GERONA THE BEAUTIFUL.
A Gerona senora--Grace and charm--Lord of creation--Morning
greeting--Arcades and ancient houses--Conscription--Gerona a
discovery--Streets of steps--Ancient eaves and rare
ironwork--Old-world corner--Desecrated church--Gothic
cloisters--Ghosts of the past--Visions of to-day--Soldiers
interested--"Happy as kings"--Lingerings--Colonel seeks
explanation--No lover of antiquity--More conscription--Dramatic
scene--Pedro to the rescue--Mother and son--Sad story--Strong and
merciful--Pedro grateful--Restricted interests--Colonel becomes
impenetrable again.
Last night we had found much to admire, though in the darkness the
charms were only half seen. This morning on opening our window clouds
hung low and threatening; yet the grey tone over all was in such
singular harmony with the ancient city that we hardly regretted the
gloomy skies.
Immediately opposite our casement was a small draper's shop presided
over by an industrious feminine genius. She was up betimes and worked as
though she had taken to heart all the proverbs of Solomon. A short, dark
woman of the true Spanish type, bright, active, and not above all manner
of work, for she swept her pavement diligently and arranged her wares;
doing all with a certain natural grace that was not without its charm.
We thought her a young widow struggling for existence, but when all the
work was done and everything was comfortably arranged, a husband
appeared upon the scene; evidently a lord of creation who looked upon
women, and especially wives, as born to labour. It was their portion
under the sun. She had no doubt grown used to this state of things and
accepted it as part of life's penances.
"I hope you have slept well," we heard her say with the slightest tinge
of sarcasm--the street was so narrow as to bring them almost within
half-a-dozen yards of us. "I have been up these two hours, whilst you
were serenely unconscious," veiling her head in a graceful mantilla.
"Yet you hardly seem refreshed," as he yawned lazily.
"_Cara mia_, you are an admirable woman and the best of wives. I admit
that without your aid life would go hardly with me. But to you work is a
pleasure, and I would not deprive you of it for the world."
[Illustration: A FRAGMENT OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF GERONA.]
By this time the mantilla was adjusted and the dark little woman swept
good-temperedly out of the shop. The prettiest of small feet tripped on
to the pavement. She looked up, saw us gazing in her direction, and her
smile disclosed the whitest of teeth.
"Ah, senor, you have heard our conjugal Good-morning. It is always the
same. Fate has been hard upon us women. The weaker vessel, we get
terribly imposed upon by our masters. Now I go to church to pray for a
blessing upon my work and reformation to my lord. Not that he is bad or
unkind or tyrannical, as husbands go--only incorrigibly lazy. Oh, you
know it is true, Stefano."
Upon which the little lady--she was quite lady-like in spite of swept
pavement and hard work--made us a court-curtsey, flourished a farewell
to her _caro sposo_, and passed swiftly and gracefully down the street.
It is said that only Spanish women know how to walk, and there is some
truth in the proverb.
Rain had fallen heavily during the night, as the watchmen reported
through the small hours. It had ceased--with a promise of more to come.
Remembering the proverb we took umbrellas. H. C. shouldered his and put
on his military manner. The town indeed, quiet as it was, seemed full of
a military atmosphere, for conscription was still going on and we
presently came upon the official scene.
We had gone out without our amiable guide to wander at will and let
chance take us whither it would. In the light of day the arcades seemed
deeper, more massive, more picturesque even than last night. Standing on
the bridge we looked down upon the dry bed of the river far below. The
altars of the chestnut-roasters were cold and dead; the demons absent.
But even at that moment there came down a small band of them to rake out
fires and prepare for action.
