"The standard of our King unfurled
Proclaims triumphant to the world
The cross, where Life would suffer death
To gain life with his dying breath!"
My heart beat faster as I listened to the glorious hymn!
The communion made, vespers were chanted in grave and mournful tones, and the service was concluded. As the bishop descended the nave to leave the cathedral, the little girls of the nuns' schools crowded around him to kiss his hand; and it was very pretty to see them clasp his fingers, and look up in his kind face with a confiding smile.
As it had been officially announced that the meditation on the seven words of Jesus on the cross, with the ceremony of the descent from the cross, to be followed by the procession of the interment, were to take place, as is usual every year, that afternoon in the church of San Juan de Dios, I determined to be present.
At three o'clock, accordingly, I stationed myself in a shady corner, not far from the principal entrance of San Juan, among a crowd of soldiers, volunteers, and colored people. All gazed at me inquisitively. I looked like a lady; but my somewhat Andalusian physiognomy, shaded by the black lace mantilla, put them out a little. I heard them at last decide that I was an estranjera, (stranger,) and consequently considered capable of, and permitted, any eccentricity, without derogating from my claim to respect. Twenty minutes passed away thus; a south wind was blowing, and great water-laden clouds were fast covering the sky; the heat was very oppressive, and soon heavy drops of rain began to fall, and every one rushed to shelter. I ran back to the cathedral, my nearest refuge. The Tenebræ had just commenced, and I sat there and listened to the doleful lamentations of Jeremiah, and the wails of the holy women, mingling with the thunder-crashes and the noise of the pouring rain, which fell as it only falls within the tropics. It was a combination of sounds not easily to be forgotten.
At half-past four, the storm was over, and the sky clear and blue once more, so I determined to hasten to San Juan, and, though too late to hear the meditation, still witness the descent from the cross. To my surprise, on going to the door I found it impossible to leave the church; the whole place in front of the cathedral was knee-deep in water, and all the streets leading from it looked like swift-flowing rivers! Not until five o'clock did the water subside sufficiently to permit me to cross the street conducting to San Juan, where, however, I fortunately arrived in time for the ceremony I so much wished to see.
The high altar had been removed, and in its place, on an elevated platform, were erected three great crosses, the centre one bearing the image, large as life, of our Saviour, the other two those of the thieves crucified with him; the face of the repentant sinner was turned lovingly toward his Lord, that of the unrepentant looked away with a scowl.
The figure of the victim was fearfully natural—the pallor of death was on his blood-stained brow, the gash in his side, and his mangled hands and feet were livid. Two priests, mounted on ladders placed against the arms of the cross, were in the act of taking down the writing when I got near enough to see well. At the command of the preacher, who had just finished the meditation, and who directed them from the pulpit, they then proceeded to draw out the nail from the right hand; when loosened from the tree, the arm fell stiffly and as if dead; before the other was freed, long and wide linen bands were passed under both, and around the body, to sustain it and prevent it from falling forward. Llorad lagrimas de sangre—"Weep tears of blood," cried the preacher while this was being done amid the breathless silence of the spectators, "he died for you!" So solemnly, so tenderly did the priests perform their office, that it seemed no representation, but dreadful reality, and my cheeks grew cold, and my heart throbbed painfully when the pale, bruised body was gently lowered and borne to the bier waiting to receive it.
Yes, this cruel death He died for us; but, O true and loving women! one sweet and proud remembrance will be ours for all eternity—our kiss betrayed him not, nor our tongue denied—