AT CARMEN'S WINDOW-GRILLE
Gallardo's prowess in fighting young bulls in the _pueblos_, heralded in
Seville, caused the restless and insatiable amateurs, ever seeking a new
luminary to eclipse those already discovered, to fix their attention
upon him.
"He certainly is a boy of wonderful promise," they used to say, on
seeing him pass along Sierpes Street with short step, swinging his arms
arrogantly. "He must be seen on classic ground." This ground for them
and for the Little Cobbler was the ring of the plaza at Seville. The boy
was soon to find himself face to face with the real thing. His protector
had acquired for him a spangled costume, somewhat worn, a cast-off of
some bull-fighter who had failed to win a name. A _corrida_ of young
bulls was arranged for a benefit, and influential devotees, eager for
novelty, managed to include him in the programme gratuitously, as
_matador_.
The son of Senora Angustias declined to appear in the announcements
under his nickname of Little Cobbler, which he desired to forget. He
would have nothing to do with stage names, and less with menial offices.
He wished to be known by the names of his father, he desired to be Juan
Gallardo; no nickname should recall his origin to the great people who
undoubtedly would become his friends of the future.
The whole ward of the Feria flocked _en masse_ to the _corrida_ with a
noisy and patriotic fervor. The dwellers in the ward of Macarena also
showed their interest and the other popular wards allowed themselves to
be carried away with equal enthusiasm. A new _matador_ for Seville!
There was not room for all and thousands were left outside the plaza
anxiously awaiting the news of the _corrida_.
Gallardo fought, killed, was knocked down by a bull without being hurt,
and kept the public in constant anxiety by his daring, which generally
resulted fortunately and provoked colossal bellowings of enthusiasm.
Certain devotees, esteemed for their opinions, smiled complacently. He
had much to learn but he had courage and ambition, which is the
important thing.
"Above all, he goes in to really kill 'in classic style,' and he keeps
inside the field of reality."
At the opposite side of the plaza the old magistrate smiled
compassionately beneath his white beard, admiring the boy's bravery and
the fine appearance he made in the spangled costume. When he saw him
knocked down by the bull he fell back into his seat as if he were going
to faint. That was too much for him.
In one section proudly strutted the husband of Encarnacion, Gallardo's
sister, a leather-worker by trade, a prudent man, an enemy of vagrancy,
who had married the cigarette girl, captured by her charms, but under
the express condition of having nothing to do with her scamp of a
brother.
Gallardo, offended by his brother-in-law's distrust, had never ventured
into his shop, which was situated in the outskirts of Macarena, nor
descended from the ceremonious you when now and then of an afternoon he
met him at his mother's house.
"I am going to see how that shameless brother of thine dodges the
oranges," he had said to his wife as he set out for the plaza.
And now, from his seat, he bowed to the swordsman, calling him Juaniyo,
saying _thou_, playing the peacock, content when the young bull-fighter,
attracted by the many shouts, saw him at last and returned the greeting
with a salute of his sword.
"He is my brother-in-law," said the leather-worker so that those near
him might admire him. "I have always known the boy would amount to
something at bull-fighting. My wife and I have helped him much."
The finale was triumphal. The multitude rushed impetuously upon
Juanillo, as if they were about to devour him by their outbursts of
enthusiasm. Fortunately the brother-in-law was present to impose order,
to shield him with his body, and to conduct him to the hired coach in
which he seated himself at the bull-fighter's side.
When they arrived at the house in the ward of the Feria an immense crowd
was following the carriage with shouts of joy and acclamations of praise
that brought the people crowding to the doors. The news of the triumph
had reached there ahead of the swordsman and the neighbors ran out to
see him and to press his hand.
Senora Angustias and her daughter were at the door. The leather-worker
stepped out almost arm in arm with his brother-in-law, monopolizing him,
shouting and gesticulating in the name of the family that nobody should
touch him, as if he were a sick man.
"Here he is, Encarnacion," he said, shoving him toward his wife, "Not
even Roger de Flor himself--"
And Encarnacion had no need to ask more, for she knew that her husband
vaguely considered this historic individual the personification of all
greatness and that he only ventured to connect his name with portentous
circumstances.
Certain enthusiastic neighbors who came from the _corrida_ flattered
Senora Angustias, crying, "Blessed be the mother that has given birth to
such a valiant youth!"
