influence, had 
 gained for them a seat in the choir. At the Puerta 
 del Mollete they stopped a few moments to arrange 
 the folds of their cloaks before they went into the 
 street. 
 
 "They are going out to court the ladies," said the 
 Tato. "Brrrum ! make way for Don Juan Tenorio !" 
 
 When they had watched all the canons come out, the 
 Perrero spoke to his uncle about the cardinal. 
 
 "In these days he is given over to the fiends. No one 
 in the palace can manage hira; his internal complaint 
 nearly drives hira mad." 
 
 "But is it true he is so very ill ?" asked Gabriel. 
 
 "Everyone says so ; ask your Aunt Tomasa. They say 
 they are such great friends because she makes a lotion 
 that calms him like an angel's hand. In the morning 
 when he wakes in a bad temper all the palace trembles, 
 and very soon all the diocese. He is a good man, but 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 14a 
 
 when the mad dog bites him everyone must fly. I 
 have seen him on pontifical days wearing his mitre, 
 looking at us with such eyes, as though he were ready 
 to seize his crozier and belabour us all with it, from what 
 the aunt says — if he did not drink !" 
 
 "Then the complaints of the Chapter are true." 
 
 "He does not get drunk. No, senor, give the devil his 
 due, but a glass now, and another presently, and a third 
 if a friend comes to see him, must obfuscate him. It 
 is a habit he brought with him from Andalusia, where 
 he was bishop before coming here. But nothing com- 
 mon, a fine and refreshing drink, only to keep up his 
 strength, nothing more. And the wine is first class, 
 uncle; I know it from one of his household. He gives 
 as much as fifty duros the arroba 1 ^ They keep him the 
 best in , all la Mancha, a vintage from the time of the 
 French, a syrup that warms the stomach and tempers it 
 as though it were an organ. From what the Aunt 
 Tomasa says, the doctors patch him up, and then he 
 does his best to get ill again with this glorious wine." 
 
 The Tato, in the midst of his gynical mock ery, still 
 showed a regard for the prelate. 
 
 "Do not believe, uncle, that he is a nonentity. Apart 
 from his bad temper he is really a strong man, even as 
 you see him here, with his small white and shining head 
 like a baby's, that seems even smaller above his immense 
 corporation; but it carries something in it! He has 
 spoken a great deal in Madrid, and all the newspapers 
 took as much notice of him as though he were Guerra. 
 His wisdom finds a remedy for everything. If they 
 speak of the poverty and misery in the world, he sings 
 the old song: bread for the poor, charity from the rich, 
 and much Christian doctrine for everyone; that men 
 
 * Arroba— MezsuK containing thirty'two pints. 
 
144 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 ought not to quarrel because I have more than you, and 
 there ought to be patience and decency in the world, 
 for that is what is wanting. What nonsense, eh, uncle? 
 You laugh at it? But His Eminence's recipe rather 
 pleases me, especially that about the bread; but the 
 cursed Catechism is in fault as we have all learnt from 
 our childhood." 
 
 The Perrero grew i quite excited speaking about his 
 prince : 
 
 "And as a man? A masterful man; no hypocrisy 
 about him, nor hiding his head. Everyone knows he 
 was a soldier in his younger days. The Aunt Tomasa 
 remembers seeing him in the cloister with his helmet 
 with horse-hair crest, his sergeant's epaulets, and his 
 rattling broad sword. He is not afraid of anything, is 
 not easily scandalised, and does not make a fuss about 
 things. Last year a Portuguese lady arrived here, who 
 nearly drove all the cadets out of their senses with her 
 silk stockings and her big hats. You know Juanito, 
 and you are aware that he is the son of a nephew of His 
 Eminence who died some years ago. Well, the young- 
 ster paraded up and down the Zocodover in his uniform 
 with the Portuguese lady on his arm to arouse the 
 jealousy of his companions in the Academy. One day 
 the young woman presented herself at the palace, and 
 the servants, seeing her so beautifully dressed, made no 
 difficulty about letting her in, thinking she was some 
 lady from Madrid. His Eminence received her with a 
 paternal smile, and listened to her without winking. A 
 friend of mine, one of the pages who was present, told 
 me about it. She came to complain to the cardinal 
 that his nephew, the cadet, had entertained her for two 
 days without giving her a farthing. His Eminence 
 smiled modestly: 'Lady, the Church is poor, but I do 
 not wish that for this misfortune the good name of the 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 145 
 
 family should suffer. Take this and it will be remedied/ 
 and he handed her two duros. The Portuguese, en- 
 couraged by her good reception, began to bawl and 
 complain, thinking she would terrify Don Sebastian by 
 making a scandal. But you should have seen the fury 
 of His Eminence as h?' shouted to the page, 'Boy, call 
 the police'; and the look on his face was such that 
 the Portuguese lady vanished as quickly as she could, 
 leaving the two pieces of silver on the table." 
 
 Gabriel laughed, listening to the story. 
 
 "He is a strong man, believe me, uncle. I like him 
 because he holds the Qiapter in his fist. He is not like 
 his predecessor, who was like a sop in milk, who oply 
 knew how to pray, and trembled before the last-made 
 canon. He is quite capable of going down into the 
 choir one evening and turning them all out with blows 
 from his crozier. It is more than two months since he 
 has been down into the Cathedral, neither has he seen 
 the canons. The last time they sent a deputation to 
 the palace everybody trembled. They went to propose 
 I know not what reform to the Primate, and they began 
 
 by saying, 'My lord, the Chapter thinks .' Don 
 
 Sebastian, turned into a basilisk, interrupted them, 
 'The Chapter cannot think anything; the Chapter has 
 not common sense,' and he turned his back, leaving 
 them petrified. Afterwards, he began shouting, and 
 thumping the furnitude with his fists, saying he would 
 fill all the vacancies in the Cathedral with the dregs 
 of the clergy, that he would fill the Chapter with 
 drunkards, with impostors, etc. 'I will harass the 
 Chapter,' he shouted, 'I will dirty it; I will teach them 
 to talk less of me; I will cover them, yes, sir, I will 
 cover them with . . . .' And you may guess, uncle, 
 with what His Eminence wished to cover the canons. 
 And the poor man was right. Why should those in 
 
146 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 the choir interfere with this way or that way that Don 
 Sebastian lives, or if he has those bonds or others? 
 Does not he let them live as they choose? Does he 
 ever say a word to them about their scandalous visits, 
 although all Toledo knows of them?" 
 "And what do the canons say about the cardinal?" 
 "They say Juanito is his grandson, and that his 
 father, who died, and who passed as nephew of His 
 
 - Eminence, was really his son by a certain lady when he 
 was bishop in Andalusia. But this does not seem 
 to irritate Don Sebastian much; but what does irritate 
 him and makes him behave like a fiend is when they 
 
 f speak of Dona Visitacion." 
 ! "And who is that lady?" 
 
 ' "Come, that is good! You do not know Dona 
 Visitacion? When no one inside the Cathedral or 
 out of it can speak of anybody else? She is the 
 niece of Don Sebastian, who lives with him in the 
 palace. It is she who rules everything, and Don 
 Sebastian, who is so terrible with everyone else, 
 becomes like an angel when he sees her. He rages 
 and screams and bites the days when he is ill, but if 
 Dona Visita appears, he controls himself at once; he 
 suffers in silence, moans like a child, and it is sufficient 
 for her to say a soft word, or give him a caress for 
 His Eminence to slobber with delight. He loves her 
 dearly." 
 "But what is she?" asked Gabriel withJnterest. 
 "Clearly she is what you think. What else could 
 she be? She was from her childhood in the college 
 for noble ladies, and as soon as the cardinal came to 
 Toledo he took her out, and brought her to the palace. 
 What a blind infatuation is Don Sebastian's ! And the 
 thing is, the object is hardly worth it — a very thin, pale 
 little girl, with large eyes and a soft skin; that is all. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 147 
 
 They say she sings, and plays the piano, and reads and 
 knows a great many things that they teach in that 
 wealthy college, and by God's grace can keep His 
 Eminence in order. She comes sometimes into the 
 Cathedral by the arch, dressed as a beatita with the 
 habit and mantilla, accompanied by a very ugly 
 servant." 
 
 "She cannot be what you think, youngster." 
 
 "Go on; all the Chapter affirm it, and even the most 
 steady canons thoroughly believe it. Even those who 
 are friends and favourites of His Eminence, and carry 
 him tales about all the grumbling against him, do not 
 deny it with any warmth. And Don Sebastian gets 
 angry, and is furious each time any murmurs about this 
 reach his ears. If they told him the choir intended to 
 give a dance he would be less irritated than when he 
 hears them wag their tongues about Dona Visita." 
 
 The Perrero was silent for a few moments as though 
 he were doubtful about saying something serious. 
 
 "The lady is very good and kind. They all love her 
 in the palace because she speaks so gently. Besides, she 
 makes use of the great power she has over the cardinal 
 to prevent the violence oi His Eminence, who very 
 often, when he is racked with excessive pain, would 
 throw cups and plates at the heads of his servants. 
 Why should they interfere with her? Does she do 
 them any harm? Let everyone do as he likes in his 
 own house, and he who does evil, let God punish him." 
 
 He scratched his head as though he were once more 
 doubtful. 
 
 "And as to what Doiia Visita is to the Cardinal," 
 he added, "I have no doubt whatever. I have facts to 
 go on, uncle, and I know how they live. One of the 
 servants has often seen them kissing — ^that is to say, not 
 the two kissing. No, she does the kissing, and Don 
 
148 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 Sebastian receives her kittenish ways with the smile of 
 an angel. The poor man is so old!" 
 
 And the Tato ended his confidences with various 
 indecent remarks. 
 
 All this grumbling against the cardinal, that came from 
 the sacristy up to the cloister, annoyed Gabriel's brother 
 greatly. The "Wooden Staff," who was a staunch 
 private soldier of the Church, could not bear to hear 
 with equanimity those attacks on his superiors; in his 
 opinion they were all calumnies. The canons had 
 spoken of all the preceding archbishops precisely as 
 they now spoke of Don Sebastian, but this did not in 
 the least prevent their all being called saints after their 
 deaths. When he discovered the Tato repeating in 
 the Claverias all the gossip from down below, he 
 threatened him with all his authority as head of the 
 house. 
 
 Esteban was also very much concerned at the state 
 of his brother's health. He was pleased at the very 
 prudent behaviour of the latter, who conformed with 
 silent respect to all the customs of the Cathedral, never 
 permitting a word to escape him that could reveal his 
 past; he felt beyond measure proud of the atmosphere 
 of admiration that surrounded his brother, and the 
 attention with which the simple inhabitants of the 
 cloister listened to the account of his travels, but the 
 state of his health was a continual anxiety, the certainty 
 that death had laid its hand upon him, and that it was 
 solely the care with which he was surrounded that 
 retarded the fatal moment. 
 
 There were days in which the Silenciario smiled with 
 pleasure, seeing Gabriel a better colour, and hearing less 
 frequently his painful cough. 
 
 "You are going on well, brother," he would say 
 joyfully. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 149 
 
 "Yes," replied Gabriel, "but do not have any illu- 
 sions. That will come at its own hour, it has me in its 
 grasp. It is only you who are holding it back,J)ut one 
 day it will be stronger than you." 
 
 The certainty that death would at last be victorious 
 made Esteban redouble his efforts. He thought that 
 frequent nourishment was the only remedy, and he 
 scarcely ever approached Gabriel without something in 
 his hands. 
 
 "Eat this. Drink what I bring you." 
 
 He struggled valiantly with that broken constitution, 
 with that stomach disordered by poverty, with those 
 lacerated lungs and with that heart subject to constant 
 disturbance of its functions, with that human machine 
 dislocated by a life of suffering and trials. 
 
 The constant watching over the sick man had upset 
 Esteban's economic life; his miserable -wages and the 1 
 poor assistance the Chapel-master could give were / 
 insufficient even for that extra mouth, which consumed 
 more than all the others in the household put together. 
 At the end of the month Esteban was obliged to invoke 
 the aid of Silver Stick to enable him to get along th^ 
 last few days, entering thus into the humble and 
 miserable flock bound by the priest's usury. Some- 
 times the Chapel-master, waking for an instant to 
 reality, would give him a few pesetas, sacrificing the 
 joy of obtaining a fresh score. 
 
 Gabriel guessed the privations that his brother under- 
 went, and was anxious to contribute to the expenses of 
 the little household. But what work could he obtain 
 in his concealment in the Cathedral? He wished for 
 some post in the service of the church, in order to 
 receive at the beginning of every month a few pesetas 
 from the hands of Silver Stick; but all the posts were 
 occupied, death alone could cause a vacancy, and there 
 
ISO THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 were many eager ones watching for the opportunity to 
 urge their family claims. 
 
 The impossibility of being useful to his brother, of 
 
 helping to make his sacrifices less expensive, weighed 
 
 heavily on Gabriel, and disturbed the otherwise placid 
 
 monotony of his life. He inquired of Esteban as to 
 
 ! what he could possibly do, not to remain inactive, but 
 
 >, his brother always answered with his kindly expression : 
 
 / "Take care of yourself, only take care of yourself; 
 
 you have no other duty but to look after your own 
 
 health, I am here to do all the rest." 
 
 When Holy Week came round Gabriel found an 
 opportunity of getting a few days' work. They were 
 going to put up in the Cathedral the famous "Monu- 
 ment" between the choir and the Puerta del Perdon. 
 It was a heavy and complicated erection, of a sumptuous 
 and rococo style, which had cost the second Cardinal 
 de Bourbon a fortune at the beginning of last century. 
 A real forest of woodwork formed the basis of the 
 monument; the riches of the cardinal had created a 
 prodigality of solidity and sumptuousness, and several 
 days were required to fit together the Holy Catafalque, 
 and not a few workmen. 
 
 Gabriel interviewed Don Antolin asking for a place on 
 the works. The wages were seven reals a day, which 
 he would be able to give his brother for two weeks ; and 
 he, who had been used in former days to have his work 
 so lavishly paid, accepted this small daily wage as a 
 piece of unexpected good fortune. 
 
 The "Wooden Staff" was indignant. Gabriel was ill 
 and ought not to risk his poor health in the fatigues of 
 this work. What was he going to do, coughing and 
 suffocating every moment? How was he going to under- 
 take the heavy work of carrying the framework and 
 fixing it together? The invalid tranquillised him. He 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 151 
 
 knew what those works were in the church; everything 
 was done with parsimony, but without much regard to 
 time. The workmen in the service of the church worked 
 with that calm laziness, and that slow prudence 
 which characterised every act of religion. Besides, Silver 
 Stick, knowing his condition, would reserve the least 
 heavy work for him; he could fix screws and 
 bolts, place the candelabra in line on the steps, and 
 arrange the tapestry; he trusted him as a man of 
 good taste who had seen much in his travels. 
 
 Gabriel worked for two weeks on the monument. This 
 time of relative activity seemed to give him a certain 
 amount of relief. He moved about, intent on giving 
 orders to his fellow-workers; he went from the church 
 to the top of the Qaverias, where the monument was 
 stored, and seeing himself covered with dust, and with 
 his limbs fatigued by the constant coming and going, he 
 deluded himself into thinking he was strong again. 
 
 During these two weeks he never went to the shoe- 
 maker's house, and so lost sight of his various friends. 
 The bell-ringer and his friends were lost in astonishment. 
 A man of so much learning, to work like one of them- 
 selves in order to help his brother! 
 
 The Seiiora Tomasa stopped him one morning by the 
 iron railing of the garden. 
 
 "I have news, Gabriel. I think I know where our 
 child is. I won't say any more ; but be ready to help me. 
 The day when you least expect it you may see her in 
 the Cathedral." 
 
 The erection of the monument was finished. All that 
 part of the church between the choir and the door del 
 Perdon was occupied by this showy and ponderous 
 fabric. According to their traditional custom all the 
 Toledans gathered to admire — ^the steps covered with 
 rows of burning lights, the Roman legionaries in 
 
152 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 i 
 
 alabaster leaning on their lances, and the rich curtain 
 with its innumerable folds that hung from the vaulting 
 down to the platform of the monument. 
 
 On the evening of Holy Thursday Gabriel stood con- 
 sidering what was in some sense his work, surrounded 
 by a group of worshippers. The Cathedral shone with 
 its immaculate whiteness, in spite of the black veils 
 that covered both statues and altars. The clouds of 
 colour from the lovely rose windows relieved the 
 funereal aspect of the religious ceremony, while from 
 the choir a tenor voice intoned the lamentations of the 
 oriental prophet. 
 
 Gabriel felt someone pulling his jacket, and turning, 
 saw the gardener's widow. 
 
 "Come, nephew, we have got her here; she is waiting 
 >for you in the cloister." 
 
 Coming out, the Seiiora Tomasa pointed to a woman 
 sitting crouched on the stone coping of the garden, 
 wrapped in an old cloak, and with the headkerchief 
 drawn down over her eyes. 
 
 Gabriel would never have recognised her. He remem- 
 bered the pretty smiling face of former years, and he 
 looked almost with horror at the tarnished youth, 
 haggard with prominent cheek-bones, of the face before 
 him. The eyes deep sunk in the sockets without eye- 
 brows or eyelashes, with the pupils still beautiful, but 
 dulled with a glassy opacity. Everything about her 
 revealed poverty and desolation ; the dress was a summer 
 one, and from under it showed her split boots much too 
 large for her feet. 
 
 "Salute him, child," said the old woman. "It is your 
 Uncle Gabriel, one of God's angels, in spite of his 
 misfortunes, and you owe it to him that we searched 
 for you." 
 
 The gardener's widow pushed Sagrario towards her 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 153 
 
 uncle, but the young woman lowered her head, moved 
 her shoulders and drew back, as though she could not 
 endure the presence of a member of her family; she 
 covered her face with her wretched cloak to hide her 
 tears. 
 
 "Aunt, let us go home," said Gabriel, "it is not good 
 for the child to be here." 
 
 At the cloister staircase they made the young woman 
 pass on in front; she went up with her head bent and 
 without looking, as though her feet trod those broken 
 steps instinctively. 
 
 "We arrived from Madrid this morning," said the 
 gardener's widow as they went up. "I kept her at an 
 inn till it was time to bring her to the Cathedral in the 
 evening. It is the best time, for Esteban is in the choir, 
 and you will have time to settle things here. I spent 
 three days there. Ay, Gabriel, my son, what things I 
 have seen, what hells there are for poor women! and 
 we call ourselves Christians, but I think we are fiends! 
 Mercifully I had friends at court — some old bell-ringers 
 who had been in the Cathedral and who remembered 
 the gardener's widow. I wanted everything, even 
 money, to get this unhappy girl out of the devil's 
 clutches." 
 
 The upper cloister was quite deserted. On arriving 
 at the door of the Lunas the girl seemed to wake up, 
 and drew quickly back with a look of terror, as though 
 inside the "habitacion" some great danger was awaiting 
 her. 
 
 "Go in, woman, go in," said the aunt; "it is your 
 home. You had to come back some time or other." 
 
 And she pushed her till~she was lliruiigh the door. 
 Once inside the sitting-room her tears ceased; she 
 looked round with astonishment, no doubt surprised at 
 finding herself there. Her eyes examined everything 
 
154 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAi: 
 
 with a sort of stupefaction, as though marvelling that 
 everything should be in the same place as five years 
 before, and with an exactitude that made her doubt if 
 such a long time had really elapsed. Nothing seemed 
 changed in that little world under the shadow of the 
 Cathedral. She only, who had left it in the bloom of 
 her youth, now returned aged and broken. 
 
 There was a long silence between the three people. 
 
 "Your room, Sagrario," said Gabriel at last gently, 
 "is the same as when you left it. Go in and do not come 
 out till I call you. Be calm and do not cry; trust me. 
 You do not know me well, but the aunt will have told 
 you that I am interested in your fate. Your father will 
 soon be coming; hide yourself and be silent. I repeat 
 it again, do not come out till I call you." 
 
 When the old woman and her nephew were alone 
 they could hear the girl's suffocating sobs that burst out 
 on seeing her old room. Afterwards they heard a sound 
 as though she were throwing herself on the bed, and the 
 violence of her grief seemed to become more and more 
 uncontrolled. 
 
 "Poor child!" said the old woman, who was very 
 nearly crying also, "she is good, and she has repented 
 of her sins ; if- only her father had sought her out when 
 that rascal deserted her, what shame and misery it 
 would have spared her. And her health? I really 
 think she is worse than you are, Gabriel. Oh, those 
 men! with their honour which is nothing more than 
 lies! What is honourable is to be charitable and com- 
 passionate to others, and to harm no one. I said this 
 the other day when I was shocked at the shamelessness 
 of my son-in-law, who was furious at my going to 
 Madrid to find the child. He spoke of the honour of the 
 family, and that if Sagrario returned no decent people 
 could live in the Cathedral, and that he could not allow 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL l$$ 
 
 his daughter to stand at the door; and he such a thief 
 that he stea,Is the Virgin's, wax every day, and deceives 
 the 8evout who pay him for masses that are never said ; 
 that is why his skin shines so and he is so fat. With so 
 much honour." 
 
 After a short silence the old woman looked undecid- 
 edly at Gabriel. 
 
 "Well, shall we begin the struggle? Shall I call 
 Esteban?" 
 
 "Yes, call him, he will be in the Cathedral. And 
 you, shall you dare to be present at the interview ?" 
 
 "No, son, manage it yourself. You know Esteban, 
 and you know me. I should either begin to cry, or I 
 should turn and rend him for his obstinacy. You will 
 manage better by yourself, for this God has given you 
 those talents that you have used so badly." 
 
 The old woman went away, and Gabriel remained 
 alone for more than half an hour, looking out of a 
 window into the deserted cloister. The yearly com- 
 memoration of the death of God spread in the priestly 
 tribe on the roofs, an atmosphere of sadness even more 
 marked than that inside the church. All the women 
 and children of the Qaverias were down below admir- 
 ing the monument, the "habitacions" seemed quite 
 deserted. As he sat Gabriel saw his brother pass by 
 the window, and in another moment he appeared at 
 the door. 
 
 "What do you want, Gabriel? What has happened 
 to you? The aunt frightened me with her summons. 
 Are you worse ?" 
 
 "Sit down, Esteban. I am well, calm yourself." 
 
 The "Wooden Staff" looked with surprise at Gabriel; 
 his strange seriousness alarmed him and the prolonged 
 silence in which he appeared to be arranging his 
 thoughts without knowing where to begin. 
 
IS6 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "Speak, man! Do make a beginning; you alarm me." 
 
 "Brother," said Gabriel gravely, "you know very 
 ■well that I have respected the mystery in your life 
 that I found on my return here. You said to me, 'My 
 daughter is dead,' and you never showed any wish to 
 speak of her, and you can say if I have ever touched 
 your old wound by the slightest allusion." 
 
 "Well, and what then? When are you going to 
 stop?" said Esteban, becoming very gloomy; "why do 
 you speak to me on a day so holy of things that cause 
 me so much pain?" 
 
 "Esteban, we shall never understand each other if 
 you hold on to your prejudices. Do not make that 
 gesture, but listen to me calmly; do not act like an 
 automaton, pulled by the same wires that moved our 
 grandfathers and our ancestors. Be a man, and act 
 according to your own thoughts. You and I have 
 different beliefs. Setting aside religion whiGh-Usnow is 
 a consolation to you, you know that I am silent as to 
 mine, so as not to render my life here impossible. But 
 apart from this, you believe that the family is a work 
 of God, an institution of supernatural origin. I believe 
 it to be a human institution based on the necessities of 
 the species. You condemn for ever anyone who betrays 
 the laws of the family, or who deserts his banner, you 
 sentence him to death and oblivion. I pity his weakness 
 and forgive. We understand honour from a different 
 point of view. You believe in th e Castillian honour — 
 that traditional and barbarousTionour, more cruel and 
 dismal even than dishonour; a theatrical .honour, whose 
 impulses are never founded oTrtruman feeling, but on the 
 fear of what others will say, the desire to appear 
 greater and more dignified in the eyes of others than to 
 your own conscience. For the adulterous wjfe, death; 
 for the murderer, revenge; for the fugitive daughter, 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 157 
 
 contempt and forgetfulness ; this is your gospel. I 
 have another standard; for the wife who forgets her 
 duties, contempt and oblivion; for that fragment of 
 our own flesh who flies from us, love, support, gentle- 
 ness, even endeavouring to compass her return to us. 
 Esteban, we are separated by our beliefs, the gulf of 
 centuries lies between us, but you are my brother, we 
 love each other, and I only desire your good. I bear 
 the same name of which you are so proud, and I loved 
 our poor parents as much as you could love them, and 
 in the name of all these I tell you that this situation 
 must come to an end; you must not live insensible and 
 frozen in what you call your dignity, without the 
 remembrance of your daughter wandering about the 
 world, troubling you. You, who are so kind, who have 
 sheltered me in the most difficult crisis of my life, how 
 can you sleep, how can you eat, without your life being 
 embittered by the remembrance of your lost daughter? 
 What do you know about her now? May she not be 
 dying of hunger while you eat? May she not be lying 
 in a hospital while you are living in the home of your 
 fathers?" 
 
 Esteban's brow contracted, and he wore his gloomiest 
 look as he listened to his brother. 
 
 "It is useless for you to strive, Gabriel, nothing can 
 come of it. Have I denied you anything? Am I not 
 ready to do anything for my brother? But do not speak 
 to me of that; she has caused me much pain, she has 
 broken my life, how I did not die, I know not. Haves, 
 you thought well that for centuries the family of the ^ 
 Lunas have been the mirror of the Cathedral, respected 
 by even the archbishops, and now, suddenly to find 
 oneself among the lowest, ejcposed to the ridicule of all ) 
 and looked upon with compassion by the veriest little I 
 acolyte! What I have suffered! The times I have ) 
 
iS8 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 wept with rage alone in this home, hearing what they 
 were saying behind my back. And then," he added 
 quietly as though grief were paralysing his voice, 
 "there was that unhappy martyr who died of shame; 
 my poor wife who left the world so as not to see my 
 grief and the contempt of others ! And do you wish me 
 to forget all this? For the rest, Gabriel, I cannot 
 express what I feel as well as you do. But honour — ^is 
 honour. It is to live in my house without fear of being 
 shamed, to sleep at night without fearing to see in the 
 darkness our father's eyes, asking why I allow a lost 
 woman to live under the same roof that the Lunas won 
 for themselves by centuries of service to the house of 
 God; it is to avoid people mocking at our family. Let 
 them say, 'Those Lunas! how unfortunate they are,' 
 but they shall never say the Lunas are a family wanting 
 in shame. By our love, brother, leave me ; do not speak 
 to me of this. Those evil doctrines have poisoned your 
 mind; not only have you ceased to believe in God, but 
 you have ceased to believe in honour." 
 
 "And what is all this?" said Gabriel, warming. 
 "You yourself do not know. 'Honour is honour.' Well, 
 I say, children are children. You, man of prejudices, 
 you do not wait to consider that those beings are the 
 continuation of our own existence. Your reli^on 
 makes you think children are a fruit from God, never- 
 theless you think yourself better and more perfect when 
 you reject and curse those gifts of Heaven if they 
 cause you any trouble. No, Esteban, the love of 
 children and pity for their faults ought to come before 
 all prejudices. This eternal life of the soul, that lying 
 promise -oljifiligiQn;' i,s„Qnly. true -thrxj ugh our child ren. 
 The soul dies with the body; it is no more than a 
 manifestation of our own thoughts, and thought is a 
 cerebral function, but children perpetuate our own 
 
THE, SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 159 
 
 being throughout the generations and the centuries; it 
 is they who make us immortal, and that preserve and 
 transmit something of our personality, even as we have 
 inherited something from our ancestors. He who 
 forgets those beings who are his own creation is more 
 worthy of execration than he who leaves life by suicide. 
 The disappointments of life, the laws and customs 
 invented by men, what are they before the instinctive 
 affection we feel for beings that have proceeded from 
 ourselves, and who perpetuate the infinite variety of 
 oiir habits and thoughts? I abhor those wretches who, 
 in order not to disturb the commonplace peace of 
 matrimony, abandon the children they have outside 
 the house. Paternity is the most noble of all animal 
 functions, but the animals have more courage and 
 dignity than man in fulfilling it. No animal of the 
 higher sort abandons or disowns its cub, and yet there 
 are many men who turn their backs on their children 
 for fear of what people will say. If I, having a son, 
 were enamoured of the most beautiful woman in the 
 world, and she required me to forget that son, I would 
 stifle my passion sooner than abandon the little one. 
 If my son sinned against every human law, and was 
 sent to prison, even there would I follow him, defying 
 the execration of the world, sooner than deny that he 
 is my work. We are united for ever to the creatures 
 to whom we give life, it is a compromise of solidarity 
 that we make with the species when we work for its 
 continuance. He who breaks the chain and 'flies is a 
 coward." 
 
 "You will not convince me, Gabriel," screamed 
 Esteban. "I will not!— I will not!" 
 
 "I repeat it is cowardly on your part. This honour 
 that weighs so heavily on you is a cruel and antiquated 
 honour that settles all the conflicts of life by shedding 
 
i6o THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 blood. Why do you not seek the man who stole your 
 daughter? Why do you not kill him like a father in an 
 old play? Is it because you are a fearful man and 
 have not learnt the art of murder, and that arms are 
 his profession? If you had taken lawless vengeance, 
 relying only on what you think your right, his powerful 
 family would have retaliated on you ; but you have not 
 revenged yourself through an instinct of self-preserva- 
 tion, through fear of prison and all the punishments 
 invented by society; you have been afraid in spite of 
 your anger, and this fear you indulge at the expense of 
 cruelty to the weaker creat ure. Your an p;eronlv ialls 
 on yotir~daugfeer. Come, Esteban, this is not worthy 
 of a man." 
 
 The "Wooden Staff" shook his head obstinately. 
 
 "You will not convince me, I do not wish to hear 
 you. That woman shall not return here; did she not 
 leave me? Let her follow her own path." 
 
 "She left you from impulses of that instinct which 
 all healthy beings possess. That instinct for the pre- 
 servation of the species, which poetry beautifies and 
 which it calls 'Love.' If she had left you after receiv- 
 ing the blessing of a man before an altar, you would 
 have been delighted, and would have received her with 
 open arms whenever she came to see you. She left you 
 to be deceived, to fall into misery and shame, and, 
 seeing her so unhappy, does she not deserve more pity 
 at your hands than if you saw her living happily? 
 Reflect, Esteban, on the way in which your poor 
 daughter fell. What had you taught her to enable her 
 to defend herself from the evil in the world ? How was 
 she armed to preserve intact what you call honour? 
 You and your wife had set her the example of the re- 
 spect due to wealth and high birth by allowing that 
 young man to come to your house, thinking it an honour 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL: i6i 
 
 that a gentleman should have fallen in love with your 
 daughter. When the inevitable results of social in- 
 equality came about she could not give him up; she 
 had one of those noble natures that rise in revolt 
 against the prejudices of the world, even at the risk of 
 suffering all the bitterness of their rebellion, and she fell 
 vanquished. Whom can you blame ? Her ignorance, her 
 life of isolation from the world, or yourselves who 
 never taught her better, and who, blinded by ambition, 
 let her wander to the edge of the precipice? Blame 
 her less than anybody. Unhappy girl! She has, paid 
 with interest her noble defiance of social prejudices. 
 She has been vanquished in the social fight — a corpse 
 that has to be buried ; and you, her father, ought to be 
 the one to fulfil that work of mercy." 
 
 Esteban, with his head bent, continued to make 
 gestures of refusal. 
 
 "Brother," said Gabriel solemnly; "if you hold 
 tenaciously to your refusal I have only one thing more 
 to say. If your daughter does not return here, I must 
 go. Everyone has his scruples; you fear the gossip of 
 the people; I fear myself and what my thoughts can 
 throw in my face in my solitary moments. Since I 
 have been your guest I have thought constantly of your 
 daughter, and ever since I have known what happened 
 in this house I have proposed to myself that the unhappy 
 victim should return here. You will not let her return? 
 Well then, I niust go. I should be a thief if I ate your \y 
 bread while a creature who is flesh of your flesh suffers 
 hunger, or if I should be nursed in my illness while she, 
 who is possibly worse than I am, has no friendly hand 
 to comfort her. If she does not return, I am not your 
 brother, but an intruder, usurping the share of affection 
 and comfort that ought to fall to her. Brother, every- 
 one has his own code of morality; yours is taught by 
 
i62 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 the priests, mine I have made for myself, and though it 
 is less apparent, it may very likely be more strict. In 
 the name of my morality I say to you, Esteban, my 
 brother, either your daughter returns here or I go away. 
 I must return to the world to be persecuted like a wild 
 beast, to the hospital, to the prison, to die like a dog in 
 the ditch by the roadside. I do not know what will 
 become of me, but one thing is certain, it is that I 
 shall go to-morrow, or even to-day, so as not to enjoy a 
 moment more what is not mine. I, who consider the 
 ;•" appropriation of the goods of the world by a privileged 
 minority as an iniquitous robbery, cannot enjoy know- 
 ingly the comforts that belong by natural right to an- 
 other unhappy being. I can only enjoy them sharing 
 *~^; them with her." 
 
 Esteban had risen to his feet with a gesture of despair. 
 
 "Are you mad, Gabriel? Do you wish to leave me? 
 And you say it so calmly? Your presence here is the 
 only joy of my life after so many misfortunes. I am 
 accustomed to see you. I must care for you, you 
 are my whole family; before I had no interest, I lived 
 without hope. Now I have one, to see you strong and 
 well, and can you say so carelessly that you will leave 
 me? No, you shall not go — only this was wanting to 
 me — after the daughter, the brother; kill me once for 
 all !— Lord God, take me to Thyself !" 
 
 And the simple servant of the Church raised his 
 hands in supplication while his eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "Be calm, Esteban. Let us speak like men, without 
 exclamations and tears. Look at me, I am calm, but 
 do not think for that it is less certain that I shall go 
 to-day if you do not grant me what I pray." 
 
 "But — and she? Where is she that you plead so 
 earnestly for her?" said Esteban. "Have you seen 
 her and spoken to her? Is she in Toledo? Have you 
 
THE SHADOW DF THE CATHEDRAL 163 
 
 with the insolence of your unbelief even brought her into 
 the Cathedral?" 
 
 Gabriel, seeing him tearful and broken by his threat 
 of leaving, thought the decisive moment had ar- 
 rived, and opening the door of Sagrario's room he 
 called : 
 
 "Come out, child, ask your father's pardon." 
 
 He looked astounded, then he fixed his eyes on 
 Gabriel as though he could not guess who that woman 
 was. What joke had his brother prepared? 
 
 With a brutal impulse he tore the woman's hands 
 from her face, looking at her earnestly ; even so he did 
 not recognise her. In the midst of a painful silence he 
 stood a long while looking at her. Little by little, in 
 that face so altered by illness, he began to trace the well- 
 known features. In the tearful eyes devoid of eyelashes 
 something reminded him of the blue eyes of the lost 
 daughter. The discoloured lips, surrounded by deep 
 lines, quivered painfully, murmuring always the same 
 word: 
 
 "Pardon! pardon!" 
 
 At the sight of such a wreck the father felt his 
 courage fail; his eyes expressed an immense, an over- 
 whelming sadness. 
 
 He retreated "backwards to the door of the "habita- 
 cion," followed by the young woman, dragging herself 
 on her knees and stretching out her hands. 
 
 "Brother, it is well," he said despairingly; "you are 
 stronger than I am, let your will, be accomplished. Let 
 her remain, as you wish it, but do not let me see her !— 
 remain, both of you. It is I that will go." 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 The sewing machine clicked from early morning till 
 night in the house of the Lunas. This and the hammer- 
 ing of the shoemaker were the only sounds of work that 
 disturbed the holy silence of the upper cloister. 
 
 When Gabriel left his bed at sunrise, after a night of 
 painful coughing, he would find Sagrario already in the 
 entrance room preparing her machine for the day's 
 work. From the day following that of her return to 
 the Cathedral she had devoted herself to work with 
 sullen silence as a means of returning unnoticed to the 
 Claverias, trusting that the people would forgive her 
 past. The gardener's widow procured her work, and 
 so the sound of the stitching was continually heard in 
 the old "habitacion," accompanied very often by melo- 
 dies from the Chapel-master's harmonium. 
 
 The "Wooden Staff" moved about his house like a 
 shadow. He remained continually in the Cathedral or 
 in the lower cloister, only coming up to the "habita- 
 cion" when it was absolutely necessary. He ate his 
 meals with his head bent, in order not to look at his 
 daughter, who was seated opposite to him at the other 
 end of the table, ready to burst into tears at the sight 
 of her father before her. A painful silence oppressed 
 the family. Don Luis being so absent-minded, seemed 
 the only one not to perceive the situation, and chatted 
 gaily with Gabriel about his hopes and his musical en- 
 thusiasms. Everything seemed to him quite natural; 
 
 164 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 165^ 
 
 nothing disturbed him, and the return of Sagrario to the 
 family hearth had not caused him the slightest surprise. 
 
 When dinner was over Esteban fled, not to return to 
 the house till night-time ; after supper he locked himself 
 into his own room, leaving his brother and his daughter 
 in possession of the entrance sitting-room. The machine 
 began to work again, and Don Luis fingered his har- 
 monium till nine o'clock, when Silver Stick locked the 
 tower staircase, rattling his bunch of keys with a noise 
 that equalled a curfew. Gabriel felt indignant at his 
 brother's obstinacy. 
 
 "You will kill the child; what you are doing is un- 
 worthy of a father." 
 
 "I cannot help it, brother; it is impossible for me to 
 look at her. It is sufficient for me to tolerate such 
 things in the house. Ay ! if you could only tell how the 
 people's looks wound me!" 
 
 In reality the scandal produced by the return of 
 Sagrario to the Claverias had been much less than he 
 had feared. She seemed so ill and so weary that none 
 of the women felt any animosity against her, and the 
 energetic protection of her Aunt Tomasa imposed re- 
 spect. Besides, those simple women of instinctive pas- 
 sions could not now feel towards her that hostile envy 
 that her beauty and the cadet's courtship had formerly 
 inspired. Even Mariquita, Silver Stick's niece, found a 
 certain salve to her vanity in protecting with disdainful 
 tolerance that unhappy girl who in former days had 
 attracted the attention of every man who visited the 
 upper cloister. 
 
 Curiosity only disturbed the calm of the Claverias for 
 about a week. Little by little the women ceased to stand 
 about the Luna's door to watch Sagrario bending over 
 her machine, and the girl quietly continued her sad and 
 hard-working life. 
 
i66 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 Gabriel seldom left the "habitacion." He spent whole 
 days by the young woman's side, endeavouring by his 
 presence to atone for the hostile aloofness of her father. 
 It pained him that she should find herself so despised 
 and solitary in her own house. Every now and then the 
 Aunt Tomasa came to see them, enlivening them with 
 the optimism of her happy old age. She was pleased 
 with her niece's conduct; to work hard so as not to be 
 a drag on her obstinate old father, and to help towards 
 the maintenance of the house, was clearly what was 
 required; but all the same there was no reason she 
 should kill herself with work — calm and good humour, 
 this bad time would lead to a better; she was there to 
 get things straight with that fiend-possessed Gabriel, and 
 she made the gloomy "habitacion" ring with her healthy 
 laugh and lively words. 
 
 At other times Gabriel's friends would invade the 
 house, abandoning the assemblies at the shoemaker's. 
 They could not bear Luna's absence, they wanted to hear 
 him, to consult him, and even the shoemaker when his 
 work was not urgent would leave his bench and, smelling 
 of paste, with his apron tucked into his belt and his 
 head rolled up in striped handkerchiefs, would come and 
 sit by Sagrario's machine. 
 
 The young woman fixed her sad eyes with admiration 
 on her uncle. She had always from her childhood 
 heard her parents speak with respect of that extraor- 
 dinary relative who was travelling in foreign countries; 
 she vaguely remembered him as a shadow crossing her 
 love dream when he had spent a few days in the 
 Cathedral before establishing himself in Barcelona, 
 astonishing them all by the accounts of his travels and 
 his foreign customs. Now she returned to find him 
 aged, as sickly as herself, but influencing all who sur- 
 rounded him by the mysterious power of his words, 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 167 
 
 that were like heavenly music to those poor narrow- 
 minded souls. 
 
 In the midst of her sadness Sagrario had no other 
 pleasure but to listen to her uncle ; she felt the same as 
 did those simple men who left their work to seek Luna 
 in their anxiety to hear fresh things from his lips. 
 Gabriel was the modem world that for so many years 
 had rolled on far from the Cathedral, never touching 
 it, but which had at last entered in to stir and awaken 
 a handful of men who were still living in the sixteenth 
 century. 
 
