Carmen Read Free Page B

manufacture of leather; but, on the other hand, one enjoys a spectacle that has its merits. A few minutes before the Angelus, a great number of women assemble on the river bank, below the quay, which is quite high. No man would dare to join that group. As soon as the Angelus rings, it is supposed to be dark. At the last stroke of the bell, all those women undress and go into the water. Thereupon there is tremendous shouting and laughter and an infernal uproar. From the quay above, the men stare at the bathers, squinting their eyes, but they see very little. However, those vague white shapes outlined against the darkblue of the stream set poetic minds at work; and with a little imagination it is not difficult to conjure up a vision of Diana and her nymphs in the bath, without having to fear the fate of Actaeon. I had been told that on a certain day a number of profane scapegraces clubbed together to grease the palm of the bell-ringer at the cathedral and hire him to ring the Angelus twenty minutes before the legal hour. Although it was still broad daylight, the nymphs of the Guadalquivir did not hesitate, but trusting the Angelus rather than the sun, they fearlessly made their bathing toilet, which is always of the simplest. I was not there. In my day the bell-ringer was incorruptible, the twilight far from brilliant, and only a cat could have distinguished the oldest orange-woman from the prettiest grisette in Cordova.
    One evening, when it was too dark to see anything, I was leaning against the parapet of the quay, smoking, when a woman ascended the steps leading to the river and seated herself by my side. She had in her hair a large bouquet of jasmine, the flowers of which exhale an intoxicating odour at night. She was simply, perhaps poorly clad, all in black, like most grisettes in the evening. Women of fashion wear black only in the morning; in the evening they dress
à la Francesca
. When she reached my side, my bather allowed the mantilla which covered her head to fall over her shoulders, and I saw, “by the dim light that falleth from the stars,” that she was young, small, well built, and that she had very large eyes. I threw my cigar away at once. She appreciated that distinctively French attention, and made haste to say that she was very fond of the smell of tobacco; in fact, that she sometimessmoked herself, when she could obtain a very mild
papelito
. Luckily, I happened to have some of that description in my case, and I lost no time in offering them to her. She deigned to take one and lighted it at a piece of burning string which a child brought us in consideration of a small coin. Mingling our smoke, we talked so long, the fair bather and myself, that we were finally left almost alone on the quay. I thought that I might safely venture to invite her to take an ice at the
neveria
. * After hesitating modestly, she accepted; but before concluding to do so, she wished to know what time it was. I caused my repeater to strike, and that striking seemed to surprise her greatly.
    “What wonderful things you foreigners invent! From what country are you, señor? An Englishman, no doubt?” †
    “A Frenchman, and your humble servant. And you, señorita, or señora, are of Cordova, I presume?”
    “No.”
    “You are an Andalusian, at all events. It seems to me that I can tell that by your soft speech.”
    “If you observe everybody’s speech so closely, you should be able to guess what I am.”
    “I believe that you are from the land of Jesus, within two steps of paradise.”
    (I had learned this metaphor, which designates Andalusia, from my friend Francisco Sevilla, a well-known picador.)
    “Bah! paradise—the people about here say that it wasn’t made for us.”
    “In that case you must be a Moor, or—”
    I checked myself, not daring to say “Jewess.”
    “Nonsense! you see well enough that I am a gypsy; would you like me to tell your
baji
? ‡ Have you ever heard of La Carmencita? I am she.”
    I was