THE DAY OF SAN JUAN
In a few days the little _fonda_ lost the guests who had set such a
mark of distinction upon it that Matilda felt her house had risen to
the highest repute. A rainy day had kept all within doors and had
lent an opportunity for better acquaintance with Robert Lisle, an
opportunity which was made use of, not alone by Patty, but by Doña
Martina and her husband. These two latter had urged Mr. Lisle to make
their house his home while he remained, but he had declined, saying
his movements were uncertain and he might at any moment be called to
Santander. He promised, however, to consider them as relatives upon
whom he could drop in without ceremony.
The charming old Estrada mansion could not be entirely seen from the
high road; one must enter through a lofty gate before all the gray
buildings came in sight, though they and the garden were visible
from the side where one of the little narrow byways led off into
the mountain. A low fence surrounded this side of the garden, which
overlooked a green vale and the mounting reaches of the mountains
themselves. Entering the main gateway, one saw first the house itself,
with its stone patio, where countless pigeons cooed and pattered about.
Above were stone balconies and deep set windows, over which were the
sculptured arms of the house of Estrada. From a stone-paved hallway,
into which one must first enter, opened dining-room, kitchen, pantries
and servants’ quarters, while above stairs were the salon and the
bedchambers, all spacious rooms, looking out upon the garden in one
direction and the mountains in another. The furniture was old, but the
rooms were comfortable and there were so many as well might accommodate
a larger family. Beyond the house stood the little chapel, a covered
way leading to it from the second storey. Further away were the stables
and out-buildings. Fresh paint, where it was needed, gave an air of
cleanliness to the place, though the fine old rafters, oaken floors
and doors were left as they should be. In the garden, palms and apple
trees, figs and oranges, roses and geraniums as high as your head, grew
side by side, and this latter part of June there was a blaze of color.
Word had gone forth that Don Juan invited the villagers to a _fiesta_
in honor of his home-coming and of his name day, and as he had
throughout the countryside a reputation for performing wonderful cures,
for great charity, and for true kindness of heart, far and near, the
people prepared for the occasion.
Robert Lisle promised to be on hand and the evening before the day of
San Juan appeared just as all were starting out for a walk.
“Come with us,” said Doña Martina. “We are going to follow the custom
of St. John’s Eve. This is the _vespera_, as they call it.”
“And what is that?” he asked, taking from her hand the basket she
carried.
“We are going to deck the streams and springs. Those are rose leaves in
that basket and those flowering branches which Juan and Tomás carry are
for the same purpose. Come with us and help. It is such a pretty custom
and I want the girls to see how it is done.”
They pursued their way along a little stream which ran through the
village. Here was the washing place where daily was seen a group of
women beating out garments on the rocks or rinsing them in the clear
mountain water. Further along was a bridge and further yet another, the
latter in a quiet spot where the gurgle of the water and the whisper of
the new leaves made a pleasant murmuring song. Here the party paused to
strew their rose leaves and daisy petals.
Nothing would do but that Patty must explore the stream further along.
“It is much more fun to stand on the very edge and send the petals
on their mission,” she declared. “One somehow has a more intimate
relation with the stream doing it that way.” Tomás followed her and the
two were soon making merry over the fate of certain of their offerings.
“Come on, Glad Lady,” called Doña Martina. “We are going.”
“What did you call her?” inquired Mr. Lisle.
“Oh, that was Tomás’s first comment upon my sister. He said she was a
glad lady and we thought it very apt.”
“She certainly is a merry creature, so much more spontaneous and frank
than most one meets. I think candor and spontaneity are the charm of
our Southern girls.”
“I like you to say ‘our’; it sounds as if you still felt you belonged
to Kentucky.”
“Oh, but you know, I do feel so.”
“Paulette has vivacity enough,” Doña Martina went on, “but it is of a
different quality.”
“Quite so. Miss Paulette is entertaining, but--she is French.”
“I see you have the insular prejudice.”
Mr. Lisle laughed. “I am afraid I have. Where do we go next?”
“To the _fuente_. The young people of the village will have bedecked it
by now.”
“That is the fountain?”
“Yes, or the spring, as you choose. It is the great gossiping place,
as I suppose you have noticed, for one is sure to meet one’s neighbors
there during some part of the day.”
“It is singing the same little contented tune,” said Patty, as she and
Tomás came up. “It does not change it even for feast days. Aren’t you
all excited over to-morrow? I think there are so many pretty customs
for the day of St. John. I like to think of the young men climbing to
the windows of their lady loves to fasten flowers and boughs there. I
am wondering if Don Felipe will climb to our window, Polly, to set a
bough of blossoms thereby. I’d like to observe him in the act.”
“Patty,” her sister spoke reprovingly.
“But wouldn’t he look just like a monkey? Give him a red cap and coat
and he might go with a hand organ.”
“Patty, you forget you are speaking of a friend of ours,” said her
sister with dignity.
“Oh, but he is a friend of mine, too, and I may yet be making red coats
and caps for him myself, who knows? At all events, I’d like to see him
scrambling up to our balcony.”
