shops; the numerous tents and booths were pitched in the centre of the place. The women looked picturesque in their white lace mantillas, which, however, were by no means so becoming to them as their black ones. The men seemed all to have put on their new winter caps, so brilliant were their hues—brightest crimson, purple, and brown. The proper adjusting of the said caps, which in shape resembled that of an old-fashioned nightcap, seemed of the highest importance. We saw a group surrounding a handsome lad of sixteen, arranging his brilliant carmine cap in half a dozen different fashions ere they were satisfied with the general effect. Some wear the cap with the long end, hanging on one side of their faces, others let it fall at the back, or turn the end over their heads, so that the general effect resembles the head-gear of an Italian peasant woman. There were cakes and fritters of all sorts frizzling over charcoal fires, ears of maize being roasted in queer black pots, and innumerable vendors of iced drinks and lemonades, all praising their wares with discordant cries, which speedily drove us from the scene.
The Catalans are not handsome: they are a sturdy, strong-built, robust race. They have ever been a rebellious, independent people: at one time they were almost a province of brigands and smugglers. Within the last few months they have shown their determination and power of will, by sending up a strong deputation to Madrid, to obtain the repeal of an Act they considered injurious to their trade, and, in spite of court and cabinet ministers, gaining their point.
On our return to the Fonda, we found the Señora, undeterred by our arguments, and determined to have her way, busily occupied in arranging two extra beds in the small sleeping-room. We momentarily acquiesced, and proceeded to partake of a most homely dinner—puchero, or bread floating in greasy soup, with fish stuffed with garlic, consumptive fowls, and omelettes full of saffron. Having concluded this elegant refection, we resolved to test the merits of the Opera, which we saw advertised all over the town. Considering the size and small importance of Gerona, we expected to find a booth and a performance much on a par with what is to be met with at a Sunday fête at St. Cloud. What was our surprise to find a really pretty and tasteful little theatre, got up with the minimum of expense and the maximum of taste. The decorations were of the simplest nature, mere tastefully painted boards, panelled with a simple beading, which was gilt. The merit consisted in the general fresh and gay appearance. The boxes contained but straw chairs, and the seats in the centre of the building were of rough, unplaned wood, more like perches than seats.
A well-painted drop-scene hid the stage from view. While the impromptu orchestra was trying our nerves to the utmost with its twanging and squeaking, we had time to look at the audience. All round the house was one tier of boxes, if they could be so named, as the divisions were low enough to admit of talking to neighbours on either side. In the centre, facing the stage, was a gorgeously decorated box, with the royal arms painted over it, and, by a pleasing fiction, reserved for majesty. Pretty faces adorned the balcony, and the dresses were so clean and fresh they would not have disgraced any Madrilenian belle. But the most attractive part of the audience were seated in the pit. Peasant women in all their finery—beads encircling their necks, heavy gold drops in their ears, and their thick glossy black hair coiled round and round at the back of their heads, and ornamented with silver filagree pins enriched with bottle-glass, or emeralds, as they call them. The men, with their gay Phrygian caps, further enlivened the scene. They took their places with the greatest order and decorum, and waited with exemplary patience for the rising of the curtain. It was indeed a pleasant sight to see the joyful, expectant faces all around, and to reflect on the quiet, harmless nature of their amusements, so different from the uproarious diversions of a Dutch kermis and the coarse brutality of an English fair. It is a great advantage to peasants where the costume is retained, as their good plain clothes give them an air of respectability which the poor in this country never have; tawdry bonnets and battered hats stand out ill in comparison with mantillas, clean bright handkerchiefs, and sombreros.
The “Ballo in Maschera” was given most creditably. The tenor had a rich oily voice; the bass was not very base; and though the prima donna shrieked at the top of a cracked voice, and behaved throughout more like a galvanised eel than a woman, still the little page had a true clear pipe like a throstle, and the general result was most creditable. The dresses were admirable, and the acting, if occasionally grotesque, was by so much the more amusing. Between every act a general rush out of the theatre took place to the neighbouring cafe, and great was the pains taken by the attending José that his Dulcinea should have her own place on her return. The peasants thoroughly enjoyed the whole performance, and encored rapturously, frowning indignantly at the strangers who allowed any occasional incongruity to betray them into laughter. The conclusion came all too soon, to judge by their faces. But the fun of the fair was not over. All night through, parties paraded the streets, singing ballads and love ditties with a vigour which did more credit to their lungs than their ears, and which elicited many an anathema from the gentlemen who, in spite of the landlady, had taken possession of the draughty “comedor” for the night.
Early the next morning we bade farewell to the grand old cathedral, where a priest was droning through matins. Crowds of working men, and women with picturesque white serge hoods on, were kneeling on the pavement, commencing the day with thanksgiving. From the top of the high steps was a splendid view of the Pyrenees, their grey peaks contrasting with the crimson streaks of early dawn. The prayers seemed soon ended, and men and women, as they ran down the long flight of stairs, exchanged friendly greetings. On their homeward way the women stopped at the baker’s and slung on to their arms one or more large bracelets of loaves, which is the shape in which the staff of life is there manufactured.