is preserved throughout, and the whole performance
is--well, very oriental.

XVIII

[Sidenote: A Feast Day]

I arrived in Seville on the Eve of the Immaculate Conception. All day
people had been preparing to celebrate the feast, decorating their
houses with great banners of blue and white; and at night the silent,
narrow streets had a strange appearance, for in every window were
lighted candles, throwing around them a white, unusual glare; they
looked a little like the souls of infants dead. All day the bells of a
hundred churches had been ringing, half drowned by the rolling peals of
the Giralda.

It had been announced that the archbishop would himself officiate at the
High Mass in the Blessed Virgin's honour; and early in the morning the
cathedral steps were crowded with black-robed women, making their way to
the great sacristy where was to be held the service. I joined the
throng, and entering through the darkness of the porch, was almost
blinded by the brilliant altar, upon which stood a life-sized image of
the Virgin, surrounded by a huge aureole, with great bishops, all of
silver, on either side. It was ablaze with the light of many candles, so
that the nave was thrown into deep shadow, and the kneeling women were
scarcely visible.

The canons in the choir listlessly droned their prayers. At last the
organ burst forth, and a long procession slowly came into the chapel,
priests in white and blue, the colours of the Virgin, four bishops in
mitres, the archbishop with his golden crozier; and preceding them all,
in odd contrast, the beadle in black, with a dark periwig, bearing a
silver staff. From the choir in due order they returned to the altar,
headed this time by three pairs of acolytes, bearing great silver
candlesticks, and by incense-burners, that filled the church with rich
perfume.

When the Mass was finished, a young dark man in copious robes of violet
ascended the pulpit and muttered a text. He waited an instant to collect
himself, looking at the congregation; then turning to the altar began a
passionate song of praise to the Blessed Virgin, unsoiled by original
sin. He described her as in a hundred pictures the great painter of the
Immaculate Conception has portrayed her--a young and graceful maid,
clothed in a snowy gown of ample folds, with an azure cloak, a maid
mysteriously pure; her hair, floating on the shoulders in luxurious
ringlets, was an aureole more glorious than the silver ray