 The appearance o£ Sagrario had brought about a 
 change in Luna's life; he became more communicative, 
 and he lost a great deal of the reserve he had imposed 
 upon himself when he took refuge in the stony lap of 
 the church. He no longer forced himself to keep silence 
 and to hide his thoughts; the presence of a woman 
 seemed to enliven him "and 'wake~oncQnore~his jgro 
 gandist fervour. His companions saw a new Gabriel — 
 more loquacious and more disposed to communicate to 
 them the "new things," that were already upheaving the 
 traditional course of their thoughts, and that even now 
 had on many nights disturbed their sleep. 
 
 They talked, discussed and consulted Luna, so that 
 he could clear their confused ideas, and above the 
 voices of the men sounded the continual click, click of 
 the sewing machine, always busy, like an echo of the 
 universal work surging in the world, while the calm of 
 the Infinite spread itself through the precincts of the 
 church. 
 
 All those men, accustomed to the slow, regular, quiet 
 duties of the church, with long periods of rest, admired 
 the nervous activity of Sagrario. 
 
 "You will kill yourself, child," said the old organ- 
 blower. "I know very well what it is like, I have ^one 
 
i68 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 something of the same sort; I blow and blow at those 
 bellows, and when it is a mass with much music, such 
 as Don Luis loves, I end by cursing the organ and him 
 who invented it, for indeed it nearly breaks my arms." 
 
 "Work!" said the bell-ringer with emphasis. "Work 
 is a punishment from God! You all know its origin. 
 It was the eternal penalty imposed on our first parents 
 by the Lord when He drove them out of Paradise. It 
 is a chain that we must drag on for ever." 
 
 "No, s^nor," replied the shoemaker. "As I have 
 read in the newspapers, work is the greatest of all the 
 virtues, not a punishment; laziness is the mother of 
 vice, and work is a virtue. Is it not so, Don 
 Gabriel?" 
 
 The shoemaker looked at the master, watching for his 
 words as a thirsty man looks for water. 
 
 "Work," said Gabriel, "is neither a punishment nor 
 a virtue; it is a hard law to which we have to submit 
 for self-preservation and for the welfare of the species. 
 Without work life could not exist." 
 
 And with the same fervid enunciation with which he 
 had in former times swayed the multitude at those 
 meetings of protest against society, he explained to this 
 half-dozen men and the quiet sewer, who stopped her 
 machine to listen, the greatness of universal work, which 
 every day laboured on the earth, to subdue it and force 
 it to yield sustenance for man. 
 
 It was a struggle the whole twenty-four hours against 
 the blind forces of Nature. The army of work extended 
 over the whole globe, exploring the continents, leaping 
 to the islands, sailing the seas, and descending to the 
 bowels of the earth. How many were its soldiers? 
 No one could count them — ^millions and millions. At 
 daybreak no one was absent from the roll-call; the 
 casualties were replaced, the gaps that poverty and 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL' 169 
 
 misfortune opened in the ranks were filled up imme- 
 diately. As soon as the sun rose the factory chimney 
 began to smoke, the hammer broke the stone, the file 
 bit the metal, the plough furrowed the earth, the ovens 
 were lighted, the pump worked its piston, the hatchet 
 ! sounded in the wood, the locomotive moved amidst 
 : clouds of vapour, the cranes groaned on the wharves, 
 the steamers cut the waters, and the little barks danced 
 on the waves dragging their nets. None were absent 
 from work's review. AH hurried on, driven by the fear 
 of hunger, defying danger, not knowing if they would 
 live till night, or if the sun rising over their heads 
 would be the last in their lives. And that daily con- 
 centration of human energies began with the first light 
 of day in all parts of the world, wherever men had 
 assembled and built towns and constituted societies, 
 or even in the deserts to be reclaimed by their 
 energies. 
 
 The stonemason breaks the stone with his hammer, 
 and at every breath is poisoned by inhaling the invisible 
 particles. The miner descends to the hell of modem 
 times with no other guide than the glimmer from his 
 lamp, to wrest from the strata of the earliest ages relics 
 of the earth's infancy, those carbonised trees that gave 
 shade to prehistoric animals. Far from the sun and far 
 from life, he defies death, just as the mason, poised on 
 a slight scaffolding despises giddiness, watched only by 
 the birds, surprised to see a creature without wings 
 perched on such a dizzy height. 
 
 The workman in the factory, changed by a fatal and 
 mistaken progress into a slave of machinery, lives fas- 
 tened to it like another wheel, a spring of human flesh, 
 struggling with his physical weariness against the iron 
 muscles that never tire; brutalised daily by the deafen- 
 ing cadence of pistons and wheels to give us the innum- 
 
I70 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRA!] 
 
 erable products of industry rendered necessary by the 
 life of civilisation. 
 
 And these millions and millions of men who support 
 the existence of society, who fight for it against the 
 blind and cruel forces of Na ture, who every morning 
 return to the struggle, seeing in this monotonous and 
 continual sacrifice the sole aim of their existence, form 
 the immense family of wage-earners, living on the sur- 
 plus of a privileged minority, contenting themselves to 
 subsist on the smallest part of what these reject, sub- 
 mitting to a wretched remuneration, always the lowest, 
 without hope of saving or of emancipation. 
 
 "It is this egotistical minority," said Gabriel, having 
 arrived at this point, "who have falsified truth, en- 
 deavouring to persuade the majority of workers that 
 work is a virtue, and that the only mission of man on 
 earth is to work till he perishes. This code, invented 
 by the great capitalists, misquotes science, declaring that 
 people can only live healthily who devote themselves 
 to wbrk, and that all inaction is fatal, but is silent as 
 to what science adds — that excessive work destroys 
 men with far greater rapidity than if they were living 
 in idleness. They say that work is a painful neces- 
 sity for the preservation of life, but they do not say it 
 is a virtue, because repose and sweet inaction are far 
 more grateful to men and to all animals than exertion 
 and fatigue. The fable of Paradise, the story of the 
 Biblical God imposing the sweat of labour as a punish- 
 ment in order to earn subsistence, shows that in all 
 times the natural temperament of mah considered rest 
 as the pleasantest condition, and that work must be 
 considered as an evil indispensable to life, but all the 
 same an evil. Ruled by the instinct of preservation, 
 man ought only to work just as much as is necessary for 
 food. But as the immense majority do not work fo^ 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 171 
 
 themselves alone, but for the profits of a minority of 
 employers, these require that a man should work as 
 much'aslie is able, even if he dies from his over-exer- 
 tion, and in this way they become rich, hoarding the sur- 
 plus from production. Their contention is that a man 
 should work more than is required for himself, that he 
 should produce more than is required for his own 
 necessities. In this surplus lies their wealth, and to 
 obtain it they have invented a monstrous and inhuman 
 morality, that by means of religion and even of philo- 
 sophy, glorifies work, saying that work is the greatest of 
 all virtues and idleness the source of all vices. And 
 this makes me ask, if idleness is a vice in the poor, how 
 is it that among the rich it is counted as a sign of dis- 
 tinction and even of elevation of mind? And if work is 
 the greatest of all virtues, how is it that capitalists 
 endeavour to amass wealth in order to free themselves 
 and their descendants from the practice of so great a 
 virtue? Why is it that this society which exalts work 
 with every sort of poetical conception relegates the 
 worker to the lowest rank? Why do they receive with 
 greater enthusiasm a soldier who has fought, more or 
 less, than an aged workman who has spent seventy 
 years working without any one praising him or being 
 grateful to him for so much virtue?" 
 
 The servants of the Cathedral nodded their heads, 
 assenting to what fell from the master; they looked up 
 to him as simple people always look up to those who 
 come down to them as apostles of a new idea. 
 
 The continual friction with Gabriel had caused to 
 germinate in their minds, stunted by the traditional 
 atmosphere, a growth of ideas, like the microscopic 
 mosses the winter rains had formed on the granite but- ': 
 tresses of the church. Hitherto they had lived resigned 
 to the life that surrounded them, moving like somnam- 
 
172 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 bulists on the undecided boundary which separates 
 soul from instinct, but the unexpected presence of 
 that fugitive from social battles was the impulse 
 that launched them into full thought, walking ten- 
 tatively and with no other light than that of their 
 master. 
 
 "You," went on Gabriel, "do not suffer from the 
 slavery of work like those who live among modem 
 factories. The Church does not require great exertions 
 from you, and the service of God does not destroy you 
 from over-fatigue, though it kijls you with hunger. 
 There exists a monstrous inequality between the salaries 
 of those down below who sit in^the choir and sing andi 
 what you earn, who lend to worship all the strength of 
 your arms. You will not die of fatigue, it is true ; many | 
 a workman in the towns would laugh at the lightness of 
 your duties; but you languish from poverty. I see in 
 this cloister the same anaemic children that I saw in 
 workmen's slums, I see what you eat and what you are 
 paid. The Church pays its servants as in the days of 
 faith; she believes that we still live in the times when 
 whole towns would throw themselves into the work 
 with the hope of gaining heaven, and would help to raise 
 cathedrals without any more positive recompense than 
 the workman's stew and the blessing of the bishop; and 
 all this while, you, beings of flesh who require nourish- 
 ment, deceive your stomachs and those of your wives 
 and children with potatoes and bread, while down below 
 those wooden images are covered with pearls and gold in 
 senseless profusion, and without its ever occurring to 
 you to ask yourselves why the idols who have no wants 
 should be so rich, while you are unable to satisfy your 
 own and live in misery." 
 
 The listeners looked at each other in astonishment, 
 as though these words were an illuminating flash. They 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 173 
 
 were doubtful for a moment as though frightened, and 
 then the faith of conviction illuminated their faces. 
 
 "It is true," said the bell-ringer in a gloomy 
 •tone. 
 
 "It is true," repeated the shoemaker, throwing into 
 his words all the bitterness of his grinding life of 
 poverty, with a constantly increasing family, and with 
 no other help but his inadequate work. 
 
 Sagrario remained silent. She did not understand 
 many of her uncle's sayings, but she received them all as 
 gospel coming from him, and they sounded in her ears 
 like delicious music. 
 
 Gabriel's reputation spread among the humble inhabi- 
 tants of the church, and all the servants of the Primacy 
 gossiped about his wisdom. The clergy took notice of 
 him, and more than once on rainy evenings the canon 
 librarian, taking his walk in the cloisters, tried to make 
 Gabriel talk; but the fugitive, with a remnant of pru- 
 dence, showed himself towards the cassocks, as they 
 themselves said, coldly courteous and reserved, fearing 
 that they would expel him if they became acquainted 
 with his views. 
 
 Only one priest of all those he saw in the upper 
 cloister had inspired him with any confidence. This 
 was a young man of wretched appearance, with worn,-,,'''' 
 'out clothes, a chaplain of one of the innumerable con- 
 vents of nuns in Toledo. He received seven duros a 
 month, which were all his means of supporting himself 
 and his old mother, a common peasant woman, who had 
 denied herself bread in order to give an education to her 
 son. 
 
 "You see, Gabriel," said the priest. "You see how 
 it is — such a great sacrifice to earn less than a common 
 labourer earns in my village. Why did they ordain me 
 with so much ceremony ? Was it for this I sang mass in 
 
174 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 the midst of so much pomp, as though in wedding the 
 Church I were uniting myself to wealth?" 
 
 His poverty made him the slave of Don Antolin, and 
 in the last third of the month he came almost every day 
 to the cloister, trying to soften Silver Stick with his 
 prayers and induce him to lend a few pesetas. He even 
 flattered Mariquita, who could not show herself shy with 
 him, in spite of his cassock. 
 
 "He has a very good appearance," she said to the 
 women of the Claverias with the enthusiasm inspired by 
 every man. "I like to see him by the side of Don Gabriel 
 and to hear them talk as they walk in the cloister. They 
 look like two great noblemen. His mother called him 
 Martin, no doubt because he resembled the Samt Martin 
 by that painter they call El Greco, that hangs in some 
 parish church, but I forget which." 
 
 To cajole Don Antolin was a far more arduous task, 
 and the poor little curate suffered much in his en- 
 deavours to propitiate the miser, who was irritated if his 
 miserable loans were not repaid at the proper time. Sil- 
 ver Stick with his love of authority was delighted to hold 
 a priest and an equal under his thumb, so that those in 
 the Claverias should see that he did not order about the 
 small fry only. Don Martin was for him only a servant 
 in a cassock, and he made him come up to the cloister 
 nearly every evening on various pretexts. His delight 
 was to keep him whole hours standing in front of his 
 door, obliged to listen and to pay attention to all his 
 words. 
 
 Gabriel felt pity for the moral dependency in which 
 the poor young man lived, and he would often leave his 
 niece, going out into the cloister to Join them. His other 
 friends were not long in discovering him; first of all the 
 bell-ringer, then the organ-blower, and presently the 
 V,erger, the Perrero, and the shoemaker would join the 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 17s 
 
 group, of which Silver Stick was the nucleus. Don 
 Antolin was delighted to see himself surrounded by so 
 many people, never imagining that Gabriel was the 
 attraction, thinking always it was his authority that 
 inspired fear and respect. 
 
 Recognising equality with no one but Luna, to him 
 only he addressed his conversation, as though the others 
 had no other duty but to listen to him in silence ; if any- 
 one spoke to him he pretended not to hear, but continued 
 addressing Gabriel. Mariquita, huddled up in a shawl, 
 followed them with her eyes from the door, sharing her 
 uncle's pride in seeing himself surrounded by such a 
 group, who accompanied him in his stroll up and down 
 the cloister; the proximity of so many men seemed to 
 turn her head. 
 
 "Uncle ! Don Gabriel !" she called in a coaxing voice. 
 "Won't you come in ; you will be more comfortable in- 
 side the house, because, even though it is sunny, it is 
 very cold." 
 
 But the uncle paid no attention to her words, and 
 continued his walk on the side of the cloister bathed by 
 the sun, talking pompously on his favourite theme, the 
 present poverty of the Cathedral, arid its greatness in 
 formSfTinies. 
 
 "These cloisters in which we are," he said; ''do you 
 believe that they were built to serve as a refuge to the 
 humble secular people who now live in them? No, 
 senor, although the Church was generous, she would not 
 have built these 'habitaciones,' with their inner court- 
 yards and their colonnades for Wooden Staffs and 
 vergers, etc. This cloister, which was to have been as 
 large and beautiful as the one below, was begun by the 
 great Cardinal Cisneros" (Don Antolin raised his hand 
 to his cap) "so that the canons should live in them sub- 
 ject to conventual regulations; but the canons in those 
 
176 THE SHADOW OE THE CATHEDRAL' 
 
 days were very rich, and, being great lords, would nol 
 consent to live shut up here; they all protested, and 
 the cardinal, who was very quick-tempered, wished to 
 keep them in leading strings, but one of them started to 
 Rome with their complaints, sent by his comrades. 
 Cisneros, being governor of the kingdom, placed guards 
 at all the ports, and the emissary was arrested as he was 
 going to embark at Valencia. The end of it all was that 
 after a long suit the gentlemen of the Chapter came off 
 victorious, and lived out of the Primacy, and the 
 Qaverias remained unfinished with this low roof and this 
 balustrade, both provisional. But even as it is kings have 
 lived in this cloister; that great monarch, Philip II., 
 spent several days here. What glorious times ! when the 
 kings, who had palaces at their command, preferred liv- 
 ing in these rooms, so as to be inside the Cathedral 
 and nearer to God. Such kings, such people. For this 
 reason Spain was greater then than ever. We were 
 masters of the world. We had power and money, and 
 we lived happily on earth in the certainty of reaching 
 heaven after death." 
 
 "That is true," said the bell-ringer; "those were the 
 good times, and for their return we fought in the moun- 
 tains. Ay! if only Don Carlos had been victorious! if 
 only there had not been traitors amongst us ! Is it not 
 true, Gabriel ? You who fought in the war as I did, you 
 can say if I am not right." 
 
 "Hold your tongue, Mariano," said Gabriel, smiling 
 sadly. "You do not know what you are saying. You 
 fought and shed your blood for a cause that even now 
 you do not understand. You went to the war as blindly 
 as I did. Do not look so sullen ; it is no use contradict- 
 ing. Well then, let us see, what did you wish for when 
 you went out to fight for Don Carlos?" 
 
 "I? First of all that every man should come by his 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 177 
 
 own. Did not the crown belong to his family? Well, 
 let it be given to him." 
 
 "And is this all ?" asked Luna with displeasure. 
 
 "That was the least of it. What I wanted, and do 
 want, is that the nation should have a good master, an 
 upright lord, and a good Catholic, who without restraints 
 of laws or Cortes, should govern us all with bread in one 
 hand and a stick in the other. For the robber, garrote 
 him! for the honoured, 'you are my friend!' A king 
 who will not allow the rich to crush the poor, and who 
 will not allow any one to die of hunger who wishes to 
 work. Come, I think I am explaining myself clear- 
 ly." 
 
 "And all this, do you believe that it existed at any 
 time, or that your king would be able to restore it? 
 Those centuries that you describe as those of greatness 
 and well-being were really the worst in our history ; they 
 were the cause of Spanish decadence, and the beginning 
 of all our ills." 
 
 "Stop there, Gabrielillo," said Silver Stick. "You 
 know a great deal, and have travelled and read much 
 more than I have, but we cannot swallow that. I am 
 very much interested in the question, and I will not 
 allow you to take advantage of the ignorance of Mariano 
 and these others. How can you say that those times 
 were evil, and that the fault is theirs of what is happen-! 
 ing to us now? The true culprit is liberalism, thq 
 unbelief of the age, which has let the devil loose in ourj 
 house. Spain, when it does not trust its kings and has! 
 no faith in Catholicism, is like a lame man who drops 
 his crutches and falls to the ground. We are nothing 
 without the throne and the altar, and the proof of this 
 is everything that has happened to us since we had 
 revolutions. We < have lost our islands, we count for 
 nothing among the other countries. The Spaniards, 
 
178 THE SHADOW OE THE CATHEDRAL' 
 
 r who are the bravest men in the world, have been de- 
 feated, there is not a peseta anywhere, and all those 
 gentlemen who harangue in Madrid vote fresh taxes 
 and we are always involved in difficulties. When was 
 
 > this ever seen in former times ? When ?" 
 
 ! "Worse and more shameful things were seen," said 
 Luna. 
 
 "You are mad, youngster! Those travels have cor- 
 rupted you, till I believe you are hardly a Spaniard! 
 Look you, that he denies what everybody knows, what is 
 taught in all the schools! And the Catholic kings; 
 were they nothing? You need no books to know that. 
 Go into the choir, and you will see on the lower stalls 
 all the battles that those religious kings gained over 
 the Moors with the help of God. They conquered 
 Granada and drove out the infidels who had held it 
 seven centuries in barbarism. Afterwards came the 
 discovery of America. Who could accomplish that? 
 No one but ourselves ; and that good queen who pawned 
 her jewels so that Columbus should accomplish his 
 voyage. You cannot deny all this, it seems to me. And 
 the Emperor Charles V. ! What have you to say about 
 him? Do you know any more extraordinary man! 
 He fought all the kings of Europe, and half the world 
 was his, 'the sun never set on his dominions,' we 
 Spaniards were masters of the world ; you cannot either 
 deny this. And still we have said nothing of Don 
 Philip II., a king so wise and so astute that he made 
 all the monarchs of Europe dance at his pleasure, as 
 though he were pulling them with a string. Every- 
 thing was for the greater glory of Spain and the splen- 
 dour of religion. Of his victories and greatness we 
 have said nothing; if his father was victorious at 
 Pavia, he overturned his enemies at St. Quintin. And 
 what do you say about Lepanto? Down in the sacristy 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 179 
 
 we preserve the banners of the ship that Don Juan of 
 Austria commanded. You have seen them; one of 
 them represents Jesus crucified, and they are so long, 
 so very long, that when they were fastened to the tri- 
 forium, the ends had to be turned up so that they 
 should not trail on the ground. So, was Lepanto 
 nothing? Come, Gabriel, you really must be mad to 
 deny certain things. If someone had to conquer the 
 Moors lest they should possess themselves of all Europe 
 and endanger the Christian faith, who did it? The 
 Spaniards. When the Turks threatened to become 
 masters of the seas, vyho went out to meet them? 
 Spain and her Don Juan. And who went to discover a 
 new world but the ships of Spain; and who sailed 
 round the world but another Spaniard, Magallanes; 
 and for everything great it has always been us, always 
 us, in those days of religion and prosperity. And what 
 can we say about learning? Those centuries produced 
 Spain's most famous men — ^great poets and most emi- 
 nent theologians ; no one has equalled them since. And to 
 show that religion is the source of all greatness, the 
 most illustrious writers have worn the religious habit. 
 I guess what will be your argument, that after such 
 glorious kings came others less distinguished, and so 
 the decadence commenced. I know something about 
 that also. I have heard the librarian of the Cathedral 
 and other people of great learning say this. But this 
 really means nothing. These are the designs of God, by 
 which He puts His people to the proof, just as He does 
 with individuals, bringing them down to low estate, to 
 raise them again to great honour, so that they may 
 continue in the right way. But we will not speak of 
 this; if there has been a decadence we do not want to 
 know anything about it. We want the glorious past, the 
 brilliant times of the Catholic kings, of Don Carlos and 
 
i8o THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 the two Philips, and it is on them that we fix our eyes 
 when we talk of Spain returning to her good old times." 
 
 "But those centuries, Don Antolin," said Gabriel 
 calmly, "were those of Spanish decadence; in them 
 was begun our ruin. I am not surprised at your anger; 
 you repeat what you have been taught. There are 
 people here of the highest education who are not less 
 irritated if you touch what they call their golden age. 
 The fault is in the education that is given in this 
 country. All history is a lie, and to know it so mis- 
 represented it would be far better not to know it at all. 
 In the schools the past of the country is taught from 
 the point of view of a savage, who appreciates a thing 
 because it shines and not because of its worth or 
 utility. Spain was great, and was on the high road to 
 become the first nation in the world, by solid and 
 positive merits that the hazards of war or policy could 
 not have destroyed; but that was before the centuries 
 that you praise, before the times of the foreign kings: 
 in the Middle Ages which held great hopes, which have 
 vanished since the consolidation of national unity. 
 Our Middle Ages produced a cultivated, industrious 
 and civilised people like none other in the world; they 
 had in them the materials for the building of a great 
 nation; but foreign architects came in who hastily ran 
 up this edifice; those first few years of existence that 
 astound you with the splendour of novelty, and among 
 whose ruins we are still groping." 
 
 Gabriel forgot all his prudence in the ardour of 
 discussion. He felt no fear of Silver Stick, with his 
 manner of an inquisitor incapable of reasoning. He 
 wished to convince him ; he felt all the fervour, all the 
 irresistible impulse of his proselytising days, without 
 trying in any way to disguise his feelings from consider- 
 ation of the atmosphere surrounding him. Don Antolin 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL i8i 
 
 listened to him in astonishment, fixing on him his cold 
 glance. The others listened, feeling confusedly the 
 marvel that such ideas should be enunciated in the 
 cloister of a cathedral. Don Martin, the chaplain of 
 the nuns, who stood behind his miserly protector, 
 showed in his eyes the eager sympathy with which he 
 heard Luna's words. 
 
 He described the Hispano-Roman people over whom 
 the Gothic invasion swept, without, however, causing 
 a gap, because before long the conquerors had suc- 
 cumbed to the lower Latin degeneration, remaining 
 without strength, spending themselves in theological 
 struggles and dynastic intrigues like those of Byzantium. 
 The regeneration of Spain did not come from the north 
 with the hordes of barbarians, but from the south with 
 the invading Arabs. At first they were few, but they 
 were sufficient to conquer Roderick and his coriiipt 
 courtiers. The instinct of the Christian nationality 
 revolting against the invaders, and the gathering together 
 of the whole soul of Spain on the rocky heights of 
 Covadonga to fall once more upon their conquerors, was 
 all a lie. The Spain of those days gratefully welcomed 
 the people from Africa and submitted without resistance. 
 A squadron of Arab horsemen was sufficient to make a 
 town open its gates. It was a civilising expedition 
 more than a conquest, and a continual "current of 
 immigration was established over the Straits. Over them 
 came that young and vigorous culture, of such rapid 
 and astonishing growth, which seemed to conquer 
 though it was scarcely born: that civilisation created 
 by the religious enthusiasm of the Prophet, who had 
 assimilated all that was best in Judaism and in 
 Byzantine civilisation, carrying along with it also the 
 great Indian traditions, fragments from Persia and 
 much fi-om mysterious China. It was the Orient 
 
i82 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 entering into Europe, not as the Assyrian monarchs 
 into Greece, which repelled them seeing her liberties in 
 danger, but the exact opposite, into Spain, the slave of 
 theological kings and warlike bishops, which received 
 the invaders with open arms. In two years they became 
 masters of what it took seven centuries to dispossess 
 them. It was not an invasion contested by arms, but 
 a youthful civilisation that threw out roots in every 
 part. The principle of religious liberty which cements 
 all great nationalities came in with them, and in the 
 conquered towns they accepted the Church of the 
 Christians and the synagogues of the Jews. The Mosque 
 did not fear the temples it found in the country, it 
 respected them, placing itself among them without 
 jealousy or desire of domination. From the eighth to the 
 fifteenth century the most elevated and opulent civilisa- 
 tion of the Middle Ages in Europe was formed and 
 flourished. While the people of the north were deci- 
 mating each other in religious wars, and living in tribal 
 barbz^rity, the population of Spain rose to thirty 
 millions, gathering to herself all races and all beliefs 
 in infinite variety, like the modern American people. 
 Christians and Mussulmans, pure Arabs, Syrians, 
 Egyptians, Jews of Spanish extraction, and Jews from 
 the East all lived peaceably together, hence the various 
 crossings and mixtures of Muzarabes, Mudejares, 
 Muladies and Hebrews. In this prolific amalgamation 
 of peoples and races all the habits, ideas, and discoveries 
 known up to then in the world met; all the arts, 
 sciences, industries, inventions and culture of the old 
 civilisations budded out into fresh discoveries of creative 
 energy. Silk, cotton, coffee, oranges, lemons, pome- 
 granates, sugar, came with them from the East, as also 
 carpets, silk tissues, gauzes, damascene work and gun- 
 powder. With them also came the decimal numeration, 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAi: 183 
 
 algebra, alchemy, chemistry, medicine, cosmology and 
 rhymed poetry. The Greek philosophers, who were 
 nearly vanishing into oblivion, saved themselves by 
 following the footsteps of the Arab conquerors. Aristotle 
 reigned in the university of Cordoba. That spirit of 
 chivalry arose among the Spanish Arabs, which has 
 since been appropriated by the warriors of the north, as 
 though it were a special quality belonging to Christian 
 people. While in the barbarous Europe of the Franks, 
 the Anglo-Normans, and the Germans, the people lived 
 in hovels, and the kings and barons in rocky castles 
 blackened by the smoke of their fires, devoured by 
 vermin, dressed in coarse serge, and fed like prehistoric 
 man, the Spanish Arabs were raising their fantastic 
 Alcazars, and, with the refinement of ancient Rome, 
 they met at their baths to converse on all literary and 
 scientific questions. If any monk from the north felt 
 the hunger of learning, he came to the Arab universities 
 or the Jewish synagogues of Spain, and the kings of 
 Europe thought they would be cured of their infirmities 
 if, by dint of golden bribes, they could procure a Spanish 
 physician. 
 
 When little by little the aboriginal element separated 
 itself from the invaders and small Christian nationalities 
 arose, the Arabs and the old Spaniards (if indeed after 
 the constant mingling of blood there was any difference 
 between the two races) fought chivalrously without 
 exterminating each other after the battles, mutually 
 respecting one another, with long intervals of peace, as 
 though they wished to retard the moment of final 
 separation, and often joining in various enterprises. 
 
 A system of liberty ruled in most of the Christian 
 States. The Cortes arose much earlier than in the other 
 western countries of Europe, and the Spanish people 
 governed and regulated their expenses themselves, 
 
i84 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 seeing only in their king a military chief. The munici- 
 palities were little republics with their own elected 
 magistrates. The town militia realised the ideal of a 
 democratic army. The Church at one with the people 
 lived peacefully with the other religions in the country; 
 an intelligent bourgeoisie created large industries in the 
 interior, and fitted out the first navy of the times at 
 their own cost, and Spanish products were more sought 
 after than any other in all the ports of Europe. There 
 were towns then as populous as any of the modern 
 capitals; whole populations devoted themselves to 
 weaving different kinds of stuffs, and everything was 
 cultivated on the soil of the Peninsula. 
 
 The Catholic kings marked the apogee of national 
 strength, but it was the beginning also of its decadence. 
 Their reign was great because the flow of energy begun 
 in the Middle Ages lasted till their times; but it was 
 execrable, because their tortuous policy turned Spain 
 from the right way, rousing in us religious fanaticism 
 and the ambition of universal empire. Two or three 
 centuries ahead of the rest of Europe, Spain was for 
 the world of those days what England is for our own 
 times. If we had followed the same policy of religious 
 toleration, of fusion of races, of industrial and agricul- 
 tural work in preference to military enterprises, where 
 should we not be now ?" 
 
 Gabriel asked this question, interrupting his ardent 
 description of the past. 
 
 "The Renaissance," continued Luna, "was more 
 Spanish than Italian. In Italy the literature of anti- 
 quity, and Greco-Roman art revived, but the Renais- 
 sance was not entirely literary. The Renaissance 
 represents the springing into life of a new and culti- 
 vated society, with arts and manufactures, armies and 
 scientific knowledge, etc. And who accomplished this 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 185 
 
 but Spain, that Arab-Hebrew-Christian Spain of the 
 Catholic kings? The Gran Capitan taught the world 
 the art of modern warfare; Pedro Navarro was a 
 wonderful engineer; the Spanish troops were the first 
 to use firearms, and they created also the infantry, 
 making war democratic, as it gave the people the 
 superiority over the noble horsemen clad in armour; 
 finally, it was Spain who discovered America." 
 
 "And does all this seem little to you?" interrupted 
 Don Antolin. "Do you not exactly agree with what I 
 said? We have never seen so much power and great- 
 ness united in Spain as in the times of those kings, who 
 with reason some call the Catholics." 
 
 "I agree that it was a grand period of our history; 
 the last that was really glorious, the last gleam that 
 flashed before that Spain, who alone walked in the 
 right way, was extinguished. But before their deaths 
 the Catholic kings commenced the decadence by 
 dismembering that strong and healthy Spain of the 
 Arabs, the Christians and the Jews. You are right, 
 Don Antolin, to say that those kings are not called the 
 Catholics for nothing. Dona Isabel with her feminine 
 fanaticism established the Inquisition, so science extin- 
 guished her lamp in the mosques and synagogues, 
 and hid her books in Christian convents. Seeing that 
 the hour for praying, instead of reading, had come, 
 Spanish thought took refuge in darkness, trembling 
 in cold and solitude, and ended by dying. What 
 remained devoted itself to poetry, to comedies and 
 theological tracts. Science became a pathway that 
 led to the bonfire; and then came a fresh calamity, 
 the expulsion of the Spanish Jews, so saturated with 
 the spirit of this country, loving it so dearly, that 
 even to-day, after four centuries, scattered on the 
 shores of the Danube or the Bosphorus there are 
 
i86 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 Spanish Jews who weep, like old Castillians, for their 
 lost country: 
 
 'Perdimos la bella Sion; 
 
 Perdimos tambien Espana 
 
 Nido de consolacion." 
 
 "That people who had given Maimonides to the 
 science of the Middle Ages, and who were the mainstay 
 of all the industries and commerce of Spain, left our 
 country en masse. Spain, deceived by its extraordinary 
 vitality was opening its own veins to satisfy the growing 
 fanaticism, believing that it could survive this loss with- 
 out danger. Afterwards came what a modern writer 
 has called 'the foreign body,' interposing itself in our 
 national life — ^those Austrians who came to reign and 
 caused Spain to lose her distinctive character." 
 
 "Gabriel," interrupted the priest, "you are talking 
 absurdities. The true Spain began with the emperor, 
 and went on equally gloriously under Don Philip II. 
 This is the pure and uncorrupted Spain that we ought 
 to take as an example, and which we hope to restore." 
 
 "No. The pure and uncorrupted Spain, the Spanish 
 Spain without foreign admixture, is that of the Arabs, 
 Moors and Jews, that of religious tolerance, that of 
 industrial and agricultural wealth, and of free muni- 
 cipalities; that which perished under the Catholic 
 kings. What came after was a Teutonic and a Flemish 
 Spain turned into a German colony, serving as a mer- 
 cenary under foreign standards, ruining itself in under- 
 takings in which it had no interest, shedding blood and 
 gold for the ambition of the so-called Holy Roman 
 Empire. I can understand the enchantment that the 
 emperor exercised over the bigoted and ignorant people 
 
 ' We lost our lovely Sion ; we also lost our Spain, that nest of 
 consolation. 
 
THE SiiADOW OP THE CATHEDRAL 187 
 
 who worshipped the past. A great __ man that DjOII 
 Carlos! Brave in. jfight, astute in politics, jolly andl^ 
 hearty as one of the burgomasters of his own country; 
 a great eater, a great drinker, and loving to catch the 
 girls round the waist. But he had nothing Spanish 
 about him. He only appreciated his mother's heritage 
 for what he could wring out of it. Spain became a 
 servant to Germany, ready to supply as many men as 
 were required, and to furnish loans and taxes. All the 
 exuberant life garnered in this country by Hispano- 
 Arab culture was absorbed by the north in less 
 than a hundred years. The free municipalities dis- 
 appeared, their defenders went to the scaffold both in 
 Castille and Valencia; the Spaniard abandoned his 
 plough or his weaving to range the world with an 
 arquebus on his shoulder, and the town militias were 
 transformed into bands which fought all over Europe 
 without knowing why. The flourishing towns became 
 villages; churches were turned into convents; the 
 popular and tolerant clergy were changed into friars 
 who imitated with servile comjplacency the German 
 fanaticism. The fields remained barren for want of 
 hands to cultivate them, the poor dreamt of becoming 
 rich from the sack of the enemy's towns and left their 
 work; the industrious burghers abandoned commerce 
 as only fit for heretics, and became nurseries of clerks 
 and petty magistrates; and the armies of Spain as 
 unbeaten and glorious as they were ragged, with no 
 pay but pillage and in continual mutiny against their 
 chiefs, flooded our country with a swarm of wretched 
 vagabonds, from whence proceeded the bully, the 
 beggar with his blunderbuss, the highwayman, the 
 wandering hermits, the starving nobleman, and all 
 those characters of which picturesque novels have 
 availed themselves." 
 
i88 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "But, the devil, Gabriel!" cried indignantly Silver 
 Stick; "do you deny that Don Carlos, who built the 
 Alcazar of Toledo, and Don Philip II., who lived in this 
 very cloister, were two great kings ?" 
 
 "I do not deny it; they were two extraordinary men, 
 but they killed Spain for ever. They were two foreigners, 
 two Germans; Philip II. clothed himself with a false 
 Spaniardism to continue the German policy of his 
 father. This masquerading caused us great harm, 
 because there are many men now who think of him as 
 the noblest representation of a Spaniard. The absurd 
 inventions and lapses from truth to which those times 
 give rise are enough to drive one mad. Many CathoHcs 
 dream of canonising Philip II. for the cold cruelty with 
 which he exterminated heretics, but such a king had 
 really no Catholicism but his own; he was heir to the 
 German Caesarism, that eternal hammer of the Popes. 
 Driven by pride, he was always sailing to the windward 
 of schism and heresy; that he did not break with the 
 Pontificate was solely that this latter feared that the 
 Spanish soldiery, who had twice entered Rome, would 
 remain there for ever, and that it would have to submit 
 to all their extortions. The father and son robbed us 
 with dissimulation of our nationality, and dissipated our 
 life for their purely personal plans of reviving the 
 Caesarism of Charlemagne and forming the Catholic 
 religion to their own imagination and taste. They 
 nearly destroyed the ancient religious feeling of Spain, 
 so cultivated and tolerant from its continual intercourse 
 with Mahomedanism and Judaism ; that Spanish Church, 
 whose priests lived peacefully in the towns with the 
 alfaqui and the rabbi, and who punished with moral 
 penalties those who from excess of zeal disturbed the 
 worship of the infidels. That religious intolerance 
 which foreign historians consider a purely Spanish 
 
XHE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 189 
 
 product was really imported by the German Csesars. It 
 was the German friar who came with his devout 
 brutality and his crazy theology, not tempered as in 
 Spain by Semitic culture. With their intolerance and 
 impracticability they provoked the revolution of the 
 'Reformation in the northern countries, and, driven out 
 of them, they came here to plant afresh their ignorance 
 and fanaticism. The ground was well prepared. When 
 the free towns whose municipalities were republics fell, 
 the people also languished; the foreign seed produced 
 in a short time an immense forest, the forest of the 
 Inquisition and the fanaticism which still exists; the 
 modern woodmen cut and lop, but they soon fall off 
 wearied; the arms of one man can do little against a 
 trunk that has grown for centuries. Fire, nothing but 
 fire, can exterminate that cursed vegetation." 
 
 Don Antolin opened his eyes in horror. He was not 
 angry now, he seemed quite thunderstruck by Luna's^ ', 
 words. ' 
 
 "Gabriel, my son !" he exclaimed ; "you are ' 
 'greener' than I thought. Just think where you are,v 
 remember what you are saying. We are in the Holy/ 
 Metropolitan Church of all the Spains." \ 
 
 But Luna was fairly launched by the renewal of his 
 historical remembrances and he was not to be stopped, 
 driven on as he was by his propagandist zeal. He was 
 fired by the old oratorical fervour, and he spoke as at 
 those meetings when he could scarcely continue his 
 speech for the applause, and the protests and surging of 
 the multitude obstructing the police. 
 
 The horror of the priest only seemed to excite hin^-' 
 morg^ " ' '""^ 
 
 'Philip II.," he continued, "was a foreigner, a 
 German to the very bones. His grave taciturnity, his 
 slow and penetrating mind, were not Spanish, they 
 
I90 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAE 
 
 were Flemish. The impassibility with which he 
 received the reverses which ruined the nation was that 
 of a foreigner who was bound by no ties of affection to 
 the country. 'It is better to reign over corpses than 
 over heretics,' he said, and corpses the Spaniards really 
 were, condemned not to think, but to lie in order to 
 conceal their thoughts. All the ancient offices had dis- 
 appeared. Outside the Church there was no future for 
 any adventurous soul, except in America — which ceased 
 to be of any use to the nation after it became converted 
 into the treasure chest of the king — or to be a soldier 
 fighting in Europe for the rehabilitation of the Holy 
 German Empire, for the subjection of the Pope to the 
 Emperor or the extinction of the reformed religion, 
 undertakings that in no way concerned Spain, but were 
 all the same very blood-letting affairs, even for those 
 who escaped with their lives. All the handicraftsmen _ 
 disappeared, carried away to the armies, and the towns 
 became filled with invalids and veterans, carrying their 
 rusty swords, their only proof of personal valour. All 
 the middle-class guilds were suppressed; there only 
 remained nobles proud of being servants to the king 
 and a populace who only asked for bread and entertain- 
 ments, like the Romans, and contented themselves with 
 the broth from the convents and the burning of heretics 
 organised by the Inquisition. 
 
 "After this, ruin overwhelmed us; after the great 
 Caesars, so fatal to Spain, came the little ones — 
 Philip III., who gave the final blow by expelling the 
 Moors; Philip IV., a degenerate with literary fancies, 
 who wrote verses and courted nuns, and the miserable 
 Charles II. 
 