Her friends overwhelmed her with their exclamations. What luck! And what
sums of money he soon was going to earn!
The poor woman wore in her eyes an expression of astonishment and doubt.
And was it really her little Juan that had made the people run with such
enthusiasm? Had they gone mad?
But she suddenly fell upon him as if all the past had vanished; as if
her worry and fretting were a dream; as if she confessed a shameful
error. Her great flabby arms wound around the bull-fighter's neck and
her tears wetted his cheeks.
"My son! Little Juan! If thy poor father could only see thee!"
"Don't cry, mother--for this is a day of joy. You shall see. If God
gives me luck I will build you a house and your friends shall see you in
a carriage and you shall wear all the Manila shawls you want."
The leather-worker received these promises of greatness with signs of
affirmation in the presence of his astonished wife, who had not yet
recovered from her surprise at this radical change.
"Yes, Encarnacion; this youth will do it all if he undertakes it. It was
extraordinary. Not even Roger de Flor himself--!"
That night in the taverns and _cafes_ of the popular wards they talked
only of Gallardo. The bull-fighter of the future! He has flourished like
the very roses. This boy is going to get away the favors from all the
Cordovan caliphs.
In these assertions was revealed Sevillian pride in constant rivalry
with the people of Cordova, which was also a land of good bull-fighters.
Gallardo's existence changed completely from this day. The young
gentlemen greeted him and made him sit among them around the doors of
the _cafes_. The pretty girls who formerly satisfied his hunger and took
care of his adornment, found themselves little by little repelled with
smiling disregard. Even the old protector prudently withdrew in view of
a certain indifference and bestowed his tender friendship on other boys
who were just beginning.
The management of the bull-plaza sought out Gallardo, humoring him as if
he were already a celebrity. By announcing his name on the programmes
success was assured, the plaza filled. The masses applauded wildly the
"boy of Senora Angustias," giving tongue to tales of his valor.
Gallardo's fame extended through Andalusia, and the leather-worker,
without being solicited, mixed in everything and played the part of
defender of his brother-in-law's interests. A thoughtful and expert man
in business, according to himself, he saw the course of his life marked
out.
"Thy brother," he would say to his wife at night as they went to bed,
"needs a practical man at his side to manage his interests. Dost thou
suppose he would think well of naming me his manager? A great thing for
him! Not even Roger de Flor himself! And for us--?"
The leather-worker contemplated in imagination the great riches Gallardo
was going to gain, and he thought also of his own five sons and those
that were still to come. Who could tell if what the swordsman earned
should fall to his nephews?
For a year and a half Juan killed bullocks in the best plazas of Spain.
His fame had reached Madrid. The devotees at the capital felt a
curiosity to see the "Sevillian boy" of whom the newspapers talked so
much and of whom the "intelligent" Andalusians boasted.
Gallardo, escorted by a group of friends from his native city who were
residing in Madrid, strutted along the sidewalk of Seville Street near
the Cafe Ingles. The pretty girls smiled at his compliments and their
eyes followed the toreador's heavy gold chain and his big diamond
ornaments acquired with his first earnings and on credit--discounting
the future. A _matador_ must show that he has an overplus of money by
decorating his person and treating everybody generously. How far away
were those days when he, with poor Chiripa, tramped along that same
pavement, afraid of the police, contemplating the bull-fighters with
admiration and picking up the stubs of their cigars!
His work in Madrid was lucky. He made friends and formed around him a
group of enthusiasts hungry for novelty who also proclaimed him the
"bull-fighter of the future" and complained because he had not yet
received the "alternative."
"He's going to earn money by basketfuls, Encarnacion," said the
brother-in-law. "He is going to have millions, if he doesn't have some
bad luck."
The life of the family changed completely. Gallardo, mingling with the
young gentlemen of Seville, did not wish his mother to continue living
in the house where she had passed her days of poverty. On his account
they had moved to a better street in the city, but Senora Angustias
inclined to remain faithful to the ward of the Feria, with the love
which simple people feel as they grow old for the places where their
youth was spent.
They lived in a much better house. The mother did not work and the
neighbors paid her homage, finding in her a generous lender in their
days of stress. Juan possessed, besides the loud and showy jewels with
which he adorned his person, that supreme luxury of every bull-fighter,
a powerful sorrel mare, with a cowboy saddle and a fine blanket bordered
with multicolored fringe across the pommel. Mounted on her he trotted
along the streets with no other object than to receive the homage of his
friends, who greeted his elegance with noisy _"Oles!"_ This satisfied
his desire for popularity for the moment. On other occasions he rode
with the young bloods, forming a sightly troop of horsemen, to the
pasture of Tablada, on the eve of a great _corrida_, to see the herd
that others had to kill.
"When I take the 'alternative,'" he was saying at every step, making all
his plans for the future depend on that.
He deferred until then a series of projects that would surprise his
mother, poor woman, overcome by the good fortune fallen suddenly upon
her house, and which, she thought, could not be surpassed.
The day of the "alternative" came at last, the day of Gallardo's
recognition as a killer of bulls. A celebrated _maestro_ ceded to him
his sword and _muleta_ in the open ring of Seville and the crowd went
mad with enthusiasm, seeing how he felled with a single sword-thrust the
first "formal" bull that appeared before him. The following month, this
tauromachic degree was bestowed again in the plaza of Madrid where
another _maestro_, not less celebrated, again gave him the "alternative"
in a _corrida_ of Miura bulls.
He was no longer a _novillero_; he was a _matador_, and his name figured
beside those of old swordsmen whom he had worshipped as unapproachable
gods when he was going about among the little towns taking part in the
bull-baitings. He remembered having lain in wait for one of them at a
station near Cordova to ask aid from him when he passed through on the
train with his _cuadrilla_. That night he had something to eat, thanks
to the generous fraternity that exists among the people of the queue
which impels a swordsman of princely luxury to hand out a _duro_ and a
cigar to the unfortunate little vagabond on the road to his first
_capeas_.
Contracts began to shower upon the new swordsman. In all the plazas of
the Peninsula they desired to see him, moved by curiosity. The
newspapers devoted to the profession popularized his picture and his
life, distorting the latter with novel episodes. No other _matador_ had
so many engagements. He was going to make money abundantly.
Antonio, his brother-in-law, told of this success with clouded brow and
loud protestations to his wife and her mother. The swordsman was an
ungrateful fellow--the history of all who rise suddenly. And he had
worked so hard for Juan! With what firmness had he argued with the
managers when the bullock-fight was arranged for him. And now that he
was a _maestro_ he had as a manager a gentleman he had met only a short
time ago; one Don Jose who was not one of the family but one for whom
Gallardo showed esteem on account of his prestige as an old connoisseur.
"And he will be sorry for it," he ended, adding, "A man has only one
family and where will he find such loving care as we have given him ever
since he was little? He is the loser. With me he would flourish like
Roger de--"
He interrupted himself, swallowing the famous name for fear of the jokes
of the _banderilleros_ and amateurs who frequented the house and who had
no respect for the historical object of the leather-worker's adoration.
Gallardo, with the generosity of a victor, gave some satisfaction to his
brother-in-law by putting him in charge of the house he was having
built, with _carte blanche_ as to expenses. The swordsman, overcome by
the ease with which money came into his hands, was willing to let his
brother-in-law rob him, thus compensating him for not having been chosen
as manager.
The _torero_ was to realize his desire of building a house for his
mother. She, poor woman, who had spent her life scrubbing floors for the
rich, should have her beautiful courtyard with marble pavements, with
tiled wainscot, and rooms with furniture like those of the gentry, with
servants, yes, many servants to wait upon her. He also felt united by a
traditional affection to the ward where his childish poverty had slipped
from him. He rejoiced to outshine the very people who had employed his
mother as a servant and to give a handful of _pesetas_, in moments of
need, to those who had taken shoes to his father or who had given him a
crumb in those sorrowful days. He bought several old houses, one of them
the same in whose _portal_ the cobbler had worked. He had them torn down
and began to build an edifice that was to have white walls with green
painted grilles, a vestibule lined with tiles, and a barred gate of
delicately wrought iron through which should be seen the courtyard with
its fountain in the centre and its marble columns, between which should
hang gilded cages with chattering birds.
Antonio's satisfaction at having full license in the direction and
profit of the works was diminished somewhat by terrible news,--Gallardo
had a sweetheart! He was travelling now in mid-summer, running over
Spain from one plaza to another, making famous sword-thrusts and
receiving applause; but almost daily he sent a letter to a certain girl
in the ward and in the short respites between wandering from one
_corrida_ to another abandoned his companions and took the train to
spend the night in Seville, courting her.