The flowering branch was indeed there by the window the next morning,
but by whom it was placed, or for whom it was intended, no one could
discover. However, there were two nosegays, one each side the casement,
so there was no disputing a claim to these. The two girls were
laughingly squabbling over the bough of blossoms when Doña Martina
called to them, “Come down, come down and see what our young friends
have been doing.”
The two hurriedly made their toilets and went down to find an archway
of flowers over the gate, garlands festooned across the windows and
twined around the balconies. In the center of the _patio_ was set a
tree. “The presents have begun to arrive already,” Doña Martina told
them. “Old Antonia has been here with a pair of pigeons and here comes
Miguel with a basket.”
“Isn’t it exciting?” said Patty, peeping out to watch Anita take the
basket.
“A remembrance for Don Juan, señora,” said the maid. Doña Martina
lifted the cover to disclose a pair of white fowls.
And so the procession kept up all morning. Here came a lad with a
basket of fruit, there an old woman with a bucket of eggs, next a young
girl with a pat of butter on a quaint plate of peasant-ware, plate
and all intended for the good doctor. The climax was reached when a
handsome dark-eyed girl appeared, leading a snow-white lamb, decked off
with a wreath of daisies, the flowers of San Juan.
All must go out to welcome the little lamb. “The true symbol of San
Juan,” cried Doña Martina. “Isn’t it a darling? Come in, Perdita. Don
Juan will want to thank you himself. Anita will take you to his study.
She is very grateful,” Doña Martina explained to the girls, “for Juan
cured her grandmother of threatened blindness. These peasants are such
a superstitious set and someone had told the poor old grandmother to
dry a piece of holy palm which had been blessed by the priest, to crush
it to a powder and put it on her eyes. Imagine the result! I never
saw Juan more indignant. ‘But, foolish woman,’ he said, ‘you have
aggravated the trouble. You would be totally blind if you continued
such a stupid course. Had you no better sense?’ ‘It was my faith, only
my faith,’ wailed the poor old thing. They are just like that, and
half the time all that is needed is a little common sense. Eye trouble
is very common among them, and no wonder, for they use one another’s
handkerchiefs indiscriminately and are utterly careless. Juan has cured
scores of cases and they think he is a saint. I am sure Perdita has
been coddling the lamb especially for this occasion.”
“Isn’t she a pretty girl,” said Patty, watching the giver of the lamb
depart. “She has such masses of wavy hair and such beautiful eyes; then
what a fine straight figure and fine carriage.”
“You should see her dance the _jota_; no one about here does it so
well.”
“Shall we see her this evening?”
“Oh, yes, for we shall have good music. Now I must go and see if the
maids have prepared refreshments enough. There will be a big crowd, I
am sure. If any more presents come, tell me.”
More presents did come straggling along all day, until the supply of
such things as the country people could bring added a large store to
the larder. “They are poor,” Doña Martina explained, “and Juan accepts
no fees, so, as this is their opportunity to give what they can, we are
obliged to accept the gifts.”
“I think it is pathetic to see the little dabs some of them bring,”
said Patty, watching Anita empty from a bag a small hoard of nuts.
“Are we to dress for the occasion?” asked Paulette.
“Why, a little, maybe,” Doña Martina told her. “White muslin frocks
will do.”
“I wish we could wear something really Spanish,” said Patty.
“You can. I have a couple of shawls, _mantas de Manila_ they are called
here, and you can wear them as the Spanish girls do. You shall have the
yellow one, Paulette the red. You must stick red flowers in your hair,
I will show you how to arrange it, and then you will do. Some of the
girls will perhaps wear the Asturian costume, they know we like them
to, and some will wear the _mantas de Manila_; others still will simply
wear the best they have.”
“Don’t I look Spanish?” cried Patty, well pleased with herself, when
she stood ready for the dance. “You look stunning, too, Polly. Isn’t
it a pretty dress?”
“You at least look Spanish enough,” her sister told her. And, indeed,
with the yellow shawl draped gracefully around her, a red _clavel_ over
each ear, and a big fan in her hand she certainly did look as unlike an
American girl as possible. “I must go show myself to Juan,” declared
she, dancing out of the room.
She ran impetuously into the study and struck an attitude, unfurling
her fan as she did so. “Behold Carmencita!” she cried.
“Bella! Hermosa!” came the comment from the man sitting near the window.
“Don Felipe!” faltered Patty, taken aback. “I thought it was Don Juan.
I saw someone and I didn’t stop to see that it was not my brother.”
“Happy Don Juan, to dwell in the house with so much beauty,” returned
Don Felipe with a bow.
“I am dressed for the _fiesta_,” Patty explained, “and I came in to
show my costume. I look quite Spanish, do I not?”
“So much so that one might well believe you to be a native of my
country. Perhaps you will one day adopt this old Spain of ours. Would
it be difficult to persuade you?”
Patty thought of the antique jewels and answered coyly, “No one has
tried to as yet, and--” as she saw a sudden flash come into the old
don’s eyes, “I have not been here long enough to say whether I should
like to make this my adopted country or not.” Then turning her head
over her shoulder, “Here comes my brother now. Am I not fine, Juan?”
she cried. “I look much more Spanish than Polly. I wish I knew some of
the Spanish dances.”
