ore us, at the end of the short
entrance-court was a large and splendid archway, and beyond we had a
distant view of the Gothic cloisters.

[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO CLOISTERS: POBLET.]

The interior was so immense, the passages were so intricate, we could
never have found our way without the custodian. Nothing could be
lovelier than the half-ruined cloisters. The large exquisite windows
were of rich pointed work, seven bays on each side, pillars and tracery
either almost all gone, or partly restored. In one corner of the
quadrangle was a hexagon glorieta enclosing the fountain that in days
gone by supplied monks and bishops with water. Weeds and shrubs and
stunted trees grew about it; a rare wilderness. Above rose the outlines
of battlemented walls; of ruined pointed windows, lovely in decay; of
crumbling stairways, rich mouldings and pointed roofs. The cloister
passages opened to enormous rooms. On the east side was the
chapter-house, supported by four exquisite pillars, from which sprang
the groining of the roof; the doors and windows were specially graceful
and refined; the floor was paved with monumental stones of the
dead-and-gone abbots, many of the inscriptions effaced by time.

Near this was the large refectory with pillars and pointed vault. Up the
staircase, which still remains, we passed to the palace del Rey Martin;
King Martin the Humble as he was called; and large and baronial in days
gone by the palace must have been, its very aspect transporting one to
feudal times. Below the palace were enormous vaults where the wine was
once stored: great vats and channels, and a whole series of processes to
which the wine was subjected. Those must have been bacchanalian days,
and supplies never failed. All the rooms--the Chocolateria, where the
abbots took their chocolate, the Novitiate, of enormous dimensions, the
Library, the room of the Archives, the room that contained the rich
monastery treasure, another that had nothing but rare MSS., some of
which are scattered but many more destroyed--all these rooms seemed
countless, and each had its special charm and atmosphere.

It was impossible to enter the refectory with its vaulted roof lost in
the semi-obscurity which reigned, without conjuring up a vision of monks
and abbots who in past centuries feasted here and quaffed each other in
draughts of rich Malvoisie. In the palace del Rey Martin, we imagined
all the regal pomp and splendour in which the king delighted