area was now given up to silence and
weeds.

"It is full of a sad atmosphere and melancholy recollections," said
Anselmo. "One goes back in spirit to the terrible days of the past.
First that War of Succession, when Gerona with two thousand men manfully
but hopelessly resisted Philip V. with an army five times as great.
Again in 1808, with three hundred men, chiefly English, she repulsed
Duhesme with his six thousand warriors. In 1809 the French besieged her
with thirty-five thousand men. Alvarez, who was then Governor--you will
have observed his house in the cathedral square--was terribly
handicapped. He had little food and scarcely any ammunition, but was one
of the bravest and wisest men of Spain. The siege was long and fierce,
the suffering great. We were much helped by the English, but your
gallant Colonel Marshall was killed in the breaches. It is said that
Alvarez wept at his death, declaring he had lost his right hand. In such
straits was the town that even the women enrolled themselves into a
company dedicated to Santa Barbara. The enemy failed to take the city;
never was resistance more manful and determined. Many of the besieging
generals gave up in angry impatience and went off.

"But at last two new enemies arose--famine and disease--inseparable
spectres. Before these Gerona could not stand. Everything depended on
Alvarez, and he fell a prey to fever. A successor was appointed whose
first and last act was to capitulate. The siege had lasted nearly eight
months, and the French lost fifteen thousand men. So," looking around,
"we are on classic ground, sacred to courage, consecrated by human
suffering, watered with streams of human blood. Gerona has never
recovered. She has steadily declined and still declines.

[Illustration: OUTSIDE THE WALLS: GERONA.]

Nevertheless, she is and ever will be Gerona the brave and beautiful."

Anselmo had not exaggerated. Gerona was indeed a revelation. It is not a
Segovia, for there is only one Segovia in the world; but, little known
or visited, it is yet one of Spain's most picturesque and interesting
towns. Nature and art have combined to make it so--the art of the Middle
Ages, not of to-day. A modern element exists, but the new and the old,
the hideous and the beautiful are so well divided by the river, that you
may wander through the ancient streets undisturbed by the nineteenth
century and fancy yourself in dreamland.

[Illustration: CLOISTERS OF SAN PEDRO.]

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