"Have you seen?" shouted the leather-worker, scandalized at what was
taking place "in the bosom of the home" before the very eyes of his wife
and mother-in-law. "A sweetheart! without saying a word to the family,
which is the only thing worth while in the whole world! The Senor wants
to marry. Without doubt he is tired of us. What a shameless fellow!"
Encarnacion approved these assertions with rude grimaces of her strong,
fierce face, content to be able to express herself thus against the
brother who filled her with envy by his good fortune. Yes, he had ever
been a shameless fellow.
But the mother protested. "No, indeed! I know the girl and her poor
mother was a chum of mine in the Factory. She is as pure as nuggets of
gold, trim, good, fine-looking. I have already told Juan that it would
please me and the sooner the better."
She was an orphan, living with an aunt and uncle who kept a little
grocery store in the ward. Her father, an old-time dealer in brandies,
had left her two houses on the outskirts of Macarena.
"A little thing," said Senora Angustias, "but the girl doesn't come
empty-handed. She brings something of her own. And as for
clothes--_Josu!_ you ought to see her little hands of gold; how she
embroiders the clothes, how she is preparing her trousseau."
Gallardo vaguely recollected having played with her when they were
children near the _portal_ where the cobbler worked while the two
mothers chatted. She was a sprightly creature, thin and dark, with eyes
of a gypsy--the pupils black and sharply rounded like drops of ink, the
corneas bluish white and the corners a pallid rose-hue. In their races
she was as agile as a boy and her legs looked like reeds; her hair hung
about her head in thick rebellious locks twisting like black snakes.
Then she had dropped out of his sight and he did not meet her until many
years afterward when he was a _novillero_, and had begun to make a name.
It was one Corpus Christi day--one of the few feasts when the women,
shut up in the house through Oriental laziness, go out upon the streets
like Moorish women at liberty, wearing _mantillas_ of silk lace and
carnations on their breasts. Gallardo saw a young girl, tall, slender,
and at the same time strongly built, the waist confined in handsome firm
curves with all the vigor of youth. Her face, of a rice-like pallor,
colored on seeing the bull-fighter; her great luminous eyes hid
themselves beneath their long lashes.
"That girl knows me," said Gallardo to himself. "She must have seen me
in the ring."
And when, after having followed her and her aunt, he heard that it was
Carmen, the companion of his infancy, he was astonished and confused by
the marvellous transformation from the dark thin girl of the past. They
became sweethearts and all the neighbors discussed their affair, seeing
in them a new honor for the neighborhood.
"This is how it is with me," said Gallardo to his enthusiasts, adopting
a princely air. "I don't want to imitate other bull-fighters who marry
_senoritas_ that are all hats and feathers and flounces. For me, those
of my own class; a rich _mantilla_, a fine carriage, grace; that's what
I want--_Ole!_"
His friends, enraptured, spoke highly of the girl,--a splendid lass,
with curves to her body that would set any one wild, and what an air!
But the bull-fighter only made a wry face. The less they talked of
Carmen the better.
In the evening, as he conversed with her through a grated window,
contemplating her Moorish face framed in the flowering vines, the
servant of a nearby tavern presented himself, carrying glasses of
Andalusian wine on a painted tray. He was the envoy who came to collect
the toll, the traditional custom of Seville, which demanded pay from
sweethearts who talk through the grille.
The bull-fighter drank a glass, offering another to the girl, and said
to the boy:
"Give the gentlemen my thanks, and say I'll come along by the shop after
a while. Also tell Montanes to allow no one else to pay, that Juan
Gallardo will pay for everybody."
And when he had finished his talk with his betrothed he went into the
tavern where he was awaited by the tipplers, some enthusiastic friends,
others unknown admirers anxious to toast the health of the bull-fighter
in tall glasses of wine.
On returning from his first trip as a full-fledged matador he spent the
winter evenings close by Carmen's grated window, wrapped in his cape of
greenish cloth, which had a narrow collar and was made generously ample,
with vines and arabesques embroidered in black silk.
"They say that thou dost drink much," sighed Carmen, pressing her face
against the bars.
"Nonsense! Courtesies of friends that one has to return and nothing
more. Thou knowest that a bull-fighter is--a bull-fighter, and he is not
going to live like a begging friar."
"They say that thou goest with bad women."
"That's a lie! That was in other days, before I met thee. Man alive! I
would like to meet the son of a goat that carries thee such tales."
"And when shall we get married?" she continued, cutting off her
sweetheart's indignant remarks by a question.
"As soon as the house is finished, and would to God it were to-morrow!
That worthless brother-in-law of mine will never get it done. He knows
that it's a good thing for him and he is sleeping on his luck."
"I'll set things to rights, Juaniyo, after we are married. Thou shalt
see how well everything will run along. Thou shalt see how thy mother
loves me."
And so their dialogues continued while waiting for the hour of the
wedding which was being talked about all over Seville. Carmen's aunt and
uncle and Senora Angustias discussed it whenever they met, but in spite
of this the bull-fighter scarcely ever entered the home of his
betrothed. They preferred to see one another through the grille,
according to custom.
The winter passed. Gallardo mounted his horse and went hunting in the
pasture lands of some gentlemen who _thou_-ed him with a protecting air.
He must preserve the agility of his body by continual exercise, in
preparation for the next bull-fight season. He feared losing his
strength and nimbleness.
The most tireless propagandist of his glory was Don Jose, a gentleman
who performed the office of his manager, and always called him _his
matador_. He intervened in all Gallardo's affairs, not admitting a
better right even to his own family. He lived on his rents with no other
occupation than talking about bulls and bull-fighters. For him
bull-fights were the only interesting thing in the world and he divided
the human race into two classes, the elect nations who had bull-rings,
and the dull ones for whom there is no sun, nor joy, nor good
Andalusian wine--in spite of which they think themselves powerful and
happy though they have never seen even a single ill-fought _corrida_ of
bullocks.
He brought to his enthusiasm the energy of a warrior and the faith of an
inquisitor. Fat, still young, bald, and with a light beard, this father
of a family, happy and gay in everyday life, was fierce and stubborn on
the benches of a ring when his neighbors expressed opinions contrary to
his. He felt himself capable of fighting the whole audience in defence
of a bull-fighter friend, and he disturbed the ovations with
extemporaneous protests when they were offered to an athlete who failed
to enjoy his affection.
He had been a cavalry officer, more from love of horses than of war. His
corpulence and his enthusiasm for the bulls had caused him to retire
from the service. He spent the summer witnessing bull-fights and the
winter talking about them. He was eager to be the guide, the mentor, the
manager of a bull-fighter, but all the _maestros_ had their own and so
the advent of Gallardo was a stroke of fortune for him. The slightest
aspersion cast upon the merits of his favorite turned him red with fury
and converted the tauromachic dispute into a personal question. He
counted it as a glorious act of war to have come to blows in a _cafe_
with a couple of contemptuous amateurs who criticised _his matador_ as
being too boastful.
He felt as though there were not enough papers printed to publish
Gallardo's glory, and on winter mornings he would go and place himself
on a corner touched by a ray of sunlight at the entrance of Sierpes
Street, and as his friends passed, he would say in a loud voice, "No!
there is only one man!" as if he were talking to himself, affecting to
not see those who were drawing near. "The greatest man in the world! And
let him that thinks to the contrary speak out. The only one!"
"Who?" asked his friends, jestingly, pretending not to understand him.
"Who can it be? Juan!"
"What Juan?"
With a gesture of indignation and surprise he would answer, "What Juan
could it be? As if there were many Juans! Juan Gallardo."
"But, man alive," some of them would say to him, "one might think you
two lie down together! It is thou, may be, that is going to get married
to him?"
"Only because he don't want it so," Don Jose would stoutly answer, with
the fervor of idolatry.
And on seeing other friends approach, he forgot their jibes and
continued repeating:
"No! there is only one man. The greatest in the world. And he that
doesn't believe it let him open his beak, for here am I!"
Gallardo's wedding was a great event. The new house was opened with
it--the house of which the leather-worker was so proud, where he showed
the courtyard, the columns, the tiles, as if all were the work of his
hands.
They were married in San Gil, before the Virgin of Hope, called the
Virgin of Macarena. At the church door the hundreds of Chinese shawls
embroidered with exotic flowers and birds, in which the bride's friends
were draped, glistened in the sunshine.
A deputy to the Cortes stood as best man.
