best asset; but she wishes equally to reign over the living. Nothing
escapes her despotism and her spying. She insinuates herself into
all human concerns from the greatest to the most insignificant, she
interferes in both public and private life; she baptizes the child
when it comes into the world, accompanies the child to school,
monopolises love, declaring it shameful and abominable if it does
not submit to her benediction, and divides the earth into two
categories--the consecrated, for those who die in her bosom, and the
dunghill in the open air for the heretic. The Church interferes in
dress, laying down what is honest and Christian wear and what is
scandalous frivolity. She interferes in the most intimate relations
of domestic life, and even penetrates into the kitchen, turning
Catholicism into a culinary art, ruling what ought to be eaten, what
ought or ought not to be mixed, and anathematizing certain foods,
which, being good enough the rest of the year, become the most
horrible sacrilege if partaken on certain days. She accompanies a man
from his birth, and does not leave him even after he is laid in the
tomb; she keeps him chained by his soul, making it wander through
space, passing from one place to another, ascending the pathway to
heaven, according to the sacrifices imposed on themselves by his
successors for the benefit of the Church. A greater or more complete
despotism no tyrant could possibly imagine."

It was mid-day. The bell-ringer had disappeared; suddenly the rattle
of chains and pulleys was heard and a dull thunder made the tower
tremble; all the stones and metal and even the surrounding ether
vibrated. The big "Gorda" had just rung, deafening the bystanders. A
few moments afterwards, from the front of the Alcazar, came the sound
of martial music, trumpets, and drums.

"Let us go," said Gabriel. "Really, Mariano might have warned us and
spared us this surprise."

And he added, smiling ironically:

"It is always the same; it is the parasites who shine the most and
make the most noise; they make up in noise what they lack in utility."

The festival of Corpus drew near without anything occurring to ruffle
the quiet life of the Cathedral. Sometimes in the upper cloister they
spoke of His Eminence's health. His serious quarrels with the Chapter
had obliged him to keep his bed, and he had just had an attack which
made them fear for his life.

"It is his heart," said the Tato--who was usually ver