ury--possibly earlier;
the present church dates from the beginning of the twelfth, when it was
given to the Benedictine Convent of Santa Maria by the Bishop of
Carcassonne.

We passed through the lovely old doorway to the uninteresting interior:
a nave and isles with rude arches and piers plain and square. There was
something cold and pagan about the general effect, exaggerated no doubt
by contrast with the cathedral we had just left. Anselmo was not
insensible to the influence.

"If I were Vicar of San Pedro, half the delight of my days would
vanish," he said. "Instead of living in a refined, almost celestial
atmosphere, existence would be a daily protest against paganism. Let us
pass to the cloisters."

Here indeed the scene changed. Smaller than those of the cathedral, they
were almost as beautiful and effective though more ruined and more
restored.

"Not time but wanton mischief has been at work here," said Anselmo. "The
work of destruction was due to the French in the Peninsular War. Which
of Spain's treasures did they leave untouched?"

Nevertheless a great part of their beauty remained. The passages were
full of collected fragments; old tombs, broken pillars, carved capitals
and ancient crosses: a museum of antiquities: and the Norman arches
resting upon their marble shafts were a wonderful setting to the whole.
Above them, all round the cloisters, a series of small blind Norman
arcades rested upon delicately carved corbels--charming and unusual
detail.

[Illustration: DOORWAY OF SAN PEDRO: GERONA.]

Within a few yards of San Pedro was a still more ancient and interesting
church with a most picturesque interior; yet a church no longer, for it
has been turned into workshops. A low octagonal tower crowns a red-tiled
roof with slightly overhanging eaves. Beneath the eaves repose small
blind arcades, and here and there in the lower hall other arcades are
gradually crumbling away. The wonderful roof is rounded and broken into
sections to suit the plan of the building. Ancient eyelets admit faint
rays of light, and a fine rounded arch points to what was once the
principal doorway.

The interior is domed, vaulted and massive, black with age. Small, it
seems to carry one back to the days when Christians were few and
worshipped in secret. Now fitted as a carpenter's shop, it is full of
the sound of hammer and plane. In one corner, men are melting glue and
heating irons at a huge fireplace. The floor is uneven a