In the choir his delighted pride tasted an even greater 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 disturbed 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 complete as at that moment. He himself was startled at his own delight, at that orgy of pride that had extinguished 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 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, followed 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 mid-day, 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 gardener's widow; "he cannot escape from it. Doña 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! 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 the galleries.