It was a precious
moment, but perhaps too weird, and we were glad to find a sacristan with
businesslike activity setting red candlesticks about a bier in the area
before the choir, which here, as in the other Spanish cathedrals, is
planted frankly in the middle of the edifice, a church by itself, as if
to emphasize the incomparable grandeur of the cathedral. The sacristan
willingly paused in his task and explained that he was preparing the
bier for the funeral of a church dignitary (as we learned later, the
dean) which was to take place the next day at noon; and if we would come
at that hour we should hear some beautiful music. We knew that he was
establishing a claim on our future custom, but we thanked him and
provisionally feed him, and left him at his work, at which we might have
all but fancied him whistling, so cheerfully and briskly he went about
it.
Outside we lingered a moment to give ourselves the solemn joy of the
Chapel of the Constable which forms the apse of the cathedral and is its
chief glory. It mounted to the hard, gray sky, from which a keen wind
was sweeping the narrow street leading to it, and blustering round the
corner of the cathedral, so that the marble men holding up the
Constable's coat-of-arms in the rear of his chapel might well have ached
from the cold which searched the marrow of flesh-and-blood men below.
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