Читать книгу: «Our Little Spanish Cousin», страница 3

"Antonio, tell us a story. You know some about the castle, I am sure." And little Juanita begged, "Do please tell us one, Antonio," and as nobody could ever resist the niña's wistful, brown eyes, Antonio smilingly began the story of "The Three Sisters."

CHAPTER V.
ANTONIO'S STORY

"Once upon a time," Antonio began, "there were in the palace of the Alhambra three princesses whose names were Zayde, Zorayde and Zorahayda. They were daughters of the Sultan, for it was in the days when the Moors reigned in Granada, and there were no Christians here but captive Spaniards. The princesses were kept in a tower called the Tower of the Infantas, one of the most beautiful towers of the Alhambra. It was fitted up in a manner befitting the home of the king's daughters. The walls of the room were hung with tapestries in cloth of gold and royal blue; the divans were heaped high with pillows, the pillars and arches which held up the roof itself, were in filigree of softest hues, – blue, terra-cotta, and gold. The Princess Zayde's chamber was the richest, all in cloth of gold, since she was the eldest Infanta; that of Zorayde was hung with steel mirrors, burnished bright, for she was most fair to look upon and loved to look upon herself; while that of the youngest, little brown-eyed Princess Zorahayda, was delicate in tone, as if some rare jewel lay in a dainty casket. Upon the princesses waited the discreet Kadiga, an elderly duenna who never let them from her sight for a moment. She watched them as a cat does a mouse, but there was one thing she could not control, and that was the eyes of the princesses. They would look forth from the windows, and, indeed, this Kadiga never forbade, for it seemed to her a pity that three such fair maidens should have so little amusement, and she thought it could not possibly hurt them to gaze into the gardens below.

"One day, while the princesses were looking out the narrow windows, they saw something which made them look and look again. Yes, it was true, – could it be? it was! They were the very same – the three Christian princes whom they had seen at Salobrena; but here they were labouring as captives. At the tourney to which the princesses had been taken, they had seen these noble knights, and had fallen in love with them, and it was for this that their father had shut them up in a tower, for he had said no daughter of his should marry a Christian.

"But the knights thought differently, and they had come to Granada in the hope of finding their princesses, and had been taken captive and were compelled to hard labour.

"'It is he!' cried Zayde. 'The knight with the scarlet tunic is the one I saw!'

"'Yes, but the one in blue, he is mine!' cried Zorayde.

"Little Zorahayda said nothing, but she looked with all her eyes at the third knight. And this was not the last time she saw him, for the knights had come thither, bent on rescuing the maidens, and had bribed their jailer to help them to escape. So one moonlight night, when the moon was turning into silver beauty the orange-trees of the garden, and shining in fullest light into the deep ravine below the Tower of the Infantas, the knights awaited their lady-loves in the valley below, and Kadiga let them down by a rope-ladder.

"All escaped in safety but little Zorahayda, and she feared to go.

"'Leave me,' she cried. 'I must not leave my father!' and at last, since they could not persuade her to go, they rode sadly away without her, and her little white hand waved a sad farewell to them from the window. There she still is, so say the legends, and there are those who, walking in these gardens at midnight, tell that they have seen a white hand wave from the tower window, and a voice whisper through the murmur of the fountains, 'Ay di mi Zorahayda!'"

"Oh, Antonio! hast thou seen her?" cried Juanita, and her brother laughed, and said:

"Little foolish one, it is but a story! But Antonio, tell us a tale of battle, for this is but a woman's story, and there have been splendid deeds done in this old castle."

"Splendid ones, and sorry ones as well," said Antonio, who was old for his twelve years, and had lived so long in the atmosphere of romance that he seemed a part of it, in speech and manners. "Shall I tell you of the taking of the Alhambra from the Moors? It was a glorious fight, and both sides were brave men."