The ancient houses on either side make this view from the bridge one of
the most remarkable in the world. These rose straight from the
river-bed, and where water still ran their outlines were reflected:
houses looking old enough to date from the days of the deluge: a huge
mass once white, now yellow, brown and black with weather and age. All
the windows seemed to have been taken out, resulting in that curious air
of unglazed wreck and ruin so often seen in warm latitudes. Countless
balconies adorned with flowers and coloured draperies hung over the
water. Above all rose the outlines of the cathedral and other churches
in the background with striking effect. The distant view was closed in
by the winding river, where the houses on both sides appeared to join
hands. Just beyond this we had stood last night listening to the
rustling of the reeds, lost in the scene so vividly reflected by the
lurid glare of the torches.
[Illustration: STREET IN GERONA.]
People were gradually waking up and opening their stalls. All down the
long thoroughfare were more ancient and massive arcades, hardly noticed
last night in the restless crowd. In this country _par excellence_ of
arcades we had never seen such as these.
"Gerona is a discovery," said H. C. for the twentieth time. "The view
from this bridge is something to dream about. Yet one longs for sunshine
and lights and shadows. Remarkable as the scene is, it is a study in
grey. We want contrast."
But the town had more wonders in reserve, when presently our host's son
joined us and pointed out the hidden treasures of the narrow tortuous
streets. Houses with gabled ends, tiled roofs and windows ornamented
with magnificent wrought ironwork; the true tone of antiquity over
all--as yet unspoilt. Gerona, in its dying prosperity, has, like
Segovia, escaped the ravages of the restorer. Its substantial mansions
are firm and steadfast as in the far gone Middle Ages.
The irregularities of the place add to its charm. Built on rising
ground, the streets are a pilgrimage of rough, uneven, picturesque
steps. From these, narrow openings lead into many a _cul-de-sac_ crowded
with ancient outlines that are nothing less than artistic dreams.
We soon came to one of these ascending streets with its endless flight.
Far up, it was crowned by a church with a solitary square tower and a
Renaissance west front. Houses on either side had wonderful ironwork
windows; we cannot help reverting to this special feature; and many a
gothic casement was rich in the remains of refined tracery and
ornamented balconies; whilst from the deep overhanging eaves quaint
waterspouts here and there craned their long necks like gargoyles of
some ancient cathedral. Reaching the church and turning to the right
down a narrow passage between high dead walls we found ourselves in an
excited scene: no less than the building given up to the rites of
conscription. The spot and its surroundings was one of the most
picturesque in Gerona. A long, broad flight of steps led up to an
ancient church now desecrated and turned into barracks. Groups of young
soldiers were clustered together and sentinels paced to and fro. To the
left, facing the long flight, low ancient houses wonderful in tone and
construction were decorated with wrought ironwork windows, some of them
almost Moorish in design, the upper floors terminating in round open
arcades and tiled roofs with projecting eaves; one of those old-world
bits only to be seen in these mediaeval towns of Spain.
We climbed the steps and braved the sentinel, feeling there must or
ought to be hidden cloisters attached to this old church of which
nothing remained but the west front. But we were not to pass
unchallenged. An inner sentry came up and asked our business. Hearing
that we wished to see the cloisters, he beckoned to a further sentry who
evidently belonged to the colonel or commandant of the regiment.
Permission was soon brought, and pointing out the way, we were left to
our own devices.
Instinct had not failed us. In a few moments we were standing in the
midst of large lovely old cloisters with Gothic arcades resting on
slender coupled marble columns. Above these rose a gallery of round
arcades supported by single pillars with carved capitals, the arches,
wider and more open than the pointed arches beneath them, presenting a
fine contrast. A deep archway reached by some half-dozen steps led
through the palace to the east end of the cathedral and the town walls
beyond. In the square in front of palace and cathedral was an ancient
and beautiful well. Above these again a slanting tiled roof fitly
crowned the scene.
Here in days gone by monks and priests had paced the silent corridors. A
sacred atmosphere in which the world had no part hung over all.