 "Spain had never been so religious, Don Antolin," 
 said Luna. "The Church was mistress of every- 
 thing; the ecclesiastical tribunals judged even the king 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 191 
 
 himself, but secular Justice could not touch even the hem 
 of a garment of the lowest sacristan, even though he 
 committed the greatest crimes in the public streets. 
 Only the Church could judge its own; as Barrioneuva 
 relates in his memoirs, friars armed to the teeth wrested 
 from the king's justice at the foot of the scaffold, in 
 broad daylight in the midst of the Plaza Mayor in 
 Madrid, one of their own brothers condemned for 
 murder. The Inquisition, not satisfied with burning 
 heretics, judged and punished gangs of cattle-lifters. 
 Men of letters, terrified, took refuge in ornamental 
 literature as the last refuge of thought, confining them- 
 selves to the production of wifty novels or plays, in 
 which a fantastic honour was exalted which only 
 existed in poets' imagination, while the greatest 
 corruption of morals reigned. The great Spanish 
 genius ignored or feigned to ignore what the religious 
 revolution beyond the frontiers was saying. Quevedo 
 only, who was the most daring, ventured to say: 
 
 "With the Inquisition .... 
 Kush! Silence!' 
 
 the sad epitaph of Spanish thought which preferred to 
 perish as it could not speak the truth. In order to live 
 quietly and support themselves in those days of igno- 
 rance, many poets sought the shadow of the Church and 
 wore its vestments. Lope de Vega, Calderon, Tirsode 
 Molina, Miradamerscua, Tarriga, Argensola, Gongora, 
 Rioja, and others were priests, many of them after 
 stormy lives. Montalban was a priest and employed in 
 the Inquisition, and even the poor Cervantes, in his old 
 age, had to take the habit of St. Francis. Spain had 
 eleven thousand convents, more than a hundred 
 thousand friars, and forty thousand nuns, and to these 
 must be added seventy-eight thousand priests and the 
 
192 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 innumerable servitors and dependents of the Church, 
 such as alguaciles, familiars, jailors, and notaries of 
 the Inquisition, sacristans, stewards, buleros.i convent 
 door-porters, choristers, singers, lay brothers, novices — 
 and I knowr not how many other people. In exchange, 
 the nation from a population ol thirty millions had 
 shrunk to seven millions in less than two hundred years. 
 The expulsion of Jews and Moors by religious intoler- 
 ance, the continual foreign wars, the emigration to 
 America in the hopes of growing rich without work, 
 hunger, the lack of sanitation, and the abandonment of 
 agriculture, had brought about this rapid depopulation. 
 The revenues of Spain had fallen to fourteen million 
 ducats, whereas the clerical revenue had risen to eight 
 millions; the Church possessed more than half the 
 national fortune! What times! Eh, Don Antolin?" 
 
 Silver Stick listened coldly, as though he had formed 
 some definite idea about Luna, and therefore did not 
 make much account of his words. 
 
 "However bad they were," he said slowly, "they 
 could not be worse than they are at present. At all 
 events no one robbed the Church. Everyone was 
 contented in his poverty, thinking of heaven, which is 
 the only truth, and the worship of God which corre- 
 sponds to it. Is it that you possibly do not believe 
 in God?" '~~ -^-^ 
 
 Gabriel avoided an answer, and went on talking of 
 those times. 
 
 "It was a period of barbarism and stagnation, 
 and while Europe was developing and progress- 
 ing the people who had been foremost in all civilisa- 
 tion were now left far behind. The kings, inspired 
 by Spanish pride and the hereditary pretensions 
 
 \Buleros— One charged with distributing crusading bulls and 
 collecting alms for them. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 193 
 
 of the German Caesars, conceived the mad idea of 
 mastering all Europe, with no more support than a 
 nation of seven million of inhabitants, and a few 
 companies of ill-paid and starving soldiers. The gold 
 from America had gone to fill the Dutchmen's purses, 
 and in this undertaking, worthy of Don Quixote, the 
 nation received blow after blow. Spain became more 
 and more Catholic, poorer and more barbarous. She 
 aspired to conquer the whole world, yet in the interior 
 she had whole provinces uninhabited; many of the old 
 towns had disappeared, the roads were obliterated and 
 no one in Spain knew for certain the geography of the 
 country though few were ignorant of the situation of 
 heaven and of purgatory. The farms of any fertility 
 were not occupied by granges but by convents, and 
 along the few highways bivouacked bands of robbers, 
 who took refuge, when they found themselves pursued, 
 in the monasteries, where they were welcomed for their 
 piety, and for the many masses they ordered for their 
 sinful souls. 
 
 "The ignorance was atrocious, the kings were advised 
 even in warlike matters by priests. Charles II., when 
 the Dutch troops offered to garrison the Spanish towns 
 in Flanders, consulted with the clerics as on a case of 
 conscience, because this might facilitate the diffusion of 
 heresy, and he ended by preferring to let them fall into 
 the hands of the French, who, although they were 
 enemies, were at all events Catholics. In the university 
 of Salamanca the poet Torres de Villarroel could not 
 find a single work on geography, and when he spoke of 
 mathematics, the pupils assured him it was a kind of 
 sorcery, a devilish science that could only be understood 
 by anointing oneself with an ointment used by witches. 
 The theologians rejected the project of a canal to unite 
 the Tagus and the Manzanares, saying that this would 
 
194 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 be a work against the will of God; but having laid this 
 down — ^fiat — ^the two rivers joined themselves even 
 though they had been separated from the beginning of 
 the world. The doctors of Madrid begged Philip IV. 
 to allow the refuse to remain in the streets 'because 
 the air of the town being exceedingly keen, it would 
 cause great ravages unless it were impregnated with 
 the vapours from the filth/ and a century later, a 
 famous theologian in Seville registered in a public 
 document with those who were discussing with him, 
 'that we would far rather err with Saint Clement, 
 Saint Basil and Saint Augustin, than agree with Des- 
 cartes and Newton.' 
 
 "Philip II. had threatened with death and confiscation 
 anyone who published foreign books or who circulated 
 manuscripts, and his successors forbade any Spaniard to 
 write on political subjects, so, finding no ways of expan- 
 sion for thought, they devoted themselves to fine arts 
 and poetry; painting and the theatre rose to a higher 
 level than in any other country; they were the safety 
 valves of the national genius ; but this spring of art was 
 only ephemeral, for in the midst of the seventeenth 
 century a grotesque and debasing decadence over- 
 whelmed everything. 
 
 "The poverty in those centuries was horrible; that 
 same Philip II., though he was lord of the world, put up 
 titks of nobility for sale for the sum of six thousand 
 reals, noting on the margin of the decree 'that it was 
 not necessary to inquire much into the quality and 
 origin of the people.' In Madrid the people sacked the 
 bakeries, fighting with their fists for the bread. The 
 president of Castille travelled through the province 
 with the executioner to wring the scanty harvest from 
 the peasants. The collectors of taxes, finding nothing 
 that they could collect in the towns, tore off the roofs of 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 19S 
 
 the houses, selling the woodwork and the tiles. The 
 families fled to the mountains whenever they saw in the 
 distance the king's representative, and so the towns 
 remained deserted and fell into ruins. Hunger came in 
 even to the royal palaces, and Charles II., Lord of Spain 
 and of the Indies, was unable on several occasions to 
 procure food for his servants. The ambassadors of 
 England and Denmark were obliged to sally forth with 
 their armed servants to seek for bread in the suburbs of 
 Madrid. 
 
 "And amidst all this the innumerable convents, 
 masters of more than half the country and the sole 
 possessors of wealth, showed their charity by distributing 
 soup to those who had strength to fetch it, and by 
 founding asylums and hospitals, where the people died 
 of misery though they were certain of reaching heaven. 
 The ancient manufactures had all disappeared. Segovia, 
 so famous for its cloth, that had employed over 40,000 
 persons in its manufacture, only held 15,000 inhabitants, 
 and these had so completely forgotten the art of weav- 
 ing wool that when Philip V. wished to re-establish the 
 industry, he was obliged to import German weavers. 
 
 "And it was the same thing in Seville, in Valencia, 
 and in Medina del Campo, so famous for their fairs and 
 their manufactures," continued Gabriel. "Seville which 
 in the fifteenth century had 16,000 silk weavers, at the 
 end of the seventeenth could only produce 65. Though 
 it is true in exchange its Cathedral clergy numbered 
 117 canons, and it had 78 convents, with more than 
 4,000 friars and 14,000 priests in the diocese. And 
 Toledo? At the close of the fifteenth century it em- 
 ployed 50,000 artisans in its silk and wool weaving and 
 in its factory of arms, to say nothing of curriers, silver- 
 smiths, glovers, and jewellers; at the end of the 
 seventeenth century it had hardly 15,000 inhabitants. 
 
196 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 Everything was decayed, everything was ruined ; twenty- 
 five houses belonging to illustrious families had passed 
 into the hands of the convents, and the only rich people 
 in the town were the friars, the archbishop and the 
 Cathedral. Spain was so exhausted at the end of the 
 Austrian rule that she saw herself nearly divided among 
 the different powers of Europe, like Poland, another 
 Catholic country like ours. The quarrels among the 
 kings were the only thing that saved her." I' 
 
 "If those times were so bad, Gabriel," said Silver^ 
 Stick, "how was it the Spaniards showed such una- 
 nimity? How was it there were no 'pronunciamientos' 
 and risings in these deplorable times?" 
 
 "What could they do? The despotism of the Caesars 
 had imposed on the Spaniards a blind obedience to the 
 kings as the representatives of God, and the clergy had 
 educated them in this belief from the community of 
 interests between the Church and the throne. Even the 
 most illustrious poets corrupted the people, exalting 
 servility to the monarchy in their plays. Calderon 
 affirmed that the property and life of a citizen did not 
 belong to himself but to the king. Besides, religion 
 filled everything; it was the sole end of existence, and 
 the Spaniards meditating always on heaven, ended by 
 accustoming themselves to the miseries of earth. Do 
 not doubt but the excess of religion was our ruin, and 
 came very near exterminating us as a nation. Even 
 now we are dragging along the consequences of this 
 plague which lasted for centuries. To save this country 
 from death what had to be done? The foreigners had 
 to be called in, and the Bourbons came. See how low 
 we had fallen that we had not even soldiers. In this 
 land, even if we were wanting in other advantages, we 
 could from the earliest days reckon on good warlike 
 leaders; but look, in the war of succession we had to 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 197 
 
 have English and French generals, and even officers, 
 for there was not a Spaniard who could train a cannon 
 or command a company; we had no one to serve us as 
 a minister, and under Philip V. and Fernando VI. all 
 the Government were foreigners, strangers called in to 
 revive the lost manufactures, to reclaim the derelict 
 lands, to repair the ancient irrigation channels, and 
 to found colonies in the deserts inhabited by wild 
 beasts and bandits. Spain, who had colonised half the 
 world after her own fashion, was now re-discovered and 
 colonised by Europeans.^ The Spaniards seemed like 
 poor Indians, guided by their Cacique the friar, with 
 their rags covered with scapularies and miracle-working 
 relics. Anti-clericalism was the only remedy against all 
 this superstition and ruin, and this spirit came in with 
 the foreign colonists. Philip V. wished to suppress the 
 Inquisition and to end the naval war with the Mussulman 
 nations which had lasted for a thousand years, depopu- 
 lating the shores of the Mediterranean with the fear of 
 the Barbary and Turkish pirates. But the natives 
 resisted any reform coming from the colonists, and the 
 first Bourbon had to desist, finding his crown in danger. 
 Later on his immediate successors, having deeper roots 
 in the country dared to continue his work. Carlos HI. 
 in his endeavour to civilise Spain laid a heavy hand on 
 the Church, limiting its privileges and curtailing its 
 revenues, being careful of earthly things and forgetful 
 of the heavenly. The bishops protested, speaking in 
 letters and pastorals "of the persecutions of the poor 
 Church, robbed of its goods, outraged in its ministers, 
 and attacked in its immunities,' but the awakened 
 country rejoiced in the only prosperous days it had 
 known in modern times before the disestablishment. 
 
 'In 1897 an Act was passed "to colonise derelict land'iri. 
 Spain." ■ 
 
198 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 Europe was ruled by philosophic kings and Charles III. 
 was one of them. The echo of the English revolution 
 still vibrated through the world; the monarchs now 
 wished to be loved and not feared, and in every country 
 they struggled against the ignorance and brutality of 
 the masses, bringing about progressive reforms by royal 
 enactment and even by force. But the great evil of the 
 monarchical system was its heredity, the power settled 
 in one family, for the son of a clever man with good 
 intentions might be an imbecile. After Charles III. 
 came Charles IV., and as if this were not sufficient, in 
 the year of his death the French revolution broke out, 
 which made all the kings in Europe tremble, and the 
 Bourbons of Spain quite lost their heads, which they 
 were never able to recover. They went astray, wander- 
 ing from the right way, throwing themselves once more 
 into the arms of the Church as the only means of 
 avoiding the revolutionary danger, and they have not 
 yet returned, nor will they, to the right track. Jesuits, 
 friars and bishops became once more the counsellors at 
 the palace, as they still are, as in the times when 
 Carlos II. concocted his military and political plans 
 with a council of theologians. We have had false 
 revolutions which have dethroned people, but not ideas. 
 It is true we have advanced a little, but timidly, with 
 halting footsteps and disorderly retreats, like one who 
 advances fearfully, and suddenly, at the slightest noise, 
 rushes back to the point of departure. The trans- 
 formation has been more exterior than interior. The 
 minds of the people are still in the seventeenth century ; 
 they still feel the fear and cowardice engendered by the 
 inquisitorial bonfires. The Spaniards are slaves to their 
 very marrow; their pride and their energies are all on 
 the surface ; they have not lived through three centuries 
 of ecclesiastical servitude for nothing. They have made 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 199 
 
 revolutions, they are capable of rebelling, but they will 
 always stop short at the threshold of the Qiurch, who 
 was their mistress by force and remains so still, even 
 though its power has vanished. There is no fear of 
 them entering here. You may remain quite easy, Don 
 Antolin, though in justice many accounts might be 
 required of her froip the past. Is it because they are as 
 religious as formerly? You know that this is not the 
 case, though they complain with reason of the way in 
 which the ancient grandeur of the Church has been 
 extinguished without popular aid." 
 
 "That is true," said Silver Stick; "there is no faith. 
 No one is capable of making any sacrifice for the house 
 of God. Only in the hour 6i death, when fear comes 
 in, do some of them remember to assist us with their 
 fortune." 
 
 "There is no faith, that is the truth. The Spaniard, 
 after that religious fever that nearly killed him, lived in 
 a state of perfect indifference, not from scientific reflec- 
 tion but from inability to think at all. They know they 
 will go either to heaven or hell; they believe it because 
 they have been taught so, but they let themselves be 
 carried on by the stream of life, without the strength to 
 choose either one place or the other. They accept the 
 established, living in a sort of an intellectual somnam- 
 bulism. If now and then thought awakening suggests 
 some criticism it is smothered at once by fear; the 
 Inquisition still lives among us though we have no 
 longer the bonfires, but we are terribly afraid of 'what 
 will be said.' A stationary and narrow-minded society 
 is our modem holy office. He who raises his protest, 
 rising above the general and common monotony, draws 
 upon himself the stupid anger of scandalised man, and 
 suffers punishment ; if he is poor he is put to the proof 
 of hunger, his means of life being cut away from him. 
 
20O THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL; 
 
 and if he is independent he is burned in effigy, creating 
 emptiness around him. Everyone must be correct and 
 agree to what is established, and hence it arises, that, 
 bound to one another by fear, never an original thought 
 arises, there is no independent thought, and even the 
 learned keep to themselves the conclusions they draw 
 from their studies. As long as this goes on the task of 
 the revolutionary is useless in this country; they may 
 change the apparent nature of the soil, but when the 
 pickaxe strikes they come at once on the stones of 
 ages, solid and compact. The national character 
 though it has lost its religious faith is unchanged. 
 Faith is dead, but the corpse still remains with the 
 appearance of life, occupying the same place and 
 obstructing the pathway. The Church is poor and 
 driven into a corner compared to what it was formerly, 
 Don Antolin, but do not fear, its situation will not be 
 aggravated, the tide has risen to its full height and will 
 not overflow; as long as the people in this country are 
 afraid to say what they think, as long as they are 
 scandalised by a new idea, and tremble at what their 
 neighbours will say, so long will they laugh at revolu- 
 tions, for however much they break out, none of these 
 will bring the water to your mouths." 
 
 Don Antolin laughed on hearing this. 
 
 "But Gabrielillo, man — ^you must be mad. All this 
 reading and travelling has turned your head. At first I 
 was indignant, thinking you were among those who 
 wished for another revolution to take away the little 
 that is left to us, proclaiming the republic and sup- 
 pressing all ecclesiastical things, but I see that you go 
 .-much beyond this, that you conform to nothing, and 
 that everything seems to you the worst; and this 
 rather pleases me, because I see you are not a terrible 
 enemy to be feared as you fire from too far. It seems 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 201 
 
 to me that your head is as much affected as your chest. 
 But do all these revolutions we have had seem as nothing 
 to you? Do you think the country is still as savage as 
 you have described it in past years? But I," continued 
 the priest ironically, "hear a great deal said about the 
 progress of the country, and I know that we have rail- 
 ways, and that the long chimneys are arising in all the 
 town suburbs, and many of the impious are delighted at 
 this, comparing them to the church belfries." 
 
 "Bah!" exclaimed Gabriel indifferently. "There is a 
 little of this progress ; the revolutions have placed Spain 
 in touch with other countries, the progressive current 
 has caught this country and is carrying it along as the 
 Asiatics and others are carried; no one can escape it 
 nowadays. But we advance at very low water, inert 
 and without strength; if we advance it is with the 
 current, and not by our own energy, while other people 
 stronger than we swim and swim, advancing at every 
 stroke. How have we contributed to this progress? 
 Where are our manifestations of modern life? The 
 railways, few and bad, are the work of foreigners, and 
 are their property; the grass grows between the 
 rails, which shows that we still follow the holy calm of 
 carts and wagons. The most important industries, 
 metallurgy and mines, are all in the hands of foreigners 
 or of Spaniards who are subject to them, living under 
 their bountiful protection. Commerce languishes under 
 an old-fashioned protection which enhances the price of 
 all commodities, and so there is no capital forthcoming; 
 money remains hidden in earthen jars in the fields as 
 treasure, or in the towns is devoted to usury as in past ■ 
 times; the most daring venture to invest in public stock;/ 
 Government continues the mismanagement, certain of' 
 always finding someone to lend, and pointing to this 
 credit as a proof of the country's prosperity. There are 
 
202 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAE 
 
 in Spain two million hectares of uncultivated land, 
 twenty-six millions of unirrigated arable land, and only 
 one million irrigated. This cultivation of unirrigated 
 land, which has come to be almost our only agriculture 
 is a concession that Spanish indolence makes to hunger, 
 a perpetual demonstration of the fanaticism that trusts 
 in prayer or in the rain from heaven more than in 
 human progress. The rivers rush to the sea through 
 scorched-up provinces overflowing in winter, not 
 to fertilise, but to carry away everything in the 
 volume of the inundation; there is plenty of stone for 
 churches and new convents, but none for dykes and 
 reservoirs; they build belfries and cut down the trees 
 that attract the rain. And do not tell me again, Don 
 Antolin, that the Church is poor and in no ways in fault ; 
 the poor are yourselves, you of the old and traditional 
 Church, you of the religion 'a la Espanola,' for in this as 
 in everything else there are fashions, and the faithful 
 follow the most recent; for here are the Jesuits, the 
 most modern manifestation of Catholicism, the 'latest 
 novelty,' with their Sacred Heart of Jesus and other 
 French idolatries, building palaces and churches in all 
 directions, diverting the money that formerly went to', 
 the Cathedrals, the only evidence of wealth in the\ 
 country. But let us return to our progress. Worse even 
 for agriculture than the drought is the ignorance and 
 routine of the labourers, every new invention or scien- 
 tific appliance repels them, thinking it evil. 'The old 
 times were the good ones, our ancestors cultivated in 
 this way and so ought we'; and so ignorance is turned 
 into a sort of national glory, and we cannot hope for any 
 remedy at present. In other countries the universities 
 and high schools send out reformers, men fighting for 
 progress ; here the centres of learning only send out a 
 proletariat of students who must live, besieging all the 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 203 
 
 professions and public appointments, with the sole desire 
 to open themselves a way to continuous employment. 
 They study (if you can call it study) for a few years, 
 not to learn, but to gain a diploma, a scrap of paper 
 which authorises them to earn their bread. They learn 
 anything that the professor teaches, without the slightest 
 desire to inquire any further. The professors are for 
 the greater part doctors or barristers practising their 
 profession, who come between whiles and sit for an hour 
 in their chairs, repeating like a phonograph what they 
 have said for many previous years, and then they 
 return to their sick or their lawsuits, without caring in 
 the least what is being said or written in the world 
 since they got their appointments. All Spanish culture 
 is at second hand, purely on the surface^ 'translated from \ 
 tiieb'f&idiy and even" this' is only for the scanty minority 
 who read, for the rest of those so-called intellectuals 
 have no other library but the text-books they studied as 
 children, and all they learn of the progress of human 
 thought is from the newspapers. The parents who are 
 desirous of securing as soon as possible the future of 
 their sons who are seeking a career, send them to these 
 centres of learning when they scarcely know how to 
 speak; the man-student of other countries, in the full 
 plenitude of his thinking powers, does not exist here. 
 The universities are full of children, and in the different 
 institutes you only see short trousers, and the Spaniard, 
 before he shaves himself for the first time, is a licentiate 
 and on the high road to become a doctor; the wet 
 nurse will end by sitting by the professor. These 
 children who receive the baptism of science at an age 
 when in other countries they are playing with their 
 toys, being confirmed in the title that proclaims their 
 scientific acquirements, study no more; these are the 
 intellectuals who are to direct and save us, and who 
 
204 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 to-morrow may be legislators and ministers. Come, 
 my good man, it is enough to make one laugh!" 
 
 Gabriel did not laugh, but Silver Stick and the others 
 applauded his words. Any criticism against the present 
 times delighted the priest. 
 
 "This country is drained, Don Antolin, nothing 
 remains standing. The number of towns whch have 
 vanished since our decadence commenced is incalcu- 
 lable. In other countries ruins are carefully preserved, 
 as so many stone pages of their history; they are 
 cleaned, preserved, supported and strengthened, and 
 paths opened round them so that all can examine them. 
 Here, where Roman, Byzantine and Arab art have 
 passed, and also the Mudejar, the Gothic and the Re- 
 naissance — in fact, all the styles of Europe — the ruins 
 in the country are hidden and disfigured by herbage 
 and creepers, and in the towns they are mutilated and 
 disfigured by the vandalism of the people. They are 
 constantly thinking of the past, and yet they despise its 
 remains; what a country of dreams and desolation! 
 Spain is no longer a country, it is an ill-arranged and 
 dusty museum, full of old things that attract all the curi- 
 ous of Europe, but in which even the ruins are ruined." 
 
 The eyes of Don Martin, the young curate, fastened 
 themselves on Gabriel. They seemed to speak to him 
 and express the pleasure with which he heard his words. 
 The other listeners, silent and with bowed heads, did not 
 feel less the enchantment of those propositions which 
 sounded so audaciously in the restful and rank atmos- 
 phere of the cloister. Don Antolin was the only one 
 who laughed, finding Gabriel's ideas quite charming but 
 absolutely crazy. It was getting late and the sun had 
 sunk below the roofs of the Cathedral. Silver Stick's 
 niece called to them once again from the door of her 
 house. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 205 
 
 "We are coming, child," said the priest, "but I have 
 one thing first to say to this gentleman." 
 
 And addressing himself to Luna, he continued : 
 
 "But, Hombre de Dios ! i— but I ought not to call you 
 that as you are so turbulent — you think everything is 
 out of joint. The Spanish Church, worn out as you say, 
 has become very poor, and still you say this revolution 
 is a very small affair. What do you wish for? What 
 is it that you desire so that things might be settled? 
 Tell us your secret quickly and let us go, for the cold is 
 very sharp." 
 
 And he laughed again, looking at Gabriel with 
 paternal pity as though he w ere a child. 1 
 
 ^TSTy" remedyi*" ^x'tlaimed Gabriel, taking no notice 
 of the priest's gesture. "I have no remedy whatever, it 
 is the progress of humanity that alone offers one. All 
 the nations on earth have passed through the same 
 evolutions; first of all they were ruled by the sword, 
 then by faith, and now by science. We ourselves have^, 
 been ruled by warriors and priests, but now we tarry at 
 the gate of modern life, without the strength or wish to 
 take science by the. hand, who is the only guide we 
 could have, hence our sad situation. Sci ence is no atai" 
 days in everything — in agriculture, in air manufactures,! 
 in arts and crafts, in the culture and well-being of tha 
 people; it is even in war. Spain still lives far from the 
 sun of science, at most she knows a pale reflection, 
 cold and feeble, that comes to us from foreign countries. 
 The failure of faith has left us without strength, 
 like those creatures who, having suffered from a 
 severe illness in their youth, remain anaemic for ever, 
 without possible recuperation, condemned to premature 
 old age." 
 
 "Bah! Science!" said Silver Stick, turning towards 
 •Man of God. 
 
o6 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 is house; "that is the eternal cry of all the enemies o^ 
 ;ligion. There is no better science than to love Gqfl 
 tid His works. Good evening." / 
 
 "Very good evening, Don Antolin; but rememBer 
 lis, we have not yet done with faith and the sword; 
 jmetimes one directs us or the other drives us ; but of 
 ;ience, never a word, unless Spain has changed in the 
 St twenty- four hours." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 After this evening Gabriel avoided the meetings in 
 the cloister, so as to have no more discussions with 
 Silver Stick. He repented of his audacity, and when he 
 was alone reflected on the danger to which he had 
 exposed himself in expressing his views so freely. He 
 felt terrified at the possibility of being expelled from the 
 Cathedral to roam the world afresh; he reproached 
 himself, throwing in his own teeth his folly in hurling 
 himself against the prejudices of the past. What could 
 he hope to effect by changing the thoughts of these 
 poor people? What weight could the conversion of 
 these few men, stuck like limpets to the stones of the 
 past, have in the emancipation of humanity? 
 
 The Cathedral was to Gabriel like a gigantic tumour, 
 which blistered the Spanish epidermis, like scars of its 
 ancient infirmities. It was not a muscle capable of 
 development, but an abscess which bided its time 
 either to be extirpated, or to disappear of itself through 
 the working of the germs it contained; he had chosen 
 this ruin as his refuge and he ought to be silent, to be 
 prudent so that his ingratitude should not be flung in 
 his face. 
 
 Moreover, his brother Esteban, breaking the cold 
 reserve into which he had retired since the arrival of 
 his daughter, counselled prudence. 
 
 "His mind seems possessed by the demon, Esteban," 
 said the priest, "and he explains his views with the 
 
 207 
 
2o8 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 most perfect calmness in this holy house, as though he 
 were in one of those infernal clubs which exist in foreign 
 countries. Where on earth has your brother been to 
 learn such things? Never have I heard such frightful 
 heresies. Tell him that I shall forget it all as I have 
 known him since his childhood, and that I remember 
 he was the pride of our seminary, but more especially 
 because he is ill, and it would be inhuman to drive him 
 out of the Cathedral; but he must not repeat this 
 scandal. Silence! Let him keep all those atrocities in 
 his own head, if it so pleases him to lose his soul; but 
 in this holy house, and especially before its staff, not a 
 word. Do you understand ? not a word. The next thing 
 will be that he will hold meetings in the Holy Metro- 
 politan Church. Besides, your brother must remember 
 that, after all, at this moment, he is eating the bread of 
 the Church, as he lives on you, and is supported by you, 
 and it is not right to speak in this way of the most excel- 
 lent work of God, and try to point out all its defects." 
 
 This last consideration weighed the most with 
 Gabriel, and it wounded his dignity. Don Antolin said 
 rightly, he was no more than a parasite of the Cathedral, 
 and having taken refuge in her lap, he owed her 
 gratitude and silence. He would keep silence. Had 
 he not decided when he took refuge there to live as one 
 dead? He would live like an animated corpse, which 
 in some religious orders is the supreme of human 
 perfection. He would think like everyone else, or 
 rather, he would try not to think at all, but would 
 simply vegetate there till his last hour came, like the 
 plants in the garden or the fungus on the buttresses of 
 the cloister. 
 
 The Cathedral servants seated themselves round the 
 sewing machine, hoping in vain that their master would 
 come down, but content on the whole, though they did 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 209 
 
 not see him, to be near him, to look at his empty seat, 
 and to talk to the girl who expressed such ingenuous 
 admiration for her uncle's conversation. The Chapel- 
 master was delighted that Luna, his sole admirer, had 
 returned to visit him; during his temporary eclipse the 
 poor musician had suffered all the bitterness of solitude, 
 despairing with almost infantile rage, as though an 
 immense audience had turned its back on him. He 
 caressed Gabriel as though he was the woman he loved, 
 listening to his coughing, and recommending all sorts 
 of fantastic remedies imagined by himself, uneasy at 
 the progress of his malady and trembling at the idea 
 that death might tear from him his only listener. 
 
 He told Gabriel of all the music he had studied~- 
 during his absence. When the sick man coughed much, 
 he would cease playing his harmonium, and begin long 
 talks with his friend, always on the subject of his con- 
 stant preoccupation, musical art. 
 
 "Gabriel," said the musician one evening; "you who 
 are so keen an observer, and who knows so much, has it 
 ever struck you that Spain is sad, and has not the 
 sweet sentimentality of true poetry? She is not 
 melancholy, she is sad, with a wild and savage silence. 
 She either laughs in wild peals, or weeps moaning. 
 She has not the gentle smile, the joyful brightness that 
 distinguishes the man from the animal. If she laughs 
 it is showing all her teeth ; her inner meaning is always 
 gloomy, with the obscurity of a cavern in which all 
 passions rage like wild beasts seeking for an outlet." 
 
 "You say truly, Spain is sad," replied Luna. "She 
 does not now go dressed in black, with the rosary 
 hanging to the pommel of her sword as in former years. 
 Still in her heart she is always dressed in mourning 
 and her soul is gloomy and wild. For three hundred 
 years the poor thing has endured the inquisitorial 
 
210 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL' 
 
 anguish of burning or being burnt, and she still feels 
 the spasm of that life of terror. There is no joy here." 
 "There certainly is not, and you find this more in 
 music than in any other phase of Spanish life. The 
 Germans dance the gay and voluptuous waltz with a 
 'bock' in their hand, singing the Gaudeamus igitur, that 
 students' hymn glorifying the material life free from 
 care. The French sing amid rippUng laughter, and 
 dance with their free and elastic limbs, greeting with 
 rapturous applause their fantastic and monkey-like 
 movements. The English have turned their dance into 
 gymnastics, with the energy of a healthy body delighting 
 in its own strength. But all these people, when they 
 feel the sweet sadness of poetry, sing Lieds, romances, 
 ballads, something soft and flowing, that rests the soul 
 and speaks to the imagination. Here even the popular 
 dances have much that is priestly, recalling the priestly 
 stiffness of the sacred dances, and the circling frenzy of 
 the priestess, who ended by falling in front of the altar 
 with foaming mouth and bloodshot eyes. And our 
 songs? They are most beautiful, the products of many 
 civilisations, but most sad, despairing, gloomy, reveal- 
 ing the soul of a sick and tainted people, who find their 
 greatest pleasure in human bloodshed, or urging on 
 dying horses in the enclosure of a circus. Spanish joy! 
 Andalusian merriment! I cannot help laughing at it. 
 One night in Madrid I assisted at an Andalusian fete, 
 all that was most typical, most Spanish. We went to 
 enjoy ourselves immensely. Wine and more wine! 
 And accordingly the bottle went round, with ever 
 frowning brows, gloomy faces, abrupt gestures. 'Ole! 
 come along here! This is the joy of the world!' but 
 the joy did not appear in any part. The men looked 
 at one "Another with scowling brows, the women 
 stamped their feet and clapped their hands with a 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 211 
 
 stupid vacuity in their looks, as though the music had 
 emptied their brains. The dancers swayed like erect 
 serpents, with their mouths open, their looks hard, 
 grave, proud, unapproachable, like dancers who were 
 performing a sacred rite. Now and then above the 
 monotonous and sleepy rhythm, a song, harsh and 
 strident like a roar, like the scream of one who falls 
 with his body run through. And the poetry? As 
 dreary as a dungeon, sometimes very beautiful, but 
 beautiful as might be the song of a prisoner behind his 
 bars, dagger thrusts to the faithless wife, offences 
 against the mother washed out in blood, complaints 
 against the judge who sends to prison the caballeros ^ of 
 the broad-brimmed sombreros and sashes. The adieus 
 of the culprit who watches in the chapel the light of 
 his last morning dawn. A poetry of death and the 
 scaffold that wrings the heart and robs it of all happi- 
 ness; even the songs to the beauty of women contain 
 blood and threats. And this is the music that delights 
 the people in their hours of relaxation and that will go 
 on 'enlivening' them probably for centuries. We are 
 a gloomy people, Gabriel, we have it in our very mar- 
 row, we do not know how to sing unless we are threaten- 
 ing or weeping, and that song is the most beautiful which 
 contains most sighs, most painful groans and gasps of 
 agony." 
 
 "It is true, the Spanish people must necessarily be 
 so. It believes with its eyes shut in its kings and 
 priests as the representatives of God, ■ and it moulds 
 itself in their image and likeness. Its^jxietam/eat-As 
 that oj the iriaxsrr^ajzo& xss ^meo JmgRt of dirty jests, of 
 greasy words and hoarse laughs. Our spicy novels are 
 stories of the refectory composed in the hours of 
 
 * Highwaymen. 
 
212 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 digestion, with the garments loosened, the hands crossed 
 on the paunch, and the triple chin resting on the 
 scapulary. Their laughter arises always from the same 
 sources — grotesque poverty, the troublesome hangers on, 
 the tricks of hunger to rob a companion of his provision 
 of begged scraps. The tricks to filch purses from the 
 gaily-dressed ladies who flaunt in the churches, who 
 serve as models to our poets of the golden age to depict 
 a lying world devoid of honour. The woman enslaved 
 behind iron bars and shutters, more dishonest and 
 vicious than the modern woman with all her liberty. 
 The Spanish sadness is the work of her kings, of those 
 gloomy invalids who dreamt of conquering the whole 
 world while their own people were dying of hunger. 
 When they saw that their deeds did not correspond to 
 their hopes, they became hypochondriacs and despair- 
 ingly fanatical, believing their ruin to be a punishment 
 from God, giving themselves over to a cruel devotion 
 in order to appease the divinity. When Philip II. 
 heard of the wreck of the Invincible, the death of so 
 many thousand men, and the sorrow of half Spain, he 
 never even winked an eyelid. T sent it to fight with men, 
 not with the elements,' and he went on with his prayers 
 in the Escorial. The imperturbable gloom and ferocity 
 of the kings re-acted on the nation, and this is why 
 for many centuries black was the favourite colour at 
 the court of Spain. The sombre groves in the royal 
 palaces, with their gloomy winter foliage, were and still 
 are their favourite resorts; the roofs of their country 
 palaces are black, with towers surmounted by weather- 
 cocks, and dark cloisters like monasteries." 
 
 Shut into that small room with no other listener 
 than the Chapel-master, Gabriel forgot the discretion 
 he had imposed on himself with a view to the con- 
 tinuance of his quiet existence in the Cathedral. He 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 213 
 
 could speak without fear in the presence of the musician, 
 and he spoke warmly about the Spanish kings and of the 
 gloom that from them had filtered through the country. 
 
 Melancholy was the punishment imposed by Nature 
 on the despots of the Western decadence. When a 
 king had any artistic predispositions, like Fernando VI., 
 instead of tasting the joy of life he nearly died of 
 weariness listening to the airs on the guitar feebly 
 tinkled by Farinelli. As they were born with their 
 minds closed to every inspiration of beauty or poetry, 
 they spent their lives gun in hand in the woods near 
 Madrid, shooting the deer and yawning with disgust at 
 the fatigues of the chase, while the queens amused 
 themselves at a distance hanging on to the arm of one of 
 the bodyguard. They could not live with impunity for 
 three centuries in close contact with the Inquisition, 
 exercising power simply as papal delegates, under the 
 direction of bishops, Jesuits, confessors, and monastic 
 orders, who only left to the Spanish monarchy the 
 appearance of power, turning it, in fact, into an op- 
 pressed theocratic republic. The gloom of Catholicism 
 penetrated into their very bones, and while the fountains 
 of Versailles were playing among their marble nymphs, 
 and the courtiers of Louis XIV. were decked like but- 
 terflies in their multi-coloured garments, as shameless as 
 pagans among the beautiful goddesses, the court of 
 Spain, dressed in black, with a rosary hanging at its 
 girdle, assisted at the burnings and, girt with the green 
 scarf of the holy office, honoured itself by undertaking 
 the duties of alguacil at the bonfires of heretics. While 
 humanity, warmed by the soft breath of the Renaissance, 
 was admiring the Apollos and adoring the Venus' 
 discovered by the plough amid the ruins of mediaeval 
 catastrophes, the type of supreme beauty for the 
 Spanish monarchy was the criminal of Judea. The 
 
214 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 black and dusty Christs in the old cathedrals, with the 
 livid mouth, the skeleton and distorted body, the feet 
 bony, and dripping with blood, much blood, — ^that liquid 
 so loved by the religious when doubt begins and faith 
 weakens, and to impose dogma they place their hand on 
 the sword. 
 
 "For this reason the Spanish monarchy has been 
 steeped in gloom, transmitting its melancholy from one 
 generation to another. If by any chance there appeared 
 among them anyone happy and pleased with life, it was 
 because in the blue blood of the maternal veins there 
 was a plebeian drop, which pierced like the rays of the 
 sun into a sick room." 
 
 Don Luis listened to Gabriel, receiving his words with 
 affirmative gestures. 
 
 "Yes, we are a people governed by gloom," said the 
 musician. "The sombre humour of those dark centuries 
 lives in us still. I have often thought how difficult life 
 must have been to an awakened spirit. The Inquisition 
 listening to every word, and endeavouring to guess every 
 thought The conquest of heaven the sole ideal of 
 life! And that conquest becoming daily more difficult! 
 Money must be paid to the Church to save one's self, 
 and poverty was the most perfect state; and again, 
 besides the sacrifice of all comfort, prayers at all hours, 
 the daily visits to the church, the life of confraternities, 
 the disciplines in the vaults of the parish church, the 
 voice of the brother of Mortal Sin interrupting sleep to 
 remind one of the approach of Death; and added to 
 this fanatical and weary life the uncertainty of salvation, 
 the threat of falling into hell for the slightest fault, and 
 the impossibility of ever thoroughly appeasing a sullen 
 and revengeful God. And then again, the more tangible 
 menace, the terror of the bonfire, engendering cowardice 
 and debasing suspected men." 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 215 
 
 "In this way we can understand," said Gabriel, "the 
 cynical confession of the Canon Llorente explaining 
 why he became secretary to the Holy Office: 'They 
 began to roast, and in order not to be roasted I took on 
 me the part of roaster.* For intelligent men there was 
 nothing else to be done. How could they resist and 
 rebel? The king, master of all lives and property, 
 was only the servant of bishops, friars, and familiars. 
 The kings of Spain, except the first Bourbons, were 
 nothing but servants of the Church; in no country has 
 been seen as palpably as in this one the solidarity 
 between Church and State. Religion succeeded in 
 living without the kings, but the kings could not exist 
 without religion. The fortunate warrior, the conqueror 
 who founded a throne, had no need of a priest The 
 fame of his exploits and his sword were enough for him, 
 but as death drew near he thought of his heirs, who 
 would be unable to dispose of glory and fear to make 
 themselves respected as he had done, and he drew near 
 to the priest, taking God as a mysterious ally who 
 would watch over the preservation of the throne. The 
 founder of a dynasty reigned 'by the grace of strength' 
 but his descendants reigned 'by the grace of God.' The 
 king and the Church were everything for the Spanish 
 people. Faith had made them slaves by a moral chain 
 that no revolutions could break; its log^c was indis- 
 putable — ^the belief in a personal God, who busied Him- 
 self with the most minute concerns of the world, and 
 granted His grace to the king that he might reign, 
 obliged them to obey under pain of going to hell. 
 Those who were rich and well placed in the world grew 
 fat, praising the Lord who created kings to save men 
 the trouble of governing themselves ; those who suffered 
 consoled themselves by thinking that this life was but a 
 passbg trial, after which they would be sure to gain a 
 
2i6 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 little niche in heaven. Religion is the best of all 
 auxiliaries to the kings ; if it had not existed before the 
 monarchs these last would have invented it. The proof 
 is that in these times of doubt they are firmly anchored 
 to Catholicism, which is the strongest prop of the 
 throne. Logically the kings ought to say, T am king 
 because I have the power, because I am supported by 
 the army.' But no, senor, they prefer to continue the 
 old farce and say, 'I, the king, by the grace of God.' 
 The little tyrant cannot leave the lap of the greater 
 despot; it is impossible to them to maintain themselves 
 by themselves." 
 
 Gabriel was silent for some time; he was suffocating, 
 his chest was heaving with the spasms of his hollow 
 cough. The Chapel-master drew near alarmed. 
 
