Three-Cornered Halo by Christianna Brand Page A

carried it, supporting its weight against his own forehead, down into the sanctuary; and paused before the Grand Duke.
    The Cellini thurible hung with its handful of glowing coals before the two prie-Dieu. The Grand Duke rose, took incense in a golden spoon and sprinkled a little on the coals; and when the sweet-scented smoke began to rise in its thin, grey thread, went forward and, kneeling before the Book, lifted the thurible on its sliding chains, tossed it a little forward, twice, and then up high, so that the smoke billowed out and all about the Book; and, repeating the movement three times, rose, bowed, and retired, moving slowly backwards to his prie-Dieu. The Gospel was read, the celebrant and assisting priests sat down in their places all about the altar, with folded hands. The thurible hung dormant again, on its stand. The Arcivescovo stumbled up the pulpit steps.
    The Sermone de Defunto as preached upon this fiesta, is also traditional, and to the Juanese almost the best part of the day—a thundering denunciation of their lustful lives and deliciously terrifying threats of hell-fire awaiting them all too soon. Not that they believe a word of it; the good God who made His sons vigorous and His daughters beautiful, is kind and loving and will forgive; but old childhood fears prevail and though the Archbishop’s voice had of recent years lost much of its ranting power, still the familiar words could send a shiver through the soul and many a firm purpose of amendment had been known to last right through the day of merry-making that followed, till the kindly moonlight came.… It was a considerable disappointment, therefore, to find El Anitra not giving them the Sermone de Defunto at all.
    For the Archbishop was speaking not of the dead but of the living; not of the end but of the beginning; not of death but of birth. How great was the sin, cried the Archbishop raising a shaking emaciated hand, naming no names, of a woman who out of vanity and selfishness denied life to her children …! How great the abomination of passions gratified for no sake but their own! A man and a woman, a husband and wife, be they great or humble, rich or poor, came together for the procreation of their children; and to deny them being was lust and shame and a sin before the Lord.… The Juanese with their happy, teeming families and well-stocked Orfano del Innocenti, listened in astonishment. But soon a word was spoken in the body of the church, a name was named in a whisper that licked round the congregation like a flame. La Bellissima heard the low hiss of the sibilants and lifted her lovely head for a moment but gave no other sign. The Grand Duke sat rigid and silent in his chair. The Archbishop moved on to his second hobby-horse. It was the deep wish of the people of San Juan, that the name of their island saint be forwarded without further delay to Rome.… No one—no one, insisted the old man, forcing up his quavering old voice to a sort of shriek, had the right to deny so pious and proper a wish.…
    The Grand Duke waited until the Mass was technically over; and then, not waiting for the Dismissal, rose to his splendid height, put out his hand to the Grand Duchess and led her slowly out—slowly, magnificently, deliberately pacing, not across the altar front and to the side door as is the Grand Ducal custom, but straight down through the body of the church, the people falling back, awed and amazed, to let them pass: down the long nave, out through the great West door and on to the cathedral steps. His carriage, elaborately carved and gilded, had been hastily brought round and he handed La Bellissima in. El Gerente de Politio shouted an order, his men stamped and shuffled their dirty white gym-shoes, slapped silver-chased blunderbusses with filthy brown hands. The carriage drove off. Up at the High Altar, the Mass went quietly on to its conclusion. Alone before Juanita’s glass coffin, the Arcivescovo