"And the organ is an old one, let me tell you; but that makes no difference to him. He takes such pains with it and keeps it in such good order that its tone is a perfect wonder. He knows it so well that he can tell merely by the touch--I do not know whether I told you that the poor man was born blind. And how patiently he bears his misfortune! When anybody asks him how much he would give to be able to see, he answers, 'A great deal, but not as much as you think, for I have hope.' 'Hope of seeing?' 'Yes, and very soon too,' he adds, smiling like an angel. 'I am seventy-six years old, and however long the life allotted to me, I must soon see God.' Poor man! yes, he will see God, for he is as humble as the stones of the street, that allow everybody to tread upon them. He always says that he is nothing but a poor convent organist, while he might teach solfeggio to the chapel master of the cathedral himself. Of course he could; he cut his teeth in the trade. His father before him had the same position. I did not know him, but my mother--may she rest in glory!--used to say that he always brought the child with him to pump the organ. Later on, the boy showed great talent; and when his father died, he naturally enough fell heir to his position. And what hands he has, God bless them! They are worthy of being taken to Chicarreros Street to be set in pure gold. He always plays well, always; but, my dear, on a night like this he is a perfect wonder. He professes the greatest devotion to this ceremony of midnight Mass, and at the elevation of the Sacred Form, precisely at twelve o'clock, which is the time when our Lord came into the world, the voices of his organ are the real voices of angels. "But what is the use of telling you about what you will hear for yourself in a few moments? Just notice the people who are here to-night, and you will form some idea of what he is. Here is all the elegance of Seville, and the archbishop himself,--all come to this humble convent to hear him play. It is not only the learned people, those who know music, who understand his merit; not so,--the very rabble appreciate him. This great crowd that you see coming this way with torches, singing carols with all the might of their lungs to the accompaniment of their tambourines and drums,--they are the kind of people to create a disturbance in a church; but just wait, they will be as still as the dead when Maese Pérez lays his hands on the organ. At the elevation of the Host, not a fly makes itself heard. There are great tears in every eye; and when the music stops, you hear something like a deep sigh, which proves that the people have been holding their breath in ecstasy all the while. But come, come! the bells have stopped ringing; and Mass will soon begin. Let us go in. This is the good night of the world, but for none will it be a better night than for us."