PRIDE AND ITS PENALTY.
But again Inez was disappointed. Instead of her brother appearing,
Teresa ushered in a visitor, Donna Maria de Rivas, a middle-aged lady
of Seville, well known to the Aguileras, as she had been brought up in
the same convent as the late mother of Alcala and Inez.
The senora entered the patio with the stately grace peculiar to
Spanish ladies. But the expression on her face was that of keen
curiosity; and even before she greeted Inez with a kiss on either
cheek, the visitor's eyes were riveted on the garments of scarlet and
green.
"It is then true!" exclaimed Donna Maria, "and Don Alcala is to appear
in full fico[6] in the Plaza de Toros to-morrow!"
The look of anguish on the pale face of the sister might have been
sufficient reply, but Donna Maria was not one whose curiosity could
be so easily satisfied. She was an old friend of the family, and, as
such, she deemed it her right to know all that concerned them. Perhaps
to the motherless girl at her side it was some relief to pour forth
the tale of her sorrows to one who professed at least to feel a strong
interest in the children of her early companion. In the deepening
twilight, under the clear blue sky of Andalusia, while star after star
twinkled forth, Inez, often interrupting herself to listen, told the
cause of that distress which was blanching her cheek and well-nigh
breaking her heart.
"You know--I need not tell you--that we--my grandmother and brother, I
mean--have no longer the wealth possessed by our fathers."
"They were some of the most distinguished hidalgos of Spain,"
interrupted Donna Maria.
"My brother," continued Inez, "though willing to suffer anything
himself rather than degrade his dignity by doing anything that the
world might deem unbecoming in one of his rank, could not endure to
see our aged grandmother wanting what her infirmities required. Alcala
therefore consented to--to"--Inez was a Spaniard, and may be forgiven
if she had inherited enough of the pride of her race to feel it a deep
humiliation to own that the heir of the Aguileras had stooped to
serve in an ironware factory, and accept the foreigner's gold.
"I know, I know, my poor child," said Donna Maria, pitying her friends
under what she regarded as an almost unbearable misfortune and
disgrace.
Inez went on with her story.
"But Alcala had still, of course, the right to mix in the highest
society of Seville. He spent his evenings often--ah! much too
often--at the palace of the governor, Don Lopez de Rivadeo."
"Ah! the governor has a daughter, and Donna Antonia has beautiful
eyes," observed the visitor with a meaning smile, which it was well
that Inez did not see.
"The evil eye, the evil eye!" exclaimed the poor girl with passionate
emotion; "would that Alcala had never, never met their basilisk
glance! It is not her wealth that he cares for,--that wealth which
draws round Antonia so many idle worshippers, like moths round a
flame!"
"I have heard that one of these suitors insulted De Aguilera in her
presence," said Donna Maria.
"One whose ancestors would have deemed it an honour to hold the
stirrup of an Aguilera disputed with Alcala the privilege of handing
Donna Antonia into her galley on the Guadalquivir," said Inez. "'The
hand that had accepted payment for clerk's work,' sneered the
courtier, 'has no right to touch a lady's white glove.' Then Alcala
fired up at the taunt; it had stung him to the quick. He was roused to
speak of his fathers, of their triumphs over the Moors, and to tell
how one of our race had gained a chain of gold from Queen Joanna for
spearing a huge bull at a _gran foncion_ held in her presence. 'It is
pity,' said the mocking Don Riaz, 'that in these days caballeros are
content to win money, though their fathers only cared to win fame.'
Alcala was goaded by the taunt into saying that he was as ready as was
ever an Aguilera to ride in the bull-ring, and break a lance for the
smile of a lady."
"And they actually nailed him to a word so hastily spoken?" asked the
visitor eagerly.
"Ay," replied Inez bitterly; "though every one knows that caballeros
never now encounter the bull, that the desperate struggle is left to
picador and matador[7] trained and paid to expose their lives for the
sport of the crowd."
"Did not Donna Antonia forbid her cavalier to attempt so rash an
exploit?" asked Donna Maria.
"Forbid! oh no!" exclaimed the indignant Inez; "for an Aguilera to
risk or to lose his life for her sake would be to her proud nature as
the crowning triumph of her beauty! She will be there--Antonia will
be in the Plaza de Toros, and she will look on with those calm, cruel
eyes, whilst Alcala, my pride--my darling,"--Inez could not finish the
sentence, but buried her face in her hands.