Then he told them of the conquest of Granada, when Christian knight and Moor fought valiantly for the possession of the splendid city, with its gem, the Alhambra. He told of how the noble knight, Juan de Véga, was sent to demand tribute from Muley ben Hassan, King of Granada, and that fierce old monarch said:

"Return to your sovereigns, O Spaniard, and tell them that the kings of Granada who paid tribute are all dead. My mint coins only swords!" Brave words, but it was his son, Boabdil the Unlucky, who was forced to surrender the castle to the victorious enemy, and who handed the keys to the Spaniards, as he rode through the gate of the Siete Suelos, saying: "Go, possess these fortresses which Allah has taken from me, but grant me this one boon, that none other shall pass under this gateway from which I have come out." And Ferdinand granted his request and walled up the gate, so that, from that day to this, no one has passed through that entrance.

These and other tales Antonio told them, and the afternoon passed so quickly that the children were surprised when their mother's voice warned them that it was time to go home.

"Oh, mamma," they cried, "must we go?" and the señora smilingly waited a little, chatting with Antonio's mother, while he picked a huge bunch of flowers for the children to carry away with them. Then the good-byes were said, and they drove away crying:

"Come soon to see us, Antonio." To which he replied, in pleasant Spanish fashion:

"Thank you well, and very much for your visit!"

"Isn't he a nice boy?" said Juanita.

"Quite a little Don," her mother answered, smiling. "Fernando, I am glad to see that you have the sense to choose your friends so well," and Fernando grinned, boylike, well pleased.

"Oh, who is that?" Juanita asked, as a fantastic figure approached.

"That is the gipsy king," said her mother. "You know the gipsies live all huddled together there, below the Alhambra, and they have a chief whom they call king. They are a lazy set, doing little but thieving and telling fortunes. They live in little burrows, like rabbits, set into the hillsides, and there are pigs, goats, and dogs all living together with the people."

"That girl with the king is very pretty," said Fernando, "with her black hair and eyes, and her bright skirts, and the pomegranate flower behind her ear."

"The pomegranate is the flower of Granada, you know," said his mother, "and it does look pretty in her dark hair. Hear her call her dogs! Gipsy dogs are all named Melampo, Cubilon, or Lubina, after the shepherd dogs who followed the shepherds, and saw our Lord at Bethlehem. Ah, Juanita, 'Jesus, Maria y Josef!' You must not sneeze! Drive faster, Diego, and Dolores, wrap the baby in that Palencian blanket, so soft and warm. The nights grow cool quickly at this time of year."

"Why do we always say 'Jesus, Maria y Josef!' when people sneeze?" asked Fernando.

"It has been the custom so long that people have almost forgotten why it is done," replied his mother; "but I remember my grandmother saying once that her mother told her the reason. Years and years ago, in 1580, there was in all Andalusia a terrible plague called the mosquillo. People sneezed once, and lo! they had the plague, and little could save them, though some few recovered. So it grew to be the custom, when one sneezed, for those who heard him to look pityingly upon him and say, 'Dios le ayude,'⁴ or call upon the holy names to help him, saying, 'Jesus, Maria y Josef.'"⁵

"See that ragged beggar, mamma," said Juanita. "May we not give him something?" as a little boy came hopping along beside the carriage, crying, lustily:

"Una limosna por el amor de Dios,⁶ señora!"

"I have no centimos,"⁷ said the señora, "and it is not wise to give more to a beggar, but you can always give politeness, niña, and when you have no money say, 'Perdone me, usted,'⁸ or, 'Por el amor de Dios,'⁹ and thus you will not give offence to God's poor."

CHAPTER VI.
THE HOLIDAYS

Fernando had been three months in school and was beginning to grow tired, when it came time for the feast of Christmas, and he was very happy in the thought of all he was to do and see during his holiday. He and Juanita were very much excited in preparing their nacimento, which nearly every Spanish child has at Christmas time. This is a plaster representation of the birth of Christ. There are in it many figures, a manger surrounded with greens, the Baby Our Lord, St. Joseph, and the Blessed Virgin, the Wise Men worshipping the Holy Child, and angels hovering near, as well as the patient ox and ass who were his first worshippers. Juanita was wild with excitement as these were all grouped and set in place. She was only four and did not well remember the Christmas before, so that it was all new to her.

