"On the contrary, we shall be glad of your company," we replied.

"Ernesto and his mother are going in to hear the lions roar and administer delicacies to the monkeys. And having no ambition to shake in our shoes or be taken up for cruelty to animals, we would rather explore the antiquities of Gerona under your care. So you appear at the right moment."

"Ah, senor, do come in," pleaded Ernesto. "I should enjoy it so much more. And you would shriek with delight when you saw the antics of the monkeys eating cayenne----"

"Ernesto, you are incorrigible," we interrupted, laughing. "We decline the risk; and whilst detesting monkeys, we have a conscience. Yours evidently has still to be awakened. But you may come and tell us your experiences at the hotel later on--that is if you are still at large."

So the boy, taking his mother's arm, boldly mounted the steps, and with a final happy nod, and flourishing a small packet of cayenne lozenges, he disappeared beyond the curtain. How the lions would roar or the monkeys receive the indignity remained to be seen. Ernesto was not wanting in purpose and might be trusted to do his best.

We left the shows and the crowd for a moment, went round to the banks of the river, and listened to the whispering reeds and rushes. What repose; what a contrast to the glare and glitter and crowding of the fair. Not a soul visible excepting the ferryman a little way up-stream, waiting dejectedly in his boat for custom that would not come. The rustling reeds harmonised musically with the quiet flow of the water as it rippled and plashed on its way to the sea. To the left the plain spread far and wide--a rich, productive country with much fair beauty about it. Where we stood the river was broad and reflected the magic outlines of the town, faint and subdued under the grey skies. Above the music of the rushes we could hear the distant hum of the pleasure-seekers, where everything was life and movement.

Presently pa.s.sing the theatre, we saw "Faust" announced for that evening. An operatic company had arrived from Barcelona. Wonders would never cease. In this dull town, decaying remnant of Spain, there was an Opera-house, and the tempter was to play off his wiles on beautiful Margaret. What would the performance resemble?

"Quite a large house," said Joseph, "and a very fine one; the players are often excellent."

Of course he judged from his own experience, which had never gone beyond Tours; never dreamed of the great voices of the world. Who indeed could dream of t.i.tiens, never having heard of her? Or of Ilma di Murska?--those stars in the world of song: not to mention Grisi and Malibran the incomparable, of the far-gone days. Still, he spoke with enthusiasm, and we felt we must hear this Faust and Marguerite.

"Take three tickets for to-night, Jose, and you shall point out all the _elite_ of Gerona; the great, the good, the beautiful."

Joseph needed no second bidding. Diving through the doorway to the office he returned with three excellent stalls. The performance was to be fashionably late. Everything in the way of entertainment is late in Spain, and especially in Gerona. At night the streets are soon deserted, but people do not go to bed. They sit up in their own homes, amusing themselves.

"It is announced for half-past eight," said Joseph, "but seldom begins before nine."

[Ill.u.s.tration: OLD HOUSES ON THE RIVER: GERONA.]

Accordingly before eight-thirty we found ourselves in our seats waiting the lifting of the curtain. The house was nearly empty, though it was within five minutes of the appointed hour. Not a sign of any orchestra.

We feared a cold reception and a dead failure.

"Not at all," said Joseph. "It is always the same. Before nine o'clock the house will be full, with hardly an empty seat anywhere."

So it proved. About twenty minutes to nine the orchestra streamed in and took their places, laughed, talked and made jokes, as if the audience--now quickly appearing--had been so many cabbage-stalks. In various parts of the house there were notices forbidding smoking; but the musicians lighted their abominable pipes and cigars without ceremony, and soon ruined the atmosphere. We wondered how this would affect the singers, and when they came on they coughed, sneezed, and looked reproachful.

It was a large, well-appointed house, of excellent proportions. Half the town might surely find room here. Curtains and all such elements disturbing to the voice were conspicuous by their absence. Before nine o'clock every seat was filled, as Joseph had foretold.