Above the black and white felts of the majority of the guests rose the
shining tall hats of the manager and other gentlemen, Gallardo's
devotees. All of them smiled with satisfaction at the deference of
popularity that was shown them on going about with the bull-fighter.
Alms were given at the door of the house during the day. The poor came
even from the distant towns, attracted by the fame of this gorgeous
wedding.
There was a great feast in the courtyard. Photographers took
instantaneous views for the Madrid newspapers. Gallardo's wedding was a
national event. Far into the night guitars strummed with melancholy
plaint, accompanied by hand-clapping and the click of castanets. The
girls, their arms held high, beat the marble floor with their little
feet, whirling their skirts and _mantillas_ around their slender bodies,
moving with the rhythm characteristic of the _Sevillanas_. Bottles of
rich Andalusian wines were uncorked by the dozen; from hand to hand
passed cups of ardent sherry, of strong _montilla_, and of the wine of
San Lucar, pale and perfumed. Every one was drunk but their intoxication
left them sweet, subdued, and sad, with no other manifestation than
sighs and songs, many starting at once to intone melancholy chants that
told of prisons, of deaths, and of the poor mother, the eternal theme of
the popular songs of Andalusia.
The last guests took their leave at midnight and the bride and groom
were left in the house with Senora Angustias. The leather-worker, going
out with his wife, made a gesture of desperation. He was drunk and
furious because no one had paid him any attention during the entire
day. As if he were nobody! As if the family did not exist!
[Illustration: Gallardo's wedding was a national event. Far into the
night guitars strummed with melancholy plaint.... Girls, their arms held
high, beat the marble floor with their little feet]
"They cast us out, Encarnacion. That girl, with her little face like the
Virgin of Hope, is going to be mistress of everything and there won't be
even a crumb left for us. Thou shalt see how they will fill the place
with children."
And the prolific man grew indignant thinking of Gallardo's future
offspring being brought into the world with no other purpose than to
harm his own.
Time went on. A year passed without Senor Antonio's prediction being
fulfilled. Gallardo and his wife appeared at all the functions with the
pomp and show of a rich and popular bridal pair; she with _mantillas_
that drew forth screams of admiration from the poor women; he, wearing
his brilliants and ever ready to draw out his pocket-book to treat the
people and to succor the beggars that came in bands. The gypsies,
coppery of skin and chattering like witches, besieged Carmen with happy
prophesies. Might God bless her! She was going to have a boy, a little
prattling babe, more beautiful than the sun itself. They read it in the
white of her eyes.
But in vain Carmen flushed with joy and modesty, lowering her eyes; in
vain the _espada_ walked erect, proud of his achievements, believing
that the coveted fruit would soon appear.
And then another year passed without the realization of their hopes.
Senora Angustias was sad when they spoke to her about it. She had other
grandchildren, Encarnacion's little ones, who by order of the
leather-worker spent the day in their grandmother's house trying in
every way to please their uncle. But she, wishing to compensate
Gallardo for the hardships of the past, prayed with fervent affection
for a child of his to care for, yearning to shower upon him all the love
she could not give the father in his infancy because of her poverty.
"I know what is the matter," said the old woman sadly, "poor Carmen has
no peace of mind. Thou shouldst see that unhappy creature when Juan is
travelling about the world."
During the winter, in the season of rest when the bull-fighter was at
home or went to the country testing bullocks and joining in the hunt,
all was well. Carmen was then content knowing that her husband was in no
danger. She laughed on the slightest pretext; she ate heartily; her face
was animated by the color of health; but as soon as the spring came and
Juan left home to fight bulls in the rings of Spain the poor girl, pale
and weak, would fall into a painful stupefaction, her eyes enlarged by
fear and ready to shed tears.
"Seventy-two bull-fights this year," said the friends of the house,
commenting on the swordsman's contracts. "No one is so sought after as
he."
And Carmen smiled with a grimace of pain. Seventy-two afternoons of
agony like a criminal doomed to death, awaiting the arrival of the
telegram at nightfall and at the same time dreading it! Seventy-two days
of terror, of vague superstitions, thinking that a word forgotten in a
prayer might influence the luck of the absent one! Seventy-two days of
painful paradox, living in a tranquil house, seeing the same people, her
accustomed existence running on, calm and peaceful as though nothing
extraordinary were happening in the world, hearing the play of her
husband's nephews in the courtyard and the flower-seller's song on the
street, while far, very far away, in unknown cities, her Juan, in the
presence of thousands of eyes, fought with wild beasts, seeing death
pass close to his breast at each movement of the red rag he held in his
hands!
