In previous years as a devotee of "Our Father Jesus of Great Power" he had walked in the procession of the parish of San Lorenzo, wearing the long black tunic1, with high pointed2 hood3 and mask, which only left the eyes visible.
It was the aristocratic brotherhood4, and when the torero found himself on the high road to fortune he had entered it, avoiding the popular brotherhood, whose devotion was generally accompanied by drunkenness and scandal.
He spoke5 with pride of the serious gravity of this religious association. Everything was well ordered and strictly6 disciplined as in a regiment7. On the night of Holy Thursday, as the clock of San Lorenzo struck the second stroke of two in the morning, the church doors would be suddenly opened, so that the crowd massed on the dark pavement outside could see the interior of the church, resplendent with lights and the brotherhood drawn8 up in order.
The hooded9 men, silent and gloomy, with no sign of life but the flash of their eyes through the black mask, advanced slowly two by two, each holding a large wax taper10 in his hand, and leaving a wide space between each pair for their long sweeping11 trains.
The crowd, with southern impressionability, watched the passing of this hooded train, which they called[Pg 248] "Nazarenos," with deepest interest, for some of these mysterious masks might be great noblemen whom traditional piety12 had induced to take part in this nocturnal procession.
The brotherhood, obliged to keep silence under pain of mortal sin, were escorted by municipal guards to prevent them being molested14 by the drunken rabble15, who began their Holy Week holiday on Wednesday night by visits to every tavern16. It happened now and then that the guards relaxed their vigilance, which enabled these impious tipplers to place themselves alongside of the silent brothers, and whisper atrocious insults against their unknown persons, or their equally unknown families. The Nazarene suffered in silence, swallowing the insults, offering them as a sacrifice to the "Lord of Great Power." The rascals18 emboldened20 by this meekness21 would redouble their insults, till at last the pious17 mask, considering that if silence was obligatory22 inaction was not, would lift their wax tapers23 and thrash the intruders, which somewhat upset the holy meditations24 of the ceremony.
In the course of the procession, when the porters of the "pasos"[96] required rest, and the huge platforms hung round with lanthorns on which the figures stood, halted, a slight whistle was enough to stop the hooded figures, who turned facing each other, resting their large tapers on their feet, looking at the crowd through the mysterious slit25 of the mask. Above the pointed hoods26 floated the banners of the brotherhood, squares of black velvet27 with gold fringes, on which were embroidered28 the Roman letters S.P.Q.R., in commemoration of the part played by[Pg 249] the Procurator of Judea in the condemnation29 of the Just One.
The paso of "Our Father Jesus of Great Power" stood on a heavy platform of worked metal, trimmed all round with hangings of black velvet which fell to the ground, concealing31 the twenty half-naked and perspiring32 porters. At each of the four corners hung groups of lanthorns and golden angels, and in the centre stood Jesus, crowned with thorns and bending under the weight of His cross; a tragical33, dolorous34, blood-stained Jesus, with cadaverous face and tearful eyes, but magnificently dressed in a velvet tunic, covered with gold flowers, which only showed the stuff as a slight arabesque35 between the complicated embroideries36.
The appearance of the Lord of Great Power drew sighs and groans37 from hundreds of breasts.
"Father Jesus!" murmured the old women, fixing their hypnotised eyes on the figure—"Lord of Great Power! Remember us!"
As the paso stopped in the middle of the Plaza39 with its hooded escort, the devotion of this Andalusian people, which confides40 all its thoughts to song, broke out in bird-like trills and interminable laments41.
A childish voice of trembling sweetness broke the silence. Some girl pushing her way to the front would send a "saeta"[97] to Jesus, the three verses of which celebrated42 the Lord of Great Power, "The most divine sculpture," and the artist Monta?es, a companion of the artists of the golden age, who had carved it. The hooded brothers listened motionless, till the conductor of the paso, thinking the pause had been long enough, struck a silver bell on the front of the platform. "Up with it," and the Lord of Great Power, after many oscillations, was[Pg 250] hoisted43 up, while the feet of the invisible porters began to move like tentacles44 on the ground.
After this came the Virgin45, Our Lady of the Greatest Sorrow, for all the parishes sent out two pasos. Under a velvet canopy46 her golden crown trembled in the surrounding lights. The train of her mantle47, which was several yards long, hung down behind the paso, being puffed48 out by a frame-work of wood, which displayed the splendour of its rich, heavy and splendid embroideries, which must have exhausted49 the skill and patience of a whole generation.
To the roll of the drums a whole troup of women followed her, their bodies in the shadow, and their faces reddened by the glare of the tapers they carried in her hands. Old barefooted women in mantillas, girls wearing the white clothes which were to have served them as shrouds50, women who walked painfully, as if they were suffering from hidden and painful maladies, an assembly of suffering humanity saved from death by the goodness of the Lord of Great Power and His Blessed Mother.
The procession of the pious brotherhood, after having slowly walked through the streets, with long pauses during which they sang hymns51, entered the Cathedral, which remained all night with its doors open. With their lighted tapers they wound through the gigantic naves52, bringing out of the darkness the immense pillars hung with velvet trimmed with gold, but their light was unable to disperse54 the darkness gathered in the vaults55 above. Leaving this crypt-like gloom they came out again under the starlight, and the rising sun ended by surprising the procession still wandering about the streets.
Gallardo was an enthusiast56 about the Lord of Great Power and the majestic57 silence of the brotherhood. It was a very serious thing! One might laugh at the other pasos for their disorder58 and want of devotion. But to[Pg 251] laugh at this one!... Never! Besides, in this brotherhood one rubbed against very great people.
Nevertheless, this year the espada decided59 to abandon the Lord of Great Power, to go out with the brotherhood of la Macarena, who escorted the miraculous61 Virgin of Hope.
Se?ora Angustias was delighted when she heard his decision. He owed it to the Virgin, who had saved him after his last "cogida." Besides, this flattered her feelings of plebeian62 simplicity63.
"Every one with his own, Juaniyo. It is all right for you to mix with gentlefolk, but you ought to think that the poor have always loved you, and that now they are speaking against you, because they think you despise them."
The torero knew it but too well. The turbulent populace who sat on the sunny side of the Plaza were beginning to show a certain animosity against him, thinking themselves forgotten. They criticised his constant intercourse64 with wealthy people, and his desertion of those who had been his first admirers. Gallardo wished therefor to take advantage of every means of flattering those whose applause he wanted. A few days before the procession, he informed the most influential65 members of la Macarena of his intention to follow in it. He did not wish the people to know it, it was purely66 an act of devotion, and he wished his intention to remain a secret.
All the same, in a few days the suburb was talking of nothing else, it was the pride of the neighbourhood. "Ah! we must see la Macarena this year," said the gossips as they spoke of the torero's intention. "The Se?ora Angustias will cover the paso with flowers, it will cost at least a hundred duros. And Juaniyo will hang all his jewellery on the Virgin. A real fortune!"
And so it was. Gallardo gathered together all the[Pg 252] jewellery in the house, both his own and his wife's, to hang on the image. La Macarena would wear on her ears those diamond ear-rings which the espada had bought for Carmen in Madrid, which had cost the proceeds of many corridas. On her breast she would wear a large double gold chain belonging to the torero, on which would hang all his rings and the large diamond studs that he wore on his shirt front.
"Jesus! How smart our Morena[98] will be," said they often, speaking of the Virgin. "Se?o Juan intends to pay for everything. It will make half Seville rage!"
When the espada was questioned about it, he smiled modestly. He had always felt a deep devotion for la Macarena. She was the Virgin of the suburb in which he was born, besides his poor father had never failed to walk in the procession as an armed man. It was an honour of which the family was proud, and had his own position admitted of it he would have been delighted to put on the helmet and carry the lance, like so many Gallardos, his forebears, who were now underground.
This religious popularity flattered him: he was anxious that every one in the suburb should know about his following the procession, but at the same time he dreaded68 the news spreading about the town. He believed in the Virgin, and he wished to stand well with her, in view of future dangers; but he trembled when he thought of the derision of his friends assembled in the cafés and clubs of the Calle de las Sierpes.
"They will turn me into ridicule69 if they recognize me," said he. "All the same, I must try and stand well with everybody."
On the night of Holy Thursday he went with his wife to the Cathedral to hear the Miserere. The immensely high Gothic arches had no light but that of a few wax[Pg 253] tapers hung on to the pillars, just sufficient for the crowd not to be obliged to feel their way. All the people of better social position were seated in the side chapels70 behind the iron gratings, anxious to avoid contact with the perspiring masses pouring into the nave53.
The choir71 was in complete darkness, except for a few lights looking like a starry72 constellation73, for the use of the musicians and singers. The Miserere of Eslava was sung in this atmosphere of gloom and mystery. It was a gay and graceful74 Andalusian Miserere like the fluttering of doves' wings, with tender romances like love serenades, and choruses like drinkers' rounds, full of that joy of life, which made the people forgetful of death, and rebel against the gloom of the Passion.
When the voice of the tenor75 had ended its last romance, and the wails76 in which he apostrophised "Jerusalem! Jerusalem!" were lost in the vaults, the crowd dispersed77, much preferring the liveliness of the streets, as gay as a theatre, with their electric lights, and the rows of chairs on the pavements, and wooden stages in the Plazas78.
Gallardo returned home quickly to put on his Nazarene dress. Se?ora Angustias had prepared his clothes with a tenderness which carried her back to her youthful days. Ay! her poor dear husband! who on that night would don his bellicose79 array, and shouldering his lance, would leave the house, not to return till the following day, his helmet knocked in, his "tonelete"[99] a mass of filth80, having camped with his brethren in every tavern in Seville.
The espada was as careful of his underclothing as a woman, and he put on his "Nazarene" dress with the same scrupulous81 care as he did his fighting costume. First he put on his silk stockings and patent leather shoes, then the white satin robe his mother had made[Pg 254] for him, and above this the high pointed hood of green velvet, which fell over his shoulders and face like a mask, and hung down in front like a chasuble as far as his knees. On one side of the breast the coat of arms of the brotherhood was delicately embroidered in variegated82 colours. The torero having put on his white gloves took the tall staff which was a sign of dignity in the brotherhood. It was a long staff covered with green velvet, with a silver top, and pointed at the end with the same metal.
As Gallardo took his way through the narrow street on his way to San Gil he met the company of "Jews," that is to say, of armed men, fierce soldiers, their faces framed by their helmets' metal chin strap83, wearing wine-coloured tunics84, flesh-coloured cotton stockings and high sandals, round their waists was fastened the Roman sword, and over their shoulders, like a modern gun strap, was the cord which supported their lances. These soldiers, young and old, marched to the roll of drums and carried a Roman banner with the senatorial inscription85.
An imposingly86 magnificent personage swaggered sword in hand at the head of this troup. Gallardo recognised him as he passed.
"Curse him!" said he, laughing beneath his mask. "No one will pay any attention to me. This 'gacho' will carry off all the palms to-night."
It was Captain Chivo, a gipsy singer, who had arrived that morning from Paris, faithful to his military discipline, to put himself at the head of his soldiers.
To fail in this duty would have been to forfeit88 the title of Captain, which El Chivo ostentatiously displayed on every music-hall placard in Paris, where he and his daughters danced and sang. These girls were as lively as lizards89, graceful of movement, with large eyes, and a delicacy90 of colouring and suppleness91 of figure which[Pg 255] drove men mad. The eldest92 had had the good fortune to run away with a Russian prince, and the Parisian papers for days were full of the despair "of that brave officer of the Spanish army," who intended to avenge93 his honour by shooting the fugitives94. In a theatre on the boulevards a piece had been hastily mounted, on the "Flight of the Gipsy," with dances of toreros, choruses of friars, and other scenes of faithful local colouring. El Chivo soon compromised with his left-handed son-in-law in consideration of pocketing a good indemnity95, and continued dancing in Paris with the other girls in hopes of another Russian prince. His rank as Captain made many foreigners, well informed as to what was going on in Spain, thoughtful. Ah! Spain! ... a decadent96 country which does not pay its noble soldiers, and forces its hidalgos to send their daughters on the stage.
On the approach of Holy Week, Captain Chivo could no longer bear his absence from Seville, so he took farewell of his daughters with the air of a severe and uncompromising "pére noble."
"My children, I am going.... Mind that you are good ... observe propriety97 and decency98.... My company is waiting for me. What would they say if their Captain failed them?"
He thought with pride as he travelled from Paris to Seville of his father and grandfather, who had been captains of the Jews of la Macarena, and that to himself fresh glory accrued99 through this inheritance from his forefathers100.
He had once drawn a prize of ten thousand pesetas in the National Lottery101, and the whole of this sum he had spent on a uniform suitable to his rank. The gossips of the suburb rushed to have a look at the Captain, dazzling in his gold embroideries, wearing a burnished102 metal[Pg 256] corselet, a helmet over which flowed a cascade103 of white feathers, and whose brilliant steel reflected all the light of the procession. It was the fantastic magnificence of a red skin; a princely dress, of which a drunken Auracanian might have dreamt. The women fingered the velvet kilt, admiring its embroideries of nails, hammers, thorns, in fact all the attributes of the Passion. His boots seemed trembling at every step from the flashing brilliancy of the spangles and paste jewels which covered them. Below the white plumes104 of the helmet, which seemed to make his dark Moorish105 colouring darker still, the gipsy's grey whiskers could be seen. This was not military. The Captain himself nobly admitted it. But he was returning to Paris, and something must be conceded to art.
Turning his head with warlike pride and fixing his eyes on the legionary eagle, he shouted:
"Attention! let no one leave the ranks! ... observe decency and discipline!"
The company advanced, marching slowly, stiffly and solemnly to the rubadub of the drum. In every street were many taverns106, and before their doors stood boon107 companions, their hats well back, and their waistcoats open, who had lost count of the innumerable glasses they had drunk in commemoration of the Lord's death.
As they saw the imposing87 warrior108 come along they hailed him, holding up from afar glasses of fragrant109 amber-coloured wine. The Captain endeavoured to conceal30 his inward perturbation, turning his eyes away, and holding himself up even more rigidly110 inside his metal corselet. If only he had not been on duty!...
Some friends more pressing than the others, crossed the street to push the glass under the plumed111 helmet; but the incorruptible centurion112 drew back, presenting the point of his sword. Duty was duty. This year at all[Pg 257] events it should not be as other years, in which the company had fallen into disorder and disarray113 almost as soon as they had started.
The streets soon became real Ways of Bitterness for Captain Chivo. He was so hot in his armour114, surely a little wine would not destroy discipline; so he accepted a glass, and then another, and soon the company were moving along with gaps in their ranks, strewing115 the way with stragglers, who stopped at every tavern they passed.
The procession marched with traditional slowness, waiting hours at every crossway. It was only twelve at night, and la Macarena would not have to return home till twelve the following day; it took her longer to go through the streets of Seville than it took to go from Seville to Madrid.
First of all advanced the paso of "The Sentence of our Lord Jesus Christ," a platform covered with figures, representing Pilate seated on a golden throne, surrounded by soldiers in coloured kilts and plumed helmets, guarding the sorrowful Jesus, ready to march to execution, in a tunic of violet velvet with resplendent embroideries, and three golden rays, representing the three Persons of the Trinity, appearing above His crown of thorns. But this paso in spite of its many figures and the richness of its decoration did not rivet116 the attention of the crowd. It seemed dwarfed117 by the one following it, that of the Queen of the popular suburbs, the miraculous Virgin of Hope, la Macarena.
When this Virgin with her pink cheeks and long eye-lashes appeared, beneath a canopy of velvet, which swayed with every step of the concealed118 carriers, a deafening119 acclamation rose from the populace assembled in the Plaza. Ah! how beautiful she was; the Queen of Heaven! A beauty which never aged120!
Her splendid mantle, of immense length, with a wide[Pg 258] reticulated gold border like the meshes121 of a net, extended a long way behind the paso, like a gigantic peacock's folded tail. Her eyes shone, as if they were moistened with tears at the joyous122 welcome of the faithful. The image was covered with flashing jewels, like a brilliant armour over the velvet dress. They were in hundreds, possibly thousands! She seemed covered with shining rain drops, flaming with every colour of the rainbow. From her neck hung rows of pearls, gold chains on which hundreds of rings were strung, and all the front of her dress was plated with gold watches, pendents of emeralds and brilliants, and ear-rings as large as pebbles123. All the devotees lent their jewels for the Santisima Macarena to wear on her progress, and the women showed their unornamented hands on that night of religious mourning, delighted that the Mother of God should be wearing those jewels which were their pride. The public knew them, for they saw them every year; they could tell all the tale of them, and point out any novelties; and they knew that the ornaments124 the Virgin wore on her breast hanging on a gold chain belonged to Gallardo the torero.
Gallardo himself, with his face covered, leaning on the staff of authority, walked in front of the paso with the dignitaries of the brotherhood. Others carried long trumpets125 hung with gold-fringed green banners. Now and again they put them to their lips through a slit in their masks, and a heart-rending funereal126 trumpeting127 broke the silence. But this horrifying128 roar woke no echo in the hearts of the people, the soft Spring night with its perfume of orange flowers was too sweet and smiling; in vain the trumpets roared funereal marches, or the singers wept as they sang the sacred verses, or the soldiers marched frowning like veritable executioners, the Spring night smiled, spreading the perfume of its thousand flowers, and no one thought of death.
[Pg 259]
The inhabitants of the suburbs swarmed129 in disorder round the Virgin, small shopkeepers, with their dishevelled wives, dragging tribes of children along by the hand on this excursion which would last till dawn; young men with their black curls flattened130 over their ears flourishing sticks as if some one intended to insult la Macarena, and their strong arms would be required for her protection, crowds of men and women flattening131 themselves between the enormous paso and the walls in the narrow streets. "Olé! La Macarena!... The first Virgin of the world!"
Every fifty paces the saintly platform was stopped. There was no hurry, the night was long. In many cases the Virgin was stopped so that people could look at her at their ease; every tavern keeper also requested a halt in front of his establishment.
A man would cross the road towards the leaders of the paso.
"Here! Hi! Stop!... Here is the first singer in the world who wants to sing a 'saeta' to the Virgin."
The "first singer in the world," leaning on a friend, with unsteady legs and passing on his glass to some one else, would, after coughing, pour forth132 the full torrent133 of his hoarse134 voice, of which the roulades obscured the clearness of the words. Before he had half ended his slow ditty another voice would begin, and then another, as if a musical contest were established; some sang like birds, others were hoarse like broken bellows135, others screamed with piercing yells, most of the singers remained hidden in the crowd, but others proud of their voice and style planted themselves in the middle of the roadway in front of la Macarena.
The drums beat and the trumpets continued their gloomy blasts, everybody sang at once, their discordant136 voices mixing with the deafening instruments, but no[Pg 260] one ever got confused, each one sang straight through his saeta without hesitation137 as if they were all deaf to other sounds, keeping their eyes steadily138 fixed139 on the image.
In front of the paso walked barefoot a young man dressed in a purple tunic and crowned with thorns. He was bending beneath the weight of a heavy cross twice as high as himself, and when the paso resumed its way after a long pause, charitable souls helped him to readjust his burden.
The women groaned140 with compassion141 as they saw him. Poor fellow! with what holy fervour he fulfilled his penance142. All in the suburb remembered his criminal sacrilege! That cursed wine which was men's undoing143.
Three years before on the morning of Good Friday, when la Macarena was on her way back to her church, this poor sinner, who in point of fact was a very good sort of fellow, after wandering about the streets all night with his friends, had stopped the procession in front of a tavern in the market place. He sang to the Virgin, and then fired by holy enthusiasm broke out into compliments. Olé! the beautiful Macarena! He loved her more than his sweetheart! In order to display his devotion he wished to throw at her feet what he held in his hand, thinking that it was his hat, but unfortunately it was a glass which smashed itself on the Virgin's face.... He was carried off weeping to prison. He did love la Macarena just as if she were his mother! It was all that cursed wine which took men's wits away! He trembled at the thought of the years of jail awaiting him for this disrespect to religion, and he wept so effectually that even those who were most indignant with him ended by pleading in his favour, and everything was settled on his giving a promise to perform some extraordinary penance as a warning to other sinners.
[Pg 261]
He dragged along the cross, perspiring and gasping144, shifting the place of the heavy weight when his shoulders became bruised145 by the sorrowful burden. His comrades pitied him, and offered him glasses of wine, not by way of mockery of his penance, but from sheer compassion. He was fainting from fatigue146, he ought to refresh himself.
But he turned his eyes from the longed-for refreshments147 towards the Virgin, taking her as witness of his martyrdom. Never mind, he would drink well, without fear, next day when la Macarena was safely lodged148 in her church.
The paso was still in the suburb of la Feria, while the head of the procession had reached the centre of Seville. The green-hooded brothers and the company of armed men marched forward with warlike astuteness149. It was a question of occupying la Campana, and so gaining possession of the entrance to the Calle de las Sierpes,[100] before any other brotherhood could present itself. Once the vanguard were in possession of this point they could wait quietly for hours till the Virgin arrived, enjoying the angry protests of other brotherhoods150, quite inferior people, whose images could in no way compare with their Macarena, and who were therefore obliged to take up a humble151 position behind her.