Between the acts we were able to survey the little world of Gerona. Many clearly thought themselves members of a great world. Humility was not their leading virtue. From the construction of the house, every one was very much in evidence, and from our places in the front stalls we saw and heard perfectly. "Monarchs of all we survey," said H. C. after a long stare in all directions. "No, I don't quite mean that; it would be slightly embarra.s.sing. I mean that we survey everything as though we were monarchs. It comes to the same."

Every species of temperament was represented; the solemn and sober, excited and flirting, prude and profligate. Extremes met. Some of the ladies made play with their eyes and fans, were full of small gestures and rippling laughter. Many were dressed "in shimmer of satin and pearls," their white arms and necks very decolletes. Thus we had both a play and an opera. It was quite as amusing to study the audience between the acts, as to watch the drama upon the stage. Ladies were admitted to the stalls, and the house looked more civilised in consequence. Many of the men in this polite Spain sat with their hats on until the curtain drew up. Altogether the house presented a very lively appearance.

"Who would have thought it!" said H. C. "The place overflows with wealth and rank. These people might be dukes and d.u.c.h.esses--and look the character much more than many of our 'Coronets and Norman blood.' Yet as we pa.s.sed Gerona in the train it seemed nothing but an encampment for beggars. Beggars? Let me apologise. Beggars would want something more recherche. In these days that flourishing profession dines at eight o'clock and sleeps on down."

In the foyer, between one of the acts, we came into closer contact with this aristocratic crowd.

It was a very large long room, gorgeously fitted up; great mirrors giving back full-length reflections. Few ladies honoured it with their presence, but a crowd of short, dark, handsome Spaniards went to and fro, smoking cigarettes, wildly gesticulating about Margaret, abusing the unfortunate Siebel, openly pa.s.sing their opinions upon the ladies of the audience. Mixing freely amongst them we heard many an amusing remark upon people we were able to identify on returning to our seats. At the end of the third act we began to feel like old habitues. A week in Gerona and we should be familiar with every one's history.

"A happy thought, coming here to-night," said H. C. "I am now quite at home amongst these people, and should like to call upon some of them to-morrow. That exquisite creature, for instance, with the lovely eyes, perfect features, and complexion of a blush rose. I believe--yes, I am sure--look--she is gazing at me with a very sweet expression!"

He was growing excited. We grasped his arm with a certain magnetic touch which recalled him to himself. Keepers have this influence on their patients.

"Look at the old woman next to her," he went on indignantly. "Can she be the mother of that lovely girl? She ought to blush for herself. Her dress-bodice ends at the waist. And behind her fan she is actually ogling a toothless old wretch who has just sat down near her."

Here, fortunately, the curtain went up, and H. C.'s emotions pa.s.sed into another channel.

[Ill.u.s.tration: STREET IN GERONA.]

The performance had equalled our modest expectations. One must not be too critical. If Faust was contemptible and Siebel impossible, Margaret and Mephistopheles saved all from failure. She was pretty and refined, with a certain touching pathos that appealed to her hearers. She sang with grace, too, but her voice was made for nothing larger than a drawing-room, and when the orchestra crashed out the dramatic parts, we had to imagine a great deal.

Siebel was the great stumbling-block and burlesque; her singing and acting so excruciating that when the audience ought to have melted to tears they laughed aloud. When Valentine died she clasped her hands, not in despair but admiration of the fine performance, looked at the audience as much as to say, "Would you not like him to get up and die again?" and when his body was carried off, skipped after it, as though a.s.sisting at some May-day frolic.

Faust was beneath criticism, and one felt angry with Margaret for falling in love with him. In reality she must have hated him.

Mephistopheles, on the contrary, was admirable, and would have done honour to Her Majesty's in the days of t.i.tiens and Trebelli.

The "Old Men's Chorus" was crowning triumph of the performance. Three decrepit objects came forward and quavered through their song. When it was ended the audience insisted upon having it all over again, whilst they kept up a running accompaniment of laughter, in which the old men joined as they retreated into the background.

Altogether it was a successful evening. Every one left in good humour, and many were charmed.

We went out into the night, glad to exchange the atmosphere. It looked doubly dark after the brilliancy of the house. Every light was out, every house buried in profound slumber. We turned to the bridge, and stood there until all the playgoers had streamed homewards, and silence and solitude reigned. Once more the chestnut-roasters had departed and their sacrificial altars were cold and dead. Down the boulevard not a creature was visible. Stalls and booths were closed, torches extinguished. The leaves of the trees gently rustled and murmured in the night wind. We almost felt as though we still saw Ernesto and his mother walking up and down in close companionship. It must have been their astral bodies. Both no doubt were slumbering, and perhaps the same vision haunted their dreams; broken windows and four-footed victims--seen from different points of view.

In the firmament a great change had taken place. The clouds had rolled away; not a vapour large as a man's hand remained to be seen; stars shone clear and brilliant; the Great Bear ploughed his untiring way, and Orion, dipping westward, was closely followed by his faithful Sirius. All seemed to promise fair weather.

"What do you think of it, Joseph? Is your weatherwise astronomer for once proving a false prophet?"

"It looks like it," replied Joseph, gazing north and south. "No man is infallible," philosophically. "But our prophet has never been wrong yet, and I expect you will find the skies weeping in the morning."

"You are a Job's comforter, and ought to be called Bildad the Shuhite.

Was not he the worst of the three, and would have the last word?"

Joseph shook his head. He was not acquainted with the Book of Job.

"I am jealous for the honour of my prophet," he laughed.

Standing on the bridge, we could see the dark flowing water beneath--a narrow shallow stream here, which reflected the flashing stars. The houses were steeped in gloom, all their quaint, old-world aspect hidden away. The night was growing apace, and it suddenly occurred to us that we had made a half-engagement with Delormais to hear pa.s.sages from his life. Would he hold us to it? Or would reflection have brought a change of plans and an early pillow?

Surely there is a mental or psychological magnetism about people, neither realised nor understood, never sufficiently taken into account.

As the thought flashed over us, a tall dark form in long cloak and round hat, full of dignity and power, turned the corner and approached the bridge. It was the priest.

"I knew it!" he cried in that sonorous voice which was like a deep and mellow diapason. "An unseen influence guided me to the bridge. You told me you were going to the opera. I felt that when it was over you would come here star-gazing and lose yourselves in this wonderful scene. And here, had I not sought you out, you would have remained another hour, forgetting the engagement to which I hold you."

"Nay, at this very moment recollection came to us," we returned. "We were wondering whether for once you had changed your mind and sought an early repose."

"My approach influenced you," said Delormais: "work of the magnetic power constantly pa.s.sing to and fro between kindred spirits, as real as it is little estimated. No one believed in it more firmly than Goethe, who in spite of his contradictory life was in close touch with the supernatural. And amongst my own people, how many have declared the reality of this mysterious link between the material and spiritual. Even sceptical Voltaire admitted some invisible influence he could not a.n.a.lyse. Sceptical? Will you persuade me a man with so terrible a death-bed was ever sceptic at heart? It is impossible. But how could you think I should change my mind and forget my engagement? Uncertainty plays no part either in your character or mine. Let us to our rooms.

There you will lend me your ears, and I will brew you black coffee to refresh you after your evening's dissipation. And if you like you shall bring your century-old flask, and I will not read you a homily. Or was it only the contents of the flask that was a century old?"

The hotel was at hand. We four alone possessed the street and awoke the silent echoes. Always excepting the ubiquitous old watchmen, who seemed to spend half their time in gazing at the great doorway, flashing weird lights and shadows with their lanterns. These they now turned upon us, but recognising the ecclesiastical figure, quickly lowered their lights, turned the spears of their staffs to the ground, and gave a military salute.

"As a member of the Church Militant such a greeting is perhaps not out of place," he laughed. "No general on this earth ever fought more valiantly than I to gain battles--but the weapons are wide as the issues. They fight for an earthly, I for a heavenly kingdom."

He spoke a few words to the watchmen; bade them be strong and of good courage; and we fancied--we were not quite certain--that he glided a small token of good-will into their hands.

Then we crossed the road, entered the courtyard, and pa.s.sed up the broad marble staircase.