 "Do not be uneasy," said Luna, recovering himself; 
 "it is so every day. I am ill and I ought not to talk so 
 much, but these things excite me, and I feel irritated by 
 the absurdities of the monarchy and religion, not only 
 in this country, but all over the world. But, notwith- 
 standing, I have felt real pity, profound commiseration 
 for a being with royal blood. Can you believe it ? I saw 
 him quite close in one of my journeys through Europe. 
 I do not know how the police who guarded his carriage 
 did not drive me away, fearing a possible attempt, but 
 what I felt was compassion for the kings who have 
 come so late into a world that no longer believes in the 
 divine right; and these last twigs, sprouting from the 
 worm-eaten and rotten trunk of a dynasty, carry in 
 their poor sap the decay of the rotten branches. It was 
 a youth, as sick as I am, not by the chances of life, but 
 weakly from his cradle, condemned before his birth to 
 suffer from the malady that came to him with his life. 
 Just imagine, Don Luis, if at this time for the 
 preservation of my own interests I begot a son, would 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 217 
 
 it not be a coldly premeditated attempt against the 
 future?" 
 
 And the revolutionist described the young invalid : his 
 thin body, artificially strengthened by hygiene and gym- 
 nastics, his eyes heavy and sunk deep in their sockets, 
 the lower jaw hanging loose like that of a corpse, want- 
 ing the strength that keeps it fixed to the skull. 
 
 "Poor youth! Why was he born? What would be 
 accomplished in his journey through the world? Why 
 had Nature, who so often refuses fecundity to the 
 strong, shown herself prodigal to the loveless union of a 
 dying consumptive ? What was the use to him of having 
 carriages and horses, liveried servants to salute him, and 
 ninnies to give him food; it would have been far better 
 had he never appeared in the world but had remained 
 in the limbo of those who are never born. Like the 
 squire of Don Quixote, who finding himself at last 
 in the plenty of Barataria, had by his side a doctor 
 Recio to restrain his appetite, this poor creature could 
 never enjoy with freedom the pleasures of the remains 
 of life left to him." 
 
 "They pay him thousands of duros," added Gabriel, 
 "for every minute of his life, but no amount of gold can 
 procure him a drop of fresh blood to cure the hereditary 
 poison in his veins. He is surrounded by beautiful 
 women, but if he feels arising the happy tremors of 
 youth, the sap of the spring of life, the predisposition 
 of a family who have only been notable for the victories 
 won in love's battles, he must remain cold and austere, 
 under his mother's vigilant eye, who knows that carnal 
 passion would rapidly end a life so weak and uncertain. 
 And the end of all these sad and painful privations — 
 inevitable death. Why was this poor creature born? 
 Often the greatness of the earth is worse than a male- 
 diction, and reasons of State are the most cruel of all 
 
2i8 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAn 
 
 tonnents for an invalid, obliging him to feign a healtH 
 he does not feel. To speak of the illness of the king is 
 a crime, and the courtiers living under the shadow of 
 the throne consider the slightest allusion to the king's 
 health as a sacrilege, a crime worthy of punishment, as 
 though he were not a human being subject like others to 
 death." 
 
 "I do not care much for politics," said the Chapel-' 
 master; "kings and republics are all the same to me, I 
 am a votary of art. I do not know what monarchy may 
 be in the other countries that you have seen, but in 
 Spain it seems quite played out. It is tolerated like so 
 many relics of the past, but it inspires no enthusiasm 
 and no one is inclined to sacrifice themselves for it, and 
 I believe that even the people who live in its shadow, 
 and whose interests are most bound up with those of the 
 crown, have more devotion on their tongues than in their 
 hearts." 
 
 "It is so, Don Luis," said Gabriel ; "for nearly a cen- 
 tury the monarchy has been dead in Spain; the last loved 
 and popular king was Fernando VII. Since then the 
 nation has asserted itself, becoming emancipated from 
 the old traditions, but the kings have not progressed; 
 on the contrary, they have gone back, withdrawing- 
 themselves daily more and more from the anticlerical 
 and reforming tendencies of the first Bourbons. If in. 
 educating a prince nowadays his masters were to say, 
 'We will try and make a Carlos III. of him,' even 
 the stones of the palace would be scandalised. The 
 Austrians have revived like those parasitic plants which, 
 having been torn up, reappear after a little while. 
 If in the life of the kings they seek for examples in 
 tfie past, they remember the Austrian Caesars, but it 
 is complete oblivion of those first Bourbons who morally 
 killed the Inquisition, expelled the Jesuits, and fostered 
 
THE SHADOW OE THE CATHEDRAL 219 
 
 the material progress of the country; they renounce 
 the memory of those foreigti ministers who came to 
 civilise Spain. Jesuits, friars and clerics order and 
 direct as in the best times of Charles II. To have had 
 as minister a Count of Aranda, the friend of Vol- 
 taire, is a shame of the past and to be passed over in 
 silence. Yes, Don Luis, you say well, the monarchy is 
 dead. Between it and the country there is the same 
 relation as between a corpse and a living man. The 
 secular laziness, the resistance to all change, and the fear 
 of the unknown that all stationary people feel, are the 
 causes of the continuance of this institution, that has 
 not like other countries the military outlet or the 
 aggrandisement of its territory as a justificatidh of its 
 existence." 
 
 With this the conversation ended that evening in the 
 Chapel-master's little room. 
 
 Gabriel found himself drawn afresh by the affection 
 of his admirers in the Claverias. They coaxed him and 
 followed him, lamenting his absence. They could not 
 live without him, so declared the shoemaker. They had 
 become accustomed to listen to him, they felt the desire 
 of being enlightened, and they begged the master not to 
 desert them. 
 
 "We meet in the tower now," said the bell-ringer; 
 "Silver Stick looks on our meetings with an evil eye, 
 and he has gone so far as to threaten the shoemaker to 
 turn him out of the Claverias if the meetings continue 
 to be held in his house. He will not interfere with me ; 
 he knows my character. Besides, if he rules in the 
 upper cloister, I rule in my tower. I am quite capable, 
 if he comes to disturb us with his spying, of throwing 
 him down the stairs, the miserly devil !" 
 
 And he added with an affectionate expression, a great 
 contrast to his usual rough and taciturn character : 
 
220 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "Come, Gabriel, we expect you in my house. When 
 you are tired of keeping your niece and that crazy Don 
 Luis company, come up for a little while. We cannot 
 get on without your words. Don Martin has been quite 
 enthusiastic since he heard you the other evening; he 
 wants to see you ; he says he would go from one end of 
 Toledo to the other to hear you. He wishes me to let 
 him know if you decide on rejoining your friends, be- 
 cause Don Antolin in speaking to him sets you down as 
 a madman and a heretic who does not know what to be 
 after. But he is an ignoramus who, after studying for 
 his profession, can do no better than sell tickets and 
 squeeze the poor." 
 
 Luna returned to the meetings in the bell-ringer's 
 house. The greater part of the morning he sat by his 
 niece, soothed by the tic-tac of the machine, which 
 caused a gentle drowsiness, watching the cloth pass 
 under the presser with little jumps, spreading the pecu- 
 liar chemical scent of new stuffs. 
 
 He watched Sagrario always sad, devoting herself to 
 her work with taciturn tenacity; when now and then 
 she raised her head to regulate her cotton and met 
 Gabriel's glance, a faint smile would pass over her 
 face. 
 
 In the isolation in which the anger of her father had 
 left them they felt obliged to draw together as though 
 a common danger threatened them, and their bodily 
 infirmities were a further bond of union. Gabriel pitied 
 the fate of the poor young woman, seeing how hardly 
 the world had treated her after her flight from the 
 family hearth. Her long illness had changed her 
 greatly and still caused her pain, her once beautiful 
 teeth were no longer white and regular, and the hps 
 were pallid and drawn; her hair had grown thin in 
 places, but she contrived to conceal this with locks of 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 221 
 
 the auburn hair, remains of her former beauty, which 
 she dressed with great skill; but in spite of this her 
 youth was beginning to assert itself, giving light to her 
 eyes and charm to her smile. 
 
 Many nights Gabriel, tossing on his bed unable to 
 sleep, coughing, and with his head and chest bathed in 
 cold sweat, would hear in the room adjoining the sup- 
 pressed moans of his niece, timid and smothered so that 
 the rest of the household should not be disturbed. 
 
 "What was the matter with you last night?" asked 
 Gabriel the following morning. "What were you moan- 
 ing for?" 
 
 And Sagrario, after many denials, finally admitted her 
 discomfort : 
 
 "My bones ache ; directly I get to bed the pain begins 
 and I feel as though my limbs were being torn asunder. 
 And you, how are you? All night I heard you cough, 
 and I thought you were suffocating." 
 
 And the two invalids stricken by life forgot their own 
 aches and pains to sympathise with those of the other, 
 establishing between their hearts a current of loving pity, 
 attracted to each other not by the difference of sex, but 
 by the fraternal sympathy aroused by each other's mis- 
 fortunes. 
 
 Very often Sagrario would try to send her uncle 
 away ; it pained her to see him sitting close by her, doing 
 nothing, coughing painfully, fixing his eyes upon her as 
 though she were an object of adoration. 
 
 "Get up from here," the girl would say gaily — "it 
 makes me nervous seeing you so very quiet keeping me 
 company when -what you want is life and movement. 
 Go to your friends ; they are expecting you in the bell- 
 ringer's tower. They have been talking about me, 
 thinking it is I who keep you in the house. Go out to 
 jvalk, uncle! Go and speak of those things that stir 
 
222 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAU 
 
 you so much, and that those poor people listen to open- 
 mouthed. Be careful as you go up the stairs ; go slowly 
 and stop often, so that the demon of the cough may not 
 get hold of you." 
 
 Gabriel spent the later hours of the morning in the 
 bell-ringer's "habitacion." The walls of ancient whiter 
 wash were adorned by faded and yellow engravings, 
 representing episodes in the Carlist war, remembrances 
 of the mountain campaign which for long years had 
 been the pride of Mariano, but of which now he never 
 spoke. 
 
 Here Gabriel met all his admirers. Even the shoe- 
 maker worked at night in order not to deprive himself 
 of this meeting. Don Martin, the curate, also came up, 
 concealing himself carefully so that Silver Stick should 
 not see him. It was a small community grouping itself 
 roundJhe-sick-apQstle, with all the zeal inspired by the 
 unknown. 
 
 Gabriel answered all these men's questions, that so 
 often betrayed the simplicity of their minds. When a 
 fit of coughing seized him, they all surrounded him 
 with concern written on their faces. They would have 
 wished even at the cost of their own lives to restore 
 him to health. Luna, parried away by his enthusiasm, 
 ended by narrating to them the story of his life and 
 sufferings, and so the prestige of martyrdom came to 
 increase the ardour of these people. The narrowed 
 minds of these sedentary men, living tranquil and safe 
 in the Cathedral,- made them admire the adventures and 
 torments of this fighter; for them he was a mart)rr to 
 this new religion of the humble and oppressed, and be- 
 sides, their innocence converted him into a victim of that 
 social injustice which they daily hated more. 
 
 For them there was no other truth but Gabriel's 
 words; the bell-ringer, although the roughest and most 
 
THE SHADOW OF! THE CATHEDRAL 223 
 
 \, 
 
 silent among them, was the most advanced in his con- 
 version. His admiration for Gabriel which dated from 
 their childhood, his dog-like fidelity, carried him on with 
 leaps and bounds, making him accept at once even the 
 most distant ideals. 
 
 "I am whatever you are, Gabriel," he said firmly. 
 "Are you not an anarchist? I will be one also — indeed, 
 I think I have always been one. Do you not preach 
 that the poor should live and the rich should work; 
 that everyone should possess what he earns, and that we 
 should all help one another? Well, this is just what I 
 thought when we wandered over the country with our 
 guns and our scarf. And as far as religion is concerned, 
 which formerly nearly drove us mad, I feel perfectly in- 
 different. I am convinced on hearing you that it is a 
 sort of fable invented by clever people in order that we, 
 the poor and unfortunate, should submit to the miseries 
 of this world hoping for heaven; it is not badly imag- 
 ined, for in the end those who die and do not find 
 heaven will not return to complain." 
 
 One day Gabriel wished to go up where the bells were 
 hung. It was now well on in spring; it was warm, and 
 the intense blue of the sky seemed to attract him. 
 
 "I have not seen the 'big bell' since I was a child," 
 he said. "Let us go up ; I should like to see Toledo for 
 the last time." 
 
 And accompanied by his admirers, indeed, almost 
 carried by them, he went slowly up the narrow spiral 
 staircase. Arrived at the top, the soft wind was mur- 
 muring through the great iron railings, the cages of the 
 bells. From the centre of the vault hung the famous 
 "Gorda," an immense bronze bell, with all one side split 
 by a large crack; the clapper, which was the author 
 of the mischief, lay below it, engraved and as thick as a 
 column, and a smaller one now occupied the cavity. 
 
224 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 The roofs of the Cathedral, dark and ugly, lay at their 
 feet, and in front on a hill rose the Alcazar, higher and 
 larger than the church, as though keeping up the spirit 
 of the emperor who built it, Csesar of Catholicism, cham- 
 pion of the faith, but who nevertheless strove to keep 
 the Church at his feet. 
 
 The city spread out around the Cathedral, the houses 
 disappearing in the crowd of towers, cupolas and 
 absides. It was impossible to look on any side without 
 meeting with chapels, churches, convents and ancient 
 hospitals. Religion had absorbed the industrious Toledo 
 of old, and still guarded the dead city beneath its hood 
 of stone. From some of the belfries a red flag was 
 floating, bearing a white chalice; this meant that some 
 newly-ordained priest was singing his first mass. 
 
 "I have never been up here," said Don Martin, sitting 
 by Gabriel's side on one of the rafters, "without seeing 
 some of these flags ; ecclesiastical recruiting never ceases, 
 there are always visionaries to fill its ranks. Those 
 who really have faith are the minority, the greater 
 part enter because they see the Church still triumphant 
 and seemingly commanding, and they think that in 
 her ranks some tremendous career is waiting for them. 
 Unlucky wights! I also was led to the altar with 
 music and oratorical shouts, as though I were walking 
 to a triumph. Incense spread its clouds before my 
 eyes, all my family wept with emotion at seeing me 
 nothing less than a minister of God. And the day 
 following all this theatrical pomp, when the lights and 
 the censers were extinguished and the church had 
 recovered its ordinary aspect, began this miserable life 
 of poverty and intrigue to earn one's bread — seven duros 
 a month! To endure at all hours the complaints of 
 those poor women, with their tempers embittered by 
 seclusion, common as the lowest servants, who spend 
 
THE SHADOW OE THE CATHEDRAL 225 
 
 their lives gossiping in the parlour of what is passing 
 in the towns, inventing scandals to please the canons, or 
 the families who protect the house. And there are 
 priests who envy me! hungering against me for this 
 coveted chaplaincy of nuns ! looking upon me as a flat- 
 tering hanger-on of the archiepiscopal palace, not under- 
 standing how otherwise, being so young, I could have 
 hooked out this preferment that allows me to live in 
 Toledo on seven duros a month !" 
 
 Gabriel nodded his head, sympathising with the young 
 priest's complaints. 
 
 "Yes, it is you who are deceived. The day for 
 making great fortunes in the Church is past, and the 
 poor youths who now wear the cassock and dream of a 
 mitre make me think of those emigrants who go to dis- 
 tant countries famous through long centuries of plunder, 
 and find them even more poverty-stricken than their own 
 land." 
 
 "You are right, Gabriel. The day of the all-powerful 
 Church is past; she has still in her udders milk enough 
 for all, but there are few who can fasten on to them 
 and fill themselves to repletion, while others groan with 
 hunger. One could die of laughing when one hears of 
 the equality and the democratic spirit of the Church. 
 It is all a lie; in no other institution does so cruel a 
 despotism reign. In early days Popes and bishops 
 were elected by the faithful, and were deposed from 
 power if they used it badly. The aristocracy of the 
 Church exists still ; it may be a canon upwards, or one 
 who succeeds in crowning himself with a mitre; from 
 them no account is required. Among the laity appoint- 
 ments are changed, ministers are turned out, soldiers 
 are degraded — even kings are dethroned; but who exacts 
 responsibility from Pope or bishops once they are 
 anointed and in more or less frequent intercourse with 
 
226 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAi: 
 
 the Holy Spirit? If you want justice you are sent 
 before tribunals equally formed by the aristocrats of the 
 Church; there is no power more absolute on earth, not 
 even the Grand Turk, who in a measure is responsible 
 through fear of revolts in his seraglio. Here, in the 
 seraglio of the Church, we are all less than women. If 
 it happens that a priest, weary of persecution, feeling 
 the man once more rising beneath his cassock, deals a 
 heavy blow at his tyrant, he is declared mad ; the 
 climax of hypocrisy! They try to demonstrate that in 
 the Church one lives in the best of worlds, and it is only 
 the lack of reason that causes any rebellion against its 
 authority." 
 
 Don Martin was silent for a long while as though he 
 were searching in his memory; at length he continued: 
 
 "You also laugh at the idea of the actual poverty of 
 the Church in Spain. She is like the great ruined 
 noblemen, who still have enough to live upon in idle- 
 ness, but who think themselves miserably poor compared 
 to their former wealth; the Church has the nostalgia 
 of those former centuries when she possessed half 
 the wealth of Spain. Poor she is if she thinks of those 
 times, but if you compare her with the Catholicism of 
 other modem nations you find that, as in former years, 
 she is by far the most favoured and best paid estab- 
 lishment in the State. She absorbs forty-one millions 
 of the revenue, which is enormous in a country which 
 only devotes nine millions to schools and teaching, 
 -and one million to the relief of the poor. To maintain 
 an intercourse with God costs a Spaniard five times 
 as much as to learn to read. But this forty-one millions 
 is a blind. My own poverty made me inquisitive, and 
 I wished to know what the clergy in Spain really 
 receive, and what comes to our hands, the rank and 
 file. The demands and pensions of the Church are an 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 227 
 
 intricate tangle, apart from the forty-one millions. 
 There is not a single ministry in which the Church has 
 not struck her roots; she is paid by the Ministers of 
 State for foreign missions, which are no use to anyone, 
 by the Ministers of War and Marine for military 
 clergy, and by the Ministers of Public Instruction and 
 Justice. She is paid to support the pomp of the Roman 
 Pontiff, as we maintain his ambassador in Spain, which 
 is as though I allowed myself the luxury of keeping 
 servants, and laid on my neighbour the obligation of 
 paying them. She is paid for the repairs to churches, 
 for episcopal libraries, for the colonisation of Fernando 
 Po, for unforeseen occurrences, and I do not know 
 how many supplemental items besides ! And you must 
 take into account what the Spanish people pay the 
 Church voluntarily apart from what the State gives. 
 The Bull of the Holy Crusade produces two and a half 
 million pesetas annually ; besides this you must consider 
 what the parochial clergy draw from their congrega- 
 tions, the annual gifts to the religious orders for their 
 ministry and ofilices (and this is the fattest portion), 
 and the ecclesiastical revenue from the Ayuntamientos 
 and deputations. In short, this Church, which is con- 
 tinually speaking of its poverty, draws from the State 
 and the country more than three hundred million 
 pesetas annually — ^nearly double what the army costs; 
 although they are always complaining in the sacristies 
 of these modern times, saying that ever3rthing is de- 
 voured by the military, and that the fault of everything 
 that has happened is theirs, as they threw themselves 
 on to the side of that cursed liberty. Three hundred 
 millions, Gabriel! I have calculated it carefully! And 
 I, who form part of this great establishment, receive 
 seven duros a month; the greater part of the vicars 
 in Spain are paid less than an excise officer, and thou- 
 
128 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 get their clothes. But look at the fifth medallion on 
 our right hand ; the old gossip who cut that had a lively 
 turn of mind." 
 
 Gabriel looked for the first time attentively at these 
 forgotten sculptures. They were carved with all the 
 naturalistic simplicity of the Middle Ages, with all the 
 directness with which the artists represented their pro- 
 fane conceptions, with the desire to perpetuate the 
 triumph of the flesh in some ignored comer of the 
 mystical buildings, in order to testify that human life 
 was not dead. 
 
 The Tato was delighted at the surprise on his uncle's 
 face. 
 
 "Eh! what do you think of that? I discovered it 
 wandering about the church. The canons sing every 
 day on the other side of this wall without ever suspect- 
 ing what gay doings they have over their heads. And 
 the stained glass, uncle, look at it well. At first so many 
 colours blind one and the forms are indistinct; besides, 
 the lead cuts the figures and it is difficult to make out 
 anything, but I know them to my fingers' ends. They 
 are stories, things of their own times, that these glass- 
 workers painted; the intrigues have been forgotten, and 
 no one has disentangled them." 
 
 He pointed to the windows of the second nave, 
 through which the evening light was shining with a 
 ruddy glow. 
 
 "Look up there," went on the Perrero. "A gallant 
 in a red cape and sword mounts by a rope ladder; at 
 the window a nun is waiting for him. It seems some- 
 thing like the Don Juan Tenorio that they represent at 
 All Saints'. Further on, you see those two in bed, and 
 people knocking at the door. They must be the same 
 pair of birds with the family surprising them. Then in 
 the next window — look well at it — lovers, with scarcely 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 129 
 
 any clothes beyond bare skin. These things belong to 
 the days when people had no shame, when they went 
 with their heads covered and the rest of their flesh 
 bare." 
 
 Gabriel smiled at the whimsical ideas with which 
 ancient art inspired the Perrero. 
 
 "But in the choir, uncle, there is also something to 
 see. Let us go there ; the service is over and the canons 
 are coming out." 
 
 Luna felt overpowered by admiration as he always 
 did on entering the choir. Those magnificent stalls, the 
 work on one side of Philip of Burgundy, and on the 
 other side of Berruguete, bewildered him with their 
 profusion of marbles, jaspers, gildings, statues and me- 
 dallions. It was the genius of Michael Angelo reviving 
 in the Toledan Cathedral. 
 
 The Perrero examined the lower stalls, ferreting out 
 among the Gothic relievos the discoveries enjoyed by 
 his unwholesome curiosity. This first row of stalls, 
 almost on a level with the ground, were occupied by 
 the inferior clergy, and were anterior by half a century 
 to the upper stalls ; but in those fifty years art had made 
 a great stride, from the hard and rigid Gothic to the 
 flowing lines and good taste of the Renaissance. They 
 had been carved by Maestre Rodrigo at the time when 
 Christian' Spain, roused to enthusiasm, was helping the 
 Catholic kings with all its strength to complete the re- 
 conquest. On the backs of the stalls, and on the 
 entablature of the frieze fifty-four carved pictures 
 represented the principal incidents of the conquest of 
 Granada. 
 
 The Tato did not look at these carvings of walnut or 
 oak, with troops of horsemen and companies of soldiers 
 scaling the walls of Moorish towns. What interested 
 him most were the arms of the stalls, the handrails of 
 
-./ 
 
 230 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAC 
 
 their flesh, or lives in the desert musing continually on 
 death and hell? Three centuries of intolerance and of 
 excessive clerical severity have made our nation the 
 most indifferent to all religious matters. The ceremonies 
 of worship are followed by routine, because they appeal 
 to the imagination, but no one takes the trouble to 
 understand the foundations of the beliefs they profess; 
 they live as they please, certain that in their last hours 
 it is sufficient to save their souls, to die surrounded by 
 priests with a crucifix in their hands. In former days 
 the pressure from clergy, friars, and inquisitors was so 
 great that the machine of faith burst into a thousand 
 pieces, and there is no one now who can fit the pieces 
 together, which require the co-operation of all. And 
 that was a piece of good luck, friend Don Martin; a 
 century more of religious intolerance and we should 
 have been like those Mussulmen in Africa, who live in 
 barbarism on account of their excessive bigotry, after 
 having been the civilising Arabs of Cordoba and 
 Granada." 
 
 "Do you know," said the young curate, "why Catholi- 
 cism has held up its appearances of power ? It is .because 
 from ancient times, in all Latin countries, it has pos- 
 sessed itself of every avenue through which human life 
 must pass." 
 
 "It is true, no religion has been so cautious as ours, 
 or has ambushed itself better to entrap men. None has 
 chosen with such certainty in the time of power the 
 positions it can hold strongly in its decadence. It is im- 
 possible to move without stumbling against her. She 
 knows of old that man as long as he is healthy, in the 
 plenitude of his vital strength, is by instinct irreligious. 
 When he lives comfortable the so-called eternal life con- 
 cerns him very little. He only believes in God and fears 
 Him in the hour of supreme cowardice, when death 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 231 
 
 opens before him the bottomless pit of nothingness, and 
 his pride as a rational animal revolts against the com- 
 plete extinction of his being. He wishes his soul to be 
 immortal, and so he accepts the religious phantasies of 
 heaven and hell. The Church, fearing the irreligiousness 
 of health, has occupied, as you say, all the avenues of 
 life, so that no man shall accustom himself to live with- 
 out her, appealing solely to her in the hour of death. 
 The dead provide much money, they are her best asset ; 
 but she wishes equally to reign over the living. Nothing 
 escapes her despotism and her spying. She insinuates 
 herself into all human concerns from the greatest to the 
 most insignificant, she interferes in both public and 
 private life ; she baptizes the child when it comes into the 
 world, accompanies the child to school, monopolises love, 
 declaring it shameful and abominable if it does not sub- 
 mit to her benediction, and divides the earth into two 
 categories — the consecrated, for those who die in her 
 bosom, and the dunghill in the open air for the heretic. 
 The Church interferes in dress, laying down what is 
 honest and Christian wear and what is scandalous frivol- 
 ity. She interferes in the most intimate relations of do- 
 mestic life, and even penetrates into the kitchen, turning 
 Catholicism into a culinary art, ruling what ought to be 
 eaten, what ought or ought not to be mixed, and analii- 
 ematizing certain foods, which, being good enough the 
 rest of the year, become the most horrible sacrilege if 
 partaken on certain days. She accompanies a man from 
 his birth, and does not leave him even after he is laid 
 in the tomb ; she keeps him chained by his soul, making 
 it wander through space, passing from one place to an- 
 other, ascending the pathway to heaven, according to the 
 sacrifices imposed on themselves by his successors for 
 the benefit of the Church. A greater or more complete 
 despotism no tyrant could possibly imagine." 
 
232 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL' 
 
 It was midday. The bell-ringer had disappeared ; sud- 
 denly the rattle of chains and pulleys was heard and a 
 dull thunder made the tower tremble ; all the stones and 
 metal arid even the surrounding ether vibrated. The big 
 "Gorda" had just rung, deafening the bystanders. A 
 few moments afterwards, from the front of the Alcazar, 
 came the sound of martial music, trumpets, and drums. 
 
 "Let us go," said Gabriel. "Really, Mariano might 
 have warned us and spared us this surprise." 
 
 And he added, smiling ironically : 
 
 "It is always the same; it is the parasites who shine 
 the most and make the most noise; they make up in 
 noise what they lack in utility." 
 
 The festival of Corpus drew near without anything 
 occurring to ruffle the quiet life of the Cathedral. Some- 
 times in the upper cloister they spoke of His Eminence's 
 health. His serious quarrels with the Chapter had 
 obliged him to keep his bed, and he had Just had an at- 
 tack which made them fear for his life. 
 
 "It is his heart," said the Tato — who was usually 
 very well informed about things in the palace — "Dona 
 Visita is weeping like a Magdalen and cursing the 
 canons, seeing Don Sebastian so ill." 
 
 As Wooden Staff sat down to table with his family he 
 began to speak of the decadence of the feast of 
 Corpus, which had been so famous in Toledo in former 
 times. In his desire to complain he forgot the bitter 
 silence he had imposed on himself in his daughter's 
 presence. 
 
 "You will hardly recognise our Corpus," he said to 
 Gabriel. "Of all that we remember nothing remains but 
 the famous tapestries that are hung outside the Cathe- 
 dral. The giants are not drawn up before the 
 Puerta del Perdon, and the procession is shorn of its 
 glory." 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 233 
 
 The Chapel-master also complained bitterly. 
 
 "And the mass, Senor Esteban? Just think what a 
 mass for such a solemn festivity! Four instruments 
 from outside the house, and a Rossini mass of the light- 
 est description so as not to cost much. It would have 
 been far better for this to have played the organ alone." 
 
 According to an ancient custom, on the vesper before 
 the feast, the band of the Academy of Infantry played 
 in the evening before the Cathedral. All Toledo came 
 to hear the serenade, which was an event in the mo- 
 notonous life of the town, and from the province of 
 Madrid many strangers came for the bull-fight on the 
 following day. 
 
 Mariano, the bell-ringer, invited his friends to listen 
 to the serenade from the Greco-Roman gallery on the 
 principal front. At the hour when the lights were 
 usually extinguished in the Claverias and Don Antolin 
 locked the street door, Gabriel and his friends glided 
 cautiously to the bell-ringer's "habitacion." Sagrario 
 was also persuaded to come by her uncle, who in this 
 way managed to tear her from her machine. She 
 really must enjoy some little amusement; she ought to 
 appear in the world now and then; she was killing 
 herself with all that tiresome work. 
 
 They all sat in the gallery. The shoemaker had 
 brought his wife, always with a small baby at her 
 flabby breast. The Tato was talking delightedly to 
 the organ-blower and the verger about the bull-fight on 
 the following day, and Mariano stood by his adored 
 comrade, while his wife, a woman as rough as himself, 
 spoke with Sagrario. 
 
 The men were deploring the absence of Don Martin. 
 Probably he had gone down below among the people 
 who filled the square, doubtless dreading that he must 
 be up before daybreak to say mass to the nuns. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAU 
 
 [he palace of the Ayuntamiento was decorated with 
 strings of light, which were reflected on to the facade 
 of the Cathedral, giving the stones a rosy flush as of 
 fire. 
 
 Among the trees walked groups of girls with flowers 
 and white blouses, like the first appearances of spring. 
 The cadets followed them, their hands on the pommels 
 of their swords, walking along with their pinched-in 
 waists and their full pantaloons a la Turc. The archi- 
 episcopal palace remained entirely closed. Above the 
 rosy light in the piazza spread the beautiful summer 
 sky, clear and deep, spangled with innumerable brilliant 
 stars. 
 
 When the music ceased, and the lights began to fade, 
 the inhabitants of the Cathedral felt unwilling to leave 
 their seats. They were very comfortable there, the night 
 was warm, and they, accustomed to the confinement 
 and the silence of the Claverias, felt the joy of freedom, 
 sitting on that balcony with Toledo at their feet and 
 the immensity of space above them. 
 
 Sagrario, who had never been out of the upper 
 cloister since her return to the paternal roof, looked at 
 the stars with delight. 
 
 "How many stars!" she murmured dreamily. 
 
 "There are more than usual to-night," said the bell- 
 ringer. "The summer sky seems a field of stars in 
 which the harvest increases with the fine weather." 
 
 Gabriel smiled at the simplicity of his companions. 
 They all wondered at God, so foreseeing and so thought- 
 ful, who had made the moon to give light to men by 
 night, and the stars so that the darkness should not be 
 complete. 
 
 "Well, then," inquired Gabriel, "why is there not a 
 moon always if it was made to give us light?" 
 
 There was a long silence. They were all thinking 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 235 
 
 over Gabriel's question. The bell-ringer, being most 
 intimate with the master, ventured to put the question 
 about which they were all thinking. "What were the 
 heavens, and what was there beyond the blue?" \ 
 
 The square was now deserted and in darkness, there ' 
 was no light but the gentle shimmering of the stars 
 scattered in space like golden dust. From the immense 
 vault there seemed to fall a religious calm, an over- ; 
 whelming majesty that stirred the souls of those simple 
 people. The infinite seemed to bewilder them with its . 
 vast grandeur. 
 
 "You," said Gabriel, "have your eyes closed to 
 immensity, you cannot understand it. You have been 
 taught a wretched and rudimentary origin of the world, 
 imagined by a few ragged and ignorant Jews in a 
 comer of Asia, which, having been written in a book, 
 has been accepted down to our days. This personal 
 God, like to ourselves in His shape and passions, is an 
 artificer of gigantic capacity, who worked six days and 
 made everything existing. On the first day He created 
 light, and on the fourth the sun and stars ; from whence 
 then came that light if the sun had not then been 
 created? Is there any distinction between one and 
 the other? It seems impossible that such absurdities 
 should have been credited for centuries." 
 
 The listeners nodded their heads in assent; the 
 absurdity appeared to them palpable — ^as it always did 
 when Gabriel spoke. 
 
 "If you wish to penetrate the heavens," continued 
 Luna, "you jmust^gLjid--of--the_humar!L couGeption-oi 
 distance. Man measures everything by his own__ stature, >• 
 and he conceives dimensions by the distance his eyes 
 can reach. This Cathedral seems to us enormous 
 because underneath its naves we seem like ants; but, 
 nevertheless, the Cathedral seen from far is only an 
 
236 THE SHADOW OE THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 insignificant wart; compared with the piece of land we 
 call Spain it is less than a grain of sand, and on the 
 face of the earth it is a mere atom — ^nothing. Our 
 sight makes us consider thirty or forty yards a dizzy 
 height. At this moment we think we are very high 
 because we are near the roof of the Cathedral, but 
 compared to the infinite this height is as small as when 
 an ant balances on the top of a pebble not knowing 
 how to come down. Our sight is short, and we who 
 can only measure by yards, and apprehend short 
 distances, must make an immense effort of imagination 
 to realise infinity. Even then it escapes us and we 
 speak of it very often as of a thing that has no meaning. 
 How shall I make you understand the immensity of the 
 world? You must not believe, as our ancestors did, 
 that the earth is flat and stationary and that the 
 heaven is a crystal dome on which God has fastened 
 the stars like golden nails, and in which the sun and 
 moon move to give us light, you must understand that 
 the earth is round, and whirls round in space." 
 
 "Yes, we do know a little about that," said the bell- 
 ringer doubtfully, "for we were taught so at school. 
 But, really, do you think it moves?" 
 
 "Because in your littleness as human beings, because 
 to our microscopic mole-like sight the immense 
 mechanism of the world is lost, do not for a moment 
 doubt it. The earth turns. Without moving from 
 where you are, in twenty-four hours you will have made 
 the complete circuit with the globe. Without moving 
 our feet we rush along at the rate of four hundred 
 leagues an hour, a velocity that the fastest trains cannot 
 attain. You are astonished? We rush along without 
 knowing it. Our planet does not only turn on itself, 
 but at the same time it turns round the sun at the rate 
 of nearly a hundred thousand miles an hour. Every 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 237 
 
 second we cover thirty thousand miles. Men have never 
 invented a cannon ball that could fly so quickly. You 
 move through space fixed to a projectile which whirls 
 with dizzy speed, and, deceived by your smallness, you 
 think you are living immovable in a dead cathedral. 
 And this velocity is as nothing compared with others. 
 The sun round which we turn, flies and flies through 
 space, carrying on by its attraction the earth and the 
 other planets. It goes through immensity, dragging us 
 along, travelling towards the unknown, without ever 
 striking other bodies, finding always sufficient space to 
 move in with a rapidity which makes one giddy; and 
 this has gone on for thousands and millions of cen- 
 turies without either it or the earth who follows it 
 in its flight ever passing twice over the same spot." 
 
 They all listened to Gabriel open-mouthed with 
 astonishment, and their bright eyes seemed dazed and 
 bewildered. 
 
 "It is enough to drive one mad," murmured the 
 bell-ringer. "What then is man, Gabriel?" 
 
 "Nothing; even as this earth, which seems so large, 
 and that we have peopled with religions, kingdoms and 
 revelations from God, is nothing. Dreams of ants!. even 
 less! This same sun which seems so enormous com- 
 pared to our globe is nothing more than an atom in 
 immensity. What you call stars are other suns likb 
 ours, surrounded by planets like our earth, but which 
 are invisible on account of their small size. How many 
 are they? Man brings his optical instruments to per- 
 fection and is able to pierce further into the fields of 
 heaven, discovering ever more and more. Those which 
 are scarcely visible in the infinite appear much nearer 
 when a new telescope is invented, and beyond them in 
 the depths of space others and again others appear, and 
 
238 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 so on everlastingly. They are unaccountable. Some are 
 worlds inhabited like ours; others were so, and revolve 
 solitary in space, waiting for a fresh evolution of life; 
 many are still forming; and yet all these worlds are no 
 more than corpuscles of the luminous mist of the 
 infinite. Space is peopled by fires that have burnt for 
 millions, trillions and quadrillions of centuries, throwing 
 out heat and light. The milky way is nothing but a 
 cloud of stars that seem to us as one mass, but which in 
 reality are so far apart that thousands of suns like ours 
 with all their planets could revolve among them without 
 ever coming into collision." 
 
 Gabriel remembered the travelling of sound and light. 
 "Their velocity is insignificant compared with the dis- 
 tances in space. The sun, which is the nearest to us, is 
 still so far that for a sound to go from us to it would 
 take three millions of years. Poor human beings will 
 never be able to travel with the rapidity of sound. 
 
 "These suns travel like ours towards the unknown 
 with giddy flight, but they are so distant that three or 
 four thousand years may pass without man being aware 
 that they have moved more than a finger's breadth. The 
 distances of infinity are maddening. The sun is a 
 nebula of inflammatory gas, and the earth an imper- 
 ceptible molecule of sand. 
 
 "The luminous ray of the Polar star requires half a 
 century to reach our eyes; it might have disappeared 
 forty-nine years ago, and still we should see it in space. 
 
 "And all these worlds are created, grow and die like 
 human beings. In space there is no more rest than on 
 earth. Some stars are extinguished, others vary, and 
 others shine with all the power of their young life. The 
 dead planets dissolved by fires furnish the material 
 for new worlds; it is a perpetual renewal of forms, 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL: 239 
 
 throughout millions and millions of centuries, that repre- 
 sent in their lives what the few dozen years to which we 
 are limited, are in our own. And beyond all those incal- 
 culable distances there is space, and more space on 
 every side, with fresh conglomerations of worlds without 
 limit or end." 
 
 Gabriel spoke in the midst of solemn silence. The 
 listeners closed their eyes as if such immensity stunned 
 them. They followed in imagination Gabriel's descrip- 
 tion, but their narrowed minds wished to place a term 
 to the infinite, and in their simplicity they imagined 
 beyond these incalculable distances a vault of firm 
 matter millions of leagues thick. Surely all that strange 
 and fantastic work must have a limit. What was at 
 the back of it? And the barrier created by their 
 imagination fell suddenly; and again they flew through 
 space, always infinite, with ever new worlds. 
 
 Gabriel spoke of them and of their life with absolute 
 certainty. Spectral analysis showed the same compo- 
 sition in the stars as on the earth, consequently if life 
 had arisen in our atom, most certainly it must exist in 
 other celestial bodies, though probably in different 
 forms; in many planets it had already ended, in many 
 it was still to come; but surely all those millions of 
 worlds had had, or would have, life. 
 
 Religions, wishing to explain the origin of the world, 
 paled and trembled before the infinite. It was like the 
 Cathedral tower, which covered with its bulk a great 
 part ot" the^'heaveh's,Tiiding-niitlrons of worlds, but 
 which was of insignificant size compared to the 
 immensity it hid, less than an infinitesimal part of a 
 molecule — ^nothing. It seemed very great because it 
 was close to men, concealing immensity, but when 
 men looked above it, getting a full grasp; of. the infinite, 
 they laughed at its Lilliputian pride. 
 
240 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "Then," inquired timidly the old organ-blower, 
 pointing to the Cathedral, "what is it they teach us in 
 there?" 
 
 "Nothing," replied Gabriel. 
 
 "And what are we — men ?" asked the Perrero. 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "And the governments, the laws, and the customs of 
 society?" inquired the bell-ringer. 
 
 "Nothing. Nothing." 
 
 Sagrario fixed her eyes, grown larger by her earnest 
 contemplation of the heavens, on her uncle. 
 
 "And God," she asked in a soft voice; "where is 
 God?" 
 
 Gabriel stood up, leaning on the balustrade of the 
 gallery; his figure stood out dark and clear against the 
 starry space. 
 
 "We are God ourselves, and everything that 
 surrounds us. It is life with its astonishing trans- 
 formations, always apparently dying, yet always being 
 infinitely renewed. It is this immensity that astounds 
 us with its greatness, and that cannot be realised in our 
 minds. It is matter that lives, animated by the force 
 that dwells in it, with absolute unity, without separa- 
 tion or duality. Man is God, and the world is God 
 also." 
 
 He was silent for a moment and then added with 
 energy : 
 
 "But if you ask me for that personal God invented 
 by religions, in the likeness of a man, who brought the 
 world out of nothing, who directs our actions, who 
 classifies souls according to their merits, and com- 
 missions Sons to descend into the world to redeem it, 
 I say seek for Him in that immensity, see where He 
 hides His littleness. But even if you were immortal 
 you might spend millions of years passing from one 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 241 
 
 star to another without ever finding the corner where 
 He hides His deposed despotic majesty. This vindictive 
 and capricious God arose in men's brains, and the bram 
 is a human being's most recent organ, the last to develop 
 itself. When man invented God the world had existed 
 millions of years." 
 
