Glories of Spain

by Charles W. Wood

"A thousand pardons, gentlemen," he began, as far as want of breath would allow him. "I did not know any one was out and went for a short walk just to breathe the midnight air and contemplate the stars. I heard you knocking when quite a mile away. You have indeed the strength of Hercules. And there is also something peculiar in this knocker. You may hear it all over the town, but cannot hear it in the hotel unless you are in the porter's lodge. It has been said the house is bewitched, and I think it; for once, when the Bishop breakfasted here, as soon as he entered the doors a loud report was heard and the place trembled, just as if some evil spirit were frightened and had departed in a flash of lightning. If you only knew how I ran when I heard the knocker, you would pity me."

"I guessed what was up," said our watchman, "but waited, thinking you would be sure to arrive. Contemplating the stars with you, Juan, means taking an extra glass or two at your favourite bodega. You are too fond of leaving your post, and one of these days your post will leave you."

This we thought highly probable, but the porter merely shrugged his shoulders, intimating that if he lost one place another would turn up. He applied one of the great keys to the lock, and the great door rolled open.

We passed into a dark vaulted passage which rather reminded us of the gloomy entrance to the Hospederia at Montserrat. Upstairs every one had gone to bed, and they had not even left us a light. But for the night porter we might have sat all night upon chairs. When the candles threw out a faint illumination, H. C. looked round shudderingly as though he expected to see the Dragon lurking in some corner.

We had found out that this extraordinary creature rejoiced in the charming name of Rose, and mentioned the name aloud.

"Rose," said the night porter, "that is my wife. She is not a beauty, señor, but she can't scold—she has no voice. When I see other good-looking wives rating their husbands I say to myself, 'Ah ha, my fine fellow! after all beauty is only skin-deep. I wouldn't exchange my peace of mind for all your handsome wives put together.' I married her because she had no voice and also earns good wages. But though she is voiceless by day, she snores by night, and really becomes quite musical. It is a singular contradiction, but nature is freaky."

He marshalled us to our rooms, a candle in each hand, striding along with great dignity and evidently thinking that he was the life and soul of the establishment. Putting the candles on the sitting-room table, he backed towards the door, made a low bow, once more apologised for being absent without leave and keeping us beating a midnight tattoo, and begged as a favour that we would not mention the circumstance to the landlord.

This we readily promised, and as it was utterly impossible to maintain any sort of gravity on the occasion, the night porter, wishing us refreshing slumbers, departed in great peace of mind—probably to resume his devotions at the untimely bodega. We heard his receding footsteps, and the house sank into repose.

The next morning there was not a cloud in the sky. Our study in grey had given place to more positive tones. H. C.'s rainy season had been a pure effort of the imagination. Sebastien was right after all, and in sheer gratitude we sat down and wrote an epistle to his master that would have moved a heart of stone. We represented in glowing colours the happiness of the young pair that a word from him could make or mar; enlarged upon the moral question of conferring pleasure where it was possible, and wound up with a rash assertion, almost an undertaking, that Sebastien would prove a tower of strength to the well-being of the hotel. The result has been recorded.