IV.
A year had elapsed. The abbess of the convent of Santa Inés and the daughter of Maese Pérez were speaking in a whisper, only half visible in the shadows of the choir. The bells with loud voices were calling to the faithful from the height of the steeple. Every now and then one or two persons crossed the now silent and deserted portico; and after taking holy water, they chose their place in the corner of the nave, where a few neighbors were quietly waiting for midnight Mass to begin.
"Do you see," the abbess was saying, "your fears are supremely childish. There is scarcely a soul in the church. You should have more self-confidence. All Seville is at the cathedral to-night. Play for us, my child,—it is just as though we were alone. Why do you sigh? What is the matter with you? Speak."
"I am afraid!" exclaimed the girl, in a shaken voice.
"Afraid? Why, what do you mean? Afraid of what?"
"I do not know,—of something supernatural. Last night—listen. I had heard you say that you were anxious to have me play for midnight Mass this Christmas Eve; and, proud of the distinction, I thought I would first try the registers and practise a little, that I might surprise you and do you honor to-day. I came to the choir alone; I opened the door which leads to the organ-loft. The cathedral clock just then was striking the hour; I do not know what hour, but the strokes were many, many, and so sad! The bells went on ringing during all the time that I stood petrified on the threshold. It seemed an age to me! The church was empty and dark. Far away, yonder, a little light glimmered like a star, lost in the night of the sky. It was the dying light of the lamp which burns before the high altar. By its faint reflection, which only added to the profound horror of the darkness, I saw,—yes, I saw it, Mother; do not doubt me,—I saw a man, who, sitting with his back to where I stood, was running one hand along the keys of the organ, while he touched the stops with the other, and the organ sounded, but in a most indescribable manner. Every note was like a sob stifled within the metal pipes, which vibrated, reproducing the tone, muffled, almost imperceptible, but with wonderful accuracy.
"The cathedral clock was still striking the hour, and the man was still trying the keys. I could even hear his breathing.
"The blood in my veins was frozen with horror. I felt a chill run through my body; my head was hot; I tried to scream, but I could not, for the man sitting there had turned his face and was looking at me. No; I do not mean that; he was not looking, for he was blind. It was my father!"
"Come, come, sister, you must try and banish these foolish fancies with which the arch-enemy tries to disturb our weak imaginations. Say a Pater-noster and an Ave-Maria to the archangel Saint Michael, captain of the celestial hosts, that he may succor you from evil spirits. Wear on your neck a scapular touched by the relics of San Pacomio, the counsellor against temptations; and go, my child, go and take your place at the organ. Mass is about to begin, and the faithful are waiting with impatience. Your father is in heaven; and it is far more likely that from the home of the blessed he will inspire you on this holy night rather than appear to you to give you a fright."
The abbess went to take her seat in the choir in the midst of the sisterhood. The daughter of Maese Pérez opened the door of the organ-loft with trembling hand, and sat on the stool before the organ. Mass began.
Mass began, and nothing unusual occurred until the time of the consecration. At that moment the organ sounded, and with the first sound came a shriek from the organ-loft.
The abbess, the nuns, and some of the faithful ran to the organ.
"Look at him! look at him!" cried the girl, whose eyes, starting from their sockets, were fixed upon the stool from which she had just risen in terror. She stood clinging with convulsed hands to the railing of the loft.
All eyes were turned upon the point which she indicated. There was no one at the organ, and still it went on sounding, like the voices of archangels, in a burst of mystic joy.
"Did I not tell you so, one and a thousand times, my good Doña Baltasara,—did I not tell you so? There is some mystery in all this. Listen. What! Did you not attend Mass last night? Anyway, I presume you know what occurred. Why, it is the talk of Seville to-day. The archbishop is furious, and with good reason. Think of his having missed the Mass at Santa Inés,—of his not having witnessed the miracle; and all for what, pray? That he might sit and listen to a perfect charivari; for according to those who were present and who told me of it, the new organist's playing was nothing else. But I said so all the time. That squint-eye never could have played the music we heard together last Christmas Eve at Santa Inés. It was a lie! That music came from another soul. There is a mystery in all this, my dear,—a mystery, believe me."
Yes, and so there was. A deep mystery, a beautiful mystery, which was the soul of Maese Pérez.