CHAPTER Vlir 
 
 On the morning of Corpus the first person Gabriel 
 saw on leaving the cloister was Don Antolin, who was 
 looking over his tickets, placing them in line in front of 
 him on the stone balustrade. 
 
 "This is a great day," said Luna, wishing to smooth 
 down Silver Stick. "You are preparing for a great 
 crowd; no doubt many strangers will come." 
 
 Don Antolin looked intently at Gabriel, evidently 
 doubting his sincerity; but seeing that he was not 
 laughing, he answered with a certain satisfaction. 
 
 "The feast is not beginning badly; there are a great 
 many who wish to see our treasures. Ay, son! indeed 
 we want it badly. You who rejoice in our troubles 
 may be satisfied. We live in horrible straits. Our 
 feast of Corpus is worth very little compared with 
 former times; but all the same, what economies we 
 have had to make in the Obreria, to provide the four 
 ochavos^ that the extra festivity will cost!" 
 
 Don Antolin remained silent for some time, still 
 looking intently at Luna, as though some extraordinary 
 idea had just occurred to him. At first he frowned as 
 though he were rejecting it, but little by little his face 
 lit up with a malicious smile. 
 
 "By the way, Gabriel," he said in a honeyed tone 
 which contained something very aggressive, "I remem- 
 ber at the time of the monument in Holy Week you 
 
 * Ochavo— small Spanish brass coin, value two maravedis. 
 242 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 243 
 
 spoke to me of your wish to earn some money for your 
 brother. Now you have an opportunity. It will not 
 be much; still it will be something. Would you care 
 to be one of those who carry the platform of the 
 Sacrament ?" 
 
 Guessing the wish of the malicious priest to annoy 
 him, Gabriel was on the point of answering haughtily, 
 but suddenly he was tempted by the wish to foil Silver 
 Stick by accepting his proposal; he wished to astound 
 him by acceding to his absurd idea ; besides, he thought 
 that this would be a sacrifice worthy of the generosity 
 with which his brother treated him. Even though 
 he could not assist with much money, he could show 
 his wish to work, and the scruples of his self-love 
 vanished before the hope of carrying home a couple of 
 pesetas. 
 
 "You do not care about it," said the priest in mocking 
 accents, "you are too 'green,' and your dignity would 
 suffer too much by carrying the Lord through the streets 
 of Toledo." 
 
 "You are mistaken. As for wishing it, I do wish it, 
 but you must remember it is very heavy work for an 
 invalid." 
 
 "Do not let that trouble you," said Don Antolin 
 resolutely; "you will be at least ten inside the car, and 
 I have chosen all strong men; you would go to com- 
 plete the number, and I should recommend you to 
 accept in order to earn a little." 
 
 "Then we will clench the business, Don Antolin; you 
 may reckon on me, I am always ready to earn a day's 
 wage whenever it turns up." 
 
 His great wish to get out of the Cathedi-al had finally 
 decided him, his wish once more to walk through the 
 streets of Toledo, that he had not seen during his 
 seclusion in the cloister, and without anyone being ablei 
 
244 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 to take notice of him. Besides, the ironical situation 
 tickled him extremely, that he of all men with his 
 round religious denials should be the one to pilot the 
 God of Catholicism through the devout crowd. 
 
 This spectacle made him smile, possibly it was a 
 symbol; certainly Wooden Staff would greatly rejoice, 
 he would look upon it as a small triumph for religion, 
 that obliged His enemies to carry Him on their 
 shoulders. But he himself would look upon it in a 
 different way; inside the eucharistic car he would 
 represent -the-dQubt-atid--4enialsJiidd£ii-in--the^ heart of 
 worship, splendid in its exterior pomp, but void of 
 faith and ideals. 
 
 "Then we are agreed, Don Antolin. I will come 
 down shortly into the Cathedral." 
 
 They parted, and Gabriel, after quietly digesting the 
 milk his niece brought him, went down into the Cathe- 
 dral without saying a word to anyone about the work 
 he intended carrying out; he was afraid of his brother's 
 objections. 
 
 In the lower cloister he again met Silver Stick, who 
 was talking to the gardener's widow, showing her con- 
 temptuously a bunch of wheat ears tied with a red 
 ribbon. He had found it in the holy water stoup by 
 the Puerta del Alegria. Every year on the day of 
 Corpus he had found the same offering in the same 
 place; an unknown had thus dedicated to the Church 
 the first wheat of the year. 
 
 "It must be a madman," said the priest. "What is 
 the good of this? What does this bunch mean? If at 
 least it had been h cart of sheaves as in the good old 
 times of the tenths !" 
 
 And while he threw the ears with confempt into a 
 flower border in the garden, Gabriel thought with 
 delight of the atavic force which had resuscitated in a 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 245 
 
 Catholic church, the pagan offering: the homage to the 
 divinity of the firstfruits of the earth fertilised by the 
 spring. 
 
 The choir was ended and the mass beginning when 
 Gabriel entered the Cathedral, the lower servants were 
 discussing at the door of the sacristy the great event 
 of the day. His Eminence had not come down to the 
 choir and would not assist at the procession. He said 
 he was ill, but those of the household laughed at this 
 excuse, remembering that the evening before he had 
 walked as far as the Hermitage of the Virgin de la 
 Vega. The truth was he would not meet his Chapter; 
 he was furious with them, and showed his anger by 
 refusing to preside over them in the choir. 
 
 Gabriel strolled through the naves. The congrega- 
 tion of the faithful was greater than on other days, but 
 even so the Cathedral seemed deserted. In the cross- 
 ways, kneeling between the choir and the high altar, 
 were several nuns in starched linen bibs and pointed 
 hoods, in charge of sundry groups of children dressed in 
 black, with red or blue stripes according to the colleges 
 to which they belonged; a few officials from the 
 academy, fat and bald, listened to the mass standing, 
 bending their heads over their cuirass. In this scat- 
 tered assemblage, listening to the music, stood out the 
 pupils from the school of noble ladies, some of them 
 quite girls, others proud-looking young women in all 
 the pride of their budding beauty, looking on with 
 glowing eyes, all dressed in black silk, with mantillas 
 of blonde mounted over high combs with bunches of 
 roses — aristocratic ladies with "manolesca" grace, 
 escaped from a picture by Goya. 
 
 Gabriel saw his nephew the Tato dressed in his scarlet 
 robes like the noble Florentine, striking the pavement 
 with his staff to scare the dogs. He was talking with a 
 
246 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 I group of shepherds from the mountains, swarthy men 
 \; twisted and gnarled as vine shoots, in brown jackets, 
 / leather sandals, and thonged leggings; women with red 
 ^ kerchiefs and greasy and mended garments that had 
 f descended through several generations. They had 
 come down from their mountains to see the Corpus of 
 Toledo, and they walked through the naves with wonder 
 in their eyes, starting at the sound of their own foot- 
 steps, trembling each time the organ rolled, as though 
 fearing to be turned out of that magic palace, which 
 seemed to them like one in a fairy tale. The women 
 pointed out with their fingers the coloured glass 
 windows, the great rosettes on the porches, the gilded 
 warriors on the clock of the Puerta de la Feria, the 
 tubes of the organs, and finally remained open-mouthed 
 in stupid wonder. The Perrero in his scarlet garments 
 seemed like a prince to them, and overwhelmed with 
 the respect they felt for him, they could not succeed in 
 understanding what he said, but when the Tato threat- 
 ened with his staff a mastiff following closely at his 
 master's heels, those simple people decided to leave the 
 church sooner than abandon the faithful companion of 
 their wild mountain life. 
 
 Gabriel looked through the choir railings; both the 
 upper and lower stalls were full. It was a great festival, 
 and not only were all the canons and beneficiaries in 
 their places, but all the priests of the chapel of the 
 kings,^ and the prebends of the Muzarabe chapel — those 
 two small churches who live quite apart with traditional 
 autonomy inside the Cathedral of Toledo. 
 
 In the middle of the choir Luna saw his friend the 
 Chapel-master in his crimped and pleated surplice, 
 waving a small baton. Around him were grouped about 
 
 ' The kings of Spain are canons of Toledo Cathedra!, and are 
 fined in case of absence on festival days. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAD 247 
 
 a dozen musicians and singers, whose voices and 
 instruments were completely smothered each time the 
 organ sounded from above, while the priest directed 
 with a resigned look the music, which lost itself feeble 
 and swamped in the solitude of the immense naves. 
 
 At the High Altar, on its square car, stood the famous 
 Custodia, executed by the celebrated master Villalpando. 
 A Gothic shrine, exquisitely Vorked and chiselled, bright 
 with the shimmering of its gold in the light of the wax 
 tapers, and of such delicate and airy work that the 
 slightest motion made it shiver, shaking its finials like 
 ears of com. 
 
 Those invited to the procession were arriving in the 
 Cathedral. The town dignitaries in black robes, pro- 
 fessors from the academy in full dress with all their 
 decorations, officers of the Civil Guard, whose quaint 
 uniform reminded one of that of the soldiers of the early 
 part of the century. Through the naves with affectedly 
 skipping steps came the children, dressed as angels — 
 angels a la Pompadour, with brocaded coat, red-heeled 
 shoes, blonde lace frills, tin wings fastened to their 
 shoulders, and mitres with plumes on their white wigs. 
 The Primacy got out for this festivity all its traditional 
 vestments. The gala uniform of all the church attend- 
 ants belonged to the eighteenth century, the time of its 
 greatest prosperity. The two men who were to guide 
 the car had powdered hair, black coats, and knee' 
 breeches, like the priests of the last century. The vergers 
 and Wooden Staffs wore starched ruffs and perukes, 
 and though they had scarcely enough to eat, brocade 
 and velvet covered all the people from the Claverias;] 
 even the acolytes wore gold embroidered dalmatics. 
 
 The High Altar was decorated by the "Tanta Monta" 
 tapestries — those famous hangings of the Catholic 
 kings, with emblems and shields, given by Cisneros to 
 
248 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 the Cathedral. The auxiliary bishop said mass, and 
 his attendant deacons were perspiring under the 
 traditional mantles and chasubles covered with beautiful 
 raised embroidery in high and splendid relief, as stiff 
 and uncomfortable as ancient armour. 
 
 The surroundings of the Cathedral were disturbed by, 
 the gathering for the procession; the doors of the 
 sacristies slammed, opened and shut hurriedly by the 
 various officials and people employed. In that quiet 
 and monotonous life the annual occurrence of a pro- 
 cession which had to pass through many streets caused 
 as much confusion and disturbance as an adventurous 
 expedition to a distant country. ' 
 
 When the mass ended the organ began to play a 
 noisy and disorderly march, rathe r like a savage d ance. 
 while the procession was 't)eing marshailed^iiTm'der. 
 Outside the Cathedral the bells were ringing, the band 
 of the academy had ceased playing its quick march, and 
 the officers' words of command and the rattle of the 
 muskets could be heard as the cadets drew up in 
 companies by the Puerta Liana. 
 
 Don Antolin, with his great silver staff and a pluvial 
 of white brocade, went from one place to another col- 
 lecting the employees of the Church; Gabriel saw him 
 approaching, red-faced and perspiring. 
 
 "To your post; it is time." 
 
 And he led him to the High Altar by the Custodia. 
 Gabriel and eight other men crept inside the scaffolding, 
 raising the cloth with which its sides were covered. They 
 were obliged to bend themselves inside the erection, and 
 their duty was to push it, so that it should move along on 
 its hidden wheels. Their only duty was to push it ; out- 
 side, the two servants in black clothes and white wigs 
 were in charge of the front and back shaft or tiller, 
 which guided the eucharistic car through the tortuous 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 249 
 
 streets. Gabriel was placed by his companions in the 
 centre ; he was to warn them when to stop and when to 
 recommence their march. The monumental Custodia was 
 mounted on a platform with a great counterpoise, and 
 between it and the framework of the car was about a 
 hand's breadth of space, through which Gabriel looked, 
 thus transmitting the orders of the front pilot. 
 
 "Attention! March!" shouted Gabriel, obeying an 
 outside signal. 
 
 And the sacred car began to move slowly down the 
 inclined wooden plane that covered the steps of the 
 High Altar. It was obliged to stop on passing the rail- 
 ings. All the people knelt, and Don Antolin and the 
 Wooden Staffs having opened a way between them, the 
 canons advanced in their ample red robes, the auxiliary 
 bishop with his gilded mitre, and the other dignitaries 
 in white linen mitres without ornament whatsoever. 
 They all knelt around the Custodia. The organ was silent, 
 and, accompanied by the hoarse blare of a trombone, 
 they intoned a hymn in adoration of the Sacrament; 
 the incense rose in blue clouds around the Custodia, veil- 
 ing the brilliancy of its gold. When the hymn ceased 
 the organ began to play again, and the car once more 
 resumed its march. The Custodia trembled from base 
 to summit, and the motion made a quantity of little 
 bells hanging on to its Gothic adornments tinkle like a 
 cascade of silver. Gabriel walked along holding on to 
 one of the crossbeams, with his eyes fixed on the pilots, 
 feeling on his legs the movements of those who pushed 
 this scaffolding, so similar to the cars of Indian idols. 
 
 On coming out of the Cathedral by the Puerta Liana, 
 the only door in the church on a level with the street, 
 Gabriel could take in the whole procession at a glance. 
 He could see the horses of the Civil Guards breaking 
 the regularity of the march, the players of the city 
 
250 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL' 
 
 kettledrums dressed in red, and the crosses of the 
 different parishes grouped without order round the 
 enormous and extremely heavy banner of the Cathedral, 
 like a huge sail covered virith embroidered figures. 
 Beyond, all the centre of the street was clear, flanked on 
 either side by rows of clergy and soldiers carrying 
 tapers, the deacons with their censers, assisted by the 
 roccoco angels carrying the vessels for the Asiatic per- 
 fume, and the canons in their extremely valuable histori- 
 cal capes. Behind the sacrament Were grouped the au- 
 thorities, and the battalion of cadets brought up the 
 rear, their muskets on their arms, their shaven heads 
 bare, keeping step to the time of the jnarch. 
 
 Gabriel breathed with delight the air of the public 
 streets. He who had seen all the grSat capitals of Europe 
 admired the streets of the ancient city after his long 
 seclusion in the Cathedral. They seemed to him very 
 populous, and he felt the surprise that great modern 
 improvements must cause to those used to a retired and 
 sedentary life. 
 
 The balconies were hung with ancient tapestries and 
 shawls from Manilla; the streets were covered with 
 awnings, and the pavement spread thickly with sand, so 
 that the eucharistic car should glide easily over the 
 pointed cobble stones. 
 
 Up the hills the Custodia advanced laboriously, the 
 men inside the car sweating and gasping. Gabriel 
 coughed, his spine aching with the enclosure in the 
 movable prison, and the dignity of the march was 
 disturbed by the words of command from the Canon 
 Obrero, who, in scarlet robes with a staff in his hand, 
 directed the procession, reproving the pilots and those 
 who pushed the car inside for their jerky and irregular 
 movements. 
 
 Apart from these discomforts, Gabriel was delighted 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 251 
 
 withjiis extraordinary escapade thrcmgh the town; he 
 laughed, ThBiHng~what-4b#-GFewd7-1niEdiTig-Tir-Venera- 
 tion, would have said had they known whose eyes were 1 
 looking out at them from underneath the car. No^/ 
 doubt many of those officials escorting God, in their "* 
 white trousers, red coats, with swords by their sides and 
 cocked hats would have news of his existence; they 
 would surely have heard some one pppaV ^f him, and 
 they probably kept his name in their memory as that 
 of a social enemy. And this reprobate, rejected by all, 
 ~concSieiJnIa!Jhol£_in the Cathedral like .those_adven- 
 turous birds who rested in its vaultings, was the man 
 who' was guiding the footsteps of God through this most 
 religious city! 
 
 A little after midday the Custodia returned to the 
 Cathedral, passing in front of the Puerta del Mollete. 
 Gabriel saw the exterior walls hung with the famous 
 tapestries. As soon as the farewell hymns were ended 
 the canons despoiled themselves quickly of their vest- 
 ments, rushing to the door on their dismissal without 
 saluting. They were going to their dinners much later 
 than usual, as this extraordinary day upset the even 
 course of their lives. The church, so noisy and illumi- 
 nated in the morning, emptied itself rapidly, and silence 
 and twilight once more reigned in it. 
 
 Esteban was furious when he saw Gabriel emerging 
 from the eucharistic car.- 
 
 "You will kill yourself, such work is not for you. 
 What caprice could have seized you?" 
 
 Gabriel laughed. Yes, it was a caprice, but he did 
 not repent of it. He had taken a turn throug h the town 
 w-it4i0ut™bdng_ seen,__aiidMhe_ cotild-gJve--WK-^ 
 sufficient for two days' maintenance ; he wished to work, 
 not to be a heavy charge on him. 
 
 Wooden Staff was softened. 
 
2S2 THE SHADOW OP THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "You idiot, have I asked anything of you? Do I 
 want anything else but that you should live quietly and 
 get better?" 
 
 But, as though he wished to acknowledge this exertion 
 on his brother's part by something which would please 
 him, when he returned to the Claverias he dropped 
 his usual sullen face, and spoke to his daughter during 
 the meal. 
 
 Towards evening the Qaverias were quite deserted. 
 Don Antolin hurried down with his tickets, rejoicing in 
 the knowledge that many strangers were waiting for 
 him. The Tato and the bell-ringer had slipped furtively 
 down the tower stairs, dressed in their best clothes ; -they 
 were going to the bull-fight. Sagrario obliged to be idle 
 in order to keep the feast day holy, had gone to the 
 shoemaker's house, and while he was showing the giants 
 to the servants and soldiers of the academy, and the 
 peasants from the country, Luna's niece helped to 
 mend the clothes for the poor woman crushed by 
 poverty and the superabundance of children. 
 
 When the Chapel-master and the Wooden Staff went 
 down to the choir, Gabriel went out into the cloister. He 
 could only see there a cadet who was walking up and 
 down, with his hand on the pommel of his sword, hold- 
 ing it horizontally like the fiery tizonas i of former days. 
 Luna recognised him by the full pantaloons and the 
 wasplike waist, which made the Tato declare that this 
 particular cadet wore stays — it was Juanito the cardinal's 
 nephew. He often walked in the cloister, hoping for 
 an opportunity to talk with Leocadia, the beautiful 
 daughter of the Virgin's sacristan. From the parents he 
 had nothing to fear, but the future warrior had a certain 
 dread of Tomasa, as the old lady looked on these visits 
 
 ' Tisona— (name of the Cids sword. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 253 
 
 with an evil eye, and threatened to make them known to 
 his uncle the Cardinal. 
 
 Gabriel had often spoken to the. cadet, for when the 
 youth met him in the cloister he always stopped to 
 speak, endeavouring by the platitudes of his conversa- 
 tion to justify his presence in the Claverias; but Luna 
 was surprised to meet him there on a festival afternoon. J 
 
 "Are you not going to the bull-fight?" he inquired. 
 "I thought everyone from the academy would be in 
 the Plaza." 
 
 Juanito smiled, caressing his moustache; it was his 
 favourite gesture, as it raised his arm, giving him the 
 satisfaction of displaying the sleeve adorned with 
 sergeant's stripes. He was not a common cadet, he had 
 his stripes, and though this "did not seem much to one 
 who dreamed of being a general, still it was a step in 
 the right direction. No; he did not go to bull-fights. 
 In truth he was an habitue but he had sacrificed him- 
 self in order to talk for a whole afternoon with his 
 sweetheart at the door of her house in the silence of the 
 Claverias. The grandmother had gone down into the 
 garden, and "Virgin's Blue" would not be long in going 
 out and leavii^^ the coast clear, as if the matter in no 
 way concerned him. "The beautiful evening, friend 
 Gabriel!" He had tar more serious and important 
 affairs than the new Comers at the academy, who spent 
 all their Sundays at the cafes, or walking up and dowrt 
 like fools — everyone at the academy, even the pro- 
 fessors, envied him his sweetheart. 
 
 "And when is the wedding to be?" said Gabriel 
 gaily. 
 
 Master Stripes looked most important as he replied: 
 "There were' many things to be done before — first of all 
 to bring his uncle to consent, which might not be easy, 
 aad to follow the guiding of his good star to attain a 
 
 ) 
 
254 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 certain rank; but he was intended for great things, so it 
 was only a matter of a few years. 
 
 "I, friend Luna, am of the stuff of young generals ; it 
 is the good luck of the family. My uncle, when he was 
 only an acolyte, was certain he would become a cardinal, 
 and he succeeded. I shall rise much faster. Besides, 
 you know that to be an archbishop of Toledo is not a 
 small thing. My uncle has many friends in the palace, 
 and commands in the ministry of war just as though he 
 were a general. In point of fact he is far more a soldier 
 than a cleric! And to prove it to you, there is the 
 only thing he has ever written, a prayer to the Virgin 
 for the soldiers to recite before they go into action." 
 
 "And you, Juanito, do you really feel any vocation 
 for a military life?" 
 
 "A great deal — ever since I knew how to open books 
 and read them I have wished to rival those great 
 captains that I saw in the prints, erect on their horses, 
 with swords in their hands, proud and handsome. Believe 
 me, no one enters on this career without a vocation; 
 many are entered in the seminaries against their will, 
 but no one can make a soldier by force; anyone who 
 jComes to the academy has the longing in himself." 
 
 "And are all of them as sure of the result as you 
 are?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; all," said the cardinal's nephew smiling, 
 "except that the immense majority have not such 
 probabilities of making a name. But, such as we are, 
 there is not one amongst us who dreams of the possi- 
 bility of vegetating as a captain in a reserve regiment, 
 or of dying of old age as a commandant. We all of us 
 see first of all youth glorified by the uniform, full of 
 adventures (for you know all the women fight for us), 
 by the joy of life, loved and respected everywhere, head 
 and shoulders above our countrymen; and when old 
 
THE SHADOW OF! THE CATHEDRAL 255 
 
 age approaches, and we begin to get fat and bald, the 
 gold braid of a general, politics, and, who knows, 
 possibly the portfolio of war! This is in everyone's 
 thoughts. No one believes but that the future holds a 
 baton for him, and that he has only to unhook it and 
 fasten it to his belt. I know for certain what is await- 
 ing me, the rest dream and hope for it, and so we go on 
 living." 
 
 Gabriel smiled as he listened to the cadet. 
 
 "You are all deceiving vourselve3T-ltke--th Qse poor 
 youths who enter the seminaries, believing that a mitre 
 awaits them or a fat benefice on the other side of the 
 door. It is the influence and attraction still exercised 
 by the great things that have been. Let us see — apart 
 from the material result of the profession — why do you 
 become soldiers?" 
 
 "For the sake of glory!" said the cadet pompously, 
 remembering the harangues of the colonel director of 
 the academy. "For our country, whose defence is 
 entrusted to us ! and for the honour of our flag !" 
 
 "Glory!" said Gabriel, ironically. "I know all about 
 that. Very often, seeing you all so young and inex- 
 perienced, so full of vain hopes, I have reconstructed in 
 my own mind what might be called the psychology of 
 the cadet. I can guess all that you thought before 
 entering the academy, and I foresee the bitter and 
 crushing disillusion that awaits you on leaving it. The 
 history of wars and the artistic trappings of the uniform 
 have seduced your youth. Afterwards, warlike tales of 
 an irresistible fascination — Bonaparte with his little 
 band crossing the bridge at Areola amid showers of 
 bullets. And then our own generals, not to go further — 
 Espartero at Luchana, O'Donnel in Africa, and, above 
 all, Prim, that almost legendary leader, directing 
 the battalion at Castillejos with his sword. 1 wish to 
 
2S6 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 be the same,' say these youths; 'where one man has 
 arrived another may also succeed'; enthusiasm is taken 
 for predestination, and each one thinks himself created 
 by God on purpose to be a famous leader. In the 
 meanwhile you live in Toledo, dreaming of glory, of 
 hairbreadth enterprises, of gigantic battles and noisy 
 triumphs. But when, with the two stars on your arm 
 you go to a regiment, the first thing that comes to meet 
 you at the barrack gate, even before you receive the 
 salute of the sentry, is the ugly and disagreeable reality. 
 He who dreams of covering himself with glory and 
 becoming a great leader before he is thirty, thinking of 
 nothing but strategic combinations and original fortifi- 
 cations, must occupy himself with the washing and 
 decency of a lot of wild lads, who come in from the 
 fields reeking with excessive health; try the rations, dis- 
 cuss drawers and shirts, calculate the lasting of ankle 
 boots and hempen shoes, and he who never went near 
 the kitchen at home, was most carefully looked after by 
 his mother, and thought that everything was women's 
 work except giving words of command and drawing 
 soldiers up in line, now finds the first requirement in a 
 regiment is to be cook, tailor, shoemaker, etc., very often 
 receiving reprimands from his superiors if he prove lazy 
 in those duties." 
 
 "That is true," said Juanito laughing; "but without 
 these things there cannot be an army, and an army is 
 necessary." 
 
 "We are not discussing if it is necessary or no. I 
 only wish to point out that you (or perhaps not you, as 
 you enter on a good footing, but certainly your com- 
 panions) are self-deceivers, and are preparing without 
 knowing it the shipwreck- of your lives, precisely like 
 those other youths who, poorer, or perhaps less ener- 
 getic, crowd to enter the Church. The Church has 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 257 
 
 come to an end as there is no longer faith ; military glory 
 has ended in Spain as there are no longer wars of con- 
 quest, and our character as strong fighting men has been 
 lost for centuries. If we have a war, it is either civil or 
 colonial — wars that might be called disasters — without 
 glory and without profit, but in which men die as at 
 Thermopyle or Austerlitz, as a man can only die once; 
 but without the consolation of fame, or of public ap- 
 plause, without in fact that aureole that you call glory. 
 You have all been born too late ; you are the warriors of 
 a people who must perforce live in peace ; just as those 
 seminarists will be the future priests in a country where 
 there are no longer miracles nor faith, only routine and 
 utter stagnation of thought." 
 
 "But if we have no foreign wars, if conquests have 
 come to an end, we serve at least to defend the integrity 
 of Spanish soil, to guard our own homes. Is it that 
 you think," said the cadet nettled, "we are incapable 
 of dying for our country?" 
 
 "I do not doubt it; that is the only thing Spaniards 
 are capable of doing, to di^ most heroically, but in the 
 end to die. Our history for the last two centuries has 
 been nothing but a tale of heroic deaths — 'Glorious 
 defeat in such a place,' 'Heroic disaster in some other.' 
 By sea and by land we have astonished the world, throw- 
 ing ourselves blindly into danger, showing a good front, 
 without flinching, with the stoicism of a Chinaman. But 
 nations do not grow great from their contempt of death, 
 but through their ability to preserve life. The Poles 
 were the terror of the Turks, and some of the best 
 soldiers in Europe, yet Poland has ceased to exist. If 
 any great European power could invade us — ^you will 
 remark I say could, for in these things the wish is not 
 the same as the power, I know exactly what would hap- 
 pen ; the Spaniards would know how to die, but you may 
 
2S8 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 be perfectly certain the invaders would not require more 
 than two battles to sweep away entirely all our military 
 preparations. And all this, which could be scattered in 
 a couple of days, what sacrifices it costs the country!" 
 
 "Then," said the cadet ironically, "I presume we 
 must suppress the army, and leave the nation unde- 
 fended." 
 
 "As things are to-day there is no hope of that happen- 
 ing. As long as all Europe is armed and the smallest 
 country has an army, Spain will have one also. It is 
 not for her to set an example; and besides, the example 
 would be of no use, it is as though one having a few 
 thousand pesetas should endeavour to initiate the 
 remedy to social injustice by sacrificing himself and 
 giving them up." 
 
 After a long silence Gabriel spoke again very quietly, 
 noticing the ironical and even aggressive manner of the 
 cadet. 
 
 "No doubt you are pained by what I say; believe me 
 I feel it, as I have no wish to wound the beliefs of any- 
 one, least of all of those who have formed to themselves 
 an ideal of life. But truth is truth. The social question 
 does not trouble you. Is it not so ? You know nothing 
 about it, you have never thought about it for an instant, 
 and it is the same with all your companions, but never- 
 theless, what you suifer in your prestige, in your love of 
 country and of your standard, has no other cause but 
 the social disorder at present rampant in the world. 
 Wealth is everything, capital is lord of the world. 
 Science directs humanity as the successor of faith, but 
 the rich have possessed themselves of its discoveries, 
 and have monopolised them to continue their tyranny. 
 In the economic world they have made themselves 
 masters of machinery and of all progress, using them as 
 chains to enslave the workman, forcing an excess of 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 259 
 
 production, but limiting his daily wage to what is 
 strictly necessary. In the life of nations the same 
 thing repeats itself — war to-day is nothing but an 
 appliance of science, and the richest countries have 
 acquired the greatest improvements in the art of 
 extermination. They have crowds of recruits, thousands 
 of enormous cannon, they can keep millions of men 
 under arms, with every sort of modern improvement, 
 without becoming bankrupt. But to poor countries, 
 their only remaining course is to hold their tongues, or 
 to rage uselessly, as the disinherited do against those in 
 possession of their property. The most cowardly and 
 sedentary people on the face of the globe may become 
 invincible warriors if they have the money. The 
 bravery of chivalry came to an end with the invention 
 of powder, and the pride of race has faded for ever\ 
 before the advent of trade. If the Cid came to life ' 
 again he would be in jail, he would have become a 
 highwayman, unable to adjust himself to the inequalities 
 and injustice of modern life. If the Gran Capitan were 
 now minister of war, he would probably be unable even 
 with this military tax which oppresses the country to 
 put his regiments in condition to undertake a fresh war 
 in Italy. It is money, that cursed money! which has 
 killed the finest part of soldiering — personal bravery, 
 initiative, originality — ^just as it has crushed the 
 workman, making his life a hell." 
 
 The cadet listened attentively to Gabriel, under- 
 standing for the first time that in great nations there is 
 something more than the warlike sympathies of the 
 monarch and the bravery of the army. He saw sud- 
 denly that wealth was the basis and mainspring of all 
 military enterprise. 
 
 "Then," he said thoughtfully, "if foreign nations do 
 not attack us it is not because they fear us." 
 
26o THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "No; that we are permitted to live in peace is be- 
 cause these omnipotent powers with all their ambitions 
 and jealousies preserve a certain equilibrium. They 
 are like the great capitalists who, occupied with vast 
 projects of speculation, neglect either from carelessness 
 or contempt the small undertakings that lie at their 
 door. Do you believe that Switzerland or Belgium or 
 other small countries live in peace surrounded by great 
 powers because they have an army? They would 
 exist just the same if they had not a single soldier, and 
 the military power of Spain is not greater than that of 
 one of these small countries ; the poverty of the country 
 and the scanty population oblige us to be humble. In 
 these days there are two kinds of armies, those organised 
 for conquest and those whose only use is to keep order 
 at home, that are no more than police on a large scale, 
 with guns and generals. That of Spain, however much 
 it costs, and however much they increase it, comes 
 under the latter classification." 
 
 "And if it is only this," said the cadet, "is it not 
 something? We keep peace at home, and we watch 
 over the tranquillity of our country." 
 
 "Yes, but that could be done by fewer people* and for 
 less money. Besides, how about glory? Will you 
 youths, full of illusions, overflowing with aggressiveness 
 and energy for new undertakings, resign yourselves to 
 this profession of watchmen and caretakers to a coun- 
 try? Your future will be as monotonous as that of a 
 priest in his cathedral. Every day the same — to drill 
 men to move this or that way, to play at dominoes or 
 billiards in a cafe, to walk about in uniform or take a 
 nap in the guard-room. There can be nothing for you 
 beyond a small disturbance at the tax on provisions, a 
 strike, a closing of shops to protest against the taxes, 
 and then to fire on a mob armed with sticks and stones. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 261 
 
 If at any time in your life you ire ordered to fire, you 
 may be sure it will be on Spaniards. The Government 
 do not wish for an army as they know it is useless for 
 the exterior defence of the nation; besides, the nationa-l 
 finances do not admit of its maintenance, and they are 
 consequently satisfied with an embryonic organisation 
 which is always insubordinate, distracted by incessant 
 and contradictory reforms, copying foreign improve- 
 ments as a poor girl copies the robes of a great lady. 
 Believe me, there is nothing pleasant in living such a 
 narrowed and monotonous life, with no other chance of 
 glory but that of shooting a workman who protests or 
 a people who complain." 
 
 "But, how about liberty? How about political prog- 
 ress?" inquired the cadet. "I have heard it said by a 
 captain at the academy that if the Liberal party exists in 
 Spain it is through the army." 
 
 "There is a great deal in that," said Gabriel. "It is 
 indubitably the most important service the army has 
 rendered to the State ; without it, who knows where the 
 civil wars would have ended in this country, so station- 
 ary and so timid about all reforms ! I repeat it, I do not 
 ignore this service, but, believe me, that civil wars 
 between liberty and political absolutism will never be 
 repeated, neither could the guerilla warfare of the 
 Independence with any definite issue. The means of 
 communication and military progress have put an end 
 to mountain warfare. The Mauser, which is the arm of 
 the day, requires well-provided parks of ammunition to 
 follow it, cartridge magazines at its back, and all this is 
 incompatible with party fighting." 
 
 "But you will admit that we are of some use, and 
 that we render the nation good service." 
 
 "I admit it in the actual state of things, but I should 
 admit it more fully if you were fewer. The greater 
 
262 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 part of the grant is spent, but all the same you live in 
 poverty, decent and hidden, but poverty all the same. 
 A lieutenant earns less than many operatives, but he 
 must buy himself showy uniforms, be smart, and fre- 
 quent when he wants amusement the same places as 
 the rich. He can only see before him long years of 
 waiting and of hidden poverty, borne with dignity, 
 until some promotion provides him with a few duros 
 more monthly. You all suffer dragging on this existence 
 of slaves to the sword, the nation who pays grumbles at 
 seeing you inactive, and forgets other superfluous 
 expenses to fix its complaints solely on the military. 
 Believe me, for a modern army, you are too few and 
 badly organised; to keep the peace at home you are 
 too many and too dear. The fault is- not yours, your 
 vocation has come too late, when fate has rendered 
 Spain powerless for adventurous undertakings. If she 
 revives she will have to follow a direction which will 
 certainly not be that of the sword. For this reason I 
 say that these youths stray from the right path when 
 they seek for glory where their ancestors thought to 
 find it." 
 
 The appearance of Silver Stick cut short the dialogue. 
 He ran in, pale with excitement, gasping, rattling his 
 bunch of keys. 
 
 "His Eminence is coming," he said, hurriedly. "He 
 is already under the arch; he wishes to spend the 
 evening in the garden; it is a whim! They say he is 
 quite unmanageable to-day." 
 
 And he ran on to open the staircase del Tenorio, 
 which put the Claverias in communication with the 
 lower cloister. 
 
 The cadet was alarmed at the unexpected proximity 
 of his uncle. He did not wish to meet him there, he 
 feared the cardinal's temper, and fled towards the 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 263 
 
 tower staircase on his way to the bull-fight, sacrificing 
 his sweetheart sooner than meet with Don Sebastian. 
 
 Gabriel, who now found himself alone in the cloister, 
 leant against a column and watched the progress of 
 this terrible prince of the Church. He saw him come 
 out of the doorway leading to the abode of the giantSv 
 followed by two servants. Luna was able to examine \ 
 him well for the first time. He was enormous; but in j 
 spite of his age carried himself erectly; over his black ; 
 cassock with the red borders hung his gold cross. (_^ 
 He was leaning with a martial air on a staff of com- 
 mand, and the gold tassels of his hat fell on the pink 
 skin of his fat neck, which was fringed with white hair. 
 H ^ small an d penetrating eyes looked on all sides in 
 
 contravening the established rules, which would enable 
 him to break out into shouts and menaces and so give 
 vent to his ill humour and to the anger which furrowed 
 his brows. 
 
 He disappeared by the staircase del Tenorio, preceded 
 by Don Antolin, who, after opening the iron gates, had 
 placed himself at his orders, shaking with fear. The 
 silence and solitude of the Claverias were undisturbed, it 
 seemed as though the people hidden in their houses 
 remained absolutely still, guessing the danger that was 
 passing. 
 
 Gabriel, leaning on the balustrade, watched the 
 cardinal enter the lower cloister, walking round two 
 sides till he came to the garden gate. A slight gesture 
 from the prelate was sufficient to stop the two servants, 
 and he walked on alone through the central avenue 
 towards the summer-house where Tomasa was fast 
 asleep between its leafy walls, her knitting in her hands. 
 
 The old woman awoke at the sound of footsteps, and 
 seeing the prelate, gave a cry of surprise. 
 
264 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "Don Sebastian! You here!" 
 
 "I wislied to visit you," said the cardinal with a 
 benevolent smile, seating himself on a bench. "It 
 must not be always you who come to seek me. I owe 
 you many visits, and here I am." 
 
 Plunging one hand into the depths of his cassock, 
 he drew forth a small gold case and lighted a cigarette. 
 He stretched out his legs with the complacency of one 
 who being always accustomed to wear the frowning 
 brow of authority, finds himself for a few moments at 
 liberty. 
 
 "But have you not been ill?" inquired the gardener's 
 widow. "I had thought of coming round to the palace 
 this afternoon to inquire after your health from Dona 
 Visita." 
 
 "Hold your tongue, you fool; I have never felt 
 better, especially since this morning. The slap I have 
 given to those by not going into the choir to pray with 
 them has put me in a splendid humour, and in order 
 that they may thoroughly understand my meaning I 
 have come to see you. I wish them all to know that I 
 am quite well, and that what is said about my illness is 
 untrue. I wish all in Toledo to understand that the 
 archbishop will not see his canons, and that he does so 
 from a sense of dignity, not from pride, as at the same 
 time he can come down to see his old friend the 
 gardener's- widow." 
 
 And the terrible old man laughed like a child to 
 ^hink of the annoyance this visit would cause his 
 Chapter. 
 
 "Do not believe, however, Tomasa," he continued, 
 "that I have come to see you solely for this reason. I 
 felt sad and worried in the palace this afternoon. 
 Visitacion was busy with some friends from Madrid, 
 ■and I had that heartache I sometimes feel when I 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 265 
 
 think of the past. I felt that I must come and see you, 
 more especially as it is always cool in the Cathedral 
 garden, whereas outside it is as hot as an oven. Ah! 
 Tomasa! how strong I see you! So slim and so 
 active. You wear better than I do ; you are not wrapped 
 in fat like this sinner, and you have not the pains that 
 disturb my nights. Your hair is still dark, your teeth 
 are well preserved, and you do not need like this old 
 cardinal to have a mechanism inside your mouth; but 
 all the same, Tomasa, you are just as old as I am. We 
 have very few years of life left to us, however much the 
 Lord may wish to preserve us. What would I not give 
 to return to those days when I ran up to your house in 
 my red gown in search of your father, the sacristan, 
 and stole your breakfast. Eh, Tomasa?" 
 
 The two old people, forgetting social differences, 
 recalled the past with the friendly resignation of those 
 advancing towards death. Everything was the same 
 as in their childhood — the garden, the cloister; nothing 
 about the Cathedral had changed. 
 
 His Eminence, closing his eyes, fancied himself once 
 more the restless acolyte of fifty years before; the blue 
 spirals from his cigarette seemed to carry his thoughts 
 back through the interminable labyrinths of the 
 past. 
 
 "Do you remember how your poor father used to 
 laugh at me? 'This boy,' he would say in the sacristy, 
 'is a Sixtus V. What do you wish to be?' he 
 would ask me, and I always gave the same answer, 
 'Archbishop of Toledo.' And the good sacristan would 
 laugh again at the certainty with which I spoke of my 
 hopes. Believe me, Tomasa, I thought much of him 
 when I was consecrated bishop, regretting his death. 
 I should have been delighted with his tears of joy 
 seeing me with the mitre on my head. I have always 
 
266 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 loved you, you are an excellent family, and have often 
 satisfied my hunger." 
 
 "Silence, seiior, silence, and do not recall those things. 
 I am the one who ought to be grateful for your kind- 
 ness, so simple and genuine in spite of your rank, which 
 comes next after the Pope. And the truth is," added 
 the old woman with the pride of her frankness, "that 
 no one is the loser. Friends like I am you can 
 never have ; like all the great ones of the earth, you are 
 surrounded by flatterers and rascals. If you had 
 remained a simple mass priest no one would have 
 sought you out, but Tomasa would have always been 
 your friend, always ready to do you a service. If I 
 love you so much it is because you are kind and affable, 
 but if you had put on pride like other archbishops, I 
 should have kissed your ring and — 'Good-bye.' The 
 cardinal to his palace, the gardener's widow to her 
 garden." 
 
