r not to
the verdict of the public, he ceased to write plays and assumed
instead the nobler role of patron to unrecognized authors and artists
and to ruined managers.

Any youth from the provinces who arrived in Madrid with a drama in his
pocket could take no surer road to seeing it produced than that which
led to the home of Don Jeronimo. One and all, he received them with
open arms, the good and the bad alike. There is no denying that,
since he was rather brusque in his ways, he never spared the young
authors who asked his advice and read him their productions, but
criticized vigorously, even to the verge of insult: "This whole
episode is sheer nonsense; spill your ink-well on it!" "Why, look
here, for the love of heaven! How do you suppose that a man who is on
the point of committing murder is going to stand there for sixteen
seconds, without drawing his breath?" "Lord, what tommyrot! Platonic
love for a woman of that class! You must have tumbled out of the nest
unfledged, my lad!"

But anyone possessed of a little tact refused to take offense, but
went calmly on and ended by intrusting his manuscript to the hands of
Don Jeronimo. And he could rest assured that his drama would be
produced. The veteran of the greenrooms exercised a strong influence,
akin to intimidation, over managers and actors alike; when he was
displeased, he gave his tongue free rein; if a play had been hissed,
he would protest, boiling with rage, against the public verdict, and
would continue to support the author more stanchly than ever. If on
the contrary it scored a hit, he merely kept silent and smiled
ecstatically, but never sought out the successful author in order to
congratulate him. And if the latter should complain of his
indifference, his answer was:

"Now that you have shown that you can use your wings, will you please,
my friend, will you please leave me free to succor some other poor
fellow?"

His private life offered little of special interest. Every night,
upon leaving the theater, he betook himself to the _Cafe Habanero_,
where he habitually consumed a beefsteak, together with a small
measure of beer. And, according to a certain friend, who had watched
him repeatedly, he always managed his repast so artfully as to finish,
at one and the same time, the last mouthful of meat, the last fragment
of bread, and the last draught of beer.

On this particular night the little gathering was unwontedly animated.
The actress's friend