"Do not despair, _cara amiga_," said Donna Maria, laying her hand
caressingly on the shoulder of the sobbing girl; "Donna Antonia de
Rivadeo may see the triumph of your brother. Don Alcala is a good
horseman, and a brave cavalier."
"Brave as a lion, and he rides like the Cid!" exclaimed Inez, raising
her head, and speaking with animation. "But what will that avail him?"
she added sadly. "Alcala has had no training for the bull-ring, as had
knights and gentlemen of old. They had active and powerful steeds;
Alcala has but poor old Campeador, who bore our father ten years
ago--good faithful Campeador, whom I have often fed from my hand!"
"But your brother will not be alone in the arena," suggested Donna
Maria; "there will be the matadors, the picadors, the chulos,[8] to
divert the bull's attention, or to give him the _coup-de-grace_."
"May they come to the rescue! the blessing of all the saints be on
them if they do!" cried Inez with fervour. "But oh! _amiga mia_, I
hope little from those who make this horrible sport a profession. They
are natural enemies of the caballero who dares to do for honour what
they are trained to do for gold. These men are jealous, and they are
cruel; is it not their very trade to torture and to kill? I never saw
a bull-fight but once," continued Inez, speaking rapidly. "My father
took me when I was a child; but he never ventured to take me again.
The sight--the horrible sight of the poor gored horses madly rushing
round the circus in their agony haunted me for weeks,--it brought on a
nervous fever! And how the scene comes back on my memory now in
terrible distinctness! I long lay awake last night trying, but trying
in vain, to drive away thought by repeating _aves_ and _credos_, till
I dropped asleep at last, and then--and then," added Inez with a
shudder, "I was in the dreadful arena! I saw the bull tearing onwards,
the banderillas in his thick strong neck; with bloodshot eye, and head
bent down, he made his furious charge! I shrieked so loud that I awoke
my grandmother, who usually sleeps so soundly! I used to pity and
grieve over her feebleness of mind,--I could almost envy it now; she
is spared the horrors of my dream, and the worse misery of my waking!"
There was an oppressive silence for several seconds and then Donna
Maria said, "Have you attempted to dissuade your brother from
prosecuting this wild adventure?"
"Have I not?" exclaimed Donna Inez; "have I not knelt and clasped his
knees, and implored as if for my life? I pained, but I could not move
him; Alcala said that his honour was pledged."
"You have been preparing the picador costume," observed Donna Maria,
glancing down at the embroidered jacket and scarlet scarf which lay
beside her, faintly visible in the starlight.
"Yes; if Alcala must appear in the arena before all those gazing eyes,
he shall appear as becomes an Aguilera," replied the Spanish maiden.
She did not dwell on the theme, or tell how much of her brother's
hardly-earned gains had been frittered away on that gaudy costume; nor
how she had not only given the labour of her hands, but sacrificed
every little silver ornament which she possessed to add to its value
and beauty. Bitterly had the poor girl felt, as she plied her needle,
that she was but, as it were, decking out a victim for slaughter.
"Don Alcala will look a goodly cavalier," observed Donna Maria in an
encouraging tone. "We will pray the Madonna to give him success."
"I have wearied every saint with my prayers," sighed Inez de Aguilera,
"and yet--hark! surely there is the sound of a ring!" and again she
eagerly sprang to her feet.
"Your brother would not ring, but enter," suggested Donna Maria. "Poor
child! how you are trembling!"
Inez was indeed trembling violently; she had to lean against a column
for support, as the grating of the vestibule was unclosed, and not
Alcala but Teresa appeared. The old servant bore in one hand a letter,
in the other a lantern borrowed from Donna Maria's attendant, who was
waiting with her mule-carriage in the street. Inez had a presentiment
that the missive was from her brother, and that his sending it was a
sign that he was not coming himself. She took the letter from Teresa,
and eagerly tore it open; for by the lantern's light Inez recognized
the handwriting of Alcala.
The brief note was as follows:--
"It is better, dearest, that we meet not again till all is over. Send
Chico at dawn with Campeador and my dress to the Posada[9] de Quesada;
he knows the place well. Kiss for me the hand of our venerable parent.
Farewell! a brother's blessing be with you! Inez, you have been more
than a sister to Alcala."
FOOTNOTES:
[6] The full costume of a picador.
[7] The picador is he who encounters the bull on horse-back. The
matador meets him on foot, and gives the last stroke.
[8] Those who irritate the bull by sticking into him small darts with
flags attached, called banderillas.
[9] An inn