 The prelate received the old woman's frankness 
 smilingly. 
 
 "You will always be Don Sebastian to me," she con- 
 tinued. "When you told me not to call you Eminence 
 or to use the same ceremonies as other people, I was as 
 pleased as if I had been given the mantle of the Virgin 
 del Sagrario. Such ceremonies would have stuck in my 
 throat and made me ready to cry out, 'Let him have 
 his fill of Eminence and Illustrious, but we have 
 scratched each other thousands of times when we were 
 little, and this big thief could never see a scrap of bread 
 or an apricot in my hand without trying to snatch and 
 devour it!' You may be thankful I spoke of you as 
 'usted' 1 when you became a beneficiary of the Cathedral, 
 for, after all, it would not do to 'thou' a priest as if he 
 were an acolyte." 
 
 'Contraction of vneftrd merce^—yow worship. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 267 
 
 Silence fell on the two old peopk, their eyes wandered 
 tenderly over the garden, as if each tree or arcade 
 covered with foliage contained some memory. 
 
 "Do you know what I have just remembered," said 
 Tomasa. "I remember that we saw each other just 
 here many many years ago, at least forty-eight or fifty. 
 I was with my poor elder sister who had just married 
 Luna the gardener, and in the cloister wandering round 
 me was he who afterwards became my husband. We 
 saw a handsome sergeant come into the summer-house 
 with a great jingle of spurs, a sword on his arm, and a 
 helmet with a tail just like the Jews on the Monument. 
 It was you, Don Sebastian, who had come to Toledo to 
 visit your uncle the beneficiary, and who would not 
 leave without visiting your friend Tomasita. How hand- 
 some and smart you were. I do not say it to flatter you, 
 it is truth. You looked like being a rogue with the 
 girls! And I still remember you said something to me 
 about how pretty and fresh you thought me after so 
 many years absence. You don't mind my reminding 
 you of this ? Really ? It was only a soldier's gallant jests. 
 How many would say that now? When you left, I 
 said to my brother-in-law, 'He has put on the uniform 
 for good and all ; it is useless his uncle, the beneficiary, 
 thinking of making a priest of him.' " 
 
 "It was a youthful sally," said the cardinal smiling, 
 remembering with pride the dashing sergeant of dra- 
 goons. "In Spain, there are only three professions worthy 
 of a man — ^the sword, the Church and the toga. My blood 
 was hot and I wanted to be a soldier, but unluckily I fell 
 on times of f>eace, my promotion would have been very 
 slow, and in order not to embitter my uncle's last years, 
 I renewed my studies and turned to the Church. One 
 can serve God or one's country as well in one place as 
 another, but, believe me, very often in spite of the pomp 
 
268 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 of my cardinalate I think with envy of that soldier you 
 saw. What happy times they were! Even now the 
 sword draws me. When I see the cadets I would 
 gladly exchange with some of them, giving them my 
 crozier and cross. And possibly I might have done 
 better than any of them! Ah! if only the great times 
 of the reconquest could return when the prelates went 
 out to fight the Moors! What a great Archbishop of 
 Toledo I should have been!" 
 
 And Don Sebastian drew up his fat old body, and 
 proudly stretched out his arms with all the remains of 
 his former strength. 
 
 "You have always been a strong man," said the 
 gardener's widow. "I say very often to some of the 
 priests who speak of you and criticise you: 'You must 
 not trifle with His Eminence, he is quite capable of 
 going one day into the choir — some he likes and 
 some he does not — and driving you all out at one fell 
 swoop.' " 
 
 "I have more than once been tempted to do so," 
 said the prelate firmly, his eyes flashing with energy, 
 "but I have been prevented by the thought of my 
 charge and my character as a peaceful priest. I am the 
 shepherd of a Catholic flock, not a wolf who tears the 
 sheep in his fierceness. But sometimes I can bear no 
 more, and God forgive me! I have often been tempted 
 to raise the shepherd's crook and chastise with blows 
 that rebel flock who harbour in the Cathedral." 
 
 The prelate became excited, speaking of his quarrels 
 with the Chapter ; the placidity of mind produced by the 
 quiet of the garden disappeared as he thought of his 
 hostile subordinates. He felt obliged as at other times 
 to confide his troubles to the gardener's widow with 
 that instinctive kindly feeling which often causes highly- 
 placed people to confide in humble friends. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAIi 269 
 
 "You cannot fmagine, Tomasa, what those men make 
 me suffer. I will subdue them because I am the master, 
 because they owe me obedience by the rule of discipline 
 without which there can be neither Church nor religion ; 
 but they oppose and disobey me. My orders are carried 
 out with grumbling, and when I assert myself even the 
 last ordained priest stands on what he calls his rights, 
 lays complaints against me and appeals either to the 
 Rota 1 or to Rome. Let us see, am I the master or am 
 I not? Ought the shepherd to argue with his sheep 
 and consult how to guide them in the right way? They 
 sicken and weary me with their complaints and ques- 
 tions. There is not half a man amongst them, they are 
 all cowardly tale-bearers. In my presence they lower 
 their eyes, smile and praise His Eminence, and as soon 
 as I turn my back they are vipers trying to bite me, 
 scorpion tongues which respect nothing. Ay, Tomasa, 
 my daughter ! pity me ! when I think of all this it makes 
 me quite ill." 
 
 The prelate turned pale, rising from his seat as 
 though he felt a sudden spasm of pain. 
 
 "Do not worry yourself so much," said the old 
 woman, "you are above them all, and you will over- 
 come them." 
 
 "Clearly, I shall defeat them; if not, it would fill my 
 cup, for it would be the first time I had been vanquished. 
 These squabbles among comrades do not trouble me 
 much after all, for I know in the end I shall see my 
 detested enemies at my feet. But it is their tongues, 
 Tomasa! — what they say about the beings I love most 
 in the world, that is what wounds me, and is killing 
 me. 
 
 He sat down again, coming quite close to the 
 gardener's widow, so as to speak in a very low voice. 
 'Ecclesiastical court. 
 
270 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "You know my past better than anyone; I have such 
 great confidence in you that I have told you everything. 
 Besides, you are very quick, and if I had not told you, 
 you would have guessed. You know what Visitacion is 
 to me, and most certainly you are aware of what those 
 wretches say about her. Do not play the fool; everyone 
 inside and outside the Cathedral listens to these 
 calumnies and believes them. You are the only one 
 who does not credit them because you know the truth. 
 But ay! the truth cannot be told, I cannot proclaim it, 
 these robes forbid me." 
 
 And he seized a handful of his oassock with his 
 clenched fingers as if he would rend it. 
 
 A long silence followed. Don Sebastian looked fixedly 
 at the ground, clutching with his hands as though he 
 were trying to grasp invisible enemies; every now and 
 then he felt a stab of pain and sighed uneasily. 
 
 "Why do you think about these things?" said the 
 gardener's widow ; "they only make you ill, and you 
 ought not to h^ve disturbed yourself to come and see 
 me, you would have done better to remain in the palace." 
 
 "No, you distract my mind from them, it is a great 
 comfort to tell you of my troubles. Up there I feel in 
 despair, and have to exert all my self-command to 
 suppress my anger. I do not wish my servants to 
 understand, for they are quite capable of laughing at 
 me, neither do I wish poor Visitacion to know any- 
 thing. I cannot dissimulate. I cannot feign happi- 
 j ness when I am so irritated! What a hell I suffer! 
 *c^ I cannot say that I have been a man, and that I 
 have been weak as the flesh of which I am made, 
 I that I have with me the fruit of my faults, and that 
 I I will not separate myself from them, though perse- 
 ^ cuted by calumny. Every man acts as he is able, 
 and I wish to be good in spite of my faults. I might 
 
 ^ 
 
THE SHADOW DF THE CATHEDRAL 271 
 
 have separated from my children, I might have deserted 
 them, as others have done to preserve their reputation 
 as saints, but I am a man, and I am proud of them; I 
 am a man with all his defects and all his virtues, 
 neither greater nor less than the general run of 
 humanity. The feeling of paternity is so deeply rooted 
 in me that I would sqongjC-lose^mx JP^^^^ than aband on 1 
 my children. You remember whenj uanito s father, » 
 who^passcS-aTmy nephew, died, how deeply I felt it, I 
 thought I should have died also. Such a fine, hand- 
 some man, and with such a brilliant future before him! 
 I would have made him a magistrate, president of the 
 supreme court, minister, anything I wished! And in 
 twenty-four hours he was dead as though Heaven 
 wished to punish me. It is true I have my grandson re- 
 maining, but this Juanito in no way resembles his father, 
 and I confess it to you, I do not care much for him. 
 I can only see in him the most distant reflection of my 
 poor son. Of my past, of that time which was the 
 happiest of my life, all I have left me is Visitacion. 
 She is the living image of the poor dead one. I worship 
 her! and this feeble ray, of happiness these wretched 
 people disturb with their calumnies. It is enough to 
 make one kill them!" 
 
 Overcome by the happy recollection of the spring- 
 time which had flowered during the first years of his 
 episcopate, far away in an Andalusian diocese, he 
 repeated once again to Tomasa the tale of his relations 
 with a certain-devout lady, who f rom her rhilrHinf ^H \\^A ^ 
 felt a horror of the world. Devotion had drawn them 
 together, but life was not long in asserting her rights, 
 opening herself a way by their almost mystical relations, 
 and finally uniting them in a carnal embrace. They 
 had lived faithful to each other in the secrecy of eccle- 
 siastical life, loving each other with scrupulous pru- 
 
272 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAU 
 
 dence, so that no rumour of their relations had ever pub- 
 licly transpired, until she died, leaving two children. 
 Don Sebastian, a man of strong passions, was almost 
 vehement in his paternal feelings — those two beings 
 were the image of the poor dead woman, the remem- 
 brance of the only idyll which had softened a life 
 wholly given over to ambition, and the calumnies 
 circulated by his enemies, founded on the presence of 
 his daughter in the archiepiscopal palace nearly drove 
 him mad. 
 
 "They believe her to be my mistress!" he said 
 angrily. "My poor Visitacion, so good, so affectionate, 
 so gentle to all, changed to a courtesan by these 
 wretches! A sweetheart that I have taken for my 
 amusement from the college of Noble Ladies! As if I, 
 old and infirm, were able to think of such things! 
 Brutes! wretches! Crimes have been committed 
 for less!" 
 
 "Let them say on. God is in heaven and sees us all." 
 "I know it, but this is not enough to quiet me. You 
 have children, Tomasa, and you know what it is to love 
 them. It is not only what is done against them that 
 wounds us, but what is said. What days of suffering I 
 endure! You know since my boyhood all my dreams 
 have beea to rise to where I am. I used to look at the 
 throne in the choir and think how comfortable I should 
 be in it — of the immense happiness of being a prince of 
 the Church. Well, now I am on the throne. I have 
 spent half a century removing the stones from my path, 
 leaving my skin and even my flesh on the brambles of 
 the hillside. I only know how I was able to rise from 
 the black mass and obtain a bishopric! Afterwards — 
 now I am an archbishop! now I am a cardinal! At 
 last I can rise no higher! And what is it all? Happi- 
 ness always floats before us like the cloud of light which 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 273 
 
 guided the Israelites. We see it, we almost touch it, 
 but it never lets itself be caught. I am more unhappy 
 now than in the days when I struggled to rise, and 
 thought myself the most unfortunate of men. I am no 
 longer young; the height on which I stand draws all 
 eyes to me and prevents me defending myself. Ay, 
 Tomasa! pity me, for I am worthy of compassion! 
 To be a father and to be obliged to hide it as a crime ! 
 To love my daughter with an affection which increases 
 more and more as I draw nearer to death, and have to 
 endure that people should imagine this pure affection 
 to be something so repugnant!" 
 
 And the terrible glance of Don Sebastian, which 
 terrified all the diocese, was clouded with tears. 
 
 "Moreover, I have other troubles," he went on, 
 "but they are those of a far-seeing man who fears 
 the future. When I die, all that I have will be my 
 daughter's. Juanito inherits what belonged to his 
 mother, who was rich ; besides, he has his profession and 
 the support of my friends. Visitacion will be very rich. 
 You know my adversaries throw in my face what theyv. 
 call my avarice. Avaricious I am not, but foreseeing, 
 and anxious for the well-being of those belonging to 
 me. I have saved a great deal. I am not one of those i 
 who distribute bread at the gate of his palace, nor whof 
 seek popularity through almsgiving. I have pasture 
 lands in Estremadura, many vineyards in La Mancha, i 
 houses, and above all State stock — much stock. As a f 
 good Spaniard I have wished to help the Government 
 with my money, more especially as it bears interest. 
 I do not quite know how much I possess, but certainly 
 twenty millions of reals, and probably more, all saved 
 by myself and increased by fortunate speculations. I 
 cannot complain of fate, and the Lord has helped me. 
 Everything is for my poor Visitacion. I should delight 
 
274 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 in seeing her married to a good man ; but she will not 
 leave me. She is drawn to the Church, and that is my 
 fear. Do not be surprised, Tomasa; I, a prince of the 
 Church, fear to see how she is attracted by devotion, 
 and I do all I can to turn her from it. I respect a 
 religious woman, but not one who is only happy in the 
 Church. A woman ought to live; she ought to be 
 happy as a mother. I have always looked badly on 
 nuns." 
 
 "Let her be, serior," said the gardener's widow; 
 "there is nothing strange in her love for the Church. 
 Living as she does she could scarcely do otherwise." 
 
 "For the present time, I have no fear. I am by her 
 side, and her being fond of the society of the nuns 
 signifies very little to me. But I may die to-morrow, 
 and just imagine what a splendid mouthful poor 
 ""Visitacion and her millions would be, left alone, with 
 this predilection to religious life, of which those cunning 
 people would be sure to take advantage ! I have seen a 
 great deal. I ^logg-Jto-ihe -class,— aHd-i—artt-ifl-4he 
 secret__3^ere is no lack of religious orders who devote 
 themsSves to hunting heiresses for the greater glory of 
 God, as they say. Besides, there are many foreign nuns 
 with great flapping caps travelling about here, who are 
 lynxes for that sort of work, and I am terrified lest they 
 should pounce on my daughter. I belong to the 
 ancient Catholicism, to that pure Spanish religion, free 
 from all modern extravagances. It would be sad to 
 have spent my life in saving, only to fatten the Jesuits 
 or those sisters who cannot speak Castilian. I do not 
 wish my money to share the fate of that of the sacris- 
 tans in the proverb. For this reason, to the annoyance 
 I feel at my struggles with this inimical Chapter, 
 I must add the distress I feel at my daughter's 
 feeble character. Probably she will be hunted; some 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 27s 
 
 rake will laugh at me and possess himself of my 
 money." 
 
 Excited by his gloomy thoughts, he gave vent to an 
 interjection both caustic and obscene, a memory of his ^ 
 soldiering days; in the presence of the gardener's , 
 widow there was no need to control himself, and 
 the old woman was accustomed to this relief of his 
 temper. 
 
 "Let us see," he said imperiously after a long silence. 
 "You, who know me better than anyone, am I as 
 bad as my enemies suppose? Do I deserve that the 
 Lord should punish me for my faults ? You are one of 
 God's souls, simple and good, and you know more 
 of all this by your instinct than all the doctors of 
 theology." 
 
 "You bad, Don Sebastian? Holy Jesus! You are 
 a man like all others, neither more nor less; but 
 you are sincere, all of one piece, without deceit or 
 hypocrisy." 
 
 "A man — ^you have said it. I am a man like the 
 rest. We who attain a certain height are like the 
 saints on the fronts of the churches: from below we 
 cause admiration for our beauty, but viewed closely we 
 cause horror from the ugliness of the stones corroded 
 by time. However much we wish to sanctify ourselves, 
 keeping ourselves apart, we are still nothing but 
 men — creatures of flesh and blood like those who 
 surround us. 
 
 "In the Church those who free themselves from 
 human passion are most rare. And who knows if, even 
 among those few privileged ones, some are not driven 
 by the demon of vanity to increase the asceticism of 
 their lives, thinking of the glory of being on an altar! 
 The priest who succeeds in subduing his flesh falls into 
 avarice, which is the ecclesiastical vice par excellence. 
 
276 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 I have never hoarded from vice; I have saved for my 
 own, but never for myself." 
 - The prelate was silent for a long while; but in his 
 irresistible desire to confide in the simple old woman he 
 Went on. 
 
 "I am sure that God will not despise me when my 
 hour comes. His infinite mercy is above all the little- 
 ness of life. What has been my fault? To have loved 
 a woman, as my father loved my mother; to have had 
 children as the apostles and saints had. And why 
 not? Ecclesiastical celibacy is an invention of men, a 
 detail of discipline agreed upon at the councils; but 
 the flesh and its exigencies are anterior by many 
 centuries; they date from Paradise. Whoever crosses 
 this barrier, not from vice, but from irresistible 
 passion, because he cannot conquer the impulse to 
 create a family arid to have a companion, fails 
 indubitably towards the laws of the Church, but 
 he does not disobey God. I fear the approach of 
 death; many nights I doubt and tremble like a child. 
 But I have served God in my own way. In former 
 times I would have served Him with my sword, fighting 
 against the heretics. Now I am His priest and do 
 battle for Him whenever I see the impiety of the age 
 curtailing anything of His glory. The Lord will forgive 
 me, receiving me into His bosom. You, who are so good, 
 Tomasa, and have the soul of an angel beneath your 
 rough exterior, do you not think so?" 
 
 The gardener's widow smiled, and her words fell 
 slowly on the silence of the dying evening. 
 
 "Tranquillise yourself, Don Sebastian. I have seen 
 many saints in this house, and they have been worth 
 much less than you. To ensure their salvation they 
 would have abandoned their children. To maintain 
 what they call purity of soul they would have renounced 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 277 
 
 their family. Believe me, no saints enter here; they 
 are men, nothing but men. You have nothing to re- 
 pent of in following the^ impulse of your heart. God 
 created us in His image and likeness, and also planted 
 in us family love. All the rest, chastity, celibacy and 
 other trifles, you invented for yourselves, to distinguish 
 yourselves from the common herd of people. Be a 
 man, Don Sebastian, and the more you show yourself 
 such the better it will be for you, and the better the 
 Lord will receive you in His glory." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 A FEW days after Corpus Don Antolin went one 
 morning in search of Gabriel. Silver Stick smiled at 
 Luna, speaking to him in a patronising way. 
 
 He had thought of him all night ; it pained him to see 
 him idle, walking about the cloister; it was the want of 
 occupation that inspired him with such perverse ideas. 
 
 "Let us see," he continued, "would it suit you to 
 come down with me every afternoon into the Cathedral, 
 to show the Treasury and the other curiosities ? A great 
 many foreigners come who can scarcely make them- 
 selves understood when they question me; you will 
 understand them, as you know French and English, and, 
 your brother says, many other languages. The Cathe- 
 dral would be a gainer, as it would show these strangers 
 that we have an interpreter at our disposal; you would 
 be doing us a favour and would lose nothing by it. It 
 is always an amusement to see new faces ; and about the 
 recompense . . ." 
 
 Don Antolin stopped here, scratching his head beneath 
 his skull cap. He would see what he could screw out 
 of the funds of the Obreria; if just at first nothing could 
 be managed, as the revenues of the Primacy were 
 meagre and at their lowest ebb, no doubt something 
 could be given later on. 
 
 He looked anxiously for Gabriel's answer, who, how- 
 ever, was quite agreeable; when all was said and done 
 he was a guest of the Cathedral and owed it something. 
 
 278 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 279 
 
 And from that afternoon he went down at the hour of 
 choir to show the foreigners all the treasures of the 
 church. 
 
 ■There was no lack of travellers who showed Don 
 Antolin's coloured tickets waiting for the time to see 
 the jewels. Silver Stick could never see a stranger 
 without imagining that he was a lord or a duke, and 
 often felt very much 'surprised at the shabbiness of their 
 clothing; according to his ideas only the great ones of 
 the earth could give themselves the pleasure of travel- 
 ling, and he opened wide his incredulous and scandalised 
 eyes when Gabriel told him that many were shoemakers 
 from London or shopkeepers from Paris, who during 
 their holidays treated themselves to a trip through the 
 ancient country of the Moors. 
 
 Five canons in their choir surplices advanced up the 
 nave, each one holding a key in his hand ; these were the 
 guardians of the treasure. Each one opened the lock 
 confided to his custody, the door swung heavily, and 
 the chapel, with its antique treasures, was opened. In 
 large glass cases, like a museum, was displayed the 
 ancient opulence of the Cathedral: statues of chiselled 
 silver, large globes crowned by graceful little figures all 
 of precious metal, ivory caskets of complicated work, 
 custodias and viriles^ of gold, enormous gilt dishes, 
 embossed with mythological subjects reviving the joy 
 of paganism in that sordid and dusty comer of the 
 Christian Church, and precious stones spread their 
 varied colours over pectorals, mitres and mantles for 
 the Virgin. There were diamonds so immense as to 
 make one doubt their being genuine, emeralds the size 
 of pebbles, amethysts, topaz, and pearls — very many 
 pearls, strewn by the hundreds and thousands on the 
 
 ^ Virile—sma.11 box with double glass in which the Host is 
 exhibited. 
 
28o THE SHADOW DF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 Virgin's garments. The foreigners were amazed at all 
 this wealth and dazzled by the quantity, while Gabriel, 
 who had become accustomed to see it daily, looked at 
 it carelessly. The Treasury presented a deplorable 
 spectacle of neglect: the riches had aged with the 
 Cathedral, the diamonds did not flash, the gold seemed 
 tarnished and dusty, the silver was blackened, the pearls 
 were opaque and sick, the smoke from the wax tapers 
 and the damp atmosphere of the church had sadly dulled 
 everything. 
 
 "The Church," said Gabriel to himself, "ages every- 
 thing she touches. The treasures lose their brilliancy 
 in her hands, like jewels that fall into the power of 
 usurers. The diamond becomes dulled in the bosom of 
 the great miser, and the most beautiful picture becomes 
 blackened on her altars." 
 
 After the visit to the Treasury came the exhibition of 
 the Ochavo, the octagonal chapel of dark marbles, that 
 pantheon of relics where the most repulsive human 
 remains — skulls with their ghastly grin, mummified arms 
 and worn-eaten vertebrae — were shown in gold or silver 
 shrines. The gross and credulous piety, of former days 
 displayed itself in the full tide of unbelief, so that even 
 Don Antolin, so uncompromising when he spoke of the 
 glories of his Cathedral, lowered his voice and hurried 
 over his explanations as he showed a piece of the mantle 
 worn by Santa Leocadia when she "appeared" to the 
 Archbishop of Toledo, quite understanding the difficulty 
 of explaining how an apparition could wear garments of 
 stuff. 
 
 Gabriel translated faithfully Don Antolin's explana- 
 tion, repeating it again and again with imperturbable 
 gravity, while the canons who escorted the batch of 
 strangers drew a few paces away with an absent look, to 
 avoid questions, 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 281 
 
 One day a phlegmatic Englishman interrupted the 
 interpreter. 
 
 "And have you not amongst all these things a feather 
 from the wings of St. Michael?" 
 
 "No, senor, and it is a great pity," said Luna, equally 
 seriously, "but you will probably find it in some other 
 Cathedral; we cannot have everything here." 
 
 In the Chapter-house, a mixture of Arab and Gothic 
 architecture, the foreigners were much interested by the 
 double row of portraits of the Toledan archbishops hang- 
 ing on the wall, with their mitres and golden croziers. 
 Gabriel called their attention to the picture of Don 
 Cerebruno, a mediaeval prelate, so called from his 
 enormous head; but it was the wardrobe which more 
 especially surprised the foreigners. 
 
 It was a room surrounded by large cupboards and 
 shelves of old wood ; above these the walls were covered 
 with dusty and torn pictures, copies of Flemish paint- 
 ings that the canons had relegated to this corner; 
 round the room were placed in line the ancient arm- 
 chairs of the church, some of Spanish workmanship, 
 austere, with straight lines and ravelled coverings, others 
 of Greek design with curved feet inlaid with ivory. 
 The capes and chasubles were piled on the shelves, 
 according to colours, with the collars outside the heap, 
 so that people could examine the wonderful embroidery. 
 A whole world of patterns appeared with every possible 
 brilliancy of colour on a few inches of stuff. The aston- 
 ishing art of the ancient embroiderers made the silk a 
 series of vivid pictures ; the collar and the narrow stripes 
 on the front of a cape were large enough to reproduce 
 all the scenes of the biblical creation and the passion of 
 Jesus. Brocade and silk unrolled the magnificence 
 of their textures. One cape was a garden of flame- 
 Colpured carnations, another was a bed of roses and 
 
282 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 other fantastic flowers with twisted stamens and metal- 
 lic petals. The sacristans produced from the deep 
 shelves, as though they were books, the splendid and 
 famous f rentals of the high altar. There were special 
 ones for each festival; that for St. John's Day was 
 brightly coloured with verbenas, purple bunches of 
 grapes, and golden lambs that fat little angels were 
 caressing with their chubby hands. The most ancient, 
 of soft and rather faded colours, showed Persian gar- 
 dens with blue waters in which fabulous reddish beasts 
 were drinking. 
 
 The visitors were bewildered seeing all this vast 
 collection of stuffs and embroideries unrolled piece 
 after piece — all the past of a Cathedral which, having 
 millions of revenue, employed for its embellishment 
 armies of embroiderers, acquiring the richest textures of 
 Valencia and Seville, reproducing in gold and colours 
 all the episodes from the Holy books, and the torments 
 of the martyrs, all the glorious legends of the Church, 
 immortalised by the needle, before printing had been 
 able to do so. 
 
 Gabriel returned every evening to the upper cloister, 
 wearied out with walking the length and breadth of the 
 Cathedral. During the first few days he was delighted 
 with the novelty of seeing fresh faces, to hear the rustle 
 of the visitors who, branching off from the great stream 
 of travellers who inundated Europe, came as far as 
 Toledo. But after a little while the people he saw every 
 afternoon seemed to him just the same. There were 
 the same questions, the same stiff and hard-featured 
 Englishwomen, and the same o-o-o-h's of cold and con- 
 ventional admiration, and the same identical way of 
 turning their backs with rude pride when there was 
 nothing else to be shown. Returning to the quiet of the 
 upper cloister after the daily exhibition of the Treasury, 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL, 283 
 
 Gabriel thought the poverty of the Claverias even more 
 revolting and intolerable. The shoemaker seemed sad- 
 der and yellower in the rank atmosphere of his den, 
 bending over his bench hammering the soles, his wife 
 more feeble and ill, the miserable slave of maternity, 
 weakened by hunger, and offering to her little son as 
 his only hope of food those flaccid breasts in which there 
 was nothing left but a drop of blood. The little child 
 was dying! Sagrario, who had left her machine to 
 spend the greater part of the day in the shoemaker's 
 room said so in a low voice to her uncle. She did all 
 the work of the house, while the poor mother, motion- 
 less in a chair, with the little one in her lap, looked at it 
 with weeping eyes. When the baby woke from its 
 stupor it would wearily raise its head from its little neck, 
 which had become a mere thread ; the mother to stifle its 
 feeble moans would press it to her breast, but the child 
 would turn away its mouth guessing the inutility 
 of expending its strength on that rag of flesh from 
 which it could only succeed in extracting the last 
 drop. 
 
 Gabriel examined the child, noting its extreme emacia- 
 tion and the spots that scrofula had spread over its 
 straw-coloured skin. He shook his head incredulously 
 when the neighbours who had gathered round the invalid 
 each diagnosed some particular ailment, and recom- 
 mended every imaginable sort of household remedy, 
 from decoctions of rare herbs and stinking ointments to 
 applications on the chest of miracle working prints, and 
 tracing seven crosses on the navel with as many pater- 
 nosters. 
 
 "It is hunger," said Luna to his niece, "nothing but 
 hunger." And depriving himself of part of his own 
 food, he sent to the shoemaker's house the milk that had 
 been brought up for himself. But the child's stomach 
 
284 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 could not retain the liquid too substantial for its weak- 
 ness, and threw it up as soon as swallowed. The Aunt 
 Tomasa, with her energetic and enterprising character, 
 brought a woman from outside the Cathedral to nourish 
 the child, but after two days, and before the effects 
 became visible, she came no more, as if she had felt dis- 
 gusted at the miserable and corpse-like little body touch- 
 ing her. In vain the gardener's widow searched; it was 
 not easy to find generous breasts who would give their 
 milk for very little pay. 
 
 In the meanwhile the child was dying. All the 
 women came in and out of the shoemaker's house, and 
 even Don Antolin would stand at the door in the mom- 
 ings. 
 
 "How is the little one? Just the same? It is all in 
 God's hands." 
 
 And he would retire, doing the shoemaker the great 
 charity of not speaking to him about the pesetas he 
 owed him, on account of the sick child. 
 
 "Virgin's Blue" was annoyed by this incident, which 
 upset the calm of the cloister, and disturbed the bliss of 
 his digestion as a happy and well-fed servant of the 
 Church. It was a shame that that shoemaker should be 
 allowed to live in the Claverias with all that flock of 
 wretched and scurvy children; one would die every 
 month ; all sorts of illness would lay hold on them. By 
 what right were they in the Cathedral when they drew 
 no wage from the Obreria ? Such stinking excrescences 
 ought to remain outside the Lord's house. 
 
 His mother-in-law was furious. 
 
 "Silence, you thief of the saints!" she cried. "Si- 
 lence, or I will throw a dish at you 1 We are all sons of 
 God, and if things were as they should be, all the poor 
 ought to live in the Cathedral. Instead of saying such 
 things, it would be much better if you gave those 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 285 
 
 unhappy people part of what you have stolen, from the 
 Virgin." 
 
 The sacristan shrugged his shoulders with contempt. 
 If they had not enough to eat they should not have chil- 
 dren. There he was himself with only one daughter — he 
 did not think he had any right to more — and so thanks 
 to Our Lady he was able to save a scrap for his old age. 
 
 Tomasa spoke of the shoemaker's child to the good 
 gentlemen of the Chapter when they came into the 
 garden for a few minutes after choir. They listened 
 absently, putting their hands in their cassocks. 
 
 "Jt is all God's will! What poverty!" 
 
 And some gave her ten centimes, others a real, one or 
 two even a peseta. The old woman went one day to 
 the Archbishop's palace. Don Sebastian was engaged 
 and unable to see her, but he sent her two pesetas by 
 one of the servants. 
 
 "They don't mean badly," said the gardener's widow, 
 giving her collection to the poor mother, "but each 
 one lives for himself, and his neighbour may man- 
 age as he can. No one divides his cloak with an- 
 other — take this, and see how you can get out of your 
 trouble." 
 
 They fed a little better in the shoemaker's house; the 
 miserable scrofulous children collected in the cloister 
 profited most by the baby's illness ; it was growing daily 
 weaker, lying motionless for hours, with almost imper- 
 ceptible breathing, on its mother's lap. 
 
 When the unhappy child died, all the people of the 
 Claverias rushed to the home. Inside could be heard the 
 mother's wailings, strident, interminable, like the bellow- 
 ing of a wounded beast ; outside the father wept silently, 
 surrounded by his friends. ^- 
 
 "It died just like a bird," he said with long pauses, 
 his words broken by sobs. "His mother held him on her 
 
286 THE SHADOW OK THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 knees — I was working — 'Antonio, Antonio!' she called, 
 'see, what is the matter with the child, it is moving 
 its mouth and making grimaces?' I ran tip quickly, its 
 face was quite dusky — as if it had a veil over it. It 
 opened its mouth, a couple of twitches with its eyes 
 staring, and its neck fell over — ^just the same as a bird, 
 just the same." 
 
 He wept, repeating constantly the resemblance be- 
 tween his son and those birds who die in winter from 
 the cold. 
 
 The bell-ringer looked gloomily at Gabriel. 
 
 "You who know ever3rthing, is it true that it died of 
 hunger ?" 
 
 And the Tato with his scandalous impetuosity shouted 
 loudly — 
 
 "There is no justice in the world! All this must be 
 altered! Fancy a child dying of hunger in this house, 
 where money runs like water, and where all those 
 creatures are dressed in gold!" 
 
 When the little corpse was carried to the cemetery, 
 the cloister seemed quite deserted; all its life was con- 
 centrated in the shoemaker's house, all the women 
 surrounded the mother. Despair had rendered that sick 
 and feeble woman furious. She no longer wept: her 
 child's death had made her ferocious — she wished to bite 
 or to dash her skull against the wall. 
 
 "Ay ! my s-o-o-o-n ! my Antonio !" 
 
 At night Sagrario and the other women remained in 
 the house to look after her. In her desperation she 
 wished to make some one responsible for her misfortune, 
 and she fixed on those highest in the cloister. Don 
 Antolin had not helped her with the smallest alms; his 
 affected niece had scarcely been in to see the little one, 
 nothing interested her but men. 
 
 "It is all Silver Stick's fault," wailed the poor mother 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 287 
 
 — "he is a thief. He grinds our poverty with his 
 usurer's snares. Never a farthing did he give for my 
 son. And that Mariquita is just the same. Yes, seiior, 
 I do say so. She only thinks of decking herself out so 
 that the cadets may see her." 
 
 "For mercy's sake, woman, they will hear you," 
 begged some of the terrified women. 
 
 But others scouted this fear. "Let Don Antolin and 
 his niece hear them! What did it matter? The 
 Claverias were tired of the rapacity of the uncle, and 
 the magnificent airs that ugly woman gave herself! 
 Because they were poor they were not going to spend 
 their lives trembling before that couple. God only knew 
 what the uncle and niece did when they were alone in 
 the house together 1" 
 
 A breath of rebellion had passed over that sleepy' 
 world. It was the unconscious influence of Gabriel. 
 What he had said to his friends had been passed on to 
 all the men in the Claverias, getting even to the women. 
 They were confused and garbled ideas, that very few 
 could understand, but they cherished them like fresh 
 pure air reviving their minds. They sounded in their 
 ears like a pleasant echo from the outside world. It was 
 sufficient for them to know that this quiet life of sub- 
 mission they had led up to now was not immutable — 
 they had a right to something better — and that 
 human beings ought to rebel against injustice and 
 oppression. 
 
 Don Antolin, who knew well enough the crew confided 
 to his care, was not long in perceiving this moral upturn. 
 He felt hostility and rebellion on every side. The debtors 
 answered him haughtily, alleging their poverty as a 
 reason for no longer enduring his avarice ; his imperious 
 orders were tardily executed, and he had a clear per- 
 ception that they were laughing behind his back as he 
 
288 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 walked through the cloister, and making threatening 
 gestures. One day his legs trembled beneath him and 
 his eyes were dimmed, hearing how the Perrero replied 
 to one of his reprimands, having returned late to the 
 Cathedral, and obliging him to descend and open the 
 door after he had gone to bed. The Tato made him 
 understand, with an insolent expression, that he had 
 bought a knife, and that he intended its first fleshing to 
 be in the bowels of some priest or other who ground 
 down the poor. 
 
 His niece complained to Don Antolin, they paid no 
 attention to her and flouted her, no woman now ever 
 came to help her gratuitously in her household duties. 
 They replied insolently that those who wanted servants 
 must pay for them. What was her uncle thinking about ? 
 It was certainly time to assert his authority and to lay 
 a heavy hand on these people. 
 
 She herself, so lively and energetic in her own house, 
 was now obliged to retire snorting with rage or weep- 
 ing, whenever she stationed herself at her door. All the 
 women of the Claverias wished to revenge themselves for 
 their former thraldom, standing already on the declivity 
 of disrespect. 
 
 "Look at her !" screamed the shoemaker's wife to her 
 neighbours, "always so dressed up, the ugly jade. She 
 decks herself with the blood that vampire of an uncle 
 sucks from the poor." 
 
 And from the iron gratings of the upper Qaverias, 
 giving on the roofs, there was generally a voice singing 
 the ancient couplet, no doubt inspired by the Cathedral 
 garden — 
 
 "Las amas de los curas y los laureles 
 Como nunca dan fruto siempre estan verdes."' 
 
 'Priest's housekeepers — like laurels — never have any fruit, 
 because they are evergreens. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 289 
 
 It was this that ended the patience of Don Antolin; 
 this insulting conjecture about himself and his niece that 
 disturbed his miserly chastity. He visited the cardinal 
 to complain of the inhabitants of the cloister, but His 
 Eminence, who lived in a perpetual rage, grew furious 
 listening to him and very nearly thrashed him. Why 
 did he come to him with such tales? For what reason 
 had he been given any authority? Was there nothing 
 left of a man beneath his cassock? He who was want- 
 ing in the good discipline of the house — turn him out 
 into the street at once! More energy, and be careful 
 never to trouble him again with such insignificant tales, 
 otherwise the person who would be turned into the street 
 would be Silver Stick himself. 
 
 Don Antolin felt a little braver after this interview, 
 although he swore mentally never again to visit that 
 terrible prelate. He was determined to reassert his 
 authority, by punishing the weakest, whom he consid- 
 ered as the origin of all these scandals. The shoemaker 
 should be expelled from the Claverias, as he was there 
 through no other right but that his wife had been born 
 there. Mariquita, bewildered by her uncle's energy, 
 must needs speak to some one about these intentions, 
 and so the news circulated through the cloister. 
 
 Don Antolin did not dare to move a step further, 
 terrified by the silent unanimity with which the whole 
 population rose against him. 
 
 The Tato looked at him with mocking and threatening 
 eyes, in which Silver Stick could plainly read "Re- 
 member the knife" ; but what terrified Don Antolin more 
 than anything was the silence of the bell-ringer, and 
 the savage and hostile glance with which he responded to 
 his words. 
 
 Even the good Wooden Staff, Esteban, protested in 
 his own way, saying quietly to Don Antolin: 
 
290 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "Is it really true that you intend turning out the 
 shoemaker? You will do wrong, very wrong, for after 
 all he is very poor, and his wife was born in the cloister. 
 These innovations always bring misfortune, Don An- 
 tolin." 
 
 So the priest, finding he had no support, and seeing 
 hostility on every side, piit off his energetic resolutions 
 till the following day, even reproving his niece when 
 she threw his weakness in his face. 
 
 The Canon Obrero, from whom he had implored help, 
 did not care to disturb the blessed peace of his existence 
 by mixing himself up in the quarrels of the smaller peo- 
 ple. It was Silver Stick's own affair ; he could punish or 
 expel any one he thought fit without fear of anybody. 
 But Don Antolin, dreading the responsibility that might 
 accrue from energetic action, ended by delivering himself 
 over to Gabriel and begging for his assistance. That 
 man was the one who wielded the real authority in the 
 upper cloister; all those who had listened to him fol- 
 lowed his advice blindly. 
 
 "Help me, Gabrielillo," said the priest with an 
 agonised expression. "If you cannot restore order, this 
 will end badly; they even insult my poor niece, and 
 some day I shall turn half the people of the Claverias 
 out into the street, as I hold authority from His 
 Eminence for everything. Ay, seiior! I do not know 
 what has happened here ; surely the devil must have got 
 loose in our upper cloister! How these people have 
 changed to me !" 
 
 Luna guessed Don Antolin's thoughts and his allu- 
 sions to the devil who had got loose in the cloister. 
 That devil was himself. No doubt Silver Stick was 
 right. Without intending it he had introduced discord 
 into the Cathedral. He had sought calm and forgetful- 
 ness in that refuge, and the spirit of rebellion had 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 291 
 
 followed him even into this concealment. He recalled 
 his thoughts on the first day, when he was alone in the 
 silent cloister; he wished to be another stone in the 
 Cathedral, without "thought, wittrom-fceliiigp-lxr-spend 
 the rest of his life fixed to that ruin, with the embryonic 
 life of the fungus on the buttress, but the spirit of the 
 outside world had entered in with him. 
 
 Luna remembered how travellers in time of plague 
 had crossed the sanitary cordon — they were well and 
 happy, nothing betrayed the infection in their bodies; 
 but the poisonous germs travelled in the folds of their 
 clothes and in their hair, carrying death without know- 
 ing it, helping it to leap all barriers and obstacles, with- 
 out being in the least aware of it. He was the same, 
 but instead of spreading death, he spread tumultuous 
 and rebellious life. The protest of the lower orders 
 that had been surging throughout the , world, for 
 more than a century, had entered with him into this 
 still remaining fragment of the sixteenth century. He 
 had awakened those men, who had been like the sleepers 
 in the legend, motionless in their cave for ages, 
 while the centuries rolled on and the world was trans- 
 formed. 
 