Christmas Eve there was a grand family party, all the relatives coming to the home of Fernando and partaking of a supper of sweetmeats and wine. In the morning there was, of course, early Mass in the great cathedral, where the choir sang divinely. It started way up in the loft to sing the Adeste Fideles, the Church's Christmas hymn for centuries, slowly coming nearer and nearer; and Juanita thought it was an angel choir until she saw it come into sight and the glorious voices rolled forth in a volume of song.

Then the children had breakfast and they made their aguinaldo, for every servant on the place expected a present as surely as did the old darkies of Southern days. The postman, the errand boy, the porter, the sereno who walks the street all night with his lantern, trying your door to see if it is locked properly, and assuring you that all is well as the hours strike, – all must be remembered. Then the señora took the carriage, and the children accompanied her, as she filled it with sweetmeats for the poor children and such of her special protégés as could not come to the house for their aguinaldo.

It was a cold day, for Granada grows cold in the winter time, and is not like other Spanish cities, which have summer all the year. The wind sweeps down from the Sierras and brings with it a blustering hint of mountain snows; and as the houses have no furnaces and seldom good stoves to heat them, even the rich can suffer, and the poor do suffer bitterly.

While the sun shines it matters not, for the sun of Andalusia is so warm and bright that it blesses all who lie beneath it; but when the dark days come or evening's mantle falls upon the town, people hover close about the brazero and long for summer.

With Fernando it mattered little, for he was seldom still enough to be cold, and he spent a merry Christmas, falling asleep to dream of delightful things, and waking to the happy thought that it would soon be the feast of the Circumcision. This is New Year's Day, and is celebrated with much festivity in Spain. The evening before there is a grand party for the grown-ups, and slips of paper are passed around, one being drawn by each person. They are in pairs, so that the one who draws number one must go to supper with number one, and great merriment is made over the pairing off of the guests. The gentleman has to send a bunch of flowers or sweets to the lady whose number he draws, and not a few matches have been made in Spain by this merry custom.

Fernando and Juanita, however, were quite otherwise engaged. They were sent early to bed and were dreaming of the sugar-plums of the morrow, wondering whom they would first meet, for they think in Spain that what happens to you on New Year's Day will determine the course of the whole year. If you meet a pauper you will have bad luck, but if you see a man with gold in his pocket, you will have money all the year.

Merrier still was the feast of the Three Kings, which is the day upon which little Spanish children have gifts made them as American children do at Christmas. This is in honour of the Wise Men having brought presents to Our Lord on that day, so that on the eve of January sixth, the feast of the Epiphany, Fernando and Juanita set their little shoes on their balcony with a wisp of straw to feed the Magi's horses, and with many surmises as to what they would find in them on the morrow. What wonderful things there were! Fernando had all the things that boys love, – tops, marbles, balls, and a fine knife; while Juanita had a wonderful dolly and all manner of dainty things for her to wear. "The Three Kings never make one feel like the governor of Cartagena," said Fernando, as he tossed his new ball and lovingly fingered his knife.

"But there is still another gift for thee and thy sister," said his father, and he led them to the door. There stood a wonderful little donkey, his bridle decorated with streaming ribbons and bells, his kind eyes blinking as he turned his head and seemed to say, "Hello, Little Master, are you and I going to be great friends?"

"Oh, papa, is that for us?" cried Fernando, while Juanita clapped her tiny hands with delight. It took Fernando but a moment to spring on the donkey's back, but his mother cried, warningly:

"Be careful, son! Remember how the little Prince of Granada rode too fast through the streets, and fell from his pony and was killed."

"Have no fear," her husband said, smiling, "the donkey will not go fast enough to hurt him; that is why I selected him." And he placed Juanita up behind her brother, bidding Manuel walk beside them, while Mazo, unbidden, jumped around.

