In the orchestra
the men had promptly lighted their cigars and the air was blue with
smoke. Friends found one another, to their joyful amaze, not having met
since morning; and especially young girls were enraptured to recognize
young men; one girl shook hands twice with a young man, and gurgled with
laughter as long as he stood near her.
As a lifelong lover of the drama and a boyish friend of Granadan
romance, I ought to have cared more for the play than the people who had
come to it, but I did not. The play was unintentionally amusing enough;
but after listening for two hours to the monotonous cadences of the
speeches which the persons of it recited to one another, while the
ladies of the Moorish world took as public a part in its events as if
they had been so many American Christians, we came away. We had already
enjoyed the first entr'acte, when the men all rose and went out, or
lighted fresh cigars and went to talk with the Paris hats and plumes or
the Spanish mantillas and high combs in the boxes. The curtain had
scarcely fallen when the author of the play was called before it and
applauded by the generous, the madly generous, spectators.
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