 The awakening of these people was sudden and 
 violent, like that of a people in revolution. They were 
 ashamed of the old errors that they had worshipped, 
 snd this made them receive as gospel everything that 
 Was new, without quailing before the consequences. 
 
 It was the faith of a people which, once it takes form, 
 rushes onwards, accepting everything, justifying every- 
 thing, the only requirement being its novelty, and cast- 
 ing aside contemptuously those traditional principles 
 which it had just abandoned. 
 
 The cowardly submission of Silver Stick was the first 
 victory of those more daring souls who formed Luna's 
 
292 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 surrounding. The avaricious and despotic priest low- 
 ered his eyes before them, smilingly anxious to make 
 himself agreeable. This they owed to the master, 
 for he was now the true ruler of the upper cloister. 
 Don Antolin consulted him before making any arrange- 
 ments, and his ugly niece smiled on Gabriel as the 
 daughters of the conquered might smile on a triumphant 
 hero. 
 
 They now no longer hid themselves in the bell- 
 ringer's house for their meetings; they formed a circle 
 in the cloister during the evenings, discussing the 
 audacious doctrines taught by Luna, without now being 
 intimidated by the religious atmosphere. They sat with 
 the look of lords, surrounding their master, while in 
 the opposite gallery walked Silver Stick like a black 
 phantom, reading his book of hours, and casting now 
 and then an uneasy glance on the group. Even his 
 ancient vassal, the chaplain of the nuns, had dared to 
 leave him to go and listen to Gabriel. 
 
 Don Antolin with the keenness of his ecclesiastical 
 training, guessed the intensity of the evil produced by 
 Luna. But for the moment his egoism was stronger 
 than his reflection. Let them talk — what did it matter? 
 It was only a little ebullition of pride in those people, 
 nothing more. All words and wind in the head. Mean- 
 while they had better not ask for any more money! 
 In exchange he had a very good auxiliary in Luna, who, 
 sharing his authority, spared him many annoyances, and 
 the Cathedral disposed of his services gratuitously as 
 interpreter to the foreigners. 
 
 These already began to talk of the great intelligence 
 and education of the Toledan sacristans, a praise Don 
 Antolin received as though it were entirely deserved by 
 himself. 
 
 Gabriel was far more alarmed than Don Antolin at 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 291 
 
 the eflfect of his words ; he bitterly repented having been 
 led to speak of his past and of his ideals. He had 
 sought for peace and silence, but he was still sur- 
 rounded, though in a smaller degree, by the atmosphere 
 of proselytism and blind enthusiasm, as in the days of 
 his martyrdom. He had wished to efface himself and 
 to disappear on entering the Cathedral, but fate mocked 
 him, reviving the agitation in the midst of his conceal- 
 ment, to disturb the peace of that ruin. Society had 
 forgotten him, but he unconsciously was agitating, 
 and drawing to himself the attention of the outside 
 world. 
 
 The enthusiasm of these neophytes was a danger, and 
 his brother, the Wooden Staff, without understanding 
 the full extent of the evil, warned him with his usual 
 good sense. 
 
 "You are turning the heads of these poor men, with 
 the things you tell them. Be careful; they are very 
 well meaning, but they are very ignorant. And having 
 been ignorant all their lives, it is dangerous to turn such 
 men into sages at one blow. It is as if I, being accus- 
 tomed to the homely stew, were taken to-day to His 
 Eminence's table. I should gorge myself and drink too 
 much; at night I should have a colic, and should prob- 
 ably hop the twig." 
 
 Gabriel acknowledged the truth of this prudent advice, 
 but he could not draw back — he was driven on by the 
 affection of his disciples and his own ardour as propa- 
 gandist. It was a great delight to him to see the wonder 
 in those virgin minds, entering tumultuously into the i 
 luminous palaces constructed by human thought during / 
 the last century. ^ 
 
 The description of the future of humanity inflamed 
 all Luna's ardour. He spoke of the happiness of men, 
 after a revolutionary crisis which would change all the 
 
294 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 organisation of humanity with mystic rapture, like a 
 Christian preacher describing heaven. 
 
 "Man ought to seek happiness solely in this world, for 
 after death there only existed the infinite life of matter 
 with its endless combinations, but the human being was 
 effaced as entirely as a plant or an animal — ^he fell into 
 oblivion when he sank into the tomb. Immortality of 
 the soul was one of the illusions of human pride worked 
 up by religions, who laid their foundations on this lie. 
 It was only in this life that man could find heaven. 
 Everyone embarked on immensity in the same ship, the 
 earth. We were all comrades in our dangers and our 
 struggles, and we ought to look upon one another as 
 irothers seeking the common welfare. And what about 
 the unequal distribution of goods, the division of classes, 
 the ability to work, and, above all, the struggle for 
 existence, that the philosophers and poets of the 
 oppressing classes paint as an indispensable condition 
 of progress? Communism is the holiest aspiration of 
 humanity, the divine dream of man since he began to 
 think in the first dawn of civilisation. Religions had 
 endeavoured to establish it, but religion had been ship- 
 wrecked and was moribund, and only science could 
 enforce it in the future. They must stop on the way 
 they were going, as humanity was marching on the 
 road to perdition, therefore it was necessary to return 
 to the point of departure. The first man who had 
 cultivated a portion of the earth and garnered the fruits 
 of his toil, thought it was his for ever, and left it to his 
 sons as their property; they engaged other men to 
 cultivate it for them — so these men became robbers, 
 appropriators of the universal heritage. It was the 
 same with those who possessed themselves of the 
 invention of human genius, machines, etc., for the 
 benefit of a small majority, subjecting the rest of 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 295 
 
 mankind to the law of hunger. No, everything was for 
 everyone. The earth belonged to all human beings 
 without exception, like the sun and the air; its products 
 ought to be divided between everyone with due regard 
 to their necessities. It was shameful that man, who 
 only appeared for an instant on this planet — a minute, a 
 second, for his life was no more than this in the life of 
 immensity — should spend this mere breath of existence 
 fighting with his kin, robbing them, excited by the 
 fever of plunder, not even enjoying the majestic calm of 
 a wild beast, which when it has eaten, rests, without 
 ever thinking of doing harm from vanity or avarice. 
 There ought to be neither rich nor poor — ^nothing but 
 men. The only inevitable division must be that 
 between brains more or less highly organised. But 
 the wise, from the fact of being so, ought to show their 
 greatness, sacrificing themselves for the more simple, 
 without seeking to assist the greatness of their minds 
 by material advantages; for in stomachs there were no 
 categories or ranks. Everything that exists, even the 
 smallest production that man considers his exclusive 
 work, is the work of the past and present generations. 
 By what right can anyone say 'This is mine, mine 
 only'? Man is not consulted before he is formed if he 
 wishes to burst forth into life. He is bom — and from 
 the jEact of being born he has a right to well-being." 
 GabrierprocTainied- his supreme formula,' "Everything 
 for everyone, and well-being for all." 
 
 His friends listened in profound silence. The right: 
 to well-being sank profoundly into their minds; it was 
 the saying that most cruelly touched their poverty, 
 taunted by the contrast of the wealth of the Church. 
 
 Don Martin, the young chaplain, was the only one 
 who timidly raised any objections to the master's say- 
 ings. He wished to know if, when everything was for 
 
296 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 everyone, when man should have recognised his right to 
 happiness, without laws or compulsion to force him to 
 production — would he work? seeing that work was a 
 necessity, and not a virtue, as those who employ labour 
 say, to glorify it. 
 
 Gabriel loudly affirmed the necessity of work in the 
 future. The man of the future would work without 
 being forced to do so by his necessities ; he would not be 
 ruled by the body and its imperious requirements; his 
 conscience would be inspired with the clear under- 
 standing of solidarity with his fellows and the cer- 
 tainty that if one abandoned social duties others would 
 follow the example, thus rendering life in common 
 impossible and so returning to the actual times of pov- 
 erty and robbery. 
 
 "Why do not the few men of culture and sound 
 conscience living at present kill and rob?" exclaimed 
 Gabriel. "It is not through fear of the law and its 
 representatives, for a clear intelligence, if it takes the 
 trouble, can easily find ways of evading both; neither 
 can it be through fear of eternal penalties and divine 
 punishment, as such men do not believe in these inven- 
 tions of the past. It is from that respect to his fellows 
 which is felt by every elevated mind, from the con- 
 sideration that all violence should be avoided, for if 
 everyone gave themselves over to it, all social life must 
 disappear. When this understanding, which now only 
 belongs to a few, embraces all humanity, men will live 
 ruled by their own consciences without laws or police, 
 working from social duty, without requiring man to be 
 the only spring of activity, and sweating without com- 
 passion to be the only way to ease." 
 
 Throughout all his revolutionary raptures Luna had 
 no illusions as to the present. Humanity was at present 
 an infected land, in which the best seeds rotted, or 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 297 
 
 which at best produced only poisonous fruits; we must 
 wait till the equalising revolution begun in the human 
 conscience a century ago should be completed, after that 
 it would be possible and easy to change the basis of 
 society; he had a blind faith in the future. Man must 
 progress in the same way as communities; these reck- 
 oned their evolutions by centuries, but man by millions 
 of years. How could a man of to-day be compared to 
 the biped animal of prehistoric times, though bearing 
 visibly the traces of the animalism from which he had 
 lately emerged? Living in fellowship with his ancestors 
 the monkeys, the principal difference being the first 
 babblings of speech, and the first trembling spark that 
 began to burn in his brain. 
 
 From the ravenous beast of former days, suffering 
 from all the cruel forces of nature and living in frater- 
 nal misery with the lower animals, the man of to-day 
 was evolved, asserting his superiority to his ancestors, 
 dominating all nature. From the men of to-day, in 
 whom the passions of their former animalism are finding 
 their equilibrium with the gradual unfolding of the 
 mind, will arise that superior and perfect being indicated 
 by philosophers, pure from all animal egoism, and en- 
 deavouring to change the actual cruel, restless, and un- 
 certain life, into a period of happy and prosperous 
 equality. 
 
 The animalism at present dominant in man exasper- 
 ated Gabriel ; it was the great stumbling-block to all his 
 generous views of the future, and he explained to his 
 astonished listeners the transformations of natural 
 creatures and of the origin of man, and the wondrous 
 poem of the evolution of nature from the original pro- 
 toplasm to the infinite varieties of life. We still carry 
 in us the marks of our origin. One could not help 
 laughing at the God of the Jews, who had modelled a 
 
298 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 man from clay, like a sculptor. Unlucky artist ! Science 
 pointed out much carelessness and bungling in His work, 
 without being able to justify such mistakes. The skin of 
 our bodies did not serve us as a covering like the fur of 
 an animal. How could we then believe it? Why were 
 nipples given to human males, if they were of no use for 
 milk giving? Why was the vertebral column at the back 
 of the body as in quadrupeds, when it would have been 
 more logical, in creating a man who stands on his feet, 
 to place it in the centre of the body as a strong sup- 
 port, thus avoiding the curvatures and weakness of the 
 spine that are now suffered by this disequilibrium in the 
 support of. its weight ? 
 
 Gabriel enumerated the various inexplicable inconsis- 
 tencies and incongruities found in the human body, pre- 
 suming it to be of divine origin. 
 
 "I feel prouder," said he, "of my animal origin; to 
 be a lineal descendant of inferior beings than to have 
 emerged imperfect from the hand of a stupid God. I 
 feel the same satisfaction that a nobleman feels in 
 speaking of his ancestors when I think of our remote 
 forefathers, those men-beasts, exposed like the animals 
 to all the cruel severity of nature, who, little by little, 
 through hundreds of centuries, have transformed them- 
 selves, triumphing in the unfolding of their minds, 
 their brains, and their social instincts. Making clothes, 
 edible foods, arms, tools and houses, neutralising the 
 exterior influences of nature. What hero or discoverer 
 in the four thousand years comprising our history can 
 compare with those elementary men who have slowly 
 evolved and maintained on the earth the existence of 
 our species, exposed thousands of times to annihilation. 
 The day on which our ancestors cared for the sick and 
 wounded, instead of abandoning them as all animals 
 had previously done; on which the first seed was 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 299 
 
 planted, the first arrow shot, brought nature face to face 
 with the greatest of her revolutions. Only one in the 
 future will be able to equal it; if man in remote times 
 was able to free his body, now he requires the great 
 revolution to free his mind. The races who go furthest 
 in- their intellectual development will be the ultimate 
 survivors; they will be masters of the earth, destroying 
 all others. The least wise in those days will probably 
 be far superior to the most cultivated intellects of the 
 present times. Each individual will find his happiness 
 in the happiness of his fellows, and no one will try to 
 exercise compulsion on his neighbour. No laws or 
 penalties will exist, and voluntary associations will sup- 
 ply through the influence of reason the present power of 
 authority. This will be in the future — far, very far off. 
 But what do centuries matter in the life of humanity! 
 They are like seconds in our existence. On the day 
 when man shall be transformed into this superior being, 
 with the full development of all his intellectual faculties, 
 now so embryonic, this earth will no longer be the vale 
 of tears spoken of by religion, but the paradise dreamed 
 of by the poets." 
 
 In spite of the enthusiasm with which Gabriel spoke, 
 his hearers did not appear to share these illusions. 
 They were silent, and their attitude was one of coldness 
 before the immense distance of that future to which 
 their master confided all his hopes of universal pros- 
 perity. They wished for it at once, with the eagerness 
 of a child who is shown a dainty which is afterwards 
 put out of its reach. The sacrifices, the slow work for 
 the future, struck no chord in their minds. From 
 Gabriel's explanations they only drew the fact that 
 they were unhappy, but that they had the same right 
 to happiness and comfort as those privileged few whom 
 they had formerly respected in their ignorance. As a 
 
300 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 certain portion of human felicity belonged to them they 
 wished to possess it at once, without delay or resistance, 
 , with all the fervour of one claiming what belongs to 
 him. Luna remarked in this silence a certain rebellion, 
 like those ironical gestures with which his companions 
 K in Barcelona had received his illusions about the future 
 and his anathemas against violence of action. 
 ^ These ardent neophytes outdistanced their teacher; 
 they listened to him with respect, but they were obliged 
 to isolate themselves from him in order to digest his 
 teachings in their own fashion. Don Martin was the 
 only one who followed him in his visionary excursions 
 into the future. The bell-ringer, the organ-blower, the 
 shoemaker and the Tato now went up nightly to the bell- 
 ringer's house, without summoning the master, and there 
 they gave vent to their hatred of everything existing, 
 under the forgotten old prints, yellow and wrinkled, 
 which pictured the inglorious episodes of the Carlist war. 
 
 This nocturnal reunion was a continual complaint 
 against social injustice. They thought themselves even 
 more unfortunate when they took an exact review of 
 their situation. The shoemaker recalled with tearful 
 eyes the little child who had died of hunger, and spoke 
 of the misery of his offspring, so numerous as to render 
 his work useless. The organ-blower spoke of his mis- 
 erable old age, the six reals daily during his life, 
 without any hope of earning more. The Tato., in the 
 fits of rage of a bullying coxcomb, proposed to behead 
 all the canons in the choir some evening and then to set 
 fire to the Cathedral. And the bell-ringer, gloomy and 
 scowling, said aloud, following up the course of his 
 thoughts : 
 
 "And below so much wealth that is of no use to any- 
 body — amassed from pure pride — thieves! robbers!" 
 
 Gabriel returned to pass his days by Sagrario's side. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 301 
 
 His disciples hid themselves daily more carefully in their 
 isolation in the tower. Don Martin had his mother ill, 
 and could not leave the convent. 
 
 Silver Stick felt quite satisfied with Luna seeing him 
 alone, believing that it was he who had alienated his 
 disciples, cutting short in this way his dangerous con- 
 versations so as to restore order in the cloister. One day 
 he addressed him smilingly with a patronising manner. 
 
 "You will be rewarded for your good conduct, 
 Gabrielillo, much sooner than you expect. Did I not 
 say I would look out for something for you in exchange 
 for the help you gave me in showing the treasury? 
 Well, now you have it. From next week two pesetas 
 daily will fall into your purse like two suns. Are you 
 ^apal to staying all night in the Cathedral ? The older 
 watchman, the one who was a civil guard, is tired of it, 
 and is going home to his own village. It appears that 
 since his dog died he has taken a dislike to the duties. 
 The other watchman is very poorly and wants a com- 
 panion. Will you undertake it? If it were winter I 
 should not say anything about it, as you cough too much 
 to spend the night down there; but in summer the 
 Cathedral is the coolest place in Toledo. What lovely 
 nights ! And by the time bad weather comes on we will 
 have found you some better place. You are trust- 
 worthy, though your head is rather light; but you come 
 of an honoured and well-known family, which is what 
 is wanted. Do you accept?" 
 
 Luna accepted, declaring his intention to Esteban, 
 when the latter objected on account of his weak health. 
 He would only undertake the watchman's duties during 
 the summer; besides, two pesetas a day were even more 
 than Wooden Staff earned; the income of the family 
 would be doubled, and it would be a pity to lose such a 
 good opportunity. 
 
302 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 , That evening Sagrario spoke to her uncle praising the 
 energy which prompted him to undertake any sort of 
 work so as not to be a charge on the family. 
 
 They were in the cloister leaning on the balustrade; 
 below was the dark garden with its waving branches, 
 above a summer sky veiled by the heat haze which 
 dulled the brightness of the stars. They were alone in 
 the four-sided gallery. The lighted windows of the 
 Chapel-master's little room threw a square of red on the 
 opposite roofs. They could hear the harmonium playing 
 slowly and sadly, and when it stopped the shadow of 
 the musician passed and repassed over the square of 
 light with his nervous gestures, which, enlarged by the 
 reflection, appeared the most grotesque contortions. 
 
 The nocturnal calm and darkness surrounded Gabriel 
 and Sagrario with a gentle caress ; that mysterious fresh- 
 ness was falling from above which seems to revive 
 drooping spirits and magnify old remembrances. The 
 Church seeirfed to them as an immense sleeping beast, in 
 ; whose lap they had found peace and protection. 
 
 Gabriel spoke of his past, in order to convince the 
 young woman that his work in the Cathedral would not 
 be very arduous. He had suffered much; there was no 
 bitterness that he had not tasted; he had endured 
 hunger, terrible hunger, in his peregrinations through 
 the world. He did not know which were the most 
 painful, his martyrdom in the dungeons of the gloomy 
 castle, or his days of despair in the streets of crowded 
 cities, seeing food and gold through the glass windows 
 of the shops while his head was swimming with the 
 dizziness of hunger. He could endure his misery while 
 he wandered alone through the cruel selfishness of 
 civilisation; but the most horrible days were those in 
 which he shared his vagabond poverty with Lucy, his 
 gentle and melancholy companion. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 303 
 
 Gabriel spoke of the Englishwoman as of a dead 
 sister. 
 
 "Had you known her, Sagrario, you would have loved 
 her. She was a strong woman, a brave companion, 
 united to me more by the community of thought than 
 by carnal attraction. I loved her when I first saw her. 
 I hardly know if it was love that we felt; poets have 
 written so many lies about love, and have falsified it in 
 such an exaggerated way, that I do not for certain know 
 what it is." 
 
 He spoke to the young woman of love, explaining it 
 according to his beliefs. Goethe had defined it as an 
 "elective affinity," speaking as a man of science and not 
 as a poet, using the term that chemistry gives to the 
 tendency of two substances to unite and form a distinct 
 product. Two beings between whom no affinity existed 
 could meet through false laws of life in perpetual con- 
 tact, but they could not mix or merge into one another. 
 This happened more often than not between the indi- 
 viduals of different sexes who peopled the earth; a 
 passing sentimentality could exist, or carnal caprice, but 
 seldom love. The poor invalid Lucy was his affinity; 
 they met and they loved. In their pity for human 
 miseries, their hatred of inequalities and injustice, their 
 self-abnegation in the cause of the humble and unfor- 
 tunate they were equal; they were not only united by 
 their hearts but by their brains. 
 
 She was plain, with a soft and sad plainness that 
 seemed to Luna the supreme ideal of beauty in the 
 midst of that struggling world of unfortunates and 
 victims. She was the image of a woman of the people 
 reared in the workmen's slums of great cities, anaemic 
 from the mephitic air of the den in which she was born 
 and from bad and insufficient food, with a wretched 
 body, all feminine graces paralysed in their development 
 
304 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 by the rough work done in her childhood. Her lips, 
 that great ladies paint red, were violet; the only beauty 
 of her face lay in her eyes, those windows of sorrow, 
 made larger by the cold nights passed in the street from 
 horror of the scenes she saw in her childhood; her 
 father, drunken, with the brutal wish of a workman to 
 forget, who, after imagining that his tavern was a 
 paradise, would become infuriated with the poverty of 
 his home and beat the whole family. 
 
 "She was like all you women of the lower orders, 
 Sagrario. Your beauty only lasts an instant; in fact, it 
 can only exist in the first flush of youth. A woman of 
 the poor cannot be beautiful unless she gets out of her 
 class. Daily labour makes her lose all her freshness and 
 strength, and maternity in the midst of poverty absorbs 
 even the marrow in her bones. When her daily work 
 is ended and she returns home, she has to sweep and 
 wash, and shrivel herself to a mummy before the 
 smoky kitchen stove. I loved Lucy for that reason, 
 because she was consumed and drained by sweating, 
 because she was the girl worker in all her melancholy 
 decadence, born beautiful and made hideous by social 
 injustice." 
 
 He recalled the unbending and deadly hatred with 
 which that little woman spoke so quietly of the 
 supreme vengeance of the fallen, of the revenge for 
 long years of oppression. She showed herself more 
 firmly rooted and fiercer in her illusions than Gabriel, 
 and he would praise her daring as a propagandist, her 
 perilous expeditions into the great towns, running the 
 gauntlet of watchful police, carrying on her arm that 
 old bonnet-box full of pamphlets that might have sent 
 her to prison. She was the "miss" animated by 
 evangelical propaganda, who travels over the globe 
 distributing Bibles with a cold smile, fearless alike of 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 305 
 
 the mockery of civilisation, or the brutality of savages; 
 but what Lucy distributed were incitements to revolu- 
 tion; she did not seek out the happy but the despairing, 
 in the factories and infected slums. The two endured 
 hunger, finding themselves often separated by persecu- 
 tion and prison, but they met again, continuing their 
 romantic career, till poverty and consumption ended her 
 life. 
 
 Gabriel wept, remembering their last interview in an 
 Italian hospital, clean and sweet, but with the frozen 
 atmosphere of charity. As he was not her husband he 
 could only visit her twice a week. He presented 
 himself ragged and downcast, seeing her in an arm- 
 chair daily paler and weaker, her skin of a waxen trans- 
 parency and her eyes immensely enlarged. He knew a 
 little about everything, and he could not conceal from 
 himself the gravity of her illness. She waited quietly 
 for death. "Bring me some roses," she said, smiling to 
 Gabriel, as if in the last moment of her life she wished 
 to acknowledge the natural beauty of the world made 
 hideous and darkened by man. The "companion" lived 
 on dry bread, refusing the help of his comrades only 
 a little less poor than himself, sleeping on the 
 ground, in order to take her on his next visit a bunch of 
 flowers. 
 
 1 "She died, Sagrario," groaned Luna, "and I know 
 not where they buried her ; possibly she may have served 
 for a lecture at the school of anatomy ; she fell into the 
 common grave like those soldiers whose heroism re- 
 mains in obscurity. But I still see her ; she has followed 
 me in all my misfortunes, and I think she lives again in 
 you." 
 
 . "But uncle," said Sagrario, gently, touched by his 
 recital, "I cannot do what she did. I am an unhappy 
 'jvoman, without strength or will." 
 
3o6 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "Call me Gabriel," said Luna, vehemently. "You 
 
 are my Lucy, who again crosses my path; I knew it 
 
 from the first, and for a long while I have been search- 
 
 \ ing my feelings, analysing my will, and I have arrived 
 
 \ at one certaintyj;-^at I love you, Sagraao^' 
 
 The "young woman made a gesture of surprise, draw- 
 ing further from him. 
 
 "Do not draw away, do not fear me. I am a feeble 
 man, you are a weak woman; you have suffered much, 
 and have bid good-bye to the joys of the earth, but 
 you are strong through misfortune and can look the 
 truth in the face. We are both wrecks of life, and the 
 only hope left us is to wait and die quietly in the desert 
 island which is our refuge. We are undone, rent and 
 swept away; Death has laid his hand upon us; we are 
 fallen and shapeless rags after having passed through 
 the mills of an absurd society. For this reason I love 
 you, because you are my equal in misfortune; elective 
 affinity unites us. Poor Lucy was the work-girl en- 
 feebled by sweating, weakened from her birth by pov- 
 erty. You were the girl of the people drawn from her 
 home by the attraction of the well-being of the privi- 
 leged; seduced, not by love, but by the caprices of the 
 happy; the girl offered as a sacrifice to the Minotaur 
 whose remains were afterwards thrown on to the dung- 
 hill. I love you, Sagrario; we are two fugitives from 
 society, whose paths must join; I am hated as danger- 
 ous, you are despised as an outcast; misfortune has laid 
 hold on us. Our bodies are weakefied and we bear the 
 wounds of the conquered, but before death claims us, let 
 us make our lives sweet by love. Let us seek for roses 
 as did poor Lucy." ' 
 
 He pressed the young woman's hands, who, bewil- 
 dered by Gabriel's words, knew not what to say, and 
 wept softly. Upstairs, in the upper storey of the 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 307 
 
 Claverias, the Chapel-master played his harmonium. 
 Gabriel knew the music: it was Beethoven's last 
 lament, the "Must it be," that the great genius sang 
 before his death with a melancholy that made one 
 shiver. 
 
 "I love you, Sagrario," continued Gabriel, "ever since 
 I saw you return to this house, bravely facing the 
 odious curiosity of the people around. I have spent 
 weeks and months by the side of your machine, seeing 
 how industriously you worked. I have studied you and 
 read you. You are a sincere and simple creature ; your 
 mind has none of the doublings and hidden comers of 
 those complicated and tortuous souls used to the artifices 
 of civilisation. I guessed day by day, by your gentle 
 glance and the attention with which you listened to 
 me, your gratitude for the little I was able to do for you. 
 I remembered the dark period of your life, your slavery 
 to the flesh; and finding me always gentle with you, 
 protecting you from your father's anger, your gratitude 
 has grown and grown, till to-day you love me, Sagrario. 
 You yourself have not realised it, you know not how to 
 explain it, but your being responds to mine like those 
 chemical substances I spoke of. That single and eternal 
 love is a lying invention of the poets, of which facts 
 often make a mockery. One can love several people 
 with equal warmth: the indispensable thing is the 
 affinity. You who formerly loved a man to madness, 
 what do you feel for me? Have I deceived myself? 
 You really love me ?" 
 
 Sagrario continued weeping, with her head bent, as 
 though she did not dare to look at Luna. He reassured 
 her gently: she must call him Gabriel, speak to him 
 as "thou." Were they not companions in misfor- 
 tune? 
 
 "I am ashamed," murmured the young woman. "So 
 
3o8 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 much happiness disturbs me. Yes, I like you. No, I 
 love you, Gabriel. I would never have confessed it; I 
 would have died sooner than reveal my secret. What 
 am I that anyone should love me? For many days I 
 have not looked in the glass, for I should weep at the 
 remembrance of my lost youth. And then my story — 
 my terrible story. How could I imagine that you — or, 
 I should say, that thou, wouldst read my thoughts so 
 clearly? See how I tremble; the shock has not yet 
 ceased, the surprise of finding my secret discovered. A 
 man like you to descend to me, ugly and sick for ever. 
 No, do not speak of the other man; I forgot him long 
 ago. And am I going to remember him now that you 
 give me the charity of your love? No, Gabriel, you 
 are the greatest and best of men ; you are like a god to 
 me. 
 
 They remained silent a long while with their hands 
 clasped, looking into the darkness of the murmuring 
 garden. From above still sounded the lament of the 
 genius at his fading life. 
 
 Sagrario leant on Gabriel as though her strength were 
 failing, and as if terrified at so much happiness, she 
 wished to take refuge in his arms. 
 
 "Why have I known you so late!" she said in a low 
 voice. "I should have wished to love you in my youth, 
 to be beautiful and healthy only for you, to have the 
 beauty and charm of a great lady to soften the rest of 
 your life. But my gratitude can oflfer you little, nothing 
 but ill-health; the seeds of death are in me, and slowly 
 I shall fade away. Gabriel, why did you set your heart 
 on me ?" 
 
 "Because you are an invalid, and unfortunate as I 
 am. 0.urjaiig.ery is the lovin g affinity. Besides, I have 
 never loved like most men. In my travels I have seen 
 the most beautiful women in the world without the 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 309 
 
 slightest glow of desire. I am not of an amorous tem- 
 perament. From my adventures in Paris when I was 
 young I always returned with a feeling of disgust. My 
 love for the unfortunate has mastered me to the point 
 of blunting my feelings. I am like a drunkard or a 
 gambler, who, obsessed by their passion, feel nothing 
 before a woman. A studious man, buried in his books, 
 feels very little the calls of sex. My passion is pity for 
 the disinherited, and hatred of injustice and inequality. 
 It has so entirely absorbed me, enslaving all my facul- 
 ties, that I have never had time to think of love. The 
 female does not attract me, but I worship a woman 
 when I see her sad and unfortunate. Ugliness makes 
 more impression on me than beauty, because it speaks 
 to me of social infamies, it shows me the bitterness of 
 injustice, it is the only wine which revives my strength. 
 I loved Lucy because she was unfortunate and dying, ] 
 I love you, Sagrario, because in your early youth you 
 were a wanderer in life, one whom no one would love. 
 My love is for you, to brighten what remains to you of 
 life." 
 
 Sagrario leant on Gabriel's breast. 
 
 "How good you are!" she sighed; "what a beautiful 
 soul!" 
 
 "Yours is the same, poor Sagrario. Your life has 
 been a snare. YQ]i_soldyourself through hunger and / 
 despair as do thousandToF others ; you thought to "find 
 bread in the false pretences of love. Everything is for 
 the privileged of this world : the arms of the father, the 
 sex of the daughter, and when those arms are weakened, 
 or the youthful body loses its charms, they are thrown 
 on one side and replaced. The market is abundant; I 
 love you for your misfortunes. Had I seen you young 
 and beautiful as in former times, I should not have felt 
 the slightest attraction. Beauty is a bar to sentiment. 
 
310 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 The Sagrario of former times, with her dreams of being 
 a great lady flattered by the words of youthful lovers, 
 brightly dressed like brilliant birds, would never have 
 thought of a vagabond aged by misery, ugly and sick. 
 We understand each other because we are unfortunate ; 
 misery allows us to s ee in to each othei^s souls ; in full 
 happiness weshouid never Jiave-inet." 
 
 "It is true," she murmured, leaning her head on 
 Gabriel's shoulder. "I love that misery which has 
 allowed us to know each other." 
 
 "You will be my companion," continued Luna, in a 
 soft tone. "We will pass our lives together till death 
 breaks the chain. I will protect you, although the pro- 
 tection of a sick and persecuted man is not worth 
 much." 
 
 He passed his arm round the woman, raising her head 
 with his other hand, fixing his eyes on those of Sag- 
 rario, which were shining in the starlight bright with 
 tears. 
 
 "We shall be two souls, two minds who cherish one 
 another' without giving rein to passion, and with a 
 purity such as no poets have imagined. This night in 
 which we have mutually confessed one to another, in 
 which our souls have been laid open to one another is 
 our wedding night ; kiss me, companion of my life !" 
 
 And in the silence of the cloister they kissed each 
 
 other noiselessly, slowly, as though with their lips 
 
 joined they were weeping over the misery of their past, 
 
 II and the brevity of a love around which death was 
 
 *^ circling. Above, the lament of Beethoven went on un- 
 
 ■ folding its sad modulations, which floated through the 
 
 J cloister and round the sleeping Cathedral. 
 
 Gabriel stood erect sustaining Sagrario, who seemed 
 almost fainting from the strength of her feelings; he 
 looked up at the Juminous space with aImostj)riestly 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 3" 
 
 gravity, and said, whispering close to the young woman's 
 ear: " 
 "Our life will be like a deserted gacden, where amid 
 
 ff^"*^ "<-' 'I iHiiiii I glillippl—ti I " —'"'*' 
 
 fallen trunks and dead branches fresh foliage„^£iiigs-«p. 
 Companion, let us love one another. Above our misery 
 as pariahs let spring arise. It will be a sad spring, 
 without fruit, but it will have flowers. The sun shines 
 for those who are in the open, but for us, dear com- 
 panion, it is very far. But from the black depths of 
 our well we will clasp each other, raising our heads, and 
 though his heat will not revive us, we ^pill adore him 
 like a distant star." 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 In the beginning of July Gabriel began his nocturnal 
 watch in the Cathedral. 
 
 At nightfall he went down into the cloister, and at 
 the Puerta del Mollete, joined the other watchman, a 
 sickly-looking man who coughed as badly as Luna, and 
 who never left off his cloak even in the height of 
 summer. 
 
 "Come along, we are going to lock up !" said the bell- 
 ringer, rattling his bunch of keys. 
 
 After the two men had entered the church, he locked 
 the doors from outside and walked away. 
 
 As the days were long, there still remained two hours 
 of daylight after the watchmen entered the Cathedral. 
 
 "All the church is ours, companion," said the other 
 watchman. 
 
 And like a man used to the imposing appearance of 
 the deserted church, he settled himself comfortably in 
 the sacristy as in his own house, opening his supper 
 basket on the chests, and spreading out his eatables be- 
 tween candelabras and crucifixes. 
 
 Gabriel wandered about the fane. After many nights 
 of watching, the impression produced when he first saw 
 the immense church deserted and locked up had not 
 yet faded. His footsteps resounded on the pavement, 
 his strides shortened by the tombs of prelates and great 
 men of former days. The silence of the church was 
 disturbed by the strange echoes and mysterious rust- 
 
 312 
 
JHE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 313 
 
 lings; the first day Gabriel had often turned his head 
 in alarm, thinking he heard footsteps following him. 
 
 Outside the church the sun was still shining, the 
 coloured wheel of the rose window above the great 
 doorway glowed like a luminous flower-bed; below, 
 among the pillars, the light seemed overcome by the 
 darkness; the bats began to descend, and with their 
 wings made the dust fall from the shafts in the vaulting. 
 They fluttered round about the pillars, circling as in a 
 forest of stone; in their blind flight they often struck 
 the cords of the hanging lamps, or shook the old red 
 hats with dusty and ragged tassels that hung high 
 above the cardinals' tombs. 
 
 Gabriel made his rounds throughout the church. 
 He shook the iron railings in front of the altars to 
 make sure they were securely locked, pushed the doors 
 of the Muzarabe Chapel, and that of the Kings, threw 
 a glance into the Chapter-house, and finally stopped 
 before the Virgin del Sagrario; through the grating he 
 could see the lamps burning, and above, the image 
 covered with jewels. After this examination he went in 
 search of his comrade, and they bdth sat down in the 
 crossways, either on the steps of the choir or of the 
 high altar; from there you could take in the whole of 
 the church at one glance. 
 
 The two watchmen began by carefully putting on their 
 caps. 
 
 "They will probably have ordered you," said Gabriel's 
 companion, "to respect the Church, and that if you 
 want to smoke a cigar you must go up to the gallery 
 of the Locum ; and that if you wish to sup you must go 
 into the sacristy. They said the same to me when I 
 first entered into the service of the Church. But these 
 are only the words of people who sleep comfortably 
 and quietly in their own houses. Here the principal 
 
314 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 thing IS to keep good watch, and beyond that, each 
 one may do as seems best to him to pass the night. 
 God and the saints sleep during these hours; they 
 really must want some rest after spending the whole 
 day listening to prayers and hymns, receiving incense, 
 and being scorched by wax tapers close to their faces. 
 We watch their sleep, and, the devil ! we are surely not 
 wanting in respect if we allow ourselves a little liberty. 
 Come along, companion, it is getting dark; let us club 
 our suppers." 
 
 So the two watchmen supped in the crossways, 
 spreading the contents of their baskets on the marble 
 steps. 
 
 Gabriel's comrade carried at his belt, as his only arm, 
 an ancient pistol, a present to the Obreria which had 
 never been fired; to Luna, Silver Stick pointed out a 
 carbine, a legacy to the sacristy from the ex-civil guard, 
 in memory of his years of service. Gabriel made a ges- 
 ture of repulsion. It was all right Standing there, he 
 would get it if it were wanted ; so he left it in the comer 
 with some packets of cartridges, mouldy from the damp 
 and covered with cobwebs. 
 
 As the night fell the colours from the windows above 
 became obscured, and in the darkness of the naves all 
 the lights from the various lamps began to shine like 
 wavering stars ; all the outlines of the church were lost, 
 and GabrieLfancied-hJciself once more sl e gping at ni ght 
 on jflie open g round. It was only when he went the 
 rounds with hisT^lem in his hand that the outlines 
 of the Cathedral rose out of the shadow ever vaster and 
 more mysterious. The pillars seemed to start out to 
 meet him, rising suddenly up to the roof with the 
 flashes of light from the lantern, the squares in the 
 tiled floor seemed to dance with every swing of the light, 
 and every now and then Gabriel could feel on his head 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 315 
 
 the flutter of passing wings. To the screams of the 
 bats were added the hooting of other frightened birds, 
 wfio'Th theirTiigHrimoclced~agiimst the pilasters ; they 
 were the owls who came down attracted by the oil in the 
 lamps, and who nearly extinguished them with the sweep 
 of their wings. 
 
 Every half-hour the silence was disturbed by the 
 sound of rusty wheels^and springs, and then a bell with 
 a silvery tone struck; these were the gilded giants of 
 the Puerta del Reloj, marking the passing of time with 
 their hammers. 
 
 Gabriel's companion complained greatly of the inno- 
 vations introduced by the cardinal for the annoyance of 
 poor folks. In former times he and his old comrade, 
 once they were locked up, could sleep as they pleased 
 without fear of being reproved by the Chapter. But 
 His Eminence, who was always endeavouring to find 
 some means of annoying his neighbour, had placed in 
 different parts of the Cathedral certain little clocks 
 brought from abroad, and now they had to go every 
 half-hour, open them and record their visit. The fol- 
 lowing day they were examined by Silver Stick, and if 
 any carelessness was discovered he imposed a fine. 
 
 "An invention of the demon not to allow us to sleep, 
 comrade. But all the same we might manage a nap if 
 we help one another. While one sleeps a bit the other 
 must undertake to check these cursed machines. No 
 carelessness, eh, fresh man? The pay is short and hun- 
 ger great, and we cannot afford fines." 
 
 Gabriel, always good-natured, was the one who made 
 most rounds, looking scrupulously after the markers, 
 while his companion, the Senor Fidel, rested quietly, 
 praising his generosity. They had given him a good 
 companion ; he liked him much better than the old one, 
 with his imperious manners of an old guard, always 
 
3i6 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 squabbling as to whose turn it was to get up and make 
 the round. 
 
 The poor man coughed as much as Gabriel; his 
 catarrhs disturbed the silence, echoing through the 
 naves till it seemed like several monstrous dogs 
 barking. 
 
 "I do not know how many years I have had this 
 hoarseness," said the old man ; "it is a present from the 
 Cathedral. The doctors say I ought to give up this 
 employment; but what I say is — who is to support me? 
 You, companion, have begun at the best time. There 
 is a coolness here that all those would envy who are 
 generally perspiring about this time in the cafes of the 
 Zocodover. We are still in summer, but you can 
 imagine the damp which penetrates everything; and 
 you should see what it is in winter! we must really 
 dress up as maskers, covered with caps, shawls and 
 cloaks. They have the charity to leave us a little fire in 
 the sacristy, but many mornings they find us almost 
 frozen. Those of the Chapter call the choir 'kill 
 canon,' and if those gentlemen complain of one hour's 
 stay in this ice-house, having eaten well and drunk 
 better, you may just fancy what it is for us. You have 
 had the good luck to begin in summer, but when the 
 winter comes on you will just have a good time of 
 it I" 
 
 But even though it was the best part of the year, 
 Gabriel coughed much, his illness increasing from the 
 dampness of the Cathedral. 
 