Everything else that Fernando had sank into insignificance when compared to the little donkey, which he named Babieca, and which he and Juanita rode whenever they had a chance. Babieca was a kind little beast, though something of a rogue. He seemed to know that he must play no tricks when Juanita rode him, and he behaved himself well; but when Fernando rode, it was quite another matter. Babieca would prick up his long ears and go along quietly, then stop suddenly without saying "by your leave," and, of course, Fernando would go over his head. He would not hurt himself at all, and the naughty little mule would look at him wonderingly as if to say: "Now what on earth are you doing down there?" Fernando soon grew to expect such antics and was on the lookout for them.

When St. Anthony's Day came, of course Babieca had to go with the other four-footed friends of the saint, to be blessed and insured from all harm through the year. The seventeenth of January is the day of St. Anthony, patron of mules, horses, and donkeys, and a grand parade took place. All the people of the town who had such animals drove them down to the church to be blessed and to get a barley wafer. Many of the animals were gaily decorated with streamers and ribbons, and some with flowers; and all along the streets small booths were set up containing little images of St. Anthony and barley cakes. Babieca behaved very well at his blessing, though his refractory tongue did try to nibble the priest's stole; but some of the horses kicked and neighed, and, with the braying of the many donkeys and mules, there was a din not often heard in staid Granada.

There were no more fêtes for the time being, and Fernando, a trifle spoiled by all the gaiety, had to return to his studies again. It was a long month before carnival time, but his thoughts went forward to that delightful season, and it seemed to the little boy as if it would never come. However, as "all things come to him who will but wait," the great day arrived at last, and Fernando was wild with joy. Carnival time is just before the beginning of Lent, and is a season of great merriment. Under a turquoise sky, with no clouds to mar its fairness, there is a pageant almost like those of the days of chivalry, and Fernando and Juanita, attended by their faithful Manuel and Dolores, saw it all. Fernando dressed as a page, and his sister as a court lady of the days of Isabella the Catholic, and they were masked, as are all the people who throng the streets on these gay days.

Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday the carnival continues, each year, and the children are asked to little dances at the houses of friends, and also to hear student choirs sing and to see plays. But what they most enjoy is mingling in the crowds upon the paseo, throwing confetti at those who throw at them, seeing the flower-decked carriages, the wonderful costumes; monks, nuns, generals, court ladies, flowers, animals, all are represented, – all are laughing and throwing confetti right and left. Children are selling confetti, crying shrilly, "Confetti, five centimos a packet. Showers of a million colours! Only a perro Chico!"¹⁰ Ah, how gay and delightful it all is! Juanita saw much, and Dolores lay down at night thanking the saints that carnival lasted but three days! But Fernando saw everything, and poor Manuel's legs were weary as he kept pace with his little master, now here, now there, now everywhere, laughing and jesting, the merriest lad in all the carnival.

Alas, it was all over! Ash Wednesday dawned, dull and heavy, the weather as sad and sorry as the day. Fernando dragged himself to church, where his brow was marked with ashes according to custom, and gazed longingly at the Entierro de la sardina, a bit of pork the size and shape of a sardine, buried to show that the fast had begun, for no one in Spain eats meat on Ash Wednesday, and very little of it in Lent.

Fernando looked so depressed at supper that his mother asked him:

"What is the trouble, little son, are you ill?"

"No, mamma," he said. "But it is so long till Easter."

"Not if you do not think about it," said his mother with a smile. "Do your work with a will, and the days will pass quickly. If you are a good boy, you shall have a treat at Easter."

"Oh, what will that be," he asked, and Juanita cried, eagerly, "Shall I have it, too?"

"Both of you," the mother said. "Your father is going to take us to Sevilla, to see the grand Easter festival, and we shall see your brother and sister as well, and your cousins and your Aunt Isabella, so you must be good children."

"Indeed we will," cried both, joyously, at the thought of so much pleasure.