celebrated the translation
of the _blessed Don Juan Belvidero_ to the abbey-church. The tale of the
partial resurrection had spread so quickly from village to village, that
a day or two after the death of the illustrious nobleman the report had
reached every place within fifty miles of San-Lucar, and it was as good
as a play to see the roads covered already with crowds flocking in on
all sides, their curiosity whetted still further by the prospect of
a _Te Deum_ sung by torchlight. The old abbey church of San-Lucar, a
marvelous building erected by the Moors, a mosque of Allah, which for
three centuries had heard the name of Christ, could not hold the throng
that poured in to see the ceremony. Hidalgos in their velvet mantles,
with their good swords at their sides, swarmed like ants, and were so
tightly packed in among the pillars that they had not room to bend the
knees, which never bent save to God. Charming peasant girls, in the
basquina that defines the luxuriant outlines of their figures, lent an
arm to white-haired old men. Young men, with eyes of fire, walked beside
aged crones in holiday array. Then came couples tremulous with joy,
young lovers led thither by curiosity, newly-wedded folk; children
timidly clasping each other by the hand. This throng, so rich in
coloring, in vivid contrasts, laden with flowers, enameled like a
meadow, sent up a soft murmur through the quiet night. Then the great
doors of the church opened.

Late comers who remained without saw afar, through the three great open
doorways, a scene of which the theatrical illusions of modern opera can
give but a faint idea. The vast church was lighted up by thousands of
candles, offered by saints and sinners alike eager to win the favor
of this new candidate for canonization, and these self-commending
illuminations turned the great building into an enchanted fairyland. The
black archways, the shafts and capitals, the recessed chapels with gold
and silver gleaming in their depths, the galleries, the Arab traceries,
all the most delicate outlines of that delicate sculpture, burned in
the excess of light like the fantastic figures in the red heart of a
brazier. At the further end of the church, above that blazing sea, rose
the high altar like a splendid dawn. All the glories of the golden lamps
and silver candlesticks, of banners and tassels, of the shrines of the
saints and votive offerings, paled before the gorgeous brightness of
the reliquary in whi