 >^ On moonlight nights the church was strangely trans- 
 figured, and Gabriel remembered suttdry-x)perati€-eflFects 
 he had seen during his travels. The white tracery of 
 the windows stood out against the blackness with milky 
 whiteness, splashes of light glided down the pilasters, 
 some even from the vaulting. These mocking spectres 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 317 
 
 moved slowly along the pavement, mounting the opposite ; 
 pillars and losing themselves in the dartness; those | 
 rays of cold and diffused light made the shadows seem 
 even darker as they brought out of the darkness here a I 
 chapel, "BeyoHdra— sepuiehTal"stone or the outline of 
 some pilaster; and the great Christ, who crowned the , 
 railings of the high altar, glowed against its background ■ 
 of shadow with the brilliancy of its old gilding, like 
 some miraculous apparition floating in space in a halo of 
 light. 
 
 When the cough would not allow the old watchman 
 to sleep, he told Gabriel of the many years he had 
 carried on this nocturnal life in the Primacy. The 
 office had some resemblance to that of a sexton, for he 
 spent most of it among the dead in the silence of deser- 
 tion, never seeing anyone till his watch was finished. 
 He had ended by becoming used to it, and it had cured 
 him of many fears he had in his youth. Before, he had 
 believed in the resurrection of the dead, in souls, and the 
 apparitions of saints. But now he laughed at all that. 
 Whole years he had carried on this night work in the 
 Cathedral, and if he heard anything it was only the 
 scampering of rats, who respected neither saints nor 
 altars, for after all they were only wood! 
 
 He only feared men of flesh and blood, those robbers 
 who in former times had more than once entered the 
 Cathedral, obliging the Chapter to establish this night 
 vigilance. 
 
 He entertained Gabriel with the account of all the % 
 attempts at robbery which had happened during the ] 
 century. In the Cathedral was enough wealth to tempt / 
 a saint, Madrid was near, and he much feared the j 
 "swell" thieves. But thieves would have to be clever f 
 and fortunate to get the better of them. Silver Stick, 1 
 the bell-ringer, and the sacristan made their nightly 
 
3i8 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 inspection before locking up, Mariano then taking the 
 keys away with him to the belfry. No one could think 
 of breaking the locks and bolts, for they were of antique 
 and extremely strong work ; besides, they two were there 
 inside to give the alarm on hearing the slightest noise. 
 Formerly, by the help of the dog, the watching had been 
 more complete, for the animal was so alert that no 
 passer-by could approach the doors for an instant with- 
 out his barking. After its death the Senor Obrero spoke 
 month after month of getting another, but he had never 
 fulfilled his promise. But all the same, without the dog, 
 they two were there and that meant something, eh! 
 He with his old pistol Which had never been fired, and 
 Gabriel with his carbine, which was still standing in the 
 corner where his predecessor had left it. He plumed 
 himself upon the fear he and his companion would 
 excite, but, called back to reality by Luna's smile, he 
 added : 
 
 "At any rate, in case of emergency we can reckon 
 on the bell that summons the canons; the rope hangs 
 down in the choir, and we have only to ring it. And 
 just imagine what would happen if it rang in the silence 
 of the night! All Toledo would be on foot, knowing 
 that something serious was taking place in the Cathe- 
 dral. With this and those cursed markers that will not 
 let one sleep, one might say that even the king was not 
 so well guarded at night as this church." 
 
 In the morning when the watch was ended, Gabriel 
 would return to his house, perished with cold, longing 
 to stretch himself in bed. He would find Sagrario in 
 the kitchen, warming the milk he was to drink before 
 turning in. His gentle companion still called him 
 "uncle" in the presence of the household, and only 
 used the loving "thou" when they were alone. When 
 he was in bed she would bring the steaming milk. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 319 
 
 making him drink it with maternal caresses, smoothing 
 the pillows; after which she would carefully close the 
 windows and doors so that no ray of light should dis- 
 turb him. 
 
 "Those nights in the Cathedral!" said she complain- 
 ingly. "You are killing yourself, Gabriel. It is not fit 
 for you. My father says the same. As it is certain " 
 there is nothing beyond death, and that we shall not see 
 one another, do try and prolong your life by being 
 careful. Now that we know each other, and are so 
 happy, it would be so sad to lose you !" 
 
 Gabriel reassured her. This would not go on beyond 
 the summer; after that they would give him something 
 better. She must not be so sad; such a little thing did 
 not kill one. He would cough just as much living in 
 the Claverias as passing the night in the Cathedral. 
 
 After dinner he would go into the cloister, completely 
 rested by his morning's sleep. It was the only time of 
 the day in which he could see his friends ; they either 
 came to find him, or he went in search of them, going 
 to the shoemaker's house or up into the tower. 
 
 They greeted him respectfully, listening to his words>^ 
 with the same attention as before ; but he noted in them i 
 a certain air of proud independence, and at the same ,' 
 time of pity, as if, although grateful to him for having ! 
 transmitted his ideas to them, they pitied him for his / 
 gentle character, so inimical to all violence. ^ 
 
 "Those birds," said Gabriel to his brother, "are flying 
 on their own account. They do not want me, and wish 
 to be alone." 
 
 Wooden Staff shook his head sadly. 
 
 "God grant, Gabriel, that some day you may not 
 repent of having spoken to them of things they cannot 
 understand! They have greatly changed, and no one 
 can endure our nephew, the Perrero. He says that if 
 
320 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 ^he is not allowed to kill bulls in order to get rich, he 
 
 will kill men to get out of his poverty; that he has as 
 
 . much right to enjoyment as any gentleman^ and that all 
 
 Mhe rich are robbers. Really, brother, by the Holy 
 
 Virgin ! have you taught them such horrible things ?" 
 
 "Let them alone," said Gabriel, laughing; "they have 
 not yet digested their new ideas, and are vomiting fol- 
 lies. All this will pass, for they are good souls." 
 
 The only thing that vexed him -waa- ^that Mariano 
 withdrew from him. He fled his company as if he were 
 afraid. He seemed to fear that Gabriel would read his 
 thoughts, with that irresistible power that from boy- 
 hood he had held over him. 
 
 "Mariano, what is the matter with you?" said he, 
 seeing him pass through the cloisters. 
 
 "Much that is out of gear," answered his surly 
 friend. 
 
 "I know it, man — I know it; but you seem to avoid 
 me. Why is this?" 
 
 "Avoid you — I? — never. You know I always love 
 you. When you come to my house you see how we all 
 welcome you. We owe you a great deal; you have 
 opened our eyes and we are no longer brute beasts. But 
 I am tired of knowing so much and being so poor, and 
 my companions are thinking the same. We do not care 
 to have our heads full and our bellies empty." 
 
 "Well, then, what remedy have we? We have all 
 been born too soon. Others will come after us, finding 
 things better arranged. What can you do to right the 
 present, when there are millions of workers in the 
 world more wretched than yourselves, who have not 
 succeeded in finding a better way out even at the cost 
 of their blood, fighting against authority?" 
 
 "What shall we do?" grumbled his companion. 
 "That is what we shall see, and you will see also. We 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 321 
 
 are not such fools as you think. You are very clever, 
 Gabriel, and we respect you as our master, for every- 
 thing you say is true. But it seems to us that when you. 
 have to do with things — ^practical things : you under- ] 
 stand me? when one must call bread, bread, and wine, i 
 wine : am I explaining myself ? — you are, begging your y 
 pardon, rather soft, like all those who live much in 1 
 books. We are ignorant, but we see more clearly." ' 
 
 He walked away from Gabriel, who was quite unable 
 to understand the true bearing of this aberration among 
 his disciples. Several times when he went up to the 
 tower to spend a few moments with his friends, they 
 would suddenly cease their conversation, looking anx- 
 iously at him as though they feared he might have over- 
 heard their words. 
 
 It was several days since Don Martin had been in the 
 cloister. Gabriel knew through Silver Stick that the 
 chaplain's mother had died, and a week afterwards he., 
 saw him one evening in the Claverias. His eyes were \ 
 bloodshot, his cheeks thin, and his skin drawn as though I 
 he had wept much. \ 
 
 "I come to take farewell, Gabriel. I have spent a -^ 
 month of sorrow and sleeplessness nursing my mother. 
 The poor thing is dead ; she was far from young, and I 
 expected this ending, but however strong and resigned 
 one may be, these blows must be felt. Now the poor 
 old woman is gone I am free ; she was the only tie that 
 bound me to this Church, in which I no longer believe. 
 Its dogma is absurd and puerile, its history a tissue of 
 crimes and violence. Why should I lie like others, 
 feigning a faith I do not feel? To-day I have been to 
 the palace to tell them they may dispose of my seven 
 duros monthly and my chaplaincy of nuns. I am going 
 away. I wish not only to fly the Church^_l3J§h"iQ~g5t 
 out of her atmosphere; and a renegade priest could not 
 
323 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 live in Toledo. You see this masquerade ? I wear it to- 
 day for the last time; to-morrow I shall taste the first 
 joy of my life, tearing this shroud into shreds, such 
 small shreds that no one will be able to use them. I 
 shall be a man. I will go far away, as far as I can. I 
 wish to know what the world is like as I have to live in 
 it. I know no one, I shall have no assistance. You are 
 the most extraordinary man I have ever known, and 
 here you are hidden in this dungeon by your own free 
 will, concealed in a Church which to your views must 
 be empty. I am not afraid of poverty. When one has 
 been God's representative on six reals a day one can 
 look hunger in the face. I will be a workman ; I will dig 
 ; the earth, if necessary. I will get employment on some- 
 |th«Hg — hutl .shall beL a. free- man." 
 
 As the two friends walked up and down the cloister 
 Gabriel counselled Don Martin in determining the place 
 to which he should direct his steps, as his thoughts wav- 
 ered between Paris and the American republics, where 
 emigration was most needed. 
 
 As the evening fell, Gabriel took leave of his disciple ; 
 his fellow-watchman was waiting for him in the cloister, 
 ready for locking-up time. 
 
 "Probably we shall never meet again," said the chap- 
 lain sadly. "You will end your days here, in the house 
 of a God in whom you do not believe." 
 
 "Yes, I shall die here," said Gabriel, smiling. "He 
 ■ and I hate one another, but all the same it seems as if 
 He could not do without me. If He goes out into the 
 streets it is I who guide His steps, and again at night, it 
 is I who guard His wealth. Good-bye, and good-luck, 
 I Martin. Be a man without weakness. Truth is well 
 worth poverty." 
 
 The disappearance of the chaplain of nuns was 
 (effected without scandal. Don AntoUn and the other 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 323 
 
 priests thought the young man had moved to Madrid 
 through ambition, to help swell the number of place- 
 hunting clerics. Gabriel was the only one who knew 
 Don Martin's real intentions. Besides, an astonishing 
 piece of news, that fell on the Cathedral like a thunder- 
 bolt, soon caused the young priest to be forgotten, 
 throwing all the gentlemen of the choir, all the smaller 
 folk in the sacristies, and the whole population of the 
 upper cloister into the greatest commotion. 
 
 The quarrels between the Archbishop and his Chapter 
 had ended, everything that had been done by the car- 
 dinal was approved of in Rome, and His Eminence 
 fairly roared with joy in his palace, with the fiery 
 impetuosity of his usual feelings. 
 
 As the canons entered the choir they walked with 
 bent heads, looking ashamed and frightened. 
 
 "Well, have you heard?" they said to one another 
 as they disrobed in the sacristy. 
 
 In a great hurry, with flying cloaks they all left the 
 church, every man his own way, without forming groups 
 or circles, each one anxious to free himself from all 
 responsibility, and to appear free from all complicity 
 with the prelate's enemies. 
 
 The Tato laughed with Joy seeing the sudden dis- 
 persion, and the agitation of the gentlemen of the 
 choir. 
 
 "Run! run! The old gossip will give you something 
 to think about!" 
 
 The same preparations were made every year in the 
 middle of August for the festival of the Virgin del 
 Sagrario. In the Cathedral they spoke of this year's 
 festival with mystery and anxiety, as though they were 
 expecting great events. His Eminence, who had not 
 been into the church for many months, in order not to 
 meet his Chapter, would preside in the choir on the 
 
324 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 feast day. He wished to see his enemies face to face, 
 crushed by his triumph, and to enjoy their looks of 
 confused submission. And accordingly, as the festival 
 drew near many of the canons trembled, thinking of 
 the harsh and proud look the angry prelate would fix on 
 them. 
 
 Gabriel paid very little attention to these anxieties 
 of the clerical world ; he led a strange life, sleeping the 
 greater part of the day, preparing himself for the 
 fatiguing night watch, which he now undertook alone. 
 The Senor Fidel had fallen ill, and the Obreria to 
 avoid expense, and not to deprive the old man of his 
 wretched pay, had not engaged a new companion for 
 him. He spent the nights alone in the Cathedral as 
 calmly, as if he had been in the upper cloister, quite 
 accustomed to the grave-like silence. In order not to 
 sleep, he read by the light of his lantern any books he 
 could get in the Claverias, uninteresting treatises on 
 history in which Providence played the principal role; 
 lives of the saints, amusing from their simple credulity, 
 bordering on the grotesque; and that family Quixote of 
 the Lunas', that he had so often spelt out when little, 
 and in which he still found some of the freshness of his 
 childhood. 
 
 The Virgin's feast day arrived; the festival was the 
 same as in other years. The famous image had been 
 brought out of its chapel and occupied on its foot-board 
 a place on the high altar. They brought out her mantle 
 kept in the Treasury and all her jewels, that scintillated 
 kissed by the innumerable lights, glittering and flashing 
 with endless brilliancy. 
 
 Before the commencement of the festival, the inquisi- 
 tive of the Cathedral, pretending absent-mindedness, 
 strolled between the choir and the Puerta del Perdon. 
 The canons in their red rpbes assenjbled near the 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 325 
 
 staircase lighted by the famous "stone of light." His 
 Eminence would come down this way, and the canons 
 grouped themselves, timidly whispering, asking each 
 other what was going to happen. 
 
 The cross-bearer appeared on the first step of the 
 staircase, holding his emblem horizontally with both 
 hands so that it should pass under the arch of the door- 
 way. After, between servitors, and followed by the 
 mulberry-coloured robe of the auxiliary bishop, ad- 
 vanced the cardinal, dressed in his purple, which 
 quenched the reddish-violet of the canons. 
 
 The Chapter were drawn up in two rows with bowed 
 heads, offering homage to their prince. What a glance 
 was Don Sebastian's! The canons, bending, thought 
 they felt it on the nape of their necks with the coldness 
 of steel. He held his enormous body erect in its flowing 
 purple with a gallant pride, as if at the moment he felt 
 himself entirely cured of the malady which was tearing 
 his entrails, and of the weak heart which oppressed his 
 lungs. His fat face quivered with delight, and the folds 
 of his double chin spread out over his lace rochet. 
 His cardinal's biretta seemed to swell with pride on his 
 little, white and shining head. Never was a crown 
 worn with such pride as that red cap. 
 
 He stretched out his hand, gloved in purple, on which 
 shone the episcopal emerald ring, with such an im- 
 perious gesture that one after another of the canons 
 found themselves forced to kiss it. It was the submis- 
 sion of churchmen, accustomed from their seminary 
 to an apparent humility which covered rancours and 
 hatreds of an intensity unknown in ordinary life. The 
 Cardinal guessed their disinclination, and gloated over 
 his triumph. 
 
 "You have no idea what our hatreds are," he had 
 often said to his friend, the gardener's widow. "In 
 
326 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 ordinary life few men die of ill-humour; he who is 
 annoyed gives vent to it, and recovers his equanimity. 
 But in the Church you may count by the hundred men 
 who die in a fit of rage, because they are unable to 
 revenge themselves; because discipline closes their 
 mouths and bows their heads. Having no families, and 
 no anxieties about earning their bread, most of us only 
 live for self-love and pride." 
 
 The Chapter formed their procession accompanied by 
 His Eminence. The scarlet Perrero headed the march, 
 then came the black vergers and Silver Stick, making 
 the tiles of the pavement ring with the blows of their 
 staffs. Behind came the archiepiscopal cross and the 
 canons in pairs, and finally the prelate with his scarlet 
 train spread out at full length, held up by two pages. 
 Don Sebastian blessed to • the right and to the left, 
 looking with his penetrating eyes at the faithful who 
 bowed their heads. 
 
 His imperious character and the joy of his triumph 
 made his glance flash. What a splendid victory! The 
 Church was his home, and he returned to it after a long 
 absence with all the majesty of an absolute master, who 
 could crush the evil-speaking slaves who dared to attack 
 him. 
 
 The greatness of the Church seemed to him at that 
 moment more glorious than ever. What an admirable 
 institution! The strong man who arrived at the top 
 was an omnipotent god to be feared. Nothing of 
 pernicious and revolutionary equahty. ^Dogma-exalted 
 the humility of all before Jjod; but when you came to 
 examples, flocks were always spoken of, and shepherds 
 to direct them. He was that shepherd because the 
 Omnipotent has so ordered it. Woe to whoever at- 
 tempted to dethrone him ! 
 
 In the choir his delighted pride tasted an even greater 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 327 
 
 satisfaction. He was seated on the throne of the 
 archbishops of Toledo, that seat which had been the 
 star of his youth, the remembrance of which had dis- 
 turbed him in his Episcopacy, when the mitre had 
 travelled through the provinces, waiting for the hour to 
 rise to the Primacy. He stood erect under the artistic 
 canopy of the Mount Tabor, at the top of four steps, so 
 that all in the choir could see him and recognise that 
 he was their prince. The heads of the dignitaries 
 seated at his side were thus on a level with his feet. 
 He could trample on them like vipers should they 
 dare to rise again, striking at his most intimate 
 affections. 
 
 Fired by the appreciation of his own grandeur and 
 triumph, he was the first to rise, or to sit down; as is 
 directed in the rubric of the services, he joined his 
 voice to those in the choir, astonishing them all by the 
 harsh energy of his singing; the Latin words rolled 
 from his mouth like blows upon those hated people, and 
 his eyes passed with a threatening expression over the 
 double row of bent heads. 
 
 He was a fortunate man, who had risen from place to 
 place, but he never felt a satisfaction so deep, so com- 
 plete as at that moment. He himself was startled aK 
 his own delight, at that orgy of pride that had extin- J 
 guished his chronic ailments ; it seemed to him as though ( 
 he were spending in a few hours the stores of enjoyment | 
 of his whole life. | 
 
 As the mass was ending, the singers and lower people 
 in the choir, who were the only ones who dared to 
 look at him, were alarmed, seeing him suddenly grow 
 pale, rise with his face discomposed, pressing his hands 
 to his breast. The canons noticing it, rushed towards 
 him, forming a crowded mass of red vestments in front 
 of his throne. His Eminence was suffocating, fighting 
 
328 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 against that circle of hands who instinctively clutched 
 at him. 
 
 "Air!" he moaned, "air! Get out from before me 
 with a thousand curses ! Take me home !" 
 
 Even in the midst of his agony, he recovered his 
 majestic gesture and his old soldiering oaths to drive 
 away his enemies. He was suffocating, but he would 
 not allow the canons to see it: he guessed the delight 
 many of them must feel beneath their compassionate 
 manner. Let no one touch him ! He could manage for 
 himself ! So leaning on two faithful servants, he began 
 his march, gasping, towards the episcopal staircase, fol- 
 lowed by great part of the Chapter. 
 
 The religious function ended hurriedly. The Virgin 
 would forgive it, she should have a better solemnity next 
 year; and all the authorities and invited guests left their 
 seats to run in search of news to the archiepiscopal 
 palace. 
 
 When Gabriel woke, past midday, every one in the 
 upper cloister was talking of His Eminence's health. 
 His brother inquired of the Aunt Tomasa who had just 
 come from the palace. 
 
 "He is dying, my sons," said the garcjener's widow; 
 "he cannot escape from it. Dona Visitacion signalled 
 it to me from afar, weeping, poor thing! He cannot 
 be put to bed, for his chest is heaving like a broken 
 bellows. The doctors say he will not last till night. 
 What a misfortune I And on a day like this !" 
 
 The agony of the ecclesiastical prince was received in 
 funereal silence. The women of the Claverias went 
 backwards and forwards with news from the palace to 
 the upper cloister; the children were shut up in the 
 houses, frightened by their mothers' threats if they 
 attempted to play in ijie galleries. 
 
 The Chapel-master, who was generally indifferent to 
 
JHE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 329 
 
 events in the Cathedral, went nevertheless to inquire of 
 His Eminence's condition. He had a plan which he 
 quickly explained to the family during dinner. The 
 funeral of a cardinal deserved the execution of a cele- 
 brated mass, with a full orchestra recruited in Madrid. — n 
 He had already cast his eyes on the famous Requiem of 
 Mozart; that was the only reason for which he was 
 interested in the prelate's fate. ^ 
 
 Gabriel, looking at his companion, felt the gentle 
 selfishness that a living man feels when a great man 
 dies. 
 
 "So the great fall, Sagrario, and we, the sickly and 
 wretched, have still some life before us." 
 
 At the hour of locking up the church he went down 
 to begin his watch. The bell-ringer was waiting for hira 
 with the keys. 
 
 "How about the Cardinal?" inquired Gabriel. 
 
 "He will certainly die to-day, if he is not already 
 dead." , 
 
 And afterwards he added: 
 
 "You will have a great illumination to-night, Gabriel. 
 The Virgin is on the high altar till to-morrow morning, 
 surrounded by wax tapers." 
 
 He was silent for a moment, as if undecided about 
 something. 
 
 "Possibly," he added, "I may come down and keep / 
 you company a little. You must be dull alone; expect >/ 
 
 When Gabriel was locked into the church, he caught 
 sight of the high altar, resplendent with lights. He 
 made his usual trial of doors and railings; visited the 
 Locum and the large lavoratories, where once some 
 thieves had concealed themselves, and after he was 
 quite certain that there was no human being in the 
 church except himself, he seated himself in the 
 
330 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 crossways with his cloak round him, and his basket of 
 supper. 
 
 He sat there a long while, looking through the railings 
 .s.t the Virgin del Sagrario. Born in the Cathedral and 
 brought up as a child by his mother, who knelt with him 
 before the image, he had always admired it as the most 
 perfect type of beauty. Now he criticised it coldly with 
 his artistic eye. She was ugly and grotesque like all the 
 "very rich images; sumptuous and wealthy piety had 
 decked her out with their treasures. There was nothing 
 about her of the idealism of the Virgin painted by 
 Christian artists ; she was much more like an Indian idol 
 covered with jewels. The embroidered dress and mantle 
 stood out with the stiffness of stone folds, and over the 
 head-dress sparkled a crown as large as a helmet, 
 diminishing the face. Gold, pearls and diamonds shone 
 on every part of her vestments, and she wore pendants 
 and bracelets of immense value. 
 
 Gabriel smiled at the religious simplicity which dressed 
 heavenly heroes according to the fashions of the earth. 
 
 The faint twilight glimmering through the windows 
 and the wavering flamp nf tVif tapers_ jTiimat^ d_ tiie f ace 
 of the image as if she were speaking. 
 
 ""EverraFl am P~said Gabriel to himself. "If a holy 
 person were in my place he would think the Virgin was 
 laughing one moment and crying the next; with a little 
 imagination and faith, behold here is a miracle ! These 
 Bickerings of light have been an inexhaustible mine for 
 the priests, even the Venus' of former times changed the 
 expression of their faces at the pleasure of the faithful, 
 just like a Christian image." 
 
 He thought a long time about miracles, the invention 
 of all religions, and as old as human ignorance and 
 credulity. 
 
 It was now quite- dark. After supping frugally. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 331 
 
 Gabriel opened a book that he carried in his basket and 
 began to read by the light of his lantern. Now and then 
 he raised his head, disturbed by the fluttering and 
 screams of the night birds, attracted by the extraor- 
 dinary brilliancy of the countless wax tapers. The time 
 passed slowly in the darkness; the silvery sound of the 
 warriors' hammers re-echoed through the vaulting. 
 Luna got up and visited the markers to record his visit. 
 
 Ten o'clock had struck when Gabriel heard the wicket 
 of the Puerta de Santa Catalina open quickly but with- 
 out violence, as though a key had been used. Luna 
 remembered the bell-ringer's offer, but soon he heard the 
 sound of many steps magnified by the echo as if a whole 
 host were advancing. 
 
 "Who goes there?" shouted Gabriel, rather alarmed. 
 
 "It is us, man," answered from the darkness the husky 
 voice of Mariano. "Did I not tell you we should come 
 down ?" 
 
 As they came into the crossways, the light from the 
 high altar fell full upon them, and Gabriel saw the 
 Tato and the shoemaker with the bell-ringer. They 
 wished to keep Luna company part of the night, so that 
 his watch should not be so wearisome, and they pro- 
 duced a bottle of brandy, of which they offered him 
 some. 
 
 "You know I do not drink," said Gabriel. "I have 
 never cared for alcohol ; wine sometimes, and very little 
 of that. But where are you all going to, dressed out 
 as for a feast day?" 
 
 The Tato answered hurriedly. Silver Stick locked up 
 the Claverias at nine, and they wished to spend the 
 night out of bounds. They had been some time at a 
 cafe in the Zocodover, feasting like lords. They had 
 had all sorts of adventures, that was a night quite out 
 of the ordinary way, more especially as all the town 
 was in commotion about the Archbishop. 
 
332 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 "How is he going on?" inquired Gabriel. 
 
 "I believe he died half-an-hour ago," said the bell- 
 ringer. "When I went up to my house for the keys, 
 a doctor was coming out of the palace and he told one 
 of the canons. But let us sit down." 
 
 They all sat down, in their embroidered caps, on the 
 steps of the high altar railing. Mariano put his bunch 
 of keys on the ground, a mass of iron as big as a club. 
 There were keys of every age, some of iron, very large, 
 rough and rusty, showing the old hammer marks and 
 with coats of arms near the bows ; others, more modern 
 were clean and bright as silver, but they were all very 
 large and heavy, with powerful indented teeth, propor- 
 tionate to the size of the edifice. 
 
 The three friends seemed extraordinarily happy, with 
 a nervous gaiety which made them catch hold of each 
 other and laugh. They cast sidelong looks at the Virgin 
 and then looked at each other, with a mysterious gesture 
 that Gabriel was quite unable to understand. 
 
 "You have all drunk a good deal, is it not so?" said 
 Luna. "You do wrong, for you know that drink is the 
 degradation of the poor." 
 
 "A day is a day, uncle," said the Perrero ; "it delights 
 us that the great ones are dying. You see, I esteem 
 His Eminence highly, but let him go to the devil ! The 
 only satisfaction a poor man has is to see that the end 
 comes also to the rich." 
 
 "Drink," said the bell-ringer, offering him the bottle. 
 "It is a pleasure to find ourselves here, well and happy, 
 while to-morrow His Eminence will find himself be- 
 tween four boards ; we shall have to ring the little bell all 
 day!" 
 
 The Tato drank, passing the bottle to the shoemaker, 
 who held it a long time glued to his gullet. Of the three 
 he seemed the most tipsy; his eyes were bloodshot, he 
 
CTHE SHADOW OE THE CATHEDRAL 333 
 
 stared stonily on every side and remained silent, he only 
 gave a forced laugh when anyone spoke to him, as if his 
 thoughts were very, very far off. 
 
 On the other hand, the bell-ringer was far more 
 loquacious than usual. He spoke of the cardinal's for- 
 tune, at the wealth that would fall to Doria Visitacion, of 
 the joy many of the Chapter must feel that night. He 
 interrupted himself to take a pull at the brandy bottle, 
 passing it afterwards to his companions. The smell of 
 the alcohol spread through that atmosphere impregnated 
 with incense and the smoke of wax tapers. 
 
 More than an hour passed in this way. Mariano had 
 stopped the conversation several^times as if he had some- 
 thing serious to say and was vacillating, wanting cour- 
 age. 
 
 "Gabriel, time is passing and we have much to do 
 and to talk about. It is a little past eleven, but we have 
 still several hours to do the thing well." 
 
 "What do you mean to say?" asked Luna, surprised. 
 
 "Few words — in a nut-shell. It concerns your becom- 
 ing rich and us also; we intend to get out of this pov- 
 erty. You have noticed for some time that we have 
 avoided you, that we preferred talking among ourselves 
 to the pleasure of listening to you. We all know that 
 you are very learned, but as far as things of this life go 
 you are not worth a farthing. We have learnt a great 
 deal from you, but that does not get us out of our pov- 
 erty. We have spent months thinking how to make a 
 lucky stroke. These revolutions of which you speak 
 seem to us very far off; our grandchildren may see 
 them, but we never shall. It is all right for clever peo- 
 ple to look to the future, but ignorant people like us look 
 to the present. We have employed our time discussing 
 all sorts of schemes, to kidnap Don Sebastian and re- 
 quire a million of ransom, to break into the palace one 
 
334 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 night, and I don't know what besides! All wild ideas 
 started by your nephew. But this morning in my house, 
 while we were lamenting our poverty, we suddenly saw 
 our salvation close at hand. You as the sole guardian of 
 the Cathedral. The Virgin on the high altar, with the 
 jewels that are locked up in the Treasury all the rest of 
 the year, and I with the keys in my power. The easiest 
 thing in the world. Let us clean out the Virgin and take 
 the road to Madrid, where we shall arrive at dawn ; the 
 Tato knows a lot of people there among cloak stealers. 
 We will hide ourselves there for a little while, and then 
 you, who know the world, will guide us. We will go to 
 America, sell the stones, and we shall be rich. Get up, 
 Gabriel ! We are going to strip the idol, as you say." 
 
 "But this is a robbery that you are proposing!" ex- 
 claimed Luna, alarmed. 
 
 "A robbery?" said the bell-ringer. "Call it so, if you 
 like — and, what then? Are you afraid of it? More 
 has been robbed from us, who Were born with the right 
 to a share of the world, but however much we look 
 round we cannot find a vacant place. Besides, what 
 harm do we do to anybody? These Jewels are of no 
 use to the bit of wood they cover, it does not eat, it 
 does not feel the cold in winter, and we are poor 
 miserable creatures. You yourself have said it, Gabriel, 
 seeing our poverty. Our children die of hunger on their 
 mother's knees, while these idols are covered with 
 wealth, come along, Gabriel, do not let us lose any 
 more time." 
 
 "Come along, uncle," said the Tato, "have a little 
 courage. You must admit we ignorant people know 
 how to manage things when it comes to the point." 
 
 Gabriel was not listening to them ; surprise had made 
 him fall into a reverie of self-examination. He thought 
 
.THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 335 
 
 — ^terrified of the greaf error he had committed — ^he saw 
 an immense gulf opening between himself and those he 
 had believed to be his disciples. He remembered his 
 brother's words. Ah, the good sense of the simple- 
 minded! He, with all his reading, had never foreseen 
 the danger.j)f_i£a£lun g these ign orant people~in-ar~few 
 Inonths what .i£qnired-ar^vv4id€jj|e"ol~ni wg 5t afld ~ sttf d y. 
 What happened t o people stirr£ d-imr5v~revolutiQnuwas 
 ha ppening h ere on a small scale. The most noble 
 thoughts become corrupteTi-pass.ing through the sieve of 
 vulgarity; the most generous aspirations are poisoned by 
 the dregs of poverty. 
 
 He had sown the revolutionary seed in these outcasts 
 of the Church, drowsing in the atmosphere of two 
 centuries ago. He had thought to help on the revolution 
 of the future by forming men, but on awaking from 
 his dreams he fou nd only co mmnn rri minak What a 
 terrible mistake ! His ideas had only tended to destruc- 
 tion. In removing from the dulled brains the prejudices 
 of ignorance, and the superstitions of the slave, he had 
 only succeeded in making them daring for evil. Sdfiglfc^ 
 ness was the only passion vibrating in them. Tll^had 
 only learnt that they were wretched and ought not to 
 be so. The fate of their companions in misfortune, of 
 the greater part of humanity, wretched and sad, had no 
 interest for them. If they could get out of their present 
 state, bettering themselves in whatever way they could, 
 they cared very little if the world went on just as it did 
 before; that tears, and pain and hunger should reign 
 below, in order to ensure the comfort of those above. 
 He had sown his thoughts in them hoping to accelerate 
 the harvest, but like all those forced and artificial 
 cultivations, that grow with astonishing rapidity only to 
 give rotten fruit, the result of his propaganda was moral 
 corruption. Men in the end, like all of therai The 
 
336 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 human wild beast, seeking his own welfare at the cost 
 of his fellow, perpetuating the disorders of pain for the 
 majority, as long as he can enjoy plenty during the few 
 years of his life. Ah! Where could he meet with that 
 superior being, ennobled by the worship of reason, doing 
 good without hope of reward, sacrificing everything for 
 human solidarity, that man-God who would glorify the 
 future ! 
 
 "Come along, Gabriel," continued the bell-ringer. 
 "Do not let us lose time it is only a few minutes' work ; 
 and then— flight !" 
 
 "No," said Luna firmly, coming out of his reverie, 
 "you shall not do this; you ought not to do it. It is a 
 robbery you suggest to me, and my pain is great, seeing 
 that you reckoned on me; others rob from fatal instinct 
 or from corruption of soul, you have come to it because 
 I tried to enlighten you, because I tried to open your 
 minds to the truth. Oh ! it is horrible, most horrible !" 
 
 "What is the use of all these objections, Gabriel? 
 Is it not a bit of wood? Whom do we harm by taking 
 its jewels? Do not the rich rob, and everyone who 
 possesses anything? Why should we not imitate 
 them?" 
 
 "For this very reason, because what you propose 
 doing is a suggestion of evil, because it perpetuates 
 once more that system of violence and disorder which 
 is the root of all misery. Why do you hate the rich, if 
 what they do in sweating the poor is just the same as 
 what you are doing in taking possession of a thing for 
 yourselves — ^understand me well — for yourselves — and 
 not for all. The robbery does not scare me, for I do not 
 believe in ownership nor in the sanctity of things, but 
 for this very reason I detest this appropriation to your- 
 selves and I oppose it. Why do you wish to possess 
 all this ? You say it is to remedy your poverty. That is 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 337 
 
 not true. It is to be rich, to enter into the privileged 
 group, to be three individual men of that detested 
 minority which desires to enjoy prosperity by enslaving 
 humanity. If all the poor of Toledo' were now shout- 
 ing outside the doors of the Cathedral, rebellious and" 
 emboldened, I would open the way for them, I would 
 point out those jewels that you covet, and I would say, 
 'Possess yourselves of those, they are so many drops of 
 sweat and blood wrung from your ancestors; they 
 represent the servile work on the land of the lords, the 
 brutal plundering of the king's cavaliers, so that mag- 
 nates and kings may cover with jewels those idols which 
 can open to them the gates of heaven.' These things do 
 not belong to you because you happen to be the most 
 daring; they belong to all, as do all the riches of the 
 earth. For men to lay their hands on everything exist- 
 ing in the world would be a holy work, the redeeming 
 revolution of the future. To possess yourselves of some 
 portion of what by moral right is not yours, would only 
 be for you a crime against the laws of the land, for me 
 it would be a crime against the disinherited, the only 
 
 masters of the existing " 
 
 "Silence, Gabriel," said the bell-ringer harshly; "if I 
 let you, you would go on talking till dawn. I do not 
 understand you, nor do I wish to. We came to do you 
 a good turn, and you treat us to a sermon. We wish to 
 see you as rich as ourselves, and you answer us by talk- 
 ing of others, of a lot of people that you don't know, 
 of that humanity who never gave you a scrap of bread 
 when you wandered like a dog. I must treat you as I 
 did in our youth when we were campaigning. I have 
 always loved you and I admire your talents, but we must 
 really treat you like a child. Come along, Gabriel! 
 Hold your tongue, and follow us ! We will lead you to 
 happiness ! Forw^ard, companions !" 
 
338 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 The Tato and the shoemaker stood up, walking to- 
 wards the railings of the high altar, the Tato seized one 
 of its gates, and half opened it. 
 
 "No !" shouted Gabriel with energy. "Stop ! Mariano, 
 you do not know what you are doing. You believe your 
 happiness will be accomplished when you have possessed 
 yourselves of those jewels. But afterwards? Your 
 families remain here. Tato, think of your mother. 
 Mariano, you and the shoemaker have wives — ^you have 
 children." 
 
 "Bah!" said the bell-ringer. "They will come and 
 join us when we are in safety far away. Money can do 
 everything — ^the thing is to get it." 
 
 "And your children? Shall they be told their fathers 
 were thieves !" 
 
 "Bah! they will be rich in other countries. Their 
 history will not be worse than that of other rich men's 
 sons." 
 
 Gabriel understood the fierce determination that ani- 
 mated those men. His endeavours to restrain them were 
 useless. Mariano seized him, seeing he was trying to 
 push between them and the altar. 
 
 "Stand aside, little one," he said. "You are no use 
 for anything. Let us alone. Are you afraid of the 
 Virgin? Undeceive yourself, even if we carry off all 
 she has, she will work no miracle." 
 
 Gabriel attempted one final effort. 
 
 "You shall do nothing. If you pass the railings, if 
 you approach the high altar, I will ring the call bell, 
 and before ten minutes all Toledo will be at the gates." 
 
 And opening the iron gate of the choir, he entered 
 with a decision that surprised the bell-ringer. 
 
 The shoemaker in tipsy silence was the only one who 
 followed him. 
 
 "My children's bread!" he murmured in thickened 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 339 
 
 speech. "They wish to rob them! They wish to keep 
 them poor !" 
 
 Mariano heard a metallic clatter, and saw the shoe- 
 maker raise his hand armed with the bunch of keys 
 which had fallen on the marble steps of the railing, then 
 he heard a strangely sonorous souild, as if something 
 hollow was being struck. 
 
 Gabriel gave one scream, and fell forwards on the 
 ground; the shoemaker continued striking his head. 
 
 "Do not give him any more — stop!" 
 
 These were the last words Gabriel heard confusedly, 
 as he lay stretched at the entrance of the choir ; a warm 
 and sticky liquid ran over his eyes ; afterwards — silence, 
 darkness and — nothing! 
 
 His last thought was to tell himself he was dying — 
 that probably he was already dead, and that only the 
 last vital struggle remained to him, the last struggle of a 
 life vanishing for ever. 
 
 Still he came back to life. He opened his eyes with 
 difficulty and saw, the sun coming through a barred 
 window, white walls, and a~7Iirt y~aiid"~^arn ed~cotton 
 counterpane^ After great wandering and stuinBISig, he 
 could collect his thoughts sufficiently to form one idea: 
 the^ had placed the Cathedral on his temples — the huge 
 church wasTiaBging-TTveT~liis"Kead"TnT[SKingTiinr What 
 terrible pain ! He could not move ; he seemed fastened 
 by his head. His ears were buzzing, his tongue seemed 
 paralysed. His eyes could see feebly, as though the 
 light were muddy and a reddish haze enveloped all 
 things. 
 
 He thought that a face with whiskers, surmounted by 
 the hat of a civil guard, bent over him, looking into his 
 eyes. He moved his lips, but no one heard a sound. 
 No doubt it was the nightmare pf his old persecutions 
 returning again. 
 
340 THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 
 
 They looked at him, seeing that he opened his eyes. 
 A gentleman dressed in black advanced towards his bed, 
 followed by others who carried papers under their arms. 
 He guessed they were speaking to him by the movement 
 of their lips, but he could hear nothing. Was he in 
 another world? Were all his beliefs false, and after 
 death did another life exist the same as the one he had 
 left? 
 
 He fell again into darkness and unconsciousness. A 
 long time passed — a very long time. Again he opened 
 his eyes, but now the haze was denser, it was not red 
 but black. 
 
 Through this veil he thought he saw his brother's 
 face, horrified and drawn with fear ; and the cocked hats 
 of the civil guards, those nightmares, surrounding poor 
 Wooden Staff. Afterwards, more misty, more uncer- 
 tain, the face of his gentle companion, Sagrario, looking 
 at him with weeping eyes in terrible grief, caressing him 
 with her glance, fearless of the black, armed men who 
 surrounded her. 
 
 This was his last look, uncertain and clouded, as 
 though seen by the light of a flying spark. Afterwards, 
 eternal darkness and annihilation. 
 
 As his eyes were closing for ever, a voice close to him 
 said: 
 
 "We have followed your scent, rascal ; you were well 
 hidden, but we have discovered you through one of your 
 own. Now we shall see what account you can give of 
 the Virgin's jewels, thief!" 
 
 But the terrible enemy of God and social order could 
 give no account to man. 
 
 The following day he was carried out of the prison 
 infirmary on men's shoulders to disappear in the com- 
 mon grave. 
 
 The earth kept the secret of his death, that frowning 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE CATHEDRAL 341 
 
 Mother who watches men's struggles impassively, know- 
 ing that all grandeur and ambitions, all miseries and 
 follies must rot in her breast, with no other object than 
 the fertilisation and renovation of life. 
 
 N.B. — The jewels were stolen from the sacristy of 
 Toledo Cathedral in 1868.