Ah! those days of bull-fights, feast-days, on which the sky seemed more
beautiful and the once solitary street resounded beneath the feet of the
holiday crowd, when guitars strummed with accompaniment of hand-clapping
and song in the tavern at the corner. Carmen, plainly dressed, with her
_mantilla_ over her eyes, left the house as if fleeing from evil dreams,
going to take refuge in the churches. Her simple faith, which
uncertainty burdened with superstitions, made her go from altar to altar
as she recalled to mind the merits and miracles of each image. She went
to San Gil, the church that had seen the happiest day of her existence,
she knelt before the Virgin of Macarena, provided candles, many candles,
and by their ruddy glow contemplated the brown face of the image with
its black eyes and long lashes, which, it was said, resembled her own.
In her she trusted. For a good reason was she Our Lady of Hope. Surely
at this very hour she was protecting Juan by her divine power.
But suddenly indecision and fear rudely burst through her beliefs,
tearing them asunder. The Virgin was a woman and women are so weak! Her
destiny was to suffer and weep, as she wept for her husband, as the
other had wept for her Son. She must confide in stronger powers; she
must implore the aid of a more vigorous protection. And, in the stress
of her agony, abandoning the Macarena without scruple as a useless
friendship is forgotten, she went at other times to the church of San
Lorenzo in search of Jesus, He of the Great Power, the Man-God crowned
with thorns with the cross on his back, sweaty and tearful, the work of
the sculptor Montanes, an awe-inspiring image.
The dramatic sadness of the Nazarene stumbling against the stones and
bent beneath the weight of the cross seemed to console the poor wife.
Lord of the Great Power! This vague and grandiose title tranquillized
her. If the god dressed in brown velvet and gold would but deign to
listen to her sighs, to her prayers repeated in eager haste, with dizzy
rapidity, she was sure that Juan would walk unscathed out of the ring
where he was at that moment. Again she would give money to a sacristan
to light candles, and she passed hours contemplating the vacillating
reflection of the red tongues on the image, believing she saw in the
varnished face, by these alternations of shade and light, smiles of
consolation, kind expressions that promised felicity.
The Lord of Great Power did not deceive her. On her return to the house
she was presented with the little blue paper which she opened with a
trembling hand: "_As usual_." She could breathe again, she could sleep
like the criminal that is freed for the instant from immediate death;
but in two or three days again came the agony of uncertainty, the
terrible torture of doubt.
Carmen, in spite of the love she professed for her husband, had hours of
rebellion. If she had known what this existence was before she married!
At certain moments, craving the sisterhood of pain, she went in search
of the wives of the bull-fighters who figured in Juan's _cuadrilla_,
hoping they could give her news.
Nacional's good woman, who kept a tavern in the same ward, received the
master's wife with tranquillity, wondering at her fears. She was
accustomed to such an existence. Her husband must be all right since he
sent no word. Telegrams cost dear and a _banderillero_ earns little. If
the newsboys did not shout an accident it was because none had happened.
And she continued attentive to the service of her establishment as if no
trace of worry could make its way into her blunted sensibility.
Again, crossing the bridge, Carmen went to the ward of Triana in search
of the wife of Potaje, the _picador_, a kind of gypsy that lived in a
hut like a hen-house surrounded by coppery, dirty youngsters whom she
threatened and terrified with stentorian yells. The visit of the
master's wife filled her with pride, but the latter's anxiety almost
made her laugh. She ought not to be afraid. Those on foot always escaped
the bull and Senor Juan Gallardo's good angel watched over him when he
threw himself upon the beasts. The bulls killed but few. The terrible
thing was being thrown from the horse. It was known to be the end of all
_picadores_ after a life of horrible falls; those who did not die
suddenly from an unforeseen and thundering accident finished their days
in madness. Thus poor Potaje would die--and so many hard struggles in
exchange for a handful of _duros_,--while others--
This last she did not say but her eyes revealed the protest against the
favoritism of Fate for those fine youths who, by a thrust of the sword,
took the applause, the popularity, and the money, with no greater risks
than those faced by their humbler associates.
