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Title: The Little Spanish Dancer
Author: Brandeis, Madeline, 1897-1937
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Little Spanish Dancer" ***
THE LITTLE
SPANISH DANCER
[Illustration: A STREET IN SEVILLE]
_The_ LITTLE
SPANISH DANCER
BY
MADELINE BRANDEIS
_Photographic Illustrations_
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
_by arrangement with the A. Flanagan Company_
COPYRIGHT, 1936, BY A. FLANAGAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
AN INTERNATIONAL DEDICATION
TO
AILEEN
MY "PARISIAN" SISTER, HER "RUMANIAN" HUSBAND, AND THE MEMORY OF THE
"RUSSIAN" BALLET DANCING WHICH SHE USED TO DO IN "AMERICA" WHEN SHE
WAS THE AGE OF LITTLE "SPANISH" PILAR!
* * * * *
NOTE
The photographs in this book were taken in Spain by the author.
The character of "The Little Spanish Dancer" is portrayed by Pilar
Herrera, of Seville, a charming little girl, whom we wish to thank
for helping to decorate this book.
CONTENTS
PAGE
Chapter I
The Magic Castanets 9
Chapter II
An Old Red Cape 20
Chapter III
In Old Cadiz (A Legend of the Castanets) 32
Chapter IV
The Souvenirs Speak 44
Chapter V
In Old Granada (A Legend of the Castanets) 61
Chapter VI
Another Visit to Juan 71
Chapter VII
Four Old Paintings 77
Chapter VIII
Fiesta 89
Chapter IX
The Mystery of the Young Prince 100
Chapter X
A Stout Sweetheart 115
Chapter XI
Dance of the Six (A Legend of the Castanets) 123
Chapter XII
Pilar's Grandfather Remembers 134
Chapter XIII
Bullfight in Madrid (A Legend of the Castanets) 138
Chapter XIV
Where Is Pilar? 156
Chapter XV
A Stranger Arrives 163
Pronouncing Vocabulary 175
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
A STREET IN SEVILLE 2
THE LITTLE SPANISH DANCER 8
DANCING IN A PUBLIC SQUARE, SEVILLE 11
WHEN PILAR WAS LITTLE 14
PILAR KNELT DOWN BESIDE THE CHEST 17
GIRALDA TOWER, SEVILLE 19
STREET OF THE SERPENTS 21
ALCAZAR GARDENS, SEVILLE 25
JUAN, THE SHOPKEEPER 27
SEVILLE 29
CADIZ 33
STREET OF THE SERPENTS 36
ALCAZAR GARDENS, SEVILLE 40
SEVILLE 43
HOW COULD SHE GIVE THEM UP? 46
PUERTO DEL SOL, TOLEDO 49
BARCELONA 51
TOMB OF THE CHILDREN, EL ESCORIAL 54
PILAR LOOKED AT THE FAN 56
GYPSIES, GRANADA 60
GENERALIFE GARDENS, ALHAMBRA 62
BOABDIL SURRENDERING TO FERDINAND 66
GRANADA 68
POTTERY SHOP, TRIANA 74
COURT OF DOLLS, ALCAZAR 76
PILAR 78
SALAMANCA 82
ST. TERESA CONVENT, AVILA 84
PILAR IN HER COSTUME 90
THE MOSQUE, CORDOBA 92
ANDALUSIAN HAT 93
A FIELD NEAR CORDOBA 95
A DOUGHNUT STAND 97
AVILA 103
PARK IN MADRID, STATUE OF KING ALFONSO 107
BURGOS CATHEDRAL 109
MIRAFLORES MONASTERY, BURGOS 112
TOMBS OF FERDINAND AND ISABELLA, GRANADA CATHEDRAL 114
GIRL-DRAPED BALCONIES 117
GIBRALTAR 120
ALHAMBRA 122
DANCE OF THE SIX, SEVILLE CATHEDRAL 125
BOYS PLAYING BULLFIGHT 136
BULLFIGHT, MADRID 137
MADRID 144
_From a Painting by Goya_ DOÑA ISABEL CORBO DE
PORCEL 147
BULLFIGHT, MADRID 151
THE PRADO, MADRID 155
TOLEDO 159
TRIANA BRIDGE, SEVILLE 162
A NET MAKER, SEVILLE 166
TOLEDO 169
PILAR AND HER GRANDFATHER 172
[Illustration: THE LITTLE SPANISH DANCER]
The Little Spanish Dancer
CHAPTER I
THE MAGIC CASTANETS
Pilar was dancing in the Murillo (m[+u]-r[)i]l´[=o]) Garden. It was a
beautiful public garden named after the great Spanish painter, Murillo,
who died in a house near by.
Pilar had been born ten years ago in this old city of Seville
(s[+e]-v[)i]l´). If you had asked Pilar, "Where is New York?" she would
doubtless have laughed with her lovely dark eyes and inquired, "Is it in
Seville?" Because, to Pilar, as to most of her friends, there was only
one world, and that world was Seville.
Now a terrible thing was happening at Pilar's home this evening. But
Pilar did not know it because she was dancing in the garden. Every
night, after her grandfather went to bed, she ran off and danced with
her friends to the music of a hurdy-gurdy.
But tonight, after Pilar had left, her grandfather had been taken very
ill. The neighbors had sent for a doctor, who shook his head gravely
over the poor old man.
Pilar knew nothing about this as she clicked her castanets and whirled
about in the dance they call the Sevillana.
She was one of the best dancers in her group. And why not? Her mother
had been a dancer; her grandmother, too, yes, and her great-grandmother
and her great-great--oh, ever so many great-grandmothers! They had all
been dancers.
Pilar's parents had died when she was a baby. She lived alone with her
grandfather, and they struggled to keep the wolf named Hunger from
their door. Her grandfather was a shoemaker, but he worked slowly these
days because his hands were old.
[Illustration: DANCING IN A PUBLIC SQUARE, SEVILLE]
Once when Pilar was very little, someone had asked her what pleasures
she enjoyed most. She had answered, "The pleasures I enjoy most
are--dancing!"
Now this could easily be the answer of every little girl in southern
Spain. For while Italy sings, France designs, and Switzerland skates,
Spain dances. Why, it is even possible that little girls in Seville
would rather dance than go to moving picture shows!
Yet everyone in Seville does not feel that way, for the many open air
theaters all over the city are crowded. And what the people seem to like
best are the American comedies.
It was growing late, but Pilar seldom went to bed before midnight. She
would have told you that evening was the time to live and to laugh and
to dance. Then it was cool, while during the day the sun beat down
cruelly and people slept for hours.
Through the narrow streets Pilar made her way home at last. She heard
little snatches of song from the throats of strollers.
Everyone strolls in Seville; there is no hurry. Nearly everyone sings;
there is no worry. Hurry and worry are as much out of place in this city
as a woman's hat shop. For white flowers and black lace shawls take the
place of hats in Seville.
Pilar hummed to herself as she walked along. Some day she would grow up
to be a great dancer like her mother and--
What was that? A light in her house? She looked through the window and
saw the doctor bending over her grandfather's bed.
Pilar caught her breath. Then she rushed indoors and ran straight to her
grandfather's bedside. Sinking down on her knees, she burst into tears.
"Oh, Grandfather!" she cried. "You are ill! Dear Grandfather, what is
the matter?"
The doctor smoothed her soft, black hair and raised her to her feet.
"There, now, my child," he said. "You must not cry. You will only make
your grandfather worse. He will get well if you will do what I tell
you."
[Illustration: WHEN PILAR WAS LITTLE]
"What--what is that, doctor?" Poor Pilar was trembling.
"You must buy and cook good, nourishing food for him," said the doctor.
"And give him the medicines which I order."
Now Pilar's eyes were full of terror. "But, oh, doctor," she cried. "I
cannot do that. We have no money."
"No money?" The doctor looked at her pityingly.
"We live by what Grandfather makes when he can work," said Pilar. "Now
that he cannot work, there will be no money."
The doctor said, "Um-m" and stroked his beard. Then he asked, "Have you
nothing which you might sell?"
"Only--" And Pilar gazed into her tiny cubbyhole of a room next door.
"Only an old wooden chest filled with souvenirs, left to me by my
mother." She added in a whisper, "I could not sell them!"
The doctor was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I am afraid you must
sell them, Pilar, if you wish your grandfather to live."
When the doctor was gone, Pilar went into her room and looked at the
precious wooden chest. In it were the souvenirs which her mother had
collected throughout her interesting life as a dancer.
The doctor had given her grandfather medicine, and now he slept. But
what would happen in the morning?
Pilar shuddered. She was only a little girl, and she was afraid. The
doctor had said that her grandfather must have the best of everything,
or maybe he would die.
A tear splashed down upon the old, carved chest. There was only one
thing to do. Tomorrow she would go into town and sell one of her
mother's souvenirs so that she might buy medicine and food.
She brushed away the tears and began to look through her treasures.
There were a tall, graceful comb; a faded, but elegant fan; a richly
decorated old bonnet; oh, such lovely things! How could she ever part
with them?
She pulled out a pair of castanets (k[)a]s´-t[.a]-n[)e]ts´). Now, in
Spain, it seems that every baby is born with a pair of castanets in its
hand. Of course, I only said, "It seems." Yet some of the tiniest tots
are taught to click these wooden clappers to the rhythm of the
traditional Spanish songs and dances.
Castanets are shaped very much like chestnuts. They say that this is why
they are called castanuellos, which means "chestnuts" in Spanish.
[Illustration: PILAR KNELT DOWN BESIDE THE CHEST]
But those which had belonged to Pilar's mother were no ordinary
castanets. Indeed, they were said to possess some wonderful and
dangerous power.
Mysterious legends had passed from mother to daughter down through
Pilar's family. Each legend told of trouble caused by the loss of these
castanets. For whenever they had been lost, given, stolen, or sold,
misfortune had come to their owners.
A bit of verse, composed, no doubt, by the first ancestor who had used
them, warned thus:
"_Castanets, with magic spell,
Never lose or give or sell;
If you do, then grief and strife
Will follow you through all your life._"
But Pilar had never heard the old rime. Nor had her grandfather ever
told her the strange legends. He did not want to frighten her. Besides,
he realized that modern, educated people would have called such beliefs
very foolish.
So Pilar did not know about the power of the magic castanets, and she
fell asleep that night with these words going through her head: "Which
souvenir shall I sell tomorrow? Which one shall it be?"
[Illustration: GIRALDA TOWER, SEVILLE]
CHAPTER II
AN OLD RED CAPE
Morning came. Pilar attended her sick grandfather and made him
comfortable in his bed. He did not speak to her. He seemed to want to
doze all the time.
She went into her room and knelt down beside the wooden chest. She must
go now and sell one of the treasures. Which one should it be?
She took out each in turn and looked at them. All were so
precious--parts of her mother's life. Here was an old pair of castanets,
scarred and battered, not so pretty as the beautiful comb, the handsome
clock, the embroidered bonnet, or--
Perhaps she would sell those ugly castanets. And yet--just look at
this old red cape! Like a bullfighter's cape, only small and faded and
torn--surely the least interesting and attractive of her treasures. She
took it into her grandfather's room.
[Illustration: STREET OF THE SERPENTS]
"Grandfather," she said, "I am going to the shop of Juan (hwän)
Sanchez, and I shall ask him to buy this old cape. With the money I
shall buy food."
Her grandfather opened his dull eyes and looked first at the black-eyed,
rosy little Pilar and then at the old red cape.
"It belonged, once long ago, to--Tony--" he began.
Then his voice trailed off. He closed his eyes and fell asleep again. He
was very feeble.
Pilar kissed him gently and stole out of the house.
The narrow streets of Seville looked like thin Arabs with their arms
pressed close to their white-robed sides. They were bright with
sunlight. They were noisy with squawking motor horns, with chattering
men and women.
Juan's shop was on the Street of the Serpents, a wriggling ribbon
of a street with booths and shops and cafés--a street of ragged people,
of staring people, of chanting, selling people. But no automobiles or
wagons were allowed upon the Street of the Serpents.
Pilar met Juan Sanchez at the door of his tiny shop.
"Good morning, Señorita (s[=a]´ny[=o]-r[=e]´-tä) Pilar," he smiled.
He was glad to see Pilar. Everyone in Spain is always glad to see
children. This is a good thing, because Spain is overflowing with
children.
"Good morning, Señor (s[=a]-ny[=o]r´) Juan," said the little girl. Then,
timidly she held up the faded old cape. "Will you buy this from me?" she
asked. "My grandfather is ill, and I must have money to pay for food and
medicine."
Juan looked at the cape. He said nothing, but his mouth twitched as
though it wanted to smile. He turned the cape inside out and stared at
something he saw.
"The name 'Tony' is printed in ink on the inside of this cape," he said.
But Pilar was not interested. She only looked up at him and repeated
earnestly, "Will you buy it, señor? Will you?"
Juan shook his head. "No, Pilar," he answered. "I cannot buy it because
it is worth nothing to me."
Then as he saw the cloud cover her smile, he added, "But it may be worth
a great deal to you if you will send it away!"
"If I will send it away, señor?" Pilar thought that the good Juan must
be teasing her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he said, "that you must send it to America to the one whose
name is written here."
He pointed to the name Tony. It meant nothing until Juan explained.
[Illustration: ALCAZAR GARDENS, SEVILLE]
"Years ago," he said, "Tony was a little boy who played in the streets
of Seville. He liked to play bullfight. This is the cape with which he
angered the make-believe bull. I was that bull."
"You, Juan? You were the bull?" laughed Pilar.
"Yes, and a fierce one with great horns which I held proudly to my
head," answered Juan. "But today," he went on, "today this Tony--ah, he
is a very rich man. He has made many American dollars."
"But how did his cape come to be among my mother's souvenirs?" asked
Pilar.
"When Tony went away to seek his fortune in America," said Juan, "he
must have given it to your mother. They lived next door to each other
when they were children. They were very good friends."
"But why should I send the cape to Tony in America?" asked Pilar.
"Because," answered Juan, "I am sure that he will remember your mother
and help you in your trouble."
Pilar's eyes shone. "Oh, do you think so?" she cried.
[Illustration: JUAN, THE SHOPKEEPER]
Juan nodded his head knowingly. "I shall send it for you, Pilar," he
said. "And I shall write a letter, too, and tell Tony about your sick
grandfather. Now take this money, child, and buy what you need."
He pressed some coins into Pilar's hand, but she shrank back.
"Oh, no, no!" she exclaimed. "I cannot take money from you, señor, when
I have given you nothing for it!"
Juan laughed. "Very well, little proud one," he said. "You may bring me
something else tomorrow."
Pilar thought of the old pair of castanets.
She asked Juan whether he would take them, and he replied, "Of course.
It is not difficult to sell castanets in Seville."
So Pilar left the shop of Juan Sanchez, and her heart sang as she
skipped along. She bought bread and fish and eggs and she took them
home.
She cooked the fish and the eggs in oil, as Spanish people do. Then she
poured some milk out of a pitcher and tried to make her grandfather eat
and drink.
After that, she went into her tiny room and once again opened the wooden
chest. This time she took out the magic castanets, whose mysterious
history she did not know.
[Illustration: SEVILLE]
But her grandfather knew all those terrible legends which had been
handed down through the family. He was too intelligent really to believe
them but when Pilar came into his room holding the clappers in her hand,
his eyes suddenly filled with fear.
"What are you doing with the castanets, Pilly?" he asked in his weak
voice.
"I am going to sell them to Juan Sanchez," answered Pilar, smoothing his
pillow. "Then I shall buy a little chicken and cook it for your dinner."
"No, no!" The old man tried to sit up in bed. "Do not sell the cast--"
But Pilar interrupted him. "Please, Grandfather," she said. "You must
not talk. You must rest while I am gone."
She made him lie down again and he sank back wearily, closing his eyes.
He was too weak to say any more, but his lips began to move.
"Castanets, with--magic--spell--" he muttered to himself.
The words were muffled. Pilar could not understand them.
She patted his hand gently and said, "Go to sleep, dear Grandfather. Do
not worry. Pilar will take good care of you."
Then she sang a little song which sounded like a Moorish chant. And
perhaps it was, for Spain once was ruled by the Moors, who left much of
their art and music behind them when they were driven out.
Pilar's soothing voice soon lulled her grandfather to sleep. And so it
was that he did not finish the verse about the castanets.
It was a pity, too, as you will agree when you have heard the legend of
the castanets in old Cadiz (k[)a]d´[)i]z).
CHAPTER III
IN OLD CADIZ
(A LEGEND OF THE CASTANETS)
Before the Moors came into Spain, Cadiz, or Gadir, as it was then
called, had become famous for its dancers. Throughout the land they were
known for their grace and beauty.
Now there lived at this time one who had grown too old to dance any
more. So she wished to teach her little daughter the steps she had once
loved so well.
But strangely enough, she was afraid to do this--afraid, because a
savage race called the Visigoths (v[)i]z´[)i] g[)o]ths) were sweeping
through Spain and were trying to destroy the art of the people. They
were overrunning the country, smashing great statues and burning fine
books.
[Illustration: CADIZ]
What would they do if they were to discover that women were secretly
teaching their children to carry on the art of dancing?
Although she feared the Visigoths, this mother, who had once been a
dancer, used to take her daughter to a cave far from the city. And here
she would attempt to instruct the little girl.
But young Lira did not want to learn to dance. She was plump and lazy.
She disliked to exercise, except with a knife and fork. For eating was
the only thing she really enjoyed.
One day when the sun shone fiercely, Lira felt very sorry for herself.
She was hot and twice as lazy as usual--which, I assure you, was
dreadfully lazy!
She decided that she would not take her dancing lesson. Yet how was she
to escape it? Soon her mother would be leading her off to the cave and
making her work.
Lira bit into a large loaf of bread and thought furiously. Why, of
course! She would hide her mother's castanets and then say that she had
lost them. This was a splendid idea.
So running off ahead of her mother, she made her way to the secret cave.
Below her lay the city of Cadiz. It was so white that it made one think
of chalk on snow. But to hungry little Lira, it looked like whipped
cream!
Cadiz points her long, white finger out into the azure blue bay. She has
a gleaming golden eye, which is the dome of her cathedral.
When Lira's mother arrived at the cave, Lira ran up to her and
exclaimed, "Oh, Mother, I have lost the castanets! And now there will be
no lesson today."
She then sat down and continued to chew contentedly upon her enormous
loaf of bread. But her mother's face turned white.
[Illustration: STREET OF THE SERPENTS]
"What are you saying, child?" she cried. "Do you tell me you have lost
the castanets?"
Lira nodded and took an unusually large bite out of the loaf. Her mother
stood over her, her face a mask of fear.
"Lira," she gasped, "do you know what you have done? If, indeed, you
have lost the castanets, then truly you have brought misfortune upon
your whole family."
Whereupon, her mother recited this verse:
"_Castanets, with magic spell,
Never lose or give or sell;
If you do, then grief and strife
Will follow you through all your life._"
Lira's eyes grew big. The loaf of bread dropped to the ground as she
arose.
Leading her mother to the rock behind which she had hidden the
castanets, she said, "Look, Mother. The castanets are not really lost. I
was only fooling you. They are hidden in here and--"
She pulled out the loose rock and looked behind it. The castanets were
gone.
Now, in those days, people believed in spells and charms, and Lira's
mother was terribly frightened. She was also terribly angry with Lira.
She hurried away toward home, leaving Lira standing alone, with the
tears running down her plump little cheeks. She was afraid to go home,
and so she wandered down to the wide beach.
Here children were playing, while boys and girls with flashing eyes were
swinging along, clapping their hands and singing. Music sounded.
Laughter rang. Night had begun to fall.
A crescent moon hung in the sky. It was a moon that had been cut in
half, and the other half was Cadiz. The air was full of dream dust, with
garlic in it.
Lira did not feel the spell of night that had settled upon the rest of
the world. She was too miserable. What had become of the castanets?
Had some evil power removed them from behind that rock? And if so, what
frightful thing would happen to her and to her family?
Gradually the people began to leave the beach and finally Lira found
herself alone. She looked out across the bay--a bay that was to become
the scene of historic battles during Spain's wars with England and
France.
Moonlight twinkled silvery upon the water. It was very quiet. And then,
all at once, Lira heard a step behind her, and a mysterious voice
whispered: "Lira, Lira, turn around!"
Her heart skipped like a pebble across a lake. She turned. There stood
her older brother, his figure looming straight and tall in the
moonlight. Lira sighed with relief.
[Illustration: ALCAZAR GARDENS, SEVILLE]
But her brother did not move. He only stood, scowling down at her. Then
he continued to talk in that low, frightening voice.
"Do you know," he said, "that you have brought terrible misfortune upon
us, Lira?"
Lira felt the hot tears begin to sting her eyes again. So he, too, was
going to scold her for losing the castanets! But suddenly he took a step
toward her and, thrusting his face close to hers, said, "The Visigoths
are coming to drive us away from our homes!"
Lira began to tremble. Those terrifying savages! She knew that they had
been sweeping her country, destroying everything in their path. Now they
were about to descend upon her home. And it was all her fault--hers! She
sobbed and clung to her brother.
"Oh, why did I do it?" she cried. "Why did I hide the castanets?"
Her brother put his hand under her chin and lifted her head so that
their eyes met.
"Are you sorry, little sister?" he asked kindly.
Lira's answer was a pitiful wail.
"Will you ever tell another untruth?"
"No, no, never, as long as I live!"
"Will you remember the jingle about the castanets?"
"Yes, yes! Always and forever!"
"And will you work hard and learn to dance and carry on our mother's
art?"
"Yes, yes! Oh, I will try so hard!"
"Then--look, sister!"
And to her amazement, Lira's brother held out the magic castanets. He
had been watching when she hid them. And when she had gone into the
cave, he had played a trick upon her by taking them away.
It was a trick that Lira never forgot--never, though she lived to be
very old. All her life she treasured the magic castanets and never
again did she lose sight of them.
But something else she did lose, and that was her round little figure.
Indeed, she became lovely and slender. She also became a famous dancer,
and one day she taught her own children the dances of Spain.
[Illustration: SEVILLE]
CHAPTER IV
THE SOUVENIRS SPEAK
Pilar was on her way to Juan's shop on the Street of the Serpents. In
her hand were those magic castanets. She was taking them to Juan. She
was going to sell them.
She passed the lovely Alcazar (äl-kä´thär) Gardens, from which came the
perfume of flowers and blossoms. She heard the soft voice of bells from
the Giralda, a prayer tower which had belonged to an ancient Moorish
mosque (m[)o]sk).
In a little square, some of Pilar's friends were dancing to the music of
a hurdy-gurdy. Pilar stopped. How she longed to join them in their
dance!
The thought came to her that she had never tried her mother's
castanets. She wondered how they would sound. She fixed them on her
fingers and began to play.
Their beauty astonished her. They spoke. They sang. They cried out to
her feet and she danced. She danced until she was breathless and the
hurdy-gurdy had gone away. So had the children--gone to their homes.
Pilar was alone. She stood in the center of the little court, its white,
balconied houses all around, and its ancient fountain squatting in the
center.
But to Pilar, time had not passed. She had been in a dream of music. The
castanets had drawn her into a dream of music and dance.
Now she slowly unloosed them from her fingers. Never had she known that
such beautiful sound could come from two wooden clappers. Why, her own
little cheap ones were hideous and shrill beside these speaking marvels.
[Illustration: HOW COULD SHE GIVE THEM UP?]
How could she give them up? How could she take them to Juan to be sold?
No, no! She must keep them. She must keep them and dance every day to
their rippling music.
But Juan had given her money, for which she had promised to bring him
the castanets. And it would never do to give Juan her own instead, for
that would be cheating.
But there were other lovely souvenirs in her chest at home. Perhaps Juan
would as soon have one of these!
Pilar went home, and once again she knelt down beside the wooden chest.
Out came each precious souvenir. Which should she take to Juan in place
of the castanets?
If those souvenirs could have spoken, what strangely wonderful stories
they could have told!
Pretend, for fun, that they can speak, and let us listen to their
ancient voices.
_The Sharp Knife From Toledo_
"I am a knife--a very sharp knife. I was made in Toledo, which is said
to be the oldest town in Spain.
"Toledo sits proudly upon a granite throne, like some weatherbeaten
queen. The River Tagus (t[=a]´g[)u]s) laps about her feet as though to
wash away the dust of ages.
"There are Arab stories in the ancient streets of Toledo. Once it was an
important center of the Romans, the Goths, and then the Moors.
"The cathedral is supposed to be the richest in the world. It contains a
room with massive doors, to which six keys must be used before one may
enter. In this room are the priceless jewels of the Madonna.
"I am made of the celebrated Damascus (d[.a]-m[)a]s´k[)u]s) steel. I
have a beautiful design worked into my handle. Ages ago, this art, which
is called Damascene (d[)a]m´[.a]-s[=e]n) work, was brought from the
city of Damascus.
[Illustration: PUERTO DEL SOL, TOLEDO]
"I have a very dangerous temper and when I am angered, I bite. So be
careful, for I am a very sharp knife."
_The Proud Comb From Barcelona_
"I am a tall, elegant comb, and my home is Barcelona
(bär´s[)e]-l[=o]´n[.a]), the most important city in Spain. Oh, dear!
There goes Madrid, howling at me again! Whenever I say that Barcelona
is more important, the city of Madrid creates the most frightful row.
"It is jealousy, of course. For even if she is the capital of Spain, she
is not so wonderful as Barcelona. At least, that is what we who live
here think. And perhaps I can convince you, too, if you will go for a
walk with me.
"Just think! I am honoring you by inviting you to walk with me through
Barcelona, Spain's most important--oh, all right, then, Spain's most
modern city!
"Shall we start from the harbor? It is the chief port of Spain. Do you
see that fine monument of Christopher Columbus over there?
[Illustration: BARCELONA]
"Now we shall stroll along the celebrated Rambla. Is this not a handsome
promenade, with its flowers and trees? Would you like to sit here at a
little table and sip some chocolate?
"They say that Barcelona has more sidewalk cafés than any other city its
size in Europe. You see, we know how to enjoy ourselves. Yet we are not
lazy. No, indeed! We are most active. Why, Barcelona never sleeps.
"We are situated on the blue Mediterranean Sea. Not far from
the city, there is a wonderful monastery called Montserrat
(m[)o]nt´s[)e]-r[)a]t´). It is perched high up amid a mystic
forest of stony crags.
"Montserrat is the shrine of the Black Virgin, a sacred carving. The
story goes that when the Moors held Spain, this carving was hidden in a
cave. Many years later, it was found by shepherds who heard weird music
near by.
"They tried to move the Black Virgin, but could not, and so a church was
built to hold it. Today great crowds swarm up the mountain to see the
sacred carving.
"But now I shall have to leave you. I could show you much more, of
course, but there might be an objection if I did. You ask why? Because a
certain city I know would be afraid that you might agree with me that
Barcelona is more important than she is!"
_The Lazy Clock From El Escorial_
"I am an old clock. I used to sit upon a shelf in one of the most
curious castles in Spain--El Escorial ([)e]l [)e]s-k[=o]´r[)i]-[)a]l).
It was built by King Philip II.
[Illustration: TOMB OF THE CHILDREN, EL ESCORIAL]
"King Philip built El Escorial as his tomb. Today, it stands a gray and
gloomy monument upon a barren hill, and in its vaults are buried the
kings and queens of Spain.
"Among the marble tombs, there is one which looks like a round, white
birthday cake. It is the tomb of the children--young princes and
princesses.
"King Philip watched the building of this immense palace from a rocky
seat on a hill above. And later when he was very ill, he used to lie in
his bedroom next to the chapel and listen to the church services.
"Ho, hum! I am a sleepy, lazy old clock. But then, all clocks in Spain
grow lazy, for we are seldom used. Everybody is always late.
"Yet here is a funny thing. I have been told that Spain produces more
quicksilver than any other country. Think of that! Quicksilver!"
[Illustration: PILAR LOOKED AT THE FAN]
_The Faded Fan From Valladolid_
"I am a fan. I belonged to a lady who lived in the town of Valladolid
(väl´yä-th[+o]-l[=e]th´). It was built by a Moor named Olid, and was
called Valle de Olid, Valley of Olid.
"The names of many important men are connected with Valladolid. King
Philip II was born there. The Catholic monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella,
were married there. Cervantes (s[~e]r-v[)a]n´t[=e]z), the author of 'Don
Quixote' (d[+o]n k[+e]-h[=o]´t[+a]), that famous Spanish romance,
lived there; and Christopher Columbus died there."
_The Saucy Bonnet From Segovia_
"I am a bonnet, and I am very proud of myself because I am a beautiful
creation. I am also very proud to think that I was born in the marvelous
city of Segovia (s[+a]-g[=o]´vyä).
"Segovia has a Roman aqueduct which is one of the most remarkable of its
kind in the world. It is sometimes called the Devil's Bridge, because a
legend tells that Satan built it in a single night.
"There is also the famous Alcazar, an ancient castle set high upon a
sharp cliff. It was built in the eleventh century by King Alfonso VI.
Besides these marvels, Segovia has many fine churches and castles and
cathedrals.
"How do I, a mere bonnet, know all these things? Ah, let me tell you
this: I am not only very handsome; I am extremely wise."
* * * * *
Next day Pilar brought Juan these souvenirs. But it was of no use. Juan
would not have any of them. He shook his head and told Pilar that he
could not rob her of her wonderful treasures.
"You must bring me the old castanets, child," he said. "They are all
that I will take."
Pilar begged and coaxed, but Juan was very stubborn.
"No, child," he repeated, "These are too fine and valuable to sell.
Bring me the battered old castanets, for they have little value."
Poor Pilar! She now sat weeping in her room--weeping silently so as not
to disturb her sick grandfather, who slept a great part of the day.
She held the castanets in her hands and looked at them tenderly. Juan
had said that they possessed little value. Oh, but they did possess
value to Pilar, for she loved them.
As to their real value, neither Pilar nor Juan could possibly guess. For
though the other souvenirs might bring more in money, the castanets
might well bring joy or grief to their owner. Or, at least, so it had
seemed to Pilar's ancestors.
However, Pilar had given her word to Juan that she would bring them to
his shop tomorrow, and so she must. If only Juan had heard the terrible
tale of the castanets in old Granada (gr[.a]-nä´d[.a]), he would not
have held Pilar to her promise.
[Illustration: GYPSIES, GRANADA]
CHAPTER V
IN OLD GRANADA
(A LEGEND OF THE CASTANETS)
Catalina was the many-times-great-granddaughter of Lira, the plump
little girl of ancient Cadiz. And to Catalina now belonged the magic
castanets.
The Moors had taken Spain away from the savage Visigoths and had built
wonderful cities, palaces, and fortresses. One of these palaces was the
magnificent Alhambra, set high upon a hill above the city of Granada.
It was here that Catalina danced before Boabdil (b[=o]´äb-d[=e]l´),
Arab ruler of the great Alhambra. And to the romantic young girl this
beautiful "Red Castle" spelled fairy-land.
[Illustration: GENERALIFE GARDENS, ALHAMBRA]
She loved its sheltered courts, its walls of brightly colored tiles, its
patios of cypress trees and tinkling fountains. She loved the stately
arches, the graceful columns, and she also loved a handsome young Moor
named Hamet. He was a soldier in Boabdil's army.
But while Catalina lived in a dream of happiness, all was not so perfect
with the Moorish ruler, Boabdil. The Christian monarchs, Ferdinand and
Isabella, had reconquered the kingdom of Granada.
One night after Catalina had danced in one of the great halls, she met
Hamet in the Court of the Myrtles. The moon shone down upon a crystal
clear pool, and birds flew about the court like fluttering ghosts.
The two young people lowered their voices as they spoke. Hamet told
Catalina of desperate battles in which the Moors were being overthrown
by the Christians. He seemed much disturbed.
Finally he said, "Let us go where none can hear us. I have something
strange and terrible to tell you."
He led her out upon a balcony where they stood looking down upon the
city of Granada. Its little white, square fairy cubicles seemed to be
lit up with stars that fell down from the sky.
"It has been said," began Hamet in a low tone, "that the court
astrologer predicted the downfall of the kingdom under the reign of
Boabdil!"
Catalina shrank back. What if her Hamet were to be taken away from her?
This was all she could think of, and the thought tortured her. She did
not consider the fate of her people. She considered only herself and
what she would do, were Hamet to leave her.
A short time later, Granada did indeed fall before the Christian rulers.
And upon that fateful day when the palace was seized, Hamet was obliged
to ride away from Granada with Boabdil, his leader.
Outside of the city, the vanquished Boabdil handed the keys of Granada
to King Ferdinand. Then he and his followers rode off into the hills.
The story goes that as they reached a certain hill, Boabdil stopped to
gaze down upon his beloved "Red Castle," which he would never see again.
And the Moor wept.
His mother chided him, saying, "You do well to weep like a woman for
what you failed to defend like a man."
The hill upon which this happened is still known as "The Last Sigh of
the Moor."
But to go back to Catalina at the palace. Left alone without Hamet, she
did not sigh, nor did she weep. Oh, but she did storm and rage and stamp
her feet.
[Illustration: BOABDIL SURRENDERING TO FERDINAND]
Catalina's temper was well known in the palace. When a servant came to
summon her to dance before the new rulers, his knees shook with fright.
"Fair d-dancer," he began, "w-will you c-come--?"
"I will not!" screamed Catalina, and threw her shoe at him.
Then the miserable girl sank down upon her couch and fell into a fit of
weeping.
At twilight, Catalina stood upon that same balcony where Hamet had told
her what the court astrologer had predicted. All had come true, and the
conquest of Granada marked the end of Moorish power in Spain.
To Catalina came the voice of the town be-low. The Sierra Nevada
Mountains raised their snowy tips, and the smell of little donkeys
mingled with mountain perfumes.
[Illustration: GRANADA]
One star shone, Moor-like, in the deep blue heaven. There was a fringe
of orange light where the sun had just gone to bed, leaving his rosy
night robe hanging on the sky.
But Catalina saw none of this beauty. Her eyes and her heart were blind
with unreasonable rage. Fleeing from the balcony, she ran into the
Myrtle Court.
Raising her pale little face to the fast-darkening sky, she cried, "I
shall never, never, never dance again!"
With that, she threw her castanets into the deep pool in the center of
the court. They sank quickly to the bottom, down, down in a black
circle. The magic castanets!
Not until several days later, when Catalina's temper had cooled, did she
suddenly remember the old verse which her grandmother had taught her:
"_Castanets, with magic spell,
Never lose or give or sell;
If you do, then grief and strife
Will follow you through all your life._"
What had she done? How could she have thrown away the magic castanets?
Quickly Catalina returned to the Myrtle Court. A palace attendant
promised to search the pool for her. But when he did, the castanets were
nowhere to be found.
The story goes that not until Catalina became a very old lady did she
recover the castanets. And then nobody rightly knows how it came about.
But what we do know is that never again did Catalina see her sweetheart.
For a year after he had left her, Hamet was killed in the wars.
If Catalina had not lost her temper, she would not have lost the magic
castanets. And if she had not lost the magic castanets--well, would her
story, perhaps, have been different?
CHAPTER VI
ANOTHER VISIT TO JUAN
Several days passed before Pilar was able to leave her house and go to
Juan's shop--several anxious days. Because that night, her grandfather
had grown worse, and she had been obliged to call the doctor.
The doctor had been coming every day since then, and Pilar could not
leave her grandfather's side. Neighbors had been kind, helping with food
and attentions.
Now that her grandfather was better, Pilar realized that she must repay
those good neighbors. So this morning, as soon as the burning Spanish
sun arose, Pilar arose, too.
She prepared her grandfather's breakfast and made him comfortable
in his bed. Then she drank her thick, sweet chocolate, and off she went
to Juan's shop, taking along the old wooden chest.
Juan could not help smiling when he saw her enter, weighed down by her
huge burden. It looked to Juan as if the big chest should really have
been carrying the little girl.
"Good morning, Señorita Pilar," he laughed. "And where is the chest
taking you today?"
Pilar did not smile. Resting the chest upon the counter, she said,
"Grandfather has been very ill since last I saw you, Señor Juan."
"Ah, I am sorry, child," said Juan.
"But now he is much better," added Pilar more cheerfully, "And I have
brought you what I promised."
"The castanets?" asked Juan, looking at her shrewdly.
"More than the castanets, Señor Juan," answered the little girl. "For
they alone will not pay you for all the money I now need."
She started to open the chest, and Juan started to shake his head. But
Pilar caught his arm, and her large, dark eyes pleaded pitifully.
"Oh, take them, please, Señor Juan!" she cried. "For I need a great deal
of money! The doctor says that Grandfather will not be able to work for
a long time."
She pulled out of the chest the Damascene knife from Toledo, the tall
comb from Barcelona, the faded fan from Valladolid, the ancient clock
from El Escorial, and the saucy bonnet from Segovia.
"Here, take them, please, señor," she said. "And also--" She put her
hand inside the chest and drew out the magic castanets. "These, too,"
she whispered, "for I promised."
[Illustration: POTTERY SHOP, TRIANA]
Juan looked at the old wooden clappers. Then he looked at Pilar. And
quite abruptly he turned around to the strong box where he kept his
money. He unlocked it and took out some paper bills.
"Here, little Pilar," he said. "Here is the money for you and your
grandfather. I shall keep the knife and the clock and the fan, the comb,
and the bonnet. But--" He pushed away her hand which held the castanets.
"Keep those, since you love them so much."
Pilar clasped the castanets to her heart and her face lit up like a
thousand candles.
"Oh, Señor Juan!" she sighed. "You are so good!"
Juan patted her shoulder.
"It is all right, my child," he said. "And if, later on, you are in need
of more money, bring me the castanets. I can sell them to a dancing
master who would like to buy them. He is very fond of such antiques."
Pilar did not answer right away. Then she said in a sober voice, "Before
I give up the castanets, Señor Juan, I shall first bring you all the
rest of my souvenirs. The castanets will be the very last to go. And how
I hope that I shall never, never have to part with them!"
[Illustration: COURT OF DOLLS, ALCAZAR]
CHAPTER VII
FOUR OLD PAINTINGS
The Moors said, "Three times three things a woman must have: white skin,
white teeth, and white hands; black eyes, black brows, and black lashes;
rosy lips, rosy cheeks, and rosy nails."
Little Pilar had all of these. She was a Spanish beauty. But she was not
only beautiful; she was also useful. She could sew and cook and take
care of a house.
If you had asked Pilar how she had learned to sew and to cook and to
take care of a house, she would have shrugged her shoulders and
answered, "I did not learn. I just knew."
She just knew, as she knew how to dance.
[Illustration: PILAR]
But poor Pilar had not been able to join her dancing companions in the
gardens or the squares for many a day now. Her grandfather's health had
not improved very much, and Pilar could seldom leave him.
As time went on, Pilar watched the money which Juan had given her
gradually disappear, and at last there was no more left. But fortunately
there were still souvenirs left in the chest, and these Pilar took to
Juan. Four of the remaining souvenirs were old paintings.
When Juan saw them, he remarked, "These paintings are of four famous
people. Let me tell you their stories."
These are the stories he told:
_Luis de Leon of Salamanca_
In the Middle Ages, when the University of Salamanca
(s[)a]l´[.a]-m[)a]ng´k[.a]) was one of the finest in Europe, there lived
a man named Luis de Leon. He was a friar. He was also one of Spain's
great poets and a professor at the university.
One day as Fray Luis de Leon was teaching his class, he was seized and
thrown into prison. This was during the time of the inquisition, when
people were arrested for their religious beliefs.
Fray Luis remained in prison for many years. When he returned to
Salamanca, everybody welcomed him, and all the important townspeople
came to the university to hear him make a speech.
But Fray Luis did not make a speech. He faced the schoolroom full of his
pupils and others who had come to hear him, and, taking up the daily
lesson, he remarked simply, "As we were saying yesterday--" just as if
he had never been away!
Salamanca sits upon the banks of the River Tormes (tôr´m[=a]s) across an
old Roman bridge. It is a city of domes and spires, of quiet memories of
art and culture.
_St. Teresa of Avila_
Once upon a time, long, long ago, there lived in the town of Avila
(ä´v[+e]-lä) a little girl named Teresa. Often Teresa would read stories
to her brother. These stories were not about fairies, kings, and queens,
nor even robbers. They were about saints.
Little Teresa wished very much to become a saint and to live in heaven.
So one day she and her brother set off for the country of the Moors.
Their reason for doing this was because they thought that they might be
beheaded.
But this great pleasure was to be denied them. An uncle found them on
the road and brought them home. It is a blessing that he did and that
young Teresa was allowed to grow up. For she became a very holy woman,
who did much good in the world.
The city of Avila seems to breathe the holiness of St. Teresa. It is
surrounded by a treeless desert and giant rocks. Its perfect Roman walls
clasp it tightly as if to safeguard its mystery and charm.
[Illustration: SALAMANCA]
Do you hear the ding-donging bells of the many churches? They carry one
off to dreamland. Do you hear the clink-clinking hoofs of the tiny
donkeys? They carry hens and roosters to market in crates upon their
backs. Avila is an old-fashioned town.
_The Cid of Valencia_
"Godfather, please give me a colt. You have so many. You will never miss
one."
Rodrigo de Bivar (r[+o]-dr[=e]´g[=o] de bevär´) stood in the paddock
beside his godfather, Don Pedro, a priest of Burgos (b[=oo]r´g[=o]s).
They were watching the horses, mares, and their colts running wild.
How free and beautiful they were, with their lovely manes flowing in
the breeze!
"You may choose the best for yourself, godson," said Don Pedro.
Young Rodrigo's keen eyes followed each graceful young horse as it
passed. But he said nothing. He said nothing until an ugly, shaggy
little animal came by.
Then he cried out, "This is the one I want, godfather!"
His godfather gave him a look of disgust.
"Babieca! (babie´ca) (Foolish one!)" he scolded. "This is indeed a
stupid choice!"
[Illustration: ST. TERESA CONVENT, AVILA]
Rodrigo was not dismayed. Smiling, he said, "Babieca shall be my horse's
name!"
It was this same Babieca, or Booby, who carried Rodrigo de Bivar through
his many famous battles. It was Babieca, too, who is supposed to have
wept over his master when the great warrior-lord died.
For young Rodrigo became Spain's most celebrated hero, the Cid, about
whom songs have been sung and tales have been spun. Many of these are,
of course, only romance and legend. But the Cid did indeed live and
triumph.
One of his greatest victories was the conquest of that rich and
beautiful city, Valencia (v[.a]-l[)e]n´sh[)i]-[.a]), which is still
called Valencia del Cid.
_Columbus of--Where?_
"Please, a little food and shelter. We are very hungry and tired!"
The man was Christopher Columbus, and the child, Diego, his son. Weary
and discouraged, they had arrived at the monastery of La Rabita.
For a long time, Christopher Columbus had been trying to interest the
Spanish court in his scheme to sail across the unknown ocean. He
thought that by sailing west he would reach Asia.
But the King and Queen were busy with their struggles against the Moors,
and they would not listen to him.
The kind monks at the monastery of La Rabita sheltered Columbus and his
little son. They also gave heed to his eager hopes and plans, and at
last Prior Perez of the monastery wrote a letter to Queen Isabella.
As we well know, Queen Isabella made it possible for Christopher
Columbus to sail across the ocean and discover America. But nobody yet
has really discovered Christopher Columbus.
Where was he born? Some say in Italy, others, in northern Spain. Perhaps
Columbus was a Jew who changed his religion and nationality. This could
well have been, because at that time the Jews in Spain were being
tortured and sent away from their country.
When Columbus returned from his famous voyage, he was received in
Barcelona by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. They made him Lord High
Admiral of the Ocean Sea and Hereditary Viceroy of the New World.
But after the death of the Queen, Columbus was badly treated by King
Ferdinand, and he died in poverty and despair at a miserable inn.
* * * * *
When Juan had finished telling the stories about the four paintings,
Pilar asked, "Will you buy them from me, Señor Juan?"
Juan answered, "Yes, if you really must sell them, Pilar. But I wish
that you might keep them, for they are very fine."
"I need the money," said Pilar simply.
"Then why not let me sell those ugly castanets?" inquired Juan. "The
dancing master will willingly pay for them."
"No, no!" cried Pilar. "They shall be the last to go."
So Juan took the four paintings and gave Pilar money for them. And now
there remained in the wooden chest only three souvenirs. One was a
bottle of old wine, one a small dagger, and one the magic castanets.
CHAPTER VIII
FIESTA
Fiestas (fy[)e]s´täs) (festivals) and fairs are the joy of the Spanish
people. Some are held upon saints' days. In Spain one celebrates the
birthday of the saint for whom one is named.
Tonight there was a fiesta in Triana, which is across the bridge from
Seville. It is where the gypsies live.
Pilar was on her way to Triana with a group of her friends. She was
dressed in her dancing costume. She wanted to dance and use her magic
castanets. This would be the last time she could do so. For of all her
mother's souvenirs, only the castanets were now left. And tomorrow--
[Illustration: PILAR IN HER COSTUME]
But Pilar did not like to think about that tomorrow. Juan had sold
everything else out of the wooden chest. Everything else had gone, even
the wooden chest itself--gone to pay for food and medicines.
He had sold the very old bottle of sherry wine, which had come from a
well-known cellar of Jerez (h[+a]-r[=a]th´), once called Scheriz.
In this cellar there is a cluster of huge barrels, upon which are
written noted names, such as the Prince of Wales' and our own
President's. They contain wines made in the year of each person's birth.
A family of well-trained mice lives in this cellar. When the attendant
rings a bell and scatters bread upon the floor, these tiny creatures run
out from behind the barrels.
Juan had also sold the small dagger of Moorish design. It had come from
the town of Cordoba (kôr´d[+o]-vä), once an important center. The famous
Mosque of Cordoba, with its striped arches, was built by the Moors. But
it has since been made into a Christian church.
King Charles V is supposed to have said to the Christian builders, "You
have built what can be found anywhere, but you have spoiled what cannot
be found anywhere else.
[Illustration: THE MOSQUE, CORDOBA]
Cordoba is a white city of twisting streets. There are golden knobs upon
some of the doors; ragged beggars fill the streets; and children seem to
grow in doorways.
One sees in Cordoba those broad-brimmed hats which belong to that part
of Spain called Andalucia (än´dä-l[=oo]-th[=e]´ä).
[Illustration: ANDALUSIAN HAT]
A legend tells how Andalucia received its name. Every saint in heaven
had been given a spot over which to rule--every one, except poor little
Saint Lucia. So she searched the world for a country, but most of the
world had already been taken by other saints.
One day, however, she came to a land of sunshine and flowers, with which
she was delighted. She asked if she might have it for her own, and a
mysterious voice answered and said to her, "Anda, Lucia! (Go there,
Lucia!)"
And that is why, the legend tells, this sunny part of Spain is called
Andalucia.
Seville, too, is in Andalucia; and now let us go back to Seville and to
Pilar.
Tonight Pilar had left her grandfather for the first time in many
evenings. A neighbor had kindly offered to stay with him while she went
to the fiesta. Pilar's heart had been crying out for music and dancing.
Across the bridge, over the Guadalquivir (gwä´d[)a]l-kw[)i]v´[~e]r)
River, went the crowd of young people. They passed the Torre del Oro
(tôr´r[+a] d[)e]l [=o]´r[=o]) (Tower of Gold), where treasure once was
stored.
In Triana there are many pottery shops; also there is a large American
olive factory. It is said that the best olives are grown in sight of the
Giralda Tower, which is in Seville.
At the fiesta, music and song filled the air. Lanterns were strung from
poles. Booths lined the square. Nuts and fruits and cakes were sold.
There were small wagons where men fried long, golden cakes like the
doughnut.
[Illustration: A FIELD NEAR CORDOBA]
Shawls, laces, paintings, toys, and fans for sale. Merry-go-rounds,
sideshows, dancing, and more dancing. Pilar and her friends whirled
about, kicking their legs, pointing their toes, rolling their eyes, and
rippling their castanets.
At last, tired, but filled with rhythm and harmony, the group started
for home.
After Pilar had left the fiesta, however, somebody asked about her. That
somebody was a great dancing master.
He asked, "Who was that little beauty in the white costume trimmed with
green? She played a pair of golden-voiced castanets. Where does she
live? I should like to have her as my pupil."
[Illustration: A DOUGHNUT STAND]
But nobody in Triana knew where Pilar lived, and, of course, her name is
a common one in Spain.
On the way home, Pilar's spirits began to fall. She began to think of
having to part with her precious castanets. How she wished that there
might be some other way of--!
Suddenly she remembered Tony--Tony, the boy who had played bullfight
with Juan years ago. It was weeks now since Juan had sent the old red
cape to America and had written to Tony.
Juan had said that Tony was rich and generous and that he would help
Pilar and her grandfather because he would remember Pilar's mother. But
Pilar had begun to wonder whether Tony really would.
When she reached home, all the excitement of the fiesta had worn away.
She was very unhappy. Tomorrow she must give up the castanets. Juan had
said that he could sell them to a dancing master, who paid handsomely
for antiques.
Pilar started to undress. She unpinned the brooch that fastened her
costume at the throat. And all at once, her face lit up with a wonderful
new idea.
She would take this brooch to Juan tomorrow. It was her own, part of her
dancing costume. But she would far rather part with it than with her
mother's castanets.
The brooch was a small painting called a miniature. It was the likeness
of young Prince Alfonso, the brother of Queen Isabella of Spain.
Pilar hurried off to bed. And while she sleeps, let us listen to the
"Mystery of the Young Prince."
CHAPTER IX
THE MYSTERY OF THE YOUNG PRINCE
Alfonso was only a boy. But some day he would be king, for he was next
in line to his brother, King Henry. After him came his sister, Isabella,
a beautiful little girl, earnest and thoughtful.
Alfonso felt himself to be Isabella's knight and protector. He had
learned to ride and to use his sword like a true Spanish cavalier.
One day at twilight Isabella sat at the window, embroidering a Moorish
design upon a bit of gold cloth. Alfonso, his studies over for the day,
was reading to her.
Better than anything else, the Prince loved to read--which may have been
the reason for what happened later--at least, for what is supposed to
have happened. For nobody rightly knows the truth of the bitter story.
As the two children sat together, enjoying the happiest moment of their
day, one of the King's spies secretly watched and listened.
He heard the Princess Isabella say, "Enough of that for now, Alfonso.
Come. Read my favorite book."
Alfonso put down the book which he had been reading, and the spy noted
well its title, "The Odyssey ([)o]d´[)i]-s[)i])." He also had noted
something else. Always before the Prince turned a page, he first
moistened his finger with his tongue.
Squinting his eyes, the spy smiled wickedly to himself and stole away.
Several nights later, this same spy crept into the Prince's chamber
and, feeling cautiously about, he at last found what he sought. It was a
book, "The Odyssey."
Working with agile fingers, he opened the book, and upon each page he
smeared a deadly poison. Then he returned the book to its place and left
the room as quietly as he had entered.
Now trouble and discontent filled the country. Some of the people were
not pleased with King Henry, and they wanted to place young Alfonso upon
the throne.
The Prince and his sister began to live through turbulent times, and
their peaceful hours together were over. Alfonso was thrown into prison,
then suddenly freed again, to become an important figure in the kingdom.
He was told that soon he would be crowned king, for the rebels were
going to overthrow his brother Henry. Whispered plans, secret schemes
stirred in the air like poisonous insects. And the poisoned book lay
where the spy had left it. The Prince found little time for reading.
[Illustration: AVILA]
But today he had managed to meet his sister, and the two were very happy
to be together again for an hour of quiet reading.
Alfonso picked up the book, "The Odyssey," but Isabella said, "No,
not that one, Alfonso. Today let us hear this most interesting novel. It
tells why the wind blows, why we smell and taste and hear, all in the
form of a story."
She smiled and handed him the other book. Good-naturedly Alfonso put
down "The Odyssey." Had he but known it, he put from him death!
Soon afterwards, the prince was again torn from his sister, this time to
live through one of the most dramatic events in his stormy young life.
One day a splendid procession made its way into the town of Avila. Among
the cavaliers rode Prince Alfonso. His horse richly decked, he sat
stiffly upon the saddle, clothed in armor. His boyish face was grave and
stern.
As he passed, the people cried out, "Long live King Alfonso!"
A throne had been erected out upon the plains. On this throne sat what
appeared to be a king. He held a scepter, and the crown upon his head
gleamed brightly in the sun.
But as the cavalcade drew closer, it was seen that the figure had fallen
over on its side like a sawdust doll. And indeed, that is just what it
was--a scarecrow, made to represent King Henry.
The Prince and his followers stood upon the platform. A colorful crowd
had gathered about them--monks in brown, monks in white and black, lords
in bright-hued mantles, Moors with turbans on their heads, peasants,
beggars, young and old.
Bugles rang out, and drums rolled. The little Prince stood, proudly
royal, in his armor. His blond hair showed under the visor which had
been pushed back from his head.
Then the Archbishop snatched the crown from the head of the scarecrow
king and roared, "Thus lose the royal dignity which you have guarded
ill."
And one of the cavaliers roughly kicked the figure off its throne. There
were cries and shouts and some gasps of horror. Alfonso was seated upon
the throne and crowned King of Avila.
Petty wars, robberies, and murders followed. Part of the country was in
favor of King Henry, while the rebels supported Alfonso. A terrible
battle took place in Toledo. Houses were burned and people massacred.
A few days later, Alfonso arrived in the town.
Those who had burned and massacred bowed down to the young king, saying,
"We will fight for your cause if you will approve this massacre."
[Illustration: PARK IN MADRID, STATUE OF KING ALFONSO]
Alfonso replied, "God forbid that I should approve such horrors!"
The next thing he knew, Alfonso's country was plunged into war. The
rebels were to meet the King's men in conflict.
The night before the battle Alfonso, rest-less and unhappy, paced his
chamber. Why must men fight? Why must they kill one another? The Prince
loved power; but better than power, he loved peace.
Wherever he went, he always took along some of his books. Now upon the
table lay several, and among them was "The Odyssey." Alfonso laid his
hand upon his favorite work and was about to take it up when he let it
fall again.
No, he could not read tonight. His heart was too heavy. He missed his
sister and, too, he kept thinking of their future--a stormy prospect.
For Isabella no doubt would be forced to marry some distasteful noble.
And he? With enemies upon all sides, if he were not killed in war, he
might well be murdered in his sleep.
Next day in full armor, his sword drawn, the boy King of Avila went out
to meet his foe. Fighting bravely, by his soldiers, it is said that he
was last to leave the battle.
[Illustration: BURGOS CATHEDRAL]
There came a time when Alfonso set forth upon a journey, accompanied by
a group of nobles. Among his traveling companions were several of the
King's followers, one of them that same spy who had smeared poison upon
the leaves of Alfonso's book.
As evening overtook the party of travelers, they drew rein in the town
of Cardenosa, and planned to stop there for the night.
As usual, Alfonso had brought along his books. But too often had his
enemies been disappointed, so now they planned a trick. It was a trick
which would force the Prince into their cruel trap.
They removed all but one of Alfonso's books from his chamber. The one
left was placed in plain view upon the table. It was "The Odyssey."
Wondering what had become of the others, but too weary to find out, the
Prince settled himself to read before retiring for the night. As he
opened the book he smiled, remembering Isabella and how she had always
urged him to read something else.
Well, tonight he might do as he pleased, for he was quite alone. Tonight
he might read "The Odyssey," which he had not opened for so long.
Page after page he turned with a finger moistened by his tongue. And an
hour passed.
Late during the night, a messenger rode madly into the town of Segovia
where the Princess Isabella was living.
"The King of Avila is dying!" the messenger gasped. "He calls for his
sister, the Princess Isabella!"
Isabella rode furiously through the night and when she reached
Cardenosa, she was met by the Archbishop of Toledo. He held out his hand
to her, and in his face there was pity and grief. Before he even told
her, Isabella knew that her beloved brother was dead.
[Illustration: MIRAFLORES MONASTERY, BURGOS]
Some claimed that enemies had given him poisoned fish. Others believed
that he had died of a fever. Still others told the story which you have
just heard. But whether or not it is true will remain a mystery forever.
There is a wonderful cathedral in Burgos, whose Gothic spires point
upward like lace fingers. They point to a hill above the city, upon
which rests the Miraflores Chapel.
Inside this chapel is a beautiful statue of a boy. He wears a royal
mantle and kneels before a praying desk. The boy is Alfonso.
When Henry died, it was the earnest little Isabella who became queen.
Today in the Cathedral of Granada--that white and gold and silver
cathedral--are the tombs of Queen Isabella and her husband, King
Ferdinand.
They are carved of marble, and Isabella's pillow sinks down deeper than
Ferdinand's with the weight of her head. They say that this is because
her head held more brains than his.
We know she was a wise, good queen and we love her because she helped
Christopher Columbus and listened to his dreams.
[Illustration: TOMBS OF FERDINAND AND ISABELLA, GRANADA CATHEDRAL]
But just suppose Alfonso had not died. Suppose, instead, that he had
lived and ruled. Do you believe Alfonso would have listened to Columbus'
dreams and understood as did his sister Isabella? And, had he not, where
should we be today?
CHAPTER X
A STOUT SWEETHEART
The sale of the Prince Alfonso brooch brought Pilar and her grandfather
enough to live on for a week. Then once more Pilar was faced with having
to give up the castanets.
Juan seemed eager to have them now. He said that the great dancing
master had shown much interest in them.
This dancing master was the same one who had inquired about Pilar at the
fiesta that night in Triana, though Juan, of course, did not know it.
At last the fatal day arrived when Pilar could no longer delay her visit
to Juan's shop. What she would do after this last sale she had no idea.
Unless her grandfather's health improved so that he might work again,
things looked black for both of them.
Pilar went out onto the balcony of her house. Girl-draped balconies are
as natural in Spain as donkey-dotted roads and child-filled doorways.
Pilar gazed down on the street. The morning was golden. Church bells
clanged, and a knife grinder was piping on an Arab reed. A broom-maker
squatted on the pavement across the way.
Pilar's eyes were full of tears as she took up the castanets and went
with them into her grandfather's room.
"I am going out, Grandfather," she said.
But she mentioned nothing about selling the castanets. She could not
trust herself to speak. However, her grandfather saw them in her hands,
and his old eyes brightened.
[Illustration: GIRL-DRAPED BALCONIES]
"Some day I shall tell you--stories--about--those--" he breathed. "Your
mother--loved--them--"
"Do not talk now, Grandfather. It will tire you," said Pilar.
She wanted to be off, to have it all over with as quickly as possible.
She knew that if her grandfather told her a story about the castanets,
it would be even harder to part with them. Poor Pilar! If she had
listened to just one of those legends, she would not have dared to sell
the wooden clappers.
"Good-bye, dear Grandfather."
She kissed him and left.
As she opened the gate that led out of the small court of their house,
she ran into a stout, grinning boy.
"Oh, Pepe!" cried Pilar. "When did you get back?"
All summer Pepe had been away on a journey. Now here he was home again
to follow and annoy Pilar.
Pepe liked to make believe that he was a cavalier. He liked to imitate
his older brothers. For in Spain a man courts his lady in a very
romantic way. He stands outside her window at night, and sometimes he
sings love songs to her.
This funny, stout little Pepe often met Pilar at school and walked home
with her. Once he had even tried to sing under her window. But a
neighbor thought it was a tomcat howling and threw a bucket of water on
his head.
Today Pilar was in no mood to be followed about. Today was a bitter day
in her life. For this time there was no more hope of keeping the
castanets. She knew that at last she must really give them up to Juan.
She started to walk on ahead of Pepe. But he followed her.
He puffed as he jogged along behind her, calling out, "Wait for me,
Pilar. I have much to tell you. I have been to far-away places. Ho!
Listen, Pilar. I have been to Algeciras ([)a]l´j[+e]-s[=e]´r[.a]s)
and to the Rock of Gibraltar."
Pilar thought Pepe himself looked like the Rock of Gibraltar. She had
seen pictures of the great, solid rock. It belongs to England, and just
across Gibraltar Bay is the lazy little Spanish seaport town of
Algeciras.
Pilar usually liked to listen to Pepe's tales of his travels. The boy's
father often took him away to places where they saw interesting and
curious sights.
[Illustration: GIBRALTAR]
But today it was impossible to pay attention. She tried to get away from
Pepe and walked faster and faster.
He followed doggedly, breaking into a gallop and crying out in little
gasps, "Hi! But listen, Pilar."
And so eager was he to reach her that he did not notice where he was
going, and all of a sudden--pff! bang! He had crashed into a man wearing
what looked like a ballet skirt of tin cans. They were milk cans.
They shot in all directions. The man began to scold Pepe and to wave his
arms about. A crowd gathered, and in the noise and excitement, Pilar
escaped from her stout little sweetheart.
Seville's great cathedral was just across the street--a massive giant,
squatting in the sun. Pilar went inside. It was cool and peaceful there.
Works of art filled the vast church--paintings, fine carvings, and the
stately tomb of Christopher Columbus.
Pilar knelt before the altar, where a curious ceremony takes place every
year. This ceremony is called "The Dance of the Six Boys."
Pilar prayed, her eyes closed, her lips moving. And clasped to her
heart were the castanets--the magic castanets, about which another
legend was woven--a legend around this very Dance of the Six.
[Illustration: ALHAMBRA]
CHAPTER XI
DANCE OF THE SIX
(A LEGEND OF THE CASTANETS)
The chorus had been sung, and now they were dancing to the steady,
clicking rhythm of their castanets. It was a dignified dance, done by
young boys wearing silken pages' costumes and wide, plumed hats.
Everybody felt the solemn beauty of the ceremony, and a hushed reverence
had fallen over the cathedral. Two old people, a woman with a black
shawl thrown over her head and an old man with a tanned, leathery face,
sat silently weeping.
Fernando, their son, moved among those graceful figures beneath the
altar. He was a part of the royal Dance of the Six, called the
Sevillana.
How proud were these old people of their son Fernando! How happy to know
that, each year, he would take his place in this age-old ceremony of
their forefathers, in the dance which had been performed for centuries
in Seville's cathedral!
For in the far distant past, the Pope, hearing about the Sevillana,
wished to see for himself what sort of dance it was. In those days, it
would have been considered shocking for girls to dance before the Pope.
So six boys were taught the steps of the Sevillana and taken to the
Vatican in Rome.
Here they danced, dressed in their beautiful silken costumes. The Pope
was so well pleased that he granted permission to use this dance during
certain ceremonies at the cathedral. But the privilege was to last only
so long as the boys' costumes lasted.
[Illustration: DANCE OF THE SIX, SEVILLE CATHEDRAL]
Today these costumes are still in use. But what a deal of patching and
mending must have taken place during those hundreds of years!
When the dance was over, Fernando went into his room and pulled off his
quaint, plumed hat. The reverent little dancer had changed to a furious,
red-faced youth. He threw the hat down on the floor in a fit of anger.
"Never!" he cried. "Never will I dance it again!"
His sister Maria stood trembling at the door.
"Do not say that, Fernando," she begged. "Think of our parents. You
would break their hearts were you never to dance in the cathedral again.
These past three days have been for them the happiest of their lives."
"I shall never dance again," repeated Fernando firmly. "It is girls'
work, and I am a boy. I shall run away and work with men--and be a man!"
Fernando picked up his castanets, which had fallen to the floor.
"Miguel will take my place in the chorus," he said. "I shall have no
more use for these castanets, and so I shall give them--"
"No! No!" cried Fernando's sister. She ran over to him and caught him by
the arm. "You must never give away those castanets. Surely you have
heard about their magic power and the legends attached to them. Ill luck
to him who loses or gives away--"
"Nonsense!" scoffed Fernando. "I do not believe such tales. They are old
women's twaddle!"
"Perhaps," agreed his sister. "Yet remember what our grandmother
once told us. She said that the castanets have always been a power for
good. And whenever we do things which we should not do, they bring
misfortune to us and to our family."
Then she recited:
"_Castanets, with magic spell,
Never lose or give or sell;
If you do, then grief and strife
Will follow you through all your life._"
"Yes, I know," said Fernando shortly. "But," and he grinned, "I shall
change that verse to:
'_Castanets, you have no spell;
If I lose or give or sell,
I shall live in manly strife,
Not be a sissy all my life!_'"
One night many years later, this same Fernando, now a man, glided
along in a boat on a river near the border of France. With him were
several other men, and all of them were smugglers.
Fernando had long lived in the Pyrenees (p[)i]r´[+e]-n[=e]z) Mountains.
He had joined a band of people who secretly smuggled forbidden goods
from Spain to France in the dead of night. They led a dangerous life
and were always in fear of the customs men.
As their boat now moved gently along the water, Fernando's companions
slept. All night they had labored, and they were weary. But Fernando
could not sleep. Somehow his thoughts kept taking him to Seville, to his
parents and his sister Maria. What had become of them?
In all these years he had heard no word from them, and until now, he had
barely given them a thought. But tonight--How strange that they should
creep into his mind!
A shot rang out hideously. The customs men were after them! Another
shot! And another and another! One by one, the smugglers in the little
boat crumpled where they sat. Then the small craft itself began to
sink--down, down.
All was silent upon the surface of the water. All was silent for a long
time, and then Fernando, holding to a floating board, slowly raised his
head.
The morning had begun to dawn over the Spanish Pyrenees. A hoarse church
bell rang out. Fernando looked about him. The customs' men had gone back
to France. The smugglers, too, had gone, but not to France; to the
bottom of the river.
Fernando swam to shore, and the next day he set off for Seville. He had
one aim: to find his family and to try to make up for the heartache he
had caused them.
But Fernando was never to see his parents again. Long since the old
people had died, and only his sister Maria remained. He found her living
in a poor and squalid alley. Yet when he walked into her shabby room,
she did not seem in the least surprised to see him.
"I knew that you would come back, Fernando," she said quietly. "I
expected you."
Puzzled, he started to speak, but she silenced him.
Then thrusting her hand inside her blouse, she drew out the magic
castanets, saying, "They were brought back to me, Fernando!"
Fernando stood fixed to the spot, his eyes upon the old clappers, which
he had given away so many years ago in a fit of boyish rage. Then a
sudden curious idea occurred to him.
"When were they returned to you?" he asked Maria.
She told him, and he knew then that it had been upon the very same night
when his life had been spared, out there upon those dangerous
waters--the very same night when he had been thinking so earnestly of
his family.
His sister listened while he told her of his many adventures as a
smuggler. He promised to give it all up, to help her, and to become an
honest man.
"For," he ended, laughing, "there is an old Basque saying, 'If a
smuggler is an honest man, then legends are the truth.'"
"But surely, Fernando," said his sister, "you must believe in the
legends of the castanets after what has happened to us."
Fernando shook his head.
"I believe only in the power for good," he replied.
Some years later, Fernando had a little son of his own who danced in
the cathedral of Seville. And do you see those two old people who sit
there watching, solemn-eyed and happy?
They are Fernando and his wife, and they are very proud that their boy
is taking his place in this age-old ceremony of their forefathers.
CHAPTER XII
PILAR'S GRANDFATHER REMEMBERS
After Pilar went out, her grandfather lay thinking. Somehow the old man
felt better today. He did not fall asleep as soon as Pilar left the
house.
He began to wonder where she had gone and why she had taken the
castanets with her. He knew that she had been obliged to sell many of
her mother's souvenirs, so that they might live. But he hoped that soon
he would be able again to provide for his granddaughter and himself.
"Suppose Pilly has gone out to sell the castanets," he thought.
The idea frightened him. Yet he tried to tell himself that he was just a
foolish old man, to believe in a fairy tale about the charm of a pair
of castanets.
Still he could not help remembering the legends which had been handed
down through his family.
He lay dreaming, and before him passed the days when Pilar's mother had
been young. Her name had been Carmen Pilar Innocentia Gonzales, but she
had been known as "Carmen, the Little Spanish Dancer."
As a little girl, she had been just such a graceful dancer as Pilar. And
one day a great teacher from Madrid had seen her and had taken her away
to study in the capital.
But before that, she had spent much time on the streets of Seville. Her
father could still see her playing there with her little friend Tony,
who had lived next door.
Tony and his comrades had often staged a bullfight. Tony would be the
brave torero (t[+o]-r[=a]´r[=o]) or fighter, while all the neighbors
would gather round to watch the sport.
When Tony would plunge his make-believe sword into the make-believe
bull, everyone would cheer loudly.
[Illustration: BOYS PLAYING BULLFIGHT]
Bullfighting is still Spain's favorite sport, though recently football
has arrived there. The Spanish call it "fútbol," and it has become very
popular.
But Tony had always wanted to be a torero. Pilar's grandfather lay
smiling as he thought of that same Tony, now a wealthy tobacco merchant
living in America. He was far from being a bullfighter today.
However, when Pilar's mother, Carmen, grew older, she had been courted
by a young man who was a bullfighter. The memory of this young man
brought to mind again the fear of losing the castanets.
For Pilar's grandfather recalled a very real and dramatic story about
Carmen and Pedro, the young torero.
[Illustration: BULLFIGHT, MADRID]
CHAPTER XIII
BULLFIGHT IN MADRID
(A LEGEND OF THE CASTANETS)
In the opera, "Carmen," a girl who works in a cigarette factory of
Seville, is loved by a torero, or bullfighter.
The Carmen of this story did not work in a cigarette factory. She was a
dancer. But she, too, had an admirer who was a torero. His name was
Pedro.
In a few days Pedro was going to fight in a most important corrida, or
bullfight, in the city of Madrid. He was going to fight a very fierce
and savage bull. But, strange to say, Pedro did not want to kill that
bull.
Now, as a general rule, toreros would rather kill bulls than be killed
by them, for which you cannot blame the toreros.
In this case, however, it was different. Pedro's father had raised this
great bull, Rey, and Pedro was very fond of the animal. In a few days he
was expected to go into the arena and kill his pet.
Often Pedro took his little friend Carmen to visit Rey, who lived in a
field outside the city. Today they had come out for the last time before
the famous bullfight was to take place.
Both were very sad. Carmen, too, had grown to love Rey, and the big
creature seemed fond of her.
Sometimes the girl would practice upon her castanets out in the field.
And always when Rey heard the clicking song of the instruments, he would
come up close to the young couple and stand quietly listening.
Do you wonder that this was a sorrowful day in the lives of Carmen and
Pedro?
"If only we could think of some way to save him!" sighed Carmen.
She and Pedro sat upon a fence in the field. Around them rose mountains,
hazy in the sun. Small stone houses cuddled among old scrub oak trees.
Suddenly Pedro's eyes sparkled. "I have it!" he cried. "I have a plan!
Do you remember the bull whose life was saved during a bullfight,
because he came to his owner when he was called?"
Carmen nodded. She remembered well. All Spain had heard of it.
"Then why should not Rey, too, be given this chance?" asked Pedro. "Why
should he not be spared if he answers a call?"
"But who will call him?" asked Carmen.
"You," answered Pedro. "You, with your castanets."
"Like this," said Carmen, and she started to play.
Softly she played, then more and more loudly, until the great bull
appeared at the other end of the field. He stood looking at the boy and
the girl and, all at once, he started toward them, like a big, friendly
dog.
"You see!" exclaimed Pedro joyfully. "Now on Sunday, when I am fighting
with him in the arena, you, from the audience, will play your castanets
as you just did. If he turns and goes to you, I am sure that the judges
will spare his life."
"This is a wonderful plan, Pedro," smiled the lovely little Carmen. "And
I am certain that it will succeed, because, you see--" She hesitated for
a moment. Then she continued, "Because these castanets are enchanted!"
"Enchanted?" Pedro laughed. "That cannot be! Yet when you play them,
it is I who am enchanted, my Carmen!"
Carmen did not laugh, however. She looked down soberly at her castanets.
"Legends are told in our family," she said, "about the magic power of
these castanets. Whenever one of us has lost or sold or given them away,
misfortune has overtaken us."
Whereupon, she recited this verse:
"_Castanets, with magic spell,
Never lose or give or sell;
If you do, then grief and strife
Will follow you through all your life._"
"Then whatever happens, do not lose them before next Sunday," warned
Pedro, smiling.
As the young couple arose to go, Carmen gave a start.
"Did you see a figure sneak out from behind that tree and
disappear?" she asked Pedro.
"No, I did not," he answered. "And you are full of mystery today, little
Carmen!" He was laughing at her again. "Come. Let us go home now before
you see a ghost."
But Carmen had been right. There had indeed been a figure behind that
tree--someone with very sharp ears, who had listened to all they had
said.
He was no mystery--this figure--but a very real person. He was another
torero, jealous of Pedro, who had won the love of Carmen--jealous, too,
because Pedro had won popularity as a fighter, while he had not.
Carmen thought she recognized this man. Yet she was not altogether sure,
and on the way home, Pedro talked her out of her fears.
Happily they started toward Madrid, unaware of the terrible plan which
this jealous torero was beginning to lay.
[Illustration: MADRID]
On they drove through a flat land of many vineyards. They passed small
white houses with tiled hats on, and a village cut out of the landscape
by a lazy hand and colored carelessly. Soon they entered Madrid.
Madrid is a modern city of tram cars and toots and traffic. In the
summer time, Madrid is like a faded, old duchess, who clicks her fan and
squats in the sun. She is dressed in handsome plazas, fountains, and
parks.
But should you chance to walk into a narrow side street, you might catch
Madrid in her alley mood. Then she is a simple peasant.
Madrid is the capital, center, and heart of Spain. Pedro, the torero,
had lived there all his life. But little Carmen had only recently
arrived in the big city.
Upon the Sunday of Pedro's great bullfight, Carmen awoke early. Her
heart pounded with excitement. Today she and her magic castanets were to
try to save the life of Pedro's beloved Rey.
But suppose Rey would not listen to her? Suppose he would not come to
her when she played? The noisy arena would be far different from the
quiet fields where she was accustomed to calling him. He would be
frightened, furious, and fierce.
Bullfights do not start until four o'clock in the afternoon. Then the
sun is getting ready to go to bed, and Spaniards are getting up from
their siestas, or naps.
Carmen drove to the bullfight with Pedro's mother.
As they passed the Prado (prä´d[=o]), Madrid's beautiful art gallery,
Carmen thought, "This Prado is a heaven of art, while the corrida,
only a few blocks away, is a hades of suffering!"
She began to worry. And what girl would not have worried? For no matter
how brave a torero may be, it is never certain that he will come out of
the arena alive. Why, even Rey, his own pet, might today take Pedro's
life!
[Illustration: _From a Painting by Goya_
DOÑA ISABEL CORBO DE PORCEL]
Trough the many fine streets of Madrid they drove, and at last they
reached the bull ring. Crowds were swarming in through the gates of the
big, round arena. Carmen and Pedro's mother, silent and sad-faced, made
their way to their box.
The old lady wore a tall comb in her hair and a lace mantilla over it.
She opened her fan with a click and started to fan herself. Carmen did
the same, as, indeed, everyone else was doing. The sun had been very
slow about going to bed.
Over on the opposite side of the arena, the poor people sat in the sun,
because those seats were cheaper. There was an air of excitement. The
band played the "Toreador's (t[)o]r´[+e]-ä-dôr´) Song" from "Carmen,"
and then the fight began.
There were five toreros and five bulls before Pedro's turn came. Pedro
was to be last on the program.
Everything seemed to swim before Carmen's eyes during the performances
of these other men and bulls. The whole thing was a sea of fluttering
fans, sickly blue light, and waving red cloaks.
Then at last Pedro entered the ring. How big and handsome he looked in
his colorful costume! He carried the red cape with which he was going to
tease the bull.
But before that time, the bull would first be angered by men with sharp
sticks and by other men on horseback.
Look! The gate is swinging open now, and here is Rey! Snorting, rolling
his fine eyes, the magnificent creature gallops into the center of the
arena and stands, bewildered.
Suddenly Carmen cannot look to see her dear friend tortured. She hides
her eyes, her delicate little white hands held in front of her face.
But when she hears the crowd yelling, "Pedro! Pedro! Olé! Olé!" she
knows that she must uncover her eyes, for soon it will be her turn to
act.
A cry from the crowd. The bull has charged and has caught young Pedro by
the coat. But Pedro is quick. He finds his feet and twists himself to
safety. The crowd cheers loudly.
Backward and forward he dances like a graceful reed, playing with the
great beast, and the crowd are wild at his skill. Some throw their hats
into the ring.
But Carmen sees the fury and the pain in Rey's eyes. He is wounded. He
is frantic. She knows that now her turn has really come and she must
call to him with her castanets. There is no time to lose.
[Illustration: BULLFIGHT, MADRID]
Oh, will he remember those peaceful fields and come to her when she
plays? For if he does, it has been arranged that he shall live.
But should he not, the end must be the same with Rey as with every other
bull in every other fight. Pedro will have to plunge a dagger into the
head of his friend.
"Oh, let us win!" prays little Carmen, and she opens her bag where she
keeps her castanets.
The magic castanets are gone!
For a moment the world turns around in a crazy whirl. Fear clutches
sharply at Carmen's heart. The beast is blind with rage. Soon Pedro will
be obliged to make the final dagger thrust or--!
What must Pedro think? That she, his faithful little Carmen, has
betrayed him and Rey?
Where are the castanets? Carmen knows well that she brought them with
her. Someone has stolen them.
Suddenly Carmen remembers the figure she saw behind the tree that day in
the meadow.
Down there, close to the fence, she sees the same man! It is the jealous
torero.
He passes by, his set face wickedly content, and to Carmen's keen ears
comes a familiar sound. From the man's pocket, faint, yet unmistakable,
she hears the click of her castanets.
Carmen is out of her seat, past the guards, and inside that dangerous
arena. A gasp goes through the audience--a horrified shudder. But
Carmen, her black eyes snapping, is as dangerous now as any wild bull.
She has caught the man by the arm, swung him around, and snatched from
his pocket her castanets.
Now she stands very still. With her small body drawn up straight and
taut, she begins to play.
Pedro is fighting desperately. But everybody knows that soon it must be
man or beast. The torero must kill or be killed. The audience is
breathless.
Carmen's castanets sing shrilly, with a rolling trill, and, all at once,
Rey lifts his massive head and listens. The call is sweet. It speaks to
him of pleasant things.
What shall he do? Obey that call and follow? Or shall he stay and fight
it out with all his sharp-horned strength until the end?
A frenzied murmur issues from the crowd. Slowly the people rise together
in their seats, as if a mountain heaved. The bull has turned and now
begins to trot toward Carmen's side.
A woman shrieks. Another faints. But proudly Carmen stands, bringing
magic rhythm out of her magic castanets. And then she starts to walk
away, her wooden clappers coaxing like the Piper's reed and urging Rey
to follow her.
He does. The huge beast, like a docile dog, allows the girl with her
charm-sound, to lead him out of the arena--out of death and into life.
Little Carmen has won.
[Illustration: THE PRADO, MADRID]
CHAPTER XIV
WHERE IS PILAR?
When Pilar left the cathedral, she hurried toward the Street of the
Serpents. She would have to be quick. It was growing late, and her
grandfather would be waiting for her.
As soon as she had sold the castanets to Juan, she would shop at the
market. Then she would go home and cook the dinner.
She made herself think of the good things she would cook. But her eyes
filled with tears. How could she think of eating when her precious
castanets were soon to be gone?