Father-confessors listened to the secret struggles of young novices who
hoped to leave the vanities and temptations of life outside the walls of
their cells, only to find that in this state of probation conflict can
never cease. So confessions were made and penances exacted, and soft
footsteps and pale faces haunted those quiet cloisters. Large dark
eyes--larger and darker for the sunk cheeks--gazed upwards at the sky
that canopied the quadrangle with such divine peace, vainly seeking a
clue to the mysteries of existence.
To-day all was changed. The cloisters were still militant, but in quite
another way. All the ancient serenity and repose had departed and the
beauty of outline alone remained. Soldiers and recruits in every stage
of undress went about in restless activity.
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO MILITARY CLOISTERS: GERONA.]
In the upper gallery some were making or mending clothes, others drawing
from the well in what was once the cloister garden. It was still
ornamented with its fine old ironwork. Monks and priests once looked
down and saw pale, cowled faces reflected in the calm water; and perhaps
as they drew it to the surface there came a vision of another well in a
far-off land and a certain woman of Samaria. No such vision troubled the
five or six closely-cropped soldiers, whose reflected images below had
nothing saintly, troubled or questioning about them. These rough
specimens of an undersized, undisciplined army were out of all harmony
with the ancient outlines that nothing could deprive of their beauty and
refinement.
We felt the charm and incongruity of it all. The men crowded within a
few yards of us, delighted at being taken by the small camera,
interested at finding themselves reflected on the object glass, unhappy
that we could not there and then present each with a photograph duly
printed and mounted. Such a machine surely performed miracles.
"You all look very happy," H. C. remarked, for more carelessly contented
faces were never seen--a mixture of types good and bad.
"As happy as kings," they answered. "We eat, drink and sleep well.
Clothes and lodging are found us and we never have any fighting to do.
We should like a little more money for tobacco--but one can't have
everything."
Finally, we stayed so long answering questions, satisfying curiosity,
lingering over the beauty of the cloisters, that the colonel himself
appeared upon the scene in full uniform, sword and all. No lover of
architecture, he could not understand how any one bestowed a second
glance on these old outlines. Were we trying to worm military secrets
out of the men with the intention of starting another Peninsular war?
The worthy colonel who had so freely given us permission to enter was
now anxious for an explanation. Pointing out the charm and merit of the
cloisters--the pity they should have transposed the order of things and
turned pruning-hooks into swords--he declared he could not agree with
us.
"I discover no great beauty in these old corridors," he said, "and would
infinitely rather see them filled with brave soldiers than with a parcel
of effeminate monks and priests."
We argued the fitness of things--a time and place for everything.
"If there were once more a siege of Gerona I would turn our very
churches into barracks," laughed our colonel, clanking his sword and
looking fierce as a fire-eater. "And who knows? As far as I am a prophet
we are not anywhere near the days of the millennium. There are more
signs of universal war than of eternal peace."
We had left the cloisters and were standing almost within touch of the
west front of what had been the church. The colonel caught our "mild
regretful gaze," laughed and clanked his sword again.
[Illustration: MILITARY CLOISTERS: GERONA.]
"What will you?" he said. "After all, I would not have been the one to
do it myself; but finding it done, I use it without prickings of
conscience. See," pointing to the crowd below, "we must have room for
our recruits. Poor Spain is not England. Our resources are limited. Yet
you, sirs, monarchs of the world notwithstanding, had your days of
desecration under Cromwell. Opportunity given, and all evil is possible
as well as all good."
The crowd alluded to was full of dramatic interest. The very walls of
the great grey building seemed pregnant with the chances of fate; the
wide doorway greedy to swallow up the youth of the country. Young men
disappeared within to the human lottery with anxious faces or reckless
humour. Free agents this morning, to-night perhaps bound down to
servitude: a willing bondage to some, to others worse than a death-blow.
Perhaps the chief interest centred in the crowd of elders--parents and
friends waiting for the verdict--many a face full of that patient
endurance so terrible to look upon. Mothers with the sickness of hope
deferred, to whom the very shadow of war was a nightmare; fathers
wondering if the boy who had now become companion and part bread-winner,
was about to be thrown into the whirl of barrack life with its manifold
temptations. They had passed that way in their own youth and knew that
only the strong are firm. Stalwart amongst the crowd we recognised
Pedro, our last night's platform acquaintance.
"Why, Pedro," said the colonel--we were standing just a little above the
people--"what brings you here to-day? Surely you have made your offering
to the country and your boy is now at Tarragona?"
"True, colonel," returned this veteran, firm as an oak tree. "My boy has
left me; I saw him off last night and you might have heard the noise
going on up here; half the town was at the station. I have no fears for
him. He knows good from evil and has strong principles. I gave him my
blessing and please Heaven he will return when the years are over. But
my heart aches for these poor women who are weak when their emotions are
in question. So I thought I would come and console them a bit, and tell
them that military discipline after all is a very fine thing--the best
thing that could happen to them if they only do their duty. You agree,
colonel?"
"Of course I do," returned the colonel sharply. "There is no training
like it. It makes men of boys if they have only an inch of wood in them
that will bear carving."
[Illustration: WAITING FOR THE VERDICT.]
We had noticed one pale woman close to the doorway, drooping and
woe-begone. She seemed superior to those about her, and over her head,
half draping her face, was the graceful mantilla. At that moment a youth
appeared, a handsome, manly image of his mother--the resemblance was at
once evident; his thread-bare clothes proving him scantily endowed with
worldly goods. As he advanced a serious expression and hesitating
manner betrayed his fate. No need to ask the question, and with a cry
that was half sob, wholly despair, the mother threw her arms about her
boy's neck as though life could hold no further ill for her. At such a
moment reticence was thrown to the winds. What to her the lookers-on?
Were they not all fellow-sufferers?
"A sad story," said our colonel, whose eyes glistened. "They were
amongst the most prosperous people in Gerona, when the husband died and
left them almost in poverty. Her eldest son turned scapegrace and this
boy was her last hope. No doubt she feels that fate is hard upon her.
Pedro," to the old man who looked on compassionately, "tell her it will
all come right in the end. Stay; quietly whisper to her to come to my
office to-morrow morning at ten and ask for me. I will promise to keep a
special eye upon that boy of hers. He is of finer mould and deserves a
better fate than many. I will see that he has it."
Pedro looked his gratitude, thought there was only one colonel in the
world, and he stood before him. To be strong and merciful is to win
hearts.
"There is more interest for me in this little crowd than in all your
ecclesiastical outlines," said the colonel. "I never saw a building that
I did not tire of in a week, but my work and my men interest me more
year by year. I feel I have something to live for."
He was small and wiry, this colonel, with piercing dark eyes and a mouth
of which a fierce moustache could not conceal the kindliness. One wished
him a finer body of men than these recruits, too many of whom were of
the lowest type and had not, to use his own metaphor, even the inch of
wood that would bear carving.
"That need not greatly trouble you," he said. "It is surprising how many
are the exceptions. After all, it is a survival of the fittest. But I
see you are interested in humanity just as much as I am," noting how we
followed every movement and expression of this pathetic little crowd.
"So far your resources are wider than mine, for when on the subject of
old buildings you are as absorbed as in front of this little drama. My
interests are more restricted. Well then, if you like to come to my
office to-morrow morning at ten you shall have more food for your
sympathies. We will interview that poor woman together and see how far
we can minister consolation to the widow and fatherless."
This was not one's idea of severe military discipline, but we could not
help admiring a nature that after years of experience and repeated
discouragements--in spite of what he had said--still possessed so warm a
heart, so much of human faith. No doubt he had shown a little of his
true self on the spur of the moment, influenced by the above incidents.
All his kindliness of feeling was kept well out of sight of others. The
next instant he had passed beyond the sentry and was holding forth in
tones hard as the Pyramids, cold as the Sphinx.