Little by little Carmen grew accustomed to this new life. The cruel
suspense on bull-fight days, the visits to the saints, the
superstitious fears, she accepted them all as incidents necessary to her
existence. Moreover, her husband's good luck and the continual
conversation in the house on the events of the contest finally
familiarized her with the danger. The fierce bull became for her as for
Gallardo a generous and noble beast come into the world with no other
purpose than to enrich and give fame to those who kill him.
She never attended a bull-fight. Since that afternoon on which she saw
him who was to be her husband in his first _novillada_, she had not
returned to the plaza. She lacked courage to witness a bull-fight, even
one in which Gallardo did not take part. She would faint with terror on
seeing other men face the danger dressed in the same costume as her
Juan.
In the third year of their marriage Gallardo was wounded at Valencia.
Carmen did not know it at once. The telegram arrived on time with the
customary, "_As usual_." It was a merciful act of Don Jose, the manager,
who, visiting Carmen every day and resorting to skilful jugglery to
prevent her reading the papers, put off her knowledge of the misfortune
for a week.
When Carmen heard of it through the indiscretion of some neighbor women
she wished to take the train immediately to go to her husband, to take
care of him, for she imagined him abandoned. It was not necessary.
Before she could start the swordsman arrived, pale from the loss of
blood, and with one leg doomed to a long season of immobility, but happy
and anxious to tranquillize his family. The house was from that time a
kind of sanctuary, hundreds passing through the courtyard to greet
Gallardo, "the greatest man in the world," seated there in a big willow
chair with his leg on a tabourette and smoking as tranquilly as though
his body were not torn by an atrocious wound.
Doctor Ruiz, who came with him to Seville, prophesied that he would be
well before a month, marvelling at the energy of his constitution. The
facility with which bull-fighters were cured was a mystery to him in
spite of his long practice of surgery. The horn, dirty with blood and
animal excrement, often breaking into splinters at the blow, tore the
flesh, scratched it, perforated it, making at once a deep penetrating
injury and a bruised contusion, and yet these atrocious wounds healed
with greater ease than those in ordinary life.
"I don't know what it is, this mystery," said the old surgeon with an
air of doubt. "Either those boys have got the flesh of a dog, or else
the horn, with all its filth, carries a curative virtue that is unknown
to us."
A short time afterward, Gallardo went back to bull-fighting, his ardor
uncooled by the accident, contrary to the prediction of his enemies.
Four years after his marriage the swordsman gave his wife and mother a
great surprise. They were becoming landed proprietors, yea, proprietors
on a great scale, with lands "stretching beyond view," with olive
orchards, mills, great flocks and herds, and a plantation like those of
the rich gentlemen of Seville.
Gallardo experienced the desire of all bull-fighters, who long to be
lords over lands, breeders of horses, and owners of herds of cattle.
Urban wealth? No. Values in paper do not tempt them nor do they
understand them. The bull makes them think of the green meadow; the
horse recalls the country to their minds. The continual necessity of
movement and exercise, the hunt, and constant travel during the winter
months, cause them to desire the possession of land. According to
Gallardo the only rich man was he who owned a plantation and great herds
of animals. Since his days of poverty, when he had tramped along the
roads through olive orchards and pasture grounds, he had nursed his
fervent desire to possess leagues and leagues of land, enclosed with
barbed-wire fences against the depredation of other men.
His manager knew these desires. Don Jose it was who took charge of his
affairs, collecting the money from the ring-managers and carrying an
account that he tried in vain to explain to his _matador_.
"I don't understand that music," said Gallardo, content in his
ignorance, "I only know how to despatch bulls. Do whatever you wish, Don
Jose; I have confidence in you and I know that you do everything for my
good." So Don Jose, who scarcely ever thought about his own property,
leaving it to the weak administration of his wife, occupied himself at
all hours with the bull-fighter's fortune, placing his money at interest
with the heart of a usurer to make it fruitful. One day he fell upon his
client joyfully.
"I have what thou desirest, a plantation like a world, and besides, it
is very cheap; a regular bargain. Next week we will get it into
writing."
Gallardo was eager to know the name and situation of the plantation.
"It is called La Rinconada."
His desires were fulfilled! When Gallardo went with his wife and mother
to take possession of the plantation he showed them the hayloft where
he had slept with the companions of his wandering misery, the room in
which he had dined with the master, and the little plaza where he had
stabbed a calf, earning for the first time the right to travel by train
without having to hide beneath the seats.