Often the rabble escorting the different pasos came to blows, heads were broken, and one or two lads were hurried off to prison or to the nearest chemist's shop. Meanwhile Captain Chivo had executed his great strategic movement, occupying la Campana up to the entrance of the Calle de las Sierpes, to the noisy and triumphant[Pg 262] roll of his drums. There is no thoroughfare here! Long live the Virgin of la Macarena!
The Calle de las Sierpes was turned into a saloon, its balconies were full of people, electric lights hung across it from house to house, all the cafés and shops were illuminated152, heads filled every window, and crowds of people sat on the rows of chairs placed against the walls, on which they stood up whenever a roll of drums or the blast of trumpets announced the coming of any paso.
That night no one in the town slept, even old ladies of regular habits waited now till dawn to watch the innumerable processions.
Although it was now three in the morning, nothing indicated the lateness of the hour. People were feasting in the cafés and taverns, succulent odours escaped through the doors of the fried fish shops; in the centre of the street itinerant154 sellers of drinks and sweets had established themselves, and many families, who only came out on great holidays, had been there since two o'clock on the previous afternoon, waiting to watch the endless passing of Virgins155 of bewildering magnificence, whose velvet mantles156 several yards long drew forth cries of admiration157, of Redeemers with golden crowns and tunics of brocade: a whole world of absurd images in theatrical158 splendour, about which there was nothing religious beyond their cadaverous and bloody159 faces.
The Sevillians in front of the cafés pointed out the pasos by name to the foreigners who had come to see this strange Christian160 ceremony, as lively as a pagan holiday.
They enumerated161 the paso of the Holy Decree, of the Holy Christ of Silence, of Our Lady of Bitterness, of Jesus with the Cross on His shoulder, of Our Lady of the Valley, of Our Father Jesus of the Three Falls, of Our Lady of Tears, of the Lord of a Holy Death, of Our[Pg 263] Lady of the Three Necessities, and all these images were accompanied by their special Nazarenes, black or white, red, green, blue or violet, all masked, and preserving their mysterious personality beneath their pointed hoods.
The heavy pasos advanced slowly and laboriously162 through the narrow streets, but when they emerged into the Plaza de San Francisco, opposite the boxes raised in front of the Palace of the Ayuntamiento, the pasos gave a half turn, so that the images might face the seats, and by a genuflexion performed by their porters salute164 the illustrious strangers or Royal personages who had come to see the fiesta.
Alongside of the pasos walked lads carrying jars of water. As soon as the platform halted, a corner of the velvet hangings was raised, and twenty or thirty men appeared, perspiring, half naked, purple with fatigue, with kerchiefs tied round their heads and the look of exhausted savages165. These were the Gallicians,[101] the strong porters, for any of that calling were merged163 in that nationality; they drank the water greedily, and if there were a tavern at hand mutinied against the conductor of the paso to obtain wine or food.
The crowd surged restlessly with eager curiosity in the Calle de las Sierpes as the pasos of the Macarenos ramp167 along in a compact procession accompanied by bands of music. The drums redoubled their beating, the trumpets roared furiously, all the tumultuous crew from the suburb shouted and yelled, and every one got up on the chairs in order to see better this slow but noisy cortége.
At the door of a café, El Nacional with all his family stood watching the passing of the brotherhood—"Retrograde superstition168!"... But all the same, he came[Pg 264] every year to watch this noisy invasion of the Calle de las Sierpes by the Macarenos.
He immediately recognized Gallardo from his magnificent stature169, and the elegance170 with which he wore the inquisitorial garments.
"Juanillo," cried he, "make the paso stop. Here are some foreign ladies who would like to see it close."
The holy platform stood still, the band broke out into a spirited march, one of those which delighted the public at the bull-fights, and immediately the hidden porters of the paso began to lift first one foot then the other, executing a dance which made the platform sway with violent oscillations, throwing the surrounding people against the walls. The Virgin, with all her load of jewels, flowers, lanthorns, and even the heavy canopy danced up and down to the sound of the music. This was a spectacle which required immense practise, and of which the Macarenos were extremely proud. The strong young men of the suburb, holding on to each side of the paso supported it, following its violent swaying, while, fired by this display of strength and dexterity171, they shouted "All Seville should see this!... This is splendid! Only the Macarenos can do this!"
The brotherhood continued their triumphal march, leaving deserters in every tavern and fallen all along the streets. When the sun rose it found them at the extreme opposite end of Seville from their own parish, and the image and its remaining supporters looked like a dissolute band returning from an orgy.
Close to the market place the two pasos stood deserted172, while all the procession took their morning draft in the adjacent taverns, substituting large glasses of Cazalla aguardiente for country wine.
Of the brilliant Jewish army nothing remained but miserable173 relics174, as if they were straggling home after[Pg 265] a defeat. The Captain walked with a sad stagger, his feathery plumes hanging down limp over his livid face, and his sole idea seemed to be to preserve his magnificent costume from dirty handling. Respect the uniform!
Gallardo left the procession soon after sunrise. He thought he had done quite enough in accompanying the Virgin throughout the night, and assuredly she would lay it to his account. Besides, this last part of the fiesta was by far the most trying, till the Macarena returned to her church about mid-day. The people who got up fresh after a good night's sleep laughed at the hooded brothers, who looked ridiculous by daylight, and who moreover bore traces of the drunkenness and dirt of the night. It would not be prudent175 for a torero to be seen with this band of tipplers waiting for them at tavern doors.
Se?ora Angustias was waiting for her son in the patio176 to assist the Nazarene in removing his garments. He must rest now he had accomplished177 his duties towards the Virgin. On Easter Sunday there was a corrida, the first since his accident. Cursed profession! In which ease of mind was impossible. And the poor women, after a period of tranquillity178, saw all their anguish179 and terrors revive.
Saturday and the morning of Sunday the torero spent in receiving visits of enthusiastic amateurs who had come to Seville for the Holy Week and the fair. They all smiled, confident in his future exploits.
"We shall see how you fight! The 'aficion' has its eyes on you! How are you with regard to strength?"
Gallardo did not distrust his vigour180. Those winter months in the country had made him quite robust181. He was now quite as strong as before his "cogida." The only thing that reminded him of his accident when he[Pg 266] was shooting at the farm was a slight weakness in the broken leg. But this was only noticeable after long walks.
"I will do my best," murmured Gallardo, with feigned182 modesty183. "I hope I shall not come out of it badly."
The manager intervened with the blindness of his faith.
"You will fight like an angel!... You will put all the bulls in your pocket!"
Gallardo's admirers, forgetting the corrida for a moment, spoke about a piece of news flying round the town.
On a mountain in the province of Cordoba the civil guards had found a decomposed184 body, with the head almost blown to pieces, apparently185 by a point blank shot. It was impossible to recognize it, but its clothes, the carbine, everything in short, made them think it must be Plumitas.