“I should like to teach you,” spoke up Don Felipe.
Patty cast down her eyes that she might hide the amusement in them at
the vision of herself capering in the _jota_ opposite the small figure
of Don Felipe. “Some time when we have not spectators, perhaps,” she
said sweetly, “but to-day I shall only look on.”
“They are coming! They are coming!” Anita at the door announced
excitedly, and Patty ran out to join her sister and Paulette, who,
standing in the doorway, waited for the approaching villagers.
“They are singing,” said Patty.
“Yes, the song of San Juan,” her sister told her. “Let us go down to
the gate and see them in the dance. They sometimes come for miles
singing and dancing all the way.”
It could hardly be called a dance, though with joined hands a long line
of young men and maidens chanted the song, progressing up the road
while they took the step called the dance of San Juan. At the gateway
they paused for a moment then entered singing still; Perdita at the
head led a band of maidens who offered crowns of the field daisies,
the flowers of San Juan. Then a young mountaineer approached with a bow.
“Where is Juan?” asked Doña Martina nervously. “Call him someone,
quick.” But at that moment the doctor appeared and then and there was
raised a song in his honor. It had been composed by the schoolmaster
and had many stanzas which praised the kingly doctor, his gracious
wife, his beautiful guests, his princely brother, his estimable
friends, and at last sounded the virtues of even his cow and chickens.
After this the maids hurried out with trays of cake and wine, the blind
violinist and his wife, who pounded on a drum, struck up a typical air
and the dancing began.
Most of the damsels considered it unladylike to display much action
when dancing the _jota_, but Perdita was too greatly possessed with the
spirit of the dance to be hedged about by conventionalities. With arms
aloft, fingers snapping, body swaying, she responded to the steps of
her partner. “It is a delight to see her,” said Patty to Don Tomás, who
was standing by her side. “If only I could dance like that.”
“I will teach you,” he offered.
“I shall certainly not fail to accept your good offices,” she returned,
“although we must practice when Don Felipe is not by. He has already
offered to teach me.”
[Illustration: “PERDITA.”]
“He? That old _hombrecillo_? That _maniqui_?” There was scorn in the
tones of Don Tomás.
Patty laughed softly. It was not often that Don Tomás showed such
temper. “There comes Mr. Lisle,” she said. “I wonder if he dances.”
“These Englishmen, they do not dance, they simply spin,” returned
Tomás. “It is in Spain only that dancing is an art.”
“There’s vanity for you,” said Patty standing on tip-toe that Mr. Lisle
might see her across the group of onlookers. “You Spaniards are the
most guilelessly vain people I ever saw.”
“A Spanish lady and not dancing!” said Robert Lisle as he came up.
“The gladth ladthy is say she wish learn dance,” said Tomás, “and I am
say I will teach.”
“Don’t you want to learn the _jota_?” Patty asked the new comer. “It is
just over and it is such a pretty dance. You should have seen Perdita.”
“I am afraid a Spanish dance is beyond my powers, and that I have even
forgotten the American method.”
“If you ever knew you will pick it up again. We have had such a day
of it, and--oh I believe they are going to illuminate the house and
grounds! What fun! They will keep it up all night, I do believe. Why
have you not been on hand to see our precious doings?”
“I had some work to do which kept me, and I was out very early.”
“Early enough to see them decorate this place? They came long before we
thought of getting up. We heard voices, but were too sleepy to stir.
After becoming accustomed to the noise of the cow-carts we have learned
to sleep through anything. Did you walk out this way and do you know
who set the blossomy bough by our window, and if it was intended for
Polly or me?”
“Ought I to tell if I do know?”
“Certainly, how else can we smile on the one who desires our favor?”
“Very well, I will tell you some time,” he added.
Patty gave him a swift look wondering exactly what that meant, then she
laughed lightly. “I fancied it might be Don Felipe, you know,” she said
in an undertone.
“The little man in the elegant waistcoat and riding boots?”
“The same. He is a magnificent don with oodles of pesetas and would you
think it? He came over on horseback to-day, though he often comes with
a coach and four. The relations between Paulette and me are strained
already on his account, as we both pine for his collection of antique
jewels. I wish I had not thought of the jewels just now, for I am
instantly seized with a feeling that I am neglecting my opportunities
by not going over to talk to him. I shall have to leave you.” And in
another moment she had joined the group among whom were her sister and
Don Felipe.
There seemed no wearying the dancers and their number was soon
increased by a company from another village. The young men of this
_pueblo_ bore a tall slim tree from which all the branches had been
cropped. It showed only a small tuft of green leaves at the very top,
but was decked out with ribbons and flowers. The girls followed,
jangled their tambourines and sang the song of the day as they came
down the road and into the garden, where the tree was set up.
Another supply of cake and wine was brought forth, the dancing became
more and more exciting, though the watchers began to be weary, yet the
lights in window and balcony were not extinguished till long after
midnight, and even then the song of the dancers still echoed from a
distance.