Besides, what would she and her grandfather live on, after this money
was spent? Would they be obliged to ask for charity? Pilar shuddered.
The sound of a hurdy-gurdy came from the Murillo Garden as she passed.
She remembered how she used to dance there every evening before her
grandfather had become ill.
Her friends were dancing there now--all of them: Maria, Guadalupe,
Teresa--yes, even Baby Dolores, happy, carefree, whirling about in their
dance.
They had no troubles. They could stay out, dancing, singing, playing as
long as they pleased.
She would join them. She must dance just once more to her golden-voiced
castanets--just once more before she gave them up to Juan!
Pilar entered the garden.
Meanwhile, at home Pilar's grandfather awoke. He had been dreaming. He
had dreamed of that eventful bullfight when his daughter Carmen had
saved the life of Pedro's bull, Rey.
Carmen had later married Pedro, and Pilar was their child. But both had
passed away, leaving their little girl in the old man's care.
What was keeping Pilar now? Where had she gone, and what was taking her
such a long time?
Her grandfather began to worry. He raised himself on the pillow. Dusk
had fallen. The room was growing dark. Yet he could discern a white
object lying on the floor just inside the door. Why, it looked like a
letter. But few letters ever arrived at this house. Still it was a
letter!
Oh, if Pilar would only come home! She had never been so late before.
"Suppose," he thought, "she has sold the magic castanets, and something
terrible has happened to her! Suppose--"
[Illustration: TOLEDO]
But he quickly laughed at his foolish fears, and just then the door
swung open and Pilar burst in.
She was weeping bitterly, her arm flung across her eyes. She threw
herself down beside her grandfather's bed, sobs shaking her.
At first it was difficult to understand what she said, but gradually the
words swam out thickly through her tears, "Oh, I--I have done
a--terrible th-thing--"
A flood of sobs broke through and drowned the rest. Her grandfather laid
a gentle hand upon her head.
"There, Pilly dear," he said. "Do not cry, and tell me everything. Look
up, child, and see. Your old grandfather is better tonight, and soon he
will be quite well again. Are you not glad?"
This made Pilar raise her head. Her grandfather was speaking to her just
as he had done before he had been taken so ill. It was true then that
he was much better tonight.
"Tell me what happened," he repeated.
And Pilar poured out her whole story.
"We have had no money, dear Grandfather," she said. "And I have had to
sell everything of value--everything out of my mother's chest of
souvenirs.
"The castanets were the last to go. Juan had offered to buy them from me
for a great dancing master, and today I was on my way to Juan's shop.
But I--I--stopped in the Murillo Garden--and--and danced--oh!"
"Go on, Pilly dear," said her grandfather patiently.
"As I was dancing," she continued, "a gentleman came up to me and asked
to see the--the castanets. When I showed them to him, he said that he
would like to buy them. He said that he was the dancing master of whom
Juan had spoken.
"Oh, Grandfather, he offered me so much money for them, and I--I--"
"What did you do, Pilly?" asked the old man.
"I could not sell them, Grandfather!" sobbed Pilar. "I--I could not! I
ran away from him. I ran away!"
[Illustration: TRIANA BRIDGE, SEVILLE]
CHAPTER XV
A STRANGER ARRIVES
"Do not cry any more, Pilly," said her grandfather. "You have done no
harm by keeping the castanets. Perhaps you have done good. I shall tell
you why later on. But first let us have our dinner."
Pilar tried to smile. She brushed away her tears. Her grandfather was
actually hungry! Oh, this meant that really and truly he was getting
well!
Pilar started toward the kitchen. She had planned such a splendid dinner
for tonight, and now they would be obliged to eat beans and drink milk.
If only she could prepare her grandfather's favorite omelet stuffed
with creamed fish, or a bowl of stew, made out of chick-peas, garlic,
potatoes, sausage, peppers, and cabbage! But--
What was that white thing lying under the door? Pilar stooped down and
picked up a letter. It was postmarked "U.S.A."
Now very few of Pilar's friends would have known what those initials
meant. And even if they had been told, many of them would have shrieked
with laughter and cried, "Only red Indians live there!"
But Pilar's grandfather had been in America long ago, and, of course,
her mother had danced there.
The letter came from Antonio Santaella, and that was Tony--Tony, who had
lived in Seville as a boy and was now an important merchant in America.
Enclosed in the letter, Pilar found paper bills--money--more money than
Pilar and her grandfather had seen in many years!
Tony wrote that he would always remember Pilar's mother, known as "The
Little Spanish Dancer." He also asked Pilar whether she, too, would
become a dancer when she grew up.
Pilar's eyes shone.
"Oh, Grandfather!" she cried. "What a kind man Señor Tony is! How much I
love him! How I wish to be a dancer like my mother! Shall we have eggs
or stew for dinner?" She had said it all in one breath. She rushed to
open the door on her way to market, adding, "I shall be right
ba--pf-f-f!"
With a terrible thud, Pilar had bumped into a tall gentleman who stood
at the door. It was the great dancing master.
"Good evening," he said. "Are you Señorita Pilar?"
[Illustration: A NET MAKER, SEVILLE]
Pilar backed into the room. She looked like a scared little rabbit. What
did he want? Had he come to take her castanets?
"Ah, yes, you are the Señorita Pilar," continued the gentleman. He came
into the room, closed the door behind him, and sat down calmly.
"And this, I believe, is señor, your grandfather. No?" He smiled at the
old man, who lay quietly in his bed. "You see, I found out all about
you, señorita. After you ran away from me in the garden, I made up my
mind to follow you, and I did."
Suddenly Pilar's eyes flashed angrily.
"You cannot have the castanets!" she cried.
She was standing in the center of the room, and her face was white with
fury. Her small body was drawn up, rigid and tense.
"I'll never let you have them!" she screamed. "They're mine! Mine!
Mine!"
She stamped her foot and threw back her head. But the tall gentleman did
not seem in the least disturbed. He just sat there looking at her and
smiling as if he were watching a play.
Indeed, one had the impression that he might begin to clap at any
moment. But he did not.
Instead, he just laughed good-naturedly and said, "What a little
firecracker you are! And how graceful, too! Now, listen, child."
He had stopped smiling. He leaned forward and spoke to Pilar in a
serious voice.
"Listen to me, Pilar," he said. "I do not want your castanets if you do
not care to sell them to me. But--" He hesitated for a moment while
Pilar stared at him, still with that look of anger and fear in her eyes.
"But I do want something else!"
Pilar's grandfather raised himself upon his pillow. "What is it that you
wish, Señor?" he asked.
"The Little Spanish Dancer!" replied the gentleman. "I want Pilar!"
[Illustration: TOLEDO]
Both Pilar and her grandfather started. What was this man talking about?
"I want to take Pilar to my school," he went on, "and teach her. For I
believe that some day she will be a wonderful dancer. And I should know,
for I have taught some of the best dancers in Spain."
Now Pilar realized who he was. Often she had passed the window of his
dancing school. She had watched the fortunate pupils and listened to the
strains of a tango and the clatter of castanets.
Upon the walls of the school were colored posters showing scenes of
bullfights. Girls and boys, young and old, stamped their feet and
twirled to fiery music.
It had always made Pilar's heart beat faster. She had longed to join
them. But lessons were only for wealthy children and--
"But, señor," said Pilar's grandfather, as if he had been reading
Pilar's mind, "we have no money to spend on lessons."
"I shall ask no money," replied the dancing master. "No. Our school will
some day be proud of Señorita Pilar."
He stood up and put out his hand to the little girl.
"Come tomorrow for your first lesson," he said. "My brother will
instruct you. My brother, you know, is the second greatest dancing
master in Spain."
"And who is the first, señor?" asked Pilar's grandfather.
"Why, I am, of course!" answered the tall man proudly, and walked out of
the room.
When he had left, there was much rejoicing in the tiny house. Pilar went
out and bought a basket full of good things, and they had dinner.
After dinner, they sat together, silent and happy, the old man's
wrinkled hand caressing the child's glossy black hair.
Then all at once, in a low, mysterious voice, the grandfather began to
recite:
"_Castanets, with magic spell,
Never lose or give or sell;
If you do, then grief and strife
Will follow you through all your life._"
[Illustration: PILAR AND HER GRANDFATHER]
When he had told Pilar about the magic castanets and the legends with
their strange lessons, she felt a wave of joy sweep through her.
"Oh, then, it must have been the magic of the castanets that brought us
all this good fortune, Grandfather!" she cried.
Her grandfather smiled wisely and shook his head.
"No, Pilly," he said. "Good fortune always comes to those who think good
thoughts and who work hard. There is no magic in that."
THE END
PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY
Alcazar äl-kä´thär
Algeciras [)a]l´j[+e]-s[=e]´r[.a]s
Andalucia än´dä-l[=oo]-th[=e]´ä
Avila ä´v[+e]-lä
Babieca bä bie´ca
Barcelona bär´s[)e]-l[=o]´n[.a]
Boabdil b[=o]´äb-d[=e]l´
Burgos b[=oo]r´g[=o]s
Cadiz k[)a]d´[)i]z
Castanet k[)a]s´t[.a]-n[)e]t´
Cervantes s[~e]r-v[)a]n´t[=e]z
Cid s[)i]d
Cordoba kôr´d[+o]-vä
Damascene d[)a]m´[.a]-s[=e]n
Damascus d[.a]-m[)a]s´k[)u]s
Don Quixote d[+o]n-k[+e]-h[=o]´t[+a]
El Escorial [)e]l [)e]s-k[=o]´r[)i]-[)a]l
Fiesta fy[)e]s´tä
Granada gr[.a]-nä´d[.a]
Guadalquivir gwä´d[)a]l-kw[)i]v´[~e]r
Jerez h[+a]-r[=a]th´
Juan hwän
Montserrat m[)o]nt´s[)e]-r[)a]t´
Mosque m[)o]sk
Murillo m[+u]-r[)i]l´[=o]
Odyssey [)o]d´[)i]-s[)i]
Prado prä´d[=o]
Pyrenees p[)i]r´[+e] n[=e]z
Rodrigo de Bivar r[+o]-dr[=e]´g[=o] de be-vär´
Salamanca s[)a]l´[.a]-m[)a]ng´k[.a]
Segovia s[+a]-g[=o]´vyä
Señor s[=a]-ny[=o]r´
Señorita s[=a]´ny[=o]-r[=e]´tä
Seville s[+e]-v[)i]l´
Tagus t[=a]´g[)u]s
Toreador t[)o]r´[+e]-[.a]-dôr´
Torero t[+o]-r[=a]´r[=o]
Tormes tôr´m[=a]s
Torre del Oro tôr´r[+a] d[)e]l-[=o]´r[=o]
Valencia v[.a]-l[)e]n´sh[)i]-[.a]
Valladolid väl´yä-th[+o]-l[=e]th´
Visigoth v[)i]z´[)i]-g[)o]th
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_.
2. The list of illustrations with their page numbers have been added
after the table of contents.
3. Images have been moved from the middle of a paragraph to the closest
paragraph break.
4. In this etext, a letter with a diacritical mark is enclosed within
square brackets. For example, diacritical marks for letter 'e' are shown
below:
[)e] represents 'letter e with breve above'
[=e] 'letter e with macron above'
[+e] 'letter e with up tack above'
[~e] 'letter e with tilde above'
Similar representation is used for vowels other than 'e'. The following
two also appear within this etext:
[.a] represents 'letter a with dot above'
[=oo] 'letters oo with combined macron above'
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