Gallardo listened silently. He had not seen the bandit since his accident, but he kept a kindly186 remembrance of him. His farm people had told him that twice while he was in danger, Plumitas had called at the farm to enquire187 about him. Afterwards, while he was staying there himself, on several occasions his shepherds and workmen had spoken mysteriously of Plumitas, who, knowing he was at la Rinconada, had asked for news of Se?or Juan when he met them on the road.
Poor fellow! Gallardo pitied him as he remembered his predictions. The civil guards had not killed him. He had been murdered during his sleep; probably he had been shot by one of his own class, some amateur who wished to follow in his footsteps.
His departure for the corrida on Sunday was even more painful than on former occasions. Carmen did her best to be calm and help Garabato to dress his [Pg 267]master, and Se?ora Angustias hovered190 outside the room longing67 to see Juanillo once more as if she were going to lose him.
When Gallardo came out into the patio with his montera on his head, and his beautiful cape153 thrown over one shoulder, his mother threw her arms round his neck and dissolved in tears. She did not utter a word, but her noisy sighs revealed her thoughts. He was going to fight for the first time since his accident, and in the same Plaza where it had happened! The superstitions191 of this woman of the people rose up against such imprudence!... Ay! when would he retire from this cursed profession? Had they not yet money enough?
But his brother-in-law interfered192 in his capacity of family adviser193.
Now then, little mother, it was not such a great thing after all, it was only a corrida like any other. The best they could do was to leave Juan in peace, and not upset his calmness by this snivelling just as he was going to the Plaza.
Carmen was braver, she did not cry, and accompanied her husband to the door, wishing to encourage him. Now that, in consequence of his accident, love had revived, and they lived quietly together, she could not believe that any accident would occur to disturb them. That accident was God's work, who often brings good out of evil. Juan would fight as on other occasions and would return home safe and sound.
"Good luck to you!"
She watched the departure of the carriage with loving eyes as it drove away, followed by a crowd of little ragamuffins, delighted at the sight of the torero's golden clothes. But when the poor woman was alone she went up to her room, and lighted the tapers before an image of the Virgin of Hope.
[Pg 268]
El Nacional rode in the coach, frowning and gloomy. That Sunday was the day of the elections, and none of his companions of the cuadrilla had taken any notice of it. They would do nothing but talk of the death of Plumitas and the approaching bull-fight. It was too bad to have his functions as a good citizen, interrupted by this corrida, preventing him carrying off several friends to the voting urn13, who would not go unless he took them. Don Joselito had been imprisoned194, with other friends, on account of his eloquence195 on the tribunes, and El Nacional, who wished to share his martyrdom, had been obliged to put on his gala costume instead and go off with his master. Was this assault on the liberty of citizens to remain unnoticed? Would not the people rise?...
As the coach drove along through la Campana, the toreros saw a large crowd of people, apparently shouting seditiously and waving their sticks. The police agents were charging them sword in hand, and a free fight seemed in progress.
El Nacional rose from his seat trying to throw himself out of the carriage. Ah! At last! The moment has come!... The revolution! Now the populace is rising!
But his master half laughing, half angry, seized him and pushed him back in his seat.
"Don't be an idiot, Sebastian! You only see revolutions and hobgoblins everywhere!"
The rest of the cuadrilla laughed as they guessed the truth. The noble people, being unable to obtain tickets for the corrida at the office in la Campana were trying to take it by storm, and set fire to it, being prevented by the police. El Nacional bent196 his head sorrowfully.
"Reaction and ignorance! All the want of knowing how to read and write!"
A noisy ovation197 awaited them as they arrived at the[Pg 269] Plaza, and frantic198 rounds of clapping greeted the procession of the cuadrilla. All the applause was for Gallardo. The public welcomed his reappearance in the arena60, after that tremendous "cogida" which had been talked of all over the Peninsula.
When the time came for Gallardo to kill his first bull, the explosions of enthusiasm recommenced. Women in white mantillas followed him with their opera-glasses. He was applauded and acclaimed199 on the sunny side, just as much as on the shady side. Even his enemies seemed influenced by this current of sympathy. Poor fellow! He had suffered so much!... The whole Plaza was his. Never had Gallardo seen an audience so completely his own.
He took off his montera before the presidential chair to give the "brindis." "Olé! Olé!" Nobody heard a word, but they all yelled enthusiastically. The applause followed him as he went towards the bull, ceasing in a silence of expectation as he approached it.
He unfolded his muleta, standing200 in front of the animal, but at some distance, not as in former days, when he fired the people by spreading the red rag almost on its muzzle201. In the silence of the Plaza there was a movement of surprise, but no one uttered a word. Several times Gallardo stamped on the ground to excite the beast, who at last attacked feebly, passing under the muleta, but the torero drew himself on one side with visible haste. Many on the benches looked at each other. What did that mean?
The espada saw El Nacional by his side and a few steps further back another peon, but he did not shout as formerly202, "Every one out of the way!"
From the benches arose the sound of sharp discussions. Even the torero's friends thought some explanation necessary.
[Pg 270]
"He still feels his wounds. He ought not to fight. That leg! don't you see it?"
The capes203 of the two peons helped the espada in his passes; the beast was restless, bewildered by the red cloths, and as soon as it charged the muleta, some other cape attracted it away from the torero.
Gallardo, as if he wished to get out of this disagreeable situation, squared himself with his rapier high, and threw himself on the bull.
A murmur38 of absolute stupefaction greeted the stroke. The blade entering only a third of its length trembled, ready to fly out. Gallardo had slipped out from between the horns, without driving the blade in up to the hilt as in former days.
"The stroke was well placed all the same!" shouted the enthusiasts204, clapping as hard as they could, so that their noise should supply the place of numbers.
But the connoisseurs205 smiled with pity. That lad was going to lose the only merit he possessed206, his nerve and daring. They had seen him instinctively207 shorten his arm at the moment of striking the bull with the rapier, and they had seen him turn his face aside, with that shrinking of fear which prevents a man looking danger full in the face.
The rapier rolled on the ground, and Gallardo, taking another, turned again towards the bull accompanied by his peons. El Nacional's cape was constantly spread close to him to distract the beast, and the banderillero's bellowing208 bewildered it, and made it turn, whenever it approached Gallardo too closely.
The second estocade was scarcely more fortunate than the first, as more than half the blade remained uncovered.
"He does not lean on it!" They began to shout from the benches. "The horns frighten him."
[Pg 271]
Gallardo opened his arms like a cross in front of the bull, to show the public behind him, that the bull had had enough and might fall at any moment. But the animal still remained on foot, moving its head about uneasily from side to side.
El Nacional, exciting him with the rag, made him run, taking advantage of every opportunity to hit him heavily on the neck with his cape with all the strength of his arm. The populace, guessing his intention, began to abuse him. He was making the brute209 run in order that the sword should fix itself in firmer, and his heavy blows with the cape were to drive it in deeper. They called him a thief, abusing his mother and other relations, threatening sticks were flourished on the sunny side, and a shower of bottles, oranges and any missiles to hand showered down on the arena, with the intention of striking him, but the good fellow bore all the insults as if he were blind and deaf, and he continued following up the bull, happy in fulfilling his duties and saving a friend.
Suddenly a stream of blood gushed210 from the brute's mouth, and he quietly bent his knees, remaining motionless, but still with his head high as if he intended to rise again and attack. The puntillero came up anxious to finish him as quickly as possible and get the espada out of the difficulty. El Nacional helped him by leaning furtively211 on the sword and driving it in up to the hilt.
Unluckily the populace on the sunny side saw this man?uvre and rose to their feet transported with rage, howling:
"Thief! Assassin!"
They were furious in the name of the poor bull, as if he had not to die in any case, and they shook their fists threateningly at El Nacional, as if he had committed some crime under their very eyes, and the banderillero, ashamed, ended by taking refuge behind the barriers.
[Pg 272]
Gallardo in the meanwhile walked towards the president's chair to salute, while his unreasoning partizans accompanied him with applause as noisy as it was ill supported.
"He had no luck," said they, proof against all disillusions212. "The estocades were well placed! No one can deny that."
The espada stood for a few moments opposite the benches where his most fervent213 partizans were seated, and leaning on the barrier he explained, "It was a very bad bull. There had been no means of making a good job of it."
The partizans, with Don José at their head, assented214. It was just what they had thought themselves.
Gallardo remained the greater part of the corrida by the step of the barrier, plunged215 in gloomy thought. It was all very well making these explanations to his friends, but he felt a cruel doubt in his own mind, a distrust of his own powers that he had never felt before.
The bulls seemed to him bigger, and endowed with a "double life," which made them refuse to die, whereas formerly they had fallen under his rapier with miraculous facility. Indubitably they had loosed the worst of the herd189 for him, to do him an evil turn. Some intrigue217 of his enemies most probably.
Other suspicions, too, rose confusedly from the depths of his mind, but he scarcely dared to drag them out of their darkness and verify them. His arm seemed shorter at the moment when he presented the rapier in front of him; formerly it had reached the brute's neck with the quickness of lightning, now there seemed a fearful and interminable space that he knew not how to cover. His legs too seemed different. They seemed to be free and independent of the rest of his body. In vain his will ordered them to remain calm and firm as in former days,[Pg 273] but they did not obey. They seemed to have eyes which saw the danger, and leapt aside with exceeding lightness as soon as they felt the brute charging.
Gallardo turned against the public the rage he felt at his failure, and his sudden weakness. What did those people want? Was he to let himself be killed for their pleasure?... Did he not carry marks enough of his mad daring on his body? He had no need to prove his courage. That he was still alive was a miracle and owing to celestial218 intervention219, because God is good, and had listened to the prayers of his mother and his poor wife. He had seen the fleshless face of Death closer than most people, and he now knew better than any one the value of living.
"If you think you are going to have my skin!" he said to himself as he looked at the crowd.
In future he would fight much as his companions did. Some days he would do well, some days ill. After all bull-fighting was only a profession, and once one had got into the front rank the most important thing was to live, carrying out one's engagements as best one could.
When the time came for him to kill his second bull his cogitations had brought him into a calmer frame of mind. There was no animal that could kill him! All the same, he would do what he could not to get within reach of the horns.
As he went towards the bull, he carried himself with the same proud bearing as on his best afternoons.
"Out of the way, everybody!"
The audience rustled220 with a murmur of satisfaction. He had said ... "Out of the way, everybody!" He was going to repeat one of his old strokes.
But what the public hoped for did not happen, neither did El Nacional cease to follow him with his cape on his arm, guessing with the knowledge of an old peon,[Pg 274] accustomed to the bombast221 of matadors222, the theatrical hollowness of that order.
Gallardo spread his cape at some distance from the bull, and began the passes with visible apprehension224, always helped by Sebastian's cape.
Once when the muleta remained low for an instant, the bull moved as if intending to charge; he did not, but the espada, over and above alert, deceived by this movement, took a few steps back, which were real bounds, flying from an animal which did not intend to attack him.
This unnecessary retreat placed him in a very ridiculous position, and the crowd laughed with surprise, and many whistles were heard.
"Hey! he's catching225 you!" ... yelled an ironical226 voice.
"Poor dear!" cried another in comically feminine tones.
Gallardo crimsoned227 with anger. This to him! And in the Plaza of Seville! He felt the proud heart-throb of his early days, a mad desire to fall wildly on the bull, and let what God would happen. But his limbs refused to obey. His arms seemed to think, his legs to see the danger.
But with a sudden reaction at these insults, the audience themselves came to his assistance and imposed silence. What a shame to treat a man like this, who was only just convalescent from his serious wounds! It was unworthy of the Plaza of Seville! At least let them observe decency!
Gallardo took advantage of this expression of sympathy to get out of the difficulty. Approaching the bull sideways he gave him a treacherous229 and crossways stroke. The animal fell like a beast at the shambles230, a torrent of blood rushing from his mouth. Some [Pg 275]applauded, others whistled, but the great mass remained gloomily silent.
"They have loosed you treacherous curs!" cried his manager from his seat, in spite of the corrida being supplied from the Marquis' herds188. "These are not bulls! We shall see a difference when they are noble 'bichos,' bulls 'of truth.'"
As he left the Plaza, Gallardo could gauge231 the discontent of the people by their silence. Many groups passed him, but not a salutation, not an acclamation, such as he had always received on his lucky days.
The espada tasted for the first time the bitterness of failure. Even his banderilleros were frowning and silent like defeated soldiers. But when he got home and felt his mother's arms round his neck, and the caresses232 of Carmen and the little nephews, his sadness vanished. Curse it all!... The really important thing was to live that the family should be quiet and happy, and to earn the public's money without any foolhardiness, which must lead to death.
On the following days he recognized the necessity of showing himself, and of talking with his friends in the people's cafés and in the clubs of the Calle de las Sierpes. He thought that his presence would impose a courteous233 silence on evil speakers, and cut short commentaries on his fiasco. He spent whole afternoons amid the poorer aficionados234 whom he had neglected for so long, while he cultivated the friendship of the richer class. Afterwards he went to the "Forty-five," where his manager was enforcing his opinions by shouts and thumps235, maintaining as ever the superiority of Gallardo.
Excellent Don José! His enthusiasm was immutable236, bomb proof. It never could occur to him that his matador223 could possibly cease to be as he had always been. He did not offer a single criticism on his fiasco; on the[Pg 276] contrary, he himself endeavoured to find excuses, mingling237 with them the comfort of his good advice.
"You still feel your 'cogida.' What I say is: 'You will all see him, when he is quite cured, and then you will give me news of him.' Do as you did formerly. Go straight to the bull with that courage which God has given you, and Zas! plunge216 the blade in up to the cross ... and you put him in your pocket."
Gallardo assented with an enigmatic smile.... Put the bulls in his pocket! He wished for nothing better. But ay! lately they had become so big and so intractable! They had grown so enormously since he last trod the arena!
Gambling238 was Gallardo's consolation239, making him forget his anxieties for the moment; and with fresh energy he returned to the green table to lose his money, surrounded by his former friends, who did not care in the least about his failures as long as he was an "elegant" torero.
One night they all went to supper at the inn at Eritana, a festivity given in honour of some foreign ladies of gay life, with whom some of the young men had become acquainted in Paris. They had come to Seville in order to see the festival of the Holy Week and the fair, and were anxious to see all that was most picturesque240 in the place.
Consequently they wished to become acquainted with the celebrated torero, the most elegant of all the espadas, that Gallardo whose portrait they had so often admired in popular prints and on the tops of match-boxes.
The gathering241 was held in the large dining-room of Eritana, a pavilion in the gardens, decorated in extremely bad taste with vulgar imitations of the Moorish splendours of the Alhambra.
[Pg 277]
Gallardo was greeted as a demigod by these three women, who, ignoring their other friends, quarrelled for the honour of sitting beside him. In a way they reminded him of the absent one, with their golden hair and elegant dresses, and their all-pervading perfumes produced a kind of bewilderment.
The presence of his friends helped to make the remembrance still more vivid. All were friends of Do?a Sol, many even belonged to her family, and he had come to look on these as relations.
They all ate and drank with that almost savage166 voracity242 usual at nocturnal feasts, where every one goes with the fullest intention of exceeding in everything, a gipsy band stationed at the further end of the room intoning their somewhat melancholy243 songs, varied244 by sprightly245 dance music, added to the general hilarity246.
By midnight all were more or less tipsy, but Gallardo in his cups was sad and gloomy. Ay! for that other one ... for the real gold of her hair! The golden hair of these women was artificial, their skin was thick and coarse, hardened by cosmetics247, and through all their perfumes his imagination detected an atmosphere of innate248 vulgarity. Ay! for that other one ... that other one.
Gallardo drank deeper and deeper, and the women who had quarrelled for a place by his side, finding him dull and unresponsive, now turned their backs with insulting taunts249 on his gloom. The guitarists scarcely played any longer, but, overcome with wine, bent drowsily250 over their instruments.
The torero was also nearly falling asleep on a bench, when one of his friends offered to give him a lift home in his carriage; he was obliged to leave early so as to be home before the old Countess, his mother, arose to hear Mass, as she did daily, at dawn.
The night wind did not disperse the torero's [Pg 278]drunkenness. When his friend dropped him at the corner of his own street, Gallardo turned with unsteady steps towards his house. Close to the door he stopped, leaning against the wall with both hands, resting his head on his arms as though he could no longer endure the weight of his thoughts.
He had completely forgotten his friends, the supper at Eritana, and the painted strangers, who had begun by quarrelling for him and who had ended by insulting him. Some memory of the other one still floated through his mind, that always! ... but vaguely251, and at last that, too, faded. Now his thoughts, by one of the capricious turns of drunkenness, were entirely252 filled by memories of the bull-ring.
He was the first Matador in the world. Olé! so his manager and his friends declared, and it was the truth. His enemies would see a fine sight when he returned to the Plaza. What had happened the other day was only an accident, a trick that bad luck had played him.
Proud of the overpowering strength that the excitement of wine had momentarily given him, he imagined all the Andalusian and Castillian bulls to be like feeble goats that he could overthrow253 with a single blow from his hand.
What had happened the other day was really nothing. Rubbish!... As El Nacional said, "From the best singer there sometimes escapes a cock-crow."
And this proverb, heard from the lips of many venerable patriarchs of his profession on days of disaster, inspired him with an irresistible254 desire to sing, to fill the silence of the street with his voice.
With his head still leaning on his arms, he began to croon a verse of his own composition, one of overweening praise of his own merit.
"I am Juaniyo Gallardo....
[Pg 279]
Who has more c ... c ... courage than God," and being unable to improvise255 more in his own honour, he repeated the same words again and again in a hoarse and monotonous256 voice, which disturbed the silence, and made an invisible dog at the end of the street bark.
It was the paternal257 inheritance springing up afresh in him; that singing mania258 which had always accompanied Se?or Juan in his weekly outbreaks.
The door of the house opened, and Garabato pushed out his sleepy head, to have a look at the toper whose voice he thought he recognised.
"Ah! is that you?" said the espada, "wait a bit while I sing the last."
And he repeated several times the incomplete ditty in honour of his own bravery, till at last he made up his mind to go into the house.
He felt no desire to go to bed. Guessing his condition he put off the time when he would have to go up to his own room, where Carmen would probably be awake and waiting for him.
"Go to sleep, Garabato; I have a great many things to do."
He did not know what they were, but he was attracted by the look of his office, with its decoration of life-like portraits, frontals won from bulls, and placards proclaiming his fame.
When the electric light was turned on and the servant moved away, Gallardo stood swaying unsteadily on his legs in the middle of the room, casting admiring glances over the walls, as though he were contemplating259 for the first time this museum of his triumphs.
"Very good. Very good, indeed!" he murmured. "That handsome fellow is me, and that other one too, all of them! And yet some people say of me.... Curse[Pg 280] it all! I am the first man in the world. Don José says so, and he speaks the truth."
He threw his sombrero on to a divan260, as if he were divesting261 himself of a glorious crown which oppressed his brow, and went staggering to lean with both hands on the writing bureau, fixing his eyes on the enormous bull's head which decorated the further end of the office.
"Hola! Good night, my fine fellow!... What are you doing here?... Muu! Muu!"
He saluted262 the head with bellowings, imitating childishly the lowing of the bulls on their pastures and in the Plaza. He did not recognize it; he could not remember why the shaggy head with its threatening horns should be there. But by degrees the memory came back to him.
"I know, you rascal19.... I remember how you made me rage that afternoon. The crowd whistled at me and pelted263 me with bottles ... they even insulted my poor mother, and you! ... you were so pleased!... How you did enjoy it! Eh, shameless one?"...
His drunken glance thought he saw the brightly varnished264 muzzle twitch265, and the glass eyes flash with peals266 of concentrated laughter; he even thought that the horned head was nodding an acknowledgment to his question.
The drunken man up to now smiling and good humoured, suddenly felt his anger rise at the remembrance of that afternoon's disgrace. And was that evil beast still laughing at it?... Those bulls with perverse267 minds, so cunning and reflective, were the evil causes of a worthy228 man being insulted and turned into ridicule. Ay! how Gallardo hated them! What a glance of hatred268 was his as he fixed it on the glassy eyes of the horned head.
"Are you still laughing, you son of a dog? Curse you,[Pg 281] rascal! Cursed be the dam that bore you, and the thief your master who grazed you on the pastures! Would to God he were in jail.... Are you still laughing? Still making grimaces269 at me?"
Impelled270 by his ungovernable rage, he leant over the desk, and stretching out his arm opened a drawer. Then he drew himself up erect271, and raised one hand towards the head.
Pum! Pum ... two revolver shots.
In the twinkling of an eye one of the electric globes was smashed to fragments, and in the bull's forehead a round black hole appeared surrounded by singed272 hair.
N.B.—This anecdote273 is related as true of Frascuelo.
FOOTNOTES:
[96] Large platforms with life-size figures carved in wood and magnificently dressed, representing scenes from the life of Jesus—or the Virgin Mary, or the Apostles. Each parish sends two. The figures are ancient and often by eminent274 artists.
[97] Lit.—an arrow, a song of three verses sometimes improvised275.
[98] Dark one.
[99] Ancient armour, from the waist to the knees.
[100] The Calle de las Sierpes is a broad paved street through which there is no vehicular traffic; it leads out of la Campana, which is the upper end of the long straggling Plaza de San Francisco.
[101] A class like the French-Auvergnat water-carriers.
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tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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taper
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| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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molested
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| v.骚扰( molest的过去式和过去分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
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rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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emboldened
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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obligatory
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| adj.强制性的，义务的，必须的 | |
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tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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hoods
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| n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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30
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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31
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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32
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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33
tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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34
dolorous
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| adj.悲伤的；忧愁的 | |
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35
arabesque
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| n.阿拉伯式花饰；adj.阿拉伯式图案的 | |
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36
embroideries
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| 刺绣( embroidery的名词复数 )； 刺绣品； 刺绣法 | |
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37
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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38
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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39
plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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40
confides
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的第三人称单数 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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41
laments
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| n.悲恸，哀歌，挽歌( lament的名词复数 )v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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42
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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43
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
tentacles
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| n.触手( tentacle的名词复数 )；触角；触须；触毛 | |
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45
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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46
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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47
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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48
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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49
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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50
shrouds
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| n.裹尸布( shroud的名词复数 )；寿衣；遮蔽物；覆盖物v.隐瞒( shroud的第三人称单数 )；保密 | |
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51
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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52
naves
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| n.教堂正厅( nave的名词复数 )；本堂；中央部；车轮的中心部 | |
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53
nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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54
disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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55
vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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56
enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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57
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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58
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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59
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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60
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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61
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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62
plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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63
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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64
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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65
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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66
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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67
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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68
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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69
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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70
chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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71
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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72
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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73
constellation
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| n.星座n.灿烂的一群 | |
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74
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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75
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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76
wails
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| 痛哭，哭声( wail的名词复数 ) | |
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77
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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78
plazas
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| n.（尤指西班牙语城镇的）露天广场( plaza的名词复数 )；购物中心 | |
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79
bellicose
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| adj.好战的；好争吵的 | |
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80
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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81
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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82
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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83
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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84
tunics
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| n.（动植物的）膜皮( tunic的名词复数 )；束腰宽松外衣；一套制服的短上衣；（天主教主教等穿的）短祭袍 | |
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85
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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86
imposingly
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87
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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88
forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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89
lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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90
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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91
suppleness
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| 柔软； 灵活； 易弯曲； 顺从 | |
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92
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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93
avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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94
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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95
indemnity
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| n.赔偿，赔款，补偿金 | |
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96
decadent
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| adj.颓废的，衰落的，堕落的 | |
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97
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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98
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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99
accrued
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| adj.权责已发生的v.增加( accrue的过去式和过去分词 )；（通过自然增长）产生；获得；（使钱款、债务）积累 | |
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100
forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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101
lottery
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| n.抽彩；碰运气的事，难于算计的事 | |
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102
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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103
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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104
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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105
moorish
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|
| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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106
taverns
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| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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107
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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108
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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109
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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110
rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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111
plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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112
centurion
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| n.古罗马的百人队长 | |
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113
disarray
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| n.混乱，紊乱，凌乱 | |
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114
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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115
strewing
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| v.撒在…上( strew的现在分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
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116
rivet
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| n.铆钉；vt.铆接，铆牢；集中(目光或注意力) | |
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117
dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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118
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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119
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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120
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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121
meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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122
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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123
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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124
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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125
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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126
funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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127
trumpeting
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的现在分词形式） | |
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128
horrifying
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| a.令人震惊的，使人毛骨悚然的 | |
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129
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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130
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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131
flattening
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| n. 修平 动词flatten的现在分词 | |
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132
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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133
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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134
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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135
bellows
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| n.风箱；发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的名词复数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的第三人称单数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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136
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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137
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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138
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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139
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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140
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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141
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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142
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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143
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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144
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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145
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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146
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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147
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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148
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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149
astuteness
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| n.敏锐；精明；机敏 | |
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150
brotherhoods
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| 兄弟关系( brotherhood的名词复数 )； （总称）同行； （宗教性的）兄弟会； 同业公会 | |
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151
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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152
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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153
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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154
itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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155
virgins
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| 处女，童男( virgin的名词复数 )； 童贞玛利亚（耶稣之母） | |
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156
mantles
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| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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157
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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158
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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159
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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160
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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161
enumerated
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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162
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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163
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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164
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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165
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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166
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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167
ramp
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| n.暴怒，斜坡，坡道；vi.作恐吓姿势，暴怒，加速；vt.加速 | |
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168
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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169
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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170
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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171
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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172
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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173
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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174
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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175
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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176
patio
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| n.庭院，平台 | |
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177
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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178
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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179
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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180
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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181
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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182
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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183
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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184
decomposed
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| 已分解的，已腐烂的 | |
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185
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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186
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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187
enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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188
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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189
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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190
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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191
superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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192
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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193
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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194
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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195
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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196
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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197
ovation
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| n.欢呼，热烈欢迎，热烈鼓掌 | |
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198
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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199
acclaimed
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| adj.受人欢迎的 | |
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200
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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201
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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202
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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203
capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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204
enthusiasts
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| n.热心人，热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
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205
connoisseurs
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| n.鉴赏家，鉴定家，行家( connoisseur的名词复数 ) | |
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206
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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207
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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208
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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209
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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210
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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211
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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212
disillusions
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| 使不再抱幻想，使理想破灭( disillusion的第三人称单数 ) | |
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213
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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214
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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215
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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216
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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217
intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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218
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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219
intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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220
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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221
bombast
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| n.高调，夸大之辞 | |
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222
matadors
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| n.斗牛士( matador的名词复数 ) | |
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223
matador
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| n.斗牛士 | |
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224
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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225
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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226
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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227
crimsoned
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| 变为深红色（crimson的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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228
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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229
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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230
shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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231
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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232
caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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233
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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234
aficionados
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| n.酷爱…者，…迷( aficionado的名词复数 )； 爱看斗牛的人 | |
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235
thumps
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| n.猪肺病；砰的重击声( thump的名词复数 )v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的第三人称单数 ) | |
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236
immutable
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| adj.不可改变的，永恒的 | |
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237
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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238
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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239
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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240
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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241
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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242
voracity
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| n.贪食，贪婪 | |
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243
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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244
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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245
sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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246
hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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247
cosmetics
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| n.化妆品 | |
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248
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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249
taunts
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| 嘲弄的言语，嘲笑，奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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250
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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251
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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252
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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253
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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254
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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255
improvise
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| v.即兴创作；临时准备，临时凑成 | |
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256
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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257
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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258
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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259
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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260
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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261
divesting
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| v.剥夺( divest的现在分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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262
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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263
pelted
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| （连续地）投掷( pelt的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续抨击； 攻击； 剥去…的皮 | |
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264
varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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265
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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266
peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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267
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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268
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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269
grimaces
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| n.（表蔑视、厌恶等）面部扭曲，鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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270
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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271
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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272
singed
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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273
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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274
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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275
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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