The Little Spanish Dancer Read online

  CHAPTER I

  THE MAGIC CASTANETS

  Pilar was dancing in the Murillo (m[+u]-r[)i]l'[=o]) Garden. It was abeautiful public garden named after the great Spanish painter, Murillo,who died in a house near by.

  Pilar had been born ten years ago in this old city of Seville(s[+e]-v[)i]l'). If you had asked Pilar, "Where is New York?" she woulddoubtless have laughed with her lovely dark eyes and inquired, "Is it inSeville?" Because, to Pilar, as to most of her friends, there was onlyone world, and that world was Seville.

  Now a terrible thing was happening at Pilar's home this evening. ButPilar did not know it because she was dancing in the garden. Everynight, after her grandfather went to bed, she ran off and danced withher friends to the music of a hurdy-gurdy.

  But tonight, after Pilar had left, her grandfather had been taken veryill. The neighbors had sent for a doctor, who shook his head gravelyover the poor old man.

  Pilar knew nothing about this as she clicked her castanets and whirledabout in the dance they call the Sevillana.

  She was one of the best dancers in her group. And why not? Her motherhad been a dancer; her grandmother, too, yes, and her great-grandmotherand her great-great--oh, ever so many great-grandmothers! They had allbeen dancers.

  Pilar's parents had died when she was a baby. She lived alone with hergrandfather, and they struggled to keep the wolf named Hunger fromtheir door. Her grandfather was a shoemaker, but he worked slowly thesedays because his hands were old.

  DANCING IN A PUBLIC SQUARE, SEVILLE]

  Once when Pilar was very little, someone had asked her what pleasuresshe enjoyed most. She had answered, "The pleasures I enjoy mostare--dancing!"

  Now this could easily be the answer of every little girl in southernSpain. For while Italy sings, France designs, and Switzerland skates,Spain dances. Why, it is even possible that little girls in Sevillewould rather dance than go to moving picture shows!

  Yet everyone in Seville does not feel that way, for the many open airtheaters all over the city are crowded. And what the people seem to likebest are the American comedies.

  It was growing late, but Pilar seldom went to bed before midnight. Shewould have told you that evening was the time to live and to laugh andto dance. Then it was cool, while during the day the sun beat downcruelly and people slept for hours.

  Through the narrow streets Pilar made her way home at last. She heardlittle snatches of song from the throats of strollers.

  Everyone strolls in Seville; there is no hurry. Nearly everyone sings;there is no worry. Hurry and worry are as much out of place in this cityas a woman's hat shop. For white flowers and black lace shawls take theplace of hats in Seville.

  Pilar hummed to herself as she walked along. Some day she would grow upto be a great dancer like her mother and--

  What was that? A light in her house? She looked through the window andsaw the doctor bending over her grandfather's bed.

  Pilar caught her breath. Then she rushed indoors and ran straight to hergrandfather's bedside. Sinking down on her knees, she burst into tears.

  "Oh, Grandfather!" she cried. "You are ill! Dear Grandfather, what isthe matter?"

  The doctor smoothed her soft, black hair and raised her to her feet.

  "There, now, my child," he said. "You must not cry. You will only makeyour grandfather worse. He will get well if you will do what I tellyou."

  WHEN PILAR WAS LITTLE]

  "What--what is that, doctor?" Poor Pilar was trembling.

  "You must buy and cook good, nourishing food for him," said the doctor."And give him the medicines which I order."

  Now Pilar's eyes were full of terror. "But, oh, doctor," she cried. "Icannot do that. We have no money."

  "No money?" The doctor looked at her pityingly.

  "We live by what Grandfather makes when he can work," said Pilar. "Nