Chương Chương 30 · Chapter XXX

In the Church

From end to end the huge barn that men dedicate as a home to the

Creator of all existing things was filled with people. Pushing,

crowding, and crushing one another, the few who were leaving and

the many who were entering filled the air with exclamations of

distress. Even from afar an arm would be stretched out to dip the

fingers in the holy water, but at the critical moment the surging crowd

would force the hand away. Then would be heard a complaint, a trampled

woman would upbraid some one, but the pushing would continue. Some old

people might succeed in dipping their fingers in the water, now the

color of slime, where the population of a whole town, with transients

besides, had washed. With it they would anoint themselves devoutly,

although with difficulty, on the neck, on the crown of the head,

on the forehead, on the chin, on the chest, and on the abdomen,

in the assurance that thus they were sanctifying those parts and

that they would suffer neither stiff neck, headache, consumption,

nor indigestion. The young people, whether they were not so ailing or

did not believe in that holy prophylactic, hardly more than moistened

the tip of a finger--and this only in order that the devout might

have no cause to talk--and pretended to make the sign of the cross on

their foreheads, of course without touching them. "It may be blessed

and everything you may wish," some young woman doubtless thought,

"but it has such a color!"

It was difficult to breathe in the heat amid the smells of the human

animal, but the preacher was worth all these inconveniences, as the

sermon was costing the town two hundred and fifty pesos. Old Tasio

had said: "Two hundred and fifty pesos for a sermon! One man on one

occasion! Only a third of what comedians cost, who will work for

three nights! Surely you must be very rich!"

"What has that to do with the drama?" testily inquired the nervous

leader of the Tertiary Brethren. "With the drama souls go to hell but

with the sermon to heaven! If he had asked a thousand, we would have

paid him and should still owe him gratitude."

"After all, you're right," replied the Sage, "for the sermon is more

amusing to me at least than the drama."

"But I am not amused even by the drama!" yelled the other furiously.

"I believe it, since you understand one about as well as you do the

other!" And the impious old man moved away without paying any attention

to the insults and the direful prophecies that the irritated leader

offered concerning his future existence.

While they were waiting for the alcalde, the people sweated and yawned,

agitating the air with fans, hats, and handkerchiefs. Children shouted

and cried, which kept the sacristans busy putting them out of the

sacred edifice. Such action brought to the dull and conscientious

leader of the Brotherhood of the Holy Rosary this thought: "'Suffer

little children to come unto me,' said Our Savior, it is true, but

here must be understood, children who do not cry."

An old woman in a _guingón_ habit, Sister Puté, chid her granddaughter,

a child of six years, who was kneeling at her side, "O lost one, give

heed, for you're going to hear a sermon like that of Good Friday!" Here

the old lady gave her a pinch to awaken the piety of the child,

who made a grimace, stuck out her nose, and wrinkled up her eyebrows.

Some men squatted on their heels and dozed beside the confessional. One

old man nodding caused our old woman to believe that he was mumbling

prayers, so, running her fingers rapidly over the beads of her

rosary--as that was the most reverent way of respecting the designs

of Heaven--little by little she set herself to imitating hint.

Ibarra stood in one corner while Maria Clara knelt near the high

altar in a space which the curate had had the courtesy to order the

sacristans to clear for her. Capitan Tiago, in a frock coat, sat on

one of the benches provided for the authorities, which caused the

children who did not know him to take him for another gobernadorcillo

and to be wary about getting near him.

At last the alcalde with his staff arrived, proceeding from the

sacristy and taking their seats in magnificent chairs placed on strips

of carpet. The alcalde wore a full-dress uniform and displayed the

cordon of Carlos III, with four or five other decorations. The people

did not recognize him.

"_Abá!_" exclaimed a rustic. "A civil-guard dressed as a comedian!"

"Fool!" rejoined a bystander, nudging him with his elbow. "It's the

Prince Villardo that we saw at the show last night!"

So the alcalde went up several degrees in the popular estimation by

becoming an enchanted prince, a vanquisher of giants.

When the mass began, those who were seated arose and those who

had been asleep were awakened by the ringing of the bells and the

sonorous voices of the singers. Padre Salvi, in spite of his gravity,

wore a look of deep satisfaction, since there were serving him as

deacon and subdeacon none less than two Augustinians. Each one, as

it came his turn, sang well, in a more or less nasal tone and with

unintelligible articulation, except the officiating priest himself,

whose voice trembled somewhat, even getting out of tune at times,

to the great wonder of those who knew him. Still he moved about

with precision and elegance while he recited the _Dominus vobiscum_

unctuously, dropping his head a little to the side and gazing toward

heaven. Seeing him receive the smoke from the incense one would

have said that Galen was right in averring the passage of smoke in

the nasal canals to the head through a screen of ethmoids, since

he straightened himself, threw his head back, and moved toward the

middle of the altar with such pompousness and gravity that Capitan

Tiago found him more majestic than the Chinese comedian of the

night before, even though the latter had been dressed as an emperor,

paint-bedaubed, with beribboned sword, stiff beard like a horse's

mane, and high-soled slippers. "Undoubtedly," so his thoughts ran,

"a single curate of ours has more majesty than all the emperors."

At length came the expected moment, that of hearing Padre Damaso. The

three priests seated themselves in their chairs in an edifying

attitude, as the worthy correspondent would say, the alcalde and

other persons of place and position following their example. The

music ceased.

The sudden transition from noise to silence awoke our aged Sister Puté,

who was already snoring under cover of the music. Like Segismundo,

[87] or like the cook in the story of the Sleeping Beauty, the first

thing that she did upon awaking was to whack her granddaughter on

the neck, as the child had also fallen asleep. The latter screamed,

but soon consoled herself at the sight of a woman who was beating her

breast with contrition and enthusiasm. All tried to place themselves

comfortably, those who had no benches squatting down on the floor or

on their heels.

Padre Damaso passed through the congregation preceded by two

sacristans and followed by another friar carrying a massive volume. He

disappeared as he went up the winding staircase, but his round head

soon reappeared, then his fat neck, followed immediately by his

body. Coughing slightly, he looked about him with assurance. He

noticed Ibarra and with a special wink gave to understand that he

would not overlook that youth in his prayers. Then he turned a look

of satisfaction upon Padre Sibyla and another of disdain upon Padre

Martin, the preacher of the previous day. This inspection concluded,

he turned cautiously and said, "Attention, brother!" to his companion,

who opened the massive volume.

But the sermon deserves a separate chapter. A young man who was then

learning stenography and who idolizes great orators, took it down;

thanks to this fact, we can here present a selection from the sacred

oratory of those regions.