Read Ebook: The Pretty Sister Of José 1889 by Burnett Frances Hodgson Reinhart Charles Stanley Illustrator

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 372 lines and 22934 words, and 8 pages

"They talk too much of him," she answered, "and he is too vain. He thinks all women are in love with him, and that if a girl comes from the country she knows nothing, and will die of love if she only sees him."

"I did not know that," said Jos?, staring. "I never heard them say so. They call him a fine fellow."

"I never heard them say so," Pepita answered scornfully; "but I know it. I am sure he is a fool," which remark caused Jos? much bewilderment, and led him to reflect long and deeply, but did not, however, lead him to any conclusion but that Pepita was ruled by one of her caprices. He was rather afraid to admit that he himself had enjoyed the magnificent honor of seeing this great hero out of the ring; that through a quite miraculous favor he had even been allowed to speak to him and to hear him speak as he stood, the centre of a circle of admirers in a wine-shop. He had been saving this to tell Pepita, but now he thought it well to save it a little longer.

But when the day of the bull-fight arrived it was not possible to conceal it.

Ah! the wonders, the splendors of that day from the first hour! At its very dawning Pepita was up and singing. Jovita must take her rest, that she might be in her best humor to enjoy the festivities, and not spoil them by grumbling. Pepita needed no rest; her little feet danced as she moved; as she made her preparations for the morning meal she chatted incessantly to Jos?, asking a thousand questions. Everything conspired to add to her joys. The sky was deep brilliant blue, but there was a light breeze to make the heat bearable; the birds sang until their little throats throbbed; the flowers in the garden seemed to have flung out new masses of bloom to make the small world about them brighter. In her chamber, near the roof, Pepita's gala dress lay upon her bed, her new little shoes upon the floor; she had seen them in the moonlight each time she had awakened in the night. A year ago it would not have seemed possible that such pretty finery could ever be hers, even in dreams; but now almost anything seemed possible in this new and enchanting life.

And when she was dressed how bewitching she was! how her rose of a face glowed and dimpled! how enchanting was the velvet darkness of her eyes! how airy the poise of her little black head, with its brilliant flower tucked in at the side of the knot of curly hair! Jovita stared at her and made a queer half-internal sound of exclamation. It was not her way to express approval at all freely, and she had no opinion of people who wasted time in telling girls they were pretty. But Jos? looked at the girl as he might have looked at some rare tropical bird which had suddenly flown into the house. He looked and looked again, pulling his mustache, his not always alert face warming.

"Yes, yes," he said, "it all looks very well; that dress is pretty. None of the other girls will look better. Even Candida--"

Pepita laughed. Candida had been considered a great beauty in the village they had left, but she knew she was prettier than Candida.

Jos? laughed also, though he scarcely knew why. Then with rather a cautious and uncertain air he produced a gay fan--a cheap one, but brilliant with color.

"This--" he began.

Pepita caught it from him, and unfurled it with a quick turn of her wrist. On one side was a picture--a dashing erect figure, in a richly hued costume.

"It is Sebastiano," said Jos?, guiltily.

Pepita nodded her head and smiled.

"I knew it," she said; "I knew he would look like that."

"There is no other man who can slay a bull as he can," said Jos?.

"Let him slay them," answered Pepita. And she stood and waved her fan with the prettiest inscrutable air in the world.

That was what they called her--"the pretty sister of Jos?." She heard it half a dozen times, but never once even so much as lifted her long lashes. She was so used to admiration that it was as if they spoke of some one else, and it moved her not in the least, as she sat watching the bulls, to know that bold or languishing eyes dwelt upon her face, and that efforts were being constantly made to attract her attention.

It was a magnificent day--every one said so; there were splendid bulls and splendid dresses, and the fighters were in superb condition. The people were in good spirits too--the little breeze tempering the heat had, perhaps, something to do with it. Everything pleased them; they applauded wildly, and uttered shouts of encouragement and delight to bulls and toreadors alike. The grand people were richly attired; beautiful ladies watched with excited eyes the bulls, wearing their colors in rosettes of satin and glittering tinsel; the thousands of waving, brilliantly hued fans fluttered like a swarm of butterflies; the music filled the air. Pe->> pita sat in a dream of joy, the color coming and going on her cheeks, her rapture glowing in her eyes. She was a Spanish girl, and not so far in advance of her age that the terrible features of the pastime going on before her could obscure its brilliancy and excitement. Truth to tell, she entirely forgot Sebastiano, not even recognizing him in the pageant of the grand entry, she was so absorbed in its glitter and blaze of color. But at the killing of the bull, that was different. Just a moment before she had awakened to the fact that Manuel was near her--near enough to speak. He had been staring at her, and growing more restless every moment, until he had at last attracted the attention of Jos? and Jovita, and his first words to her came amid shouts of applause and delight.

"Sebastiano," he said; "it is Sebastiano." Pepita turned to look. With what a proud and careless air he advanced; with what a strong, light step; how he held his head and shoulders; how his gold and silver garnishings glittered; how the people called to him with a sort of caressing ecstasy! They adored him; he was their idol. Yes, there was a thrill in it, even for her cold heart. She felt a quick pulsation. To be so proud and triumphant and daring--to be the central point of everything--to be able to awake this exultant fervor--was something after all. And he was beautiful too, though she cared nothing for that, except as she could see that it added to his triumphs and made them more complete. His athletic grace of bearing, his dark, spirited face, with its passionate Andalusian eyes, their shadows intensified by the close, long black lashes, the very arch of his foot, and superb movement of his limbs, would have set him apart from ordinary, less fortunate mortals; but to have all this and be also the demi-god of these impassioned people, it must be worth living for. If one cared for men, if one did not find them tiresome, if one was simple enough--like Sarita--to be carried away by things, there was at least something in all this to interest one a little.

"It is Sebastiano," said Jos?.

But Sebastiano was addressing the president of the games. He extended his glittering sword, and made his announcement in a clear, rich voice. Pepita listened as he spoke. And then the most thrilling excitement of the sport began. It was no child's play Sebastiano had before him. The fierce black bull glaring at him with bent head and fiery eyes, uttering low, muttering bellowings of rage as he tore at the earth, throwing up the dust in a cloud, was a foe worthy of his mettle. He was a bull with vicious points and treacherous ones. Already goaded to fury by the play of the picadors and banderilleros, he must be watched, studied, excited, baffled; not one of his movements must be lost, or even regarded as trifling; wariness, quickness, magnificent daring, the subtlest forethought, all were needed. What play it was! what a match between brute cunning, power, and ferocity, and human courage, adroitness, and calculation! The brilliant, graceful figure was scarcely a moment in repose; it leaped and darted, the bright cloak waving, inviting, the bright sword glittering in the sun--it toyed with death and peril, evading both with an exultant grace and swiftness marvellous to behold, and rousing the on-lookers to shouts of joy and triumph. Even old Jovita wakened to a touch of fire which seemed like a renewal of her long-past youth. Jos? and Manuel joined their cries with the rest. Pepita felt again--yes, more than once--that sudden throb and thrill.

And when at last the end was reached, with what a superb spring the last splendid blow was given! No need of a second; the bull staggered, shuddered, fell forward upon his knees, sank upon his side. Sebastiano stood erect, a brilliant, careless, triumphant figure again, the air resounding with deafening applause.

"You have seen him," cried Manuel to Pepita--"you have seen Sebastiano?"

"Yes," she answered, a little breathlessly, "I have seen him."

And even as she spoke she knew that he had seen her; she knew it even before Manuel spoke again in great excitement.

"He looks this way--he looks at us--at you."

It was quite true. Something had attracted his attention to the tier of seats in which they sat, some cry--who knows what?--perhaps some subtle magnetic influence. He turned his head with a quick movement, and his eyes fell and fastened themselves instantly upon the brilliant little face glowing like some bright flower among those humbler and less blooming.

"He looks at you, Pepita," said Jos?.

"He looks at you and at Jovita," Pepita answered. And she laughed and turned her face away.

But not before Sebastiano had seen it well. It was Fate. Yes, he knew that. He had been loved often; he had had romantic adventures, but it had always been he who had received and the others who had given; he had always remained Sebastiano, the hero, the adored. And now he stood and looked at a little head half concealed by a fan, and forgot for a moment where he was, and that the people were still shouting their applause in deafening tumult.

Pepita and the others, Manuel with them, ended their gala-day with still another festivity. They dined together at a little caf?, and heard the bull-fight fought over again by those around them. At a table near them sat three chulos, who talked together in voices loud enough to be heard throughout their meal. And it was of Sebastiano they spoke, giving dramatic recitals of his daring deeds, telling each other of what he had done, of what he could do, and that Madrid had never seen his rival or peer. And then his conquests. It was true that noble ladies--beautiful and noble--had sent him messages and tokens. Gonsalvo, who was his intimate friend, could tell many things if he chose. Sebastiano had brilliant triumphs. Once he had even been in great danger because the woman who loved and sought him was of such rank that her relatives would have resorted to the stiletto rather than allow her infatuation to continue.

"But it is said truly that he had no love for her--that he has little for any of them," said one. "They run after him too much, these women."

"But there was one to-day--" began one of the others. "I heard it of Alfonso--he saw her at the bull-fight--Sebastiano--and tried to find out--"

He made a movement at this moment which brought Pepita directly within his view. She had been hidden from him before by the figure of Jovita. He stopped with his wine untasted and stared at her. A moment later he bent forward and spoke in a lower tone to his companions, who turned to look also. Alfonso had pointed her out to him as she left the Plaza de Toros, and he had recognized her again.

"The little one is there," was what he said, "behind you. He asked if any of us had seen her before; if we knew her name."

Pepita did not hear him, and did not know that from that hour they would all know her, or that at least there would be few of them who did not. For Sebastiano to show an interest in a woman, to even go so far as to ask her name, was such a new thing that it must be spoken of and attract attention to her. And that she was not a fine lady, but only a pretty unknown girl with a rose in her hair, made the matter all the more exciting. When she fell asleep, tired and happy, that night, already she was on the road to fame. Sebastiano, who was the adored of his order, who in spite of his adventures sought no woman, had asked her name, had made efforts to discover it, and had learned that among those who had had the good fortune to see and speak to her she was known as "the pretty sister of Jos?." A week from this time Jos? came home one evening bringing Manuel with him. Manuel was often with him--in fact he had many friends; almost every day some gay or grave young fellow managed to attach himself to him, and somehow the acquaintance always shared itself soon afterward with Pepita. But Manuel appeared oftener than the rest, having a timid obstinacy, and seeming only puzzled and not discouraged by the indifference which sometimes ignored his very existence. On this particular evening he was moved from his usual calm, and so was Jos?. They had seen Sebastiano; they had spoken to him; in the presence of a circle of his friends and admirers he had drunk wine with them. "We were passing the wine-shop and we saw him," explained Manuel, "and we went in to look on a little and hear him talk. One of the chulos who stood near spoke to him quickly when he saw us--as if he knew us--and presently the same chulo came and spoke to Jos?, and soon Sebastiano came and spoke too. The one who approached us first was one of the three who drank at the table near us on the evening after the bull-fight. Once, in his boyhood, Sebastiano lived near the village you left; he knew Padre Alejandro and some others; he was pleased to see Jos? and speak of them--it was as if they were friends at once."

"He has a good heart," put in Jos?; "they all say that of him. He remembered everything--even old Juan, who lived to be a hundred and was bent double. He asked if he lived yet. It seems strange that he was once so near us, and was a little lad, ill-used and poor. He is not too proud to remember it. He would be a good friend to one in trouble--Sebastiano--though he is rich and spoken of by the whole world."

So great a celebrity Jos? was convinced must be known to the entire universe. That night, as Pepita made ready for her bed, old Jovita, who had already retired, lay and looked at her.

The girl stood in the flood of brilliant white moonlight which bathed part of the bare room; her round dimpled arms were lifted as she unwound the soft dusky coils of her hair, to which there yet clung a few stars of jasmine. There was the shadow of a smile on her lips, and she was humming a tune.

"What does he want with Jos?--this Sebastiano?" said Jovita, grumblingly.

"Who knows?" said Pepita.

"He wants something," Jovita went on. "They don't make friends with those beneath them for nothing, these fine ones. They all talk of you, these foolish fellows, and he has heard, and makes friends so that he can see you."

"What do they say of me?" asked

Pepita, without deigning to look up.

"Men are all fools," grumbled Jovita; "and they think girls are fools too. They say you have a pretty face; and he thinks he can make a fool of you if you are not one."

"Does he?" said Pepita, with a dimpling cruel little smile. "Let him come to-morrow--to-night. Let him begin."

"He will begin soon enough," Jovita answered. "You will see. Be sure he does not play the old game with you as he did with Sarita."

Pepita shook the small stray blossoms out of her hair and began to retwist the coil, breaking into singing in a clear voice:

"White, white is the jasmine flower; Let its stars light thee Here to my casement, Where I await thee. White, white is the jasmine flower, Sweet, sweet is the heart of the rose, Sweet my mouth's blossom--"

She stopped short and dropped her arms.

"See," she said, "let him want what he will, let him come a thousand times, and I will never speak to him."

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet