There was another white temple-like structure in the Plaza, a round roof upon columns of marble, which sheltered musicians. In a European city it would have been a “kiosk” or a “bandstand”; here it was a lovely work of art, which took away the breath by its grace and fitness. Some musicians were moving away from the shelter, having finished their playing: the crowd which had been loitering or lounging about the music was now breaking up. Most of it was setting towards a theatre which stood under bright lights on the southern side of the Plaza. Sard went with the crowd, with a feeling which he had never known before, that to be with many people, in bright light, is a satisfaction, an excitement, a consolation.
Outside the theatre doors were the bills of the play, which gave yet another shock to Sard.
“Theatre Jane Jennings.
Numancia,
by Cervantes.
Tafoya. Archuleta. Vizcarra.”
Theatre of Jane Jennings, playing a poetical tragedy by Cervantes. Why, when he had come there in the Venturer Jane Jennings was alive there, a byword, a most notorious bawd, the talk of all the fo’c’sles in port, infamous herself and the cause of infamy in others. Adam Bolter had been to her house and had talked and drunk with her. “A big, fat, black-haired woman, with a hooky nose: she was always either swearing or singing lullabies.” Now for her heroic defiance a simple people had made her a heroine, a national heroine. All that was evil in her had dropped from her, like rags or lice, leaving only something noble. He felt the nobleness. She had had her throat cut there in front of those dingy houses rather than do a dirty thing. Now her memory was kept alive in that place, as one whose fineness alone counted; the rest was rightly forgotten. She had come from Bermondsey and had been a bawd; now there were marble busts of her and a theatre named after her in a capital city.
He paid tribute to her memory by entering her theatre. He heard Tafoya, Archuleta, Vizcarra and their companions speak the verse of that great soldier-of-fortune. But he could not heed the tragedy.
His mind was full of what he had heard in Mr. Waycock’s office.
“What does it all amount to?” he kept asking himself. “I met a girl, many years ago, who altered my life for me: all my time has been a dream of her. Then in my dream, hearing those men at the fight, I went to warn some strangers; for they were strangers, name and nation different from hers. I warned them. I might just as well have held my tongue and gone on board; they did not profit by my warning. Now the girl who did not take my warning is safe and sound with her friends, while my friend is dead, my ship is on the Snappers a total loss, and I myself am alive only by miracle.