The Shadow of the Cathedral

by Vicente Blasco Ibáñez

Gabriel, always good-natured, was the one who made most rounds, looking scrupulously after the markers, while his companion, the Señor 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 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!"

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 transfigured, and Gabriel remembered sundry operatic effects 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 moved slowly along the pavement, mounting the opposite pillars and losing themselves in the darkness; those rays of cold and diffused light made the shadows seem even darker as they brought out of the darkness here a chapel, beyond, a sepulchral 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 desertion, 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 "swell" thieves. But thieves would have to be clever and fortunate to get the better of them. Silver Stick, the bell-ringer, and the sacristan made their nightly 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 without his barking. After its death the Señor 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 Cathedral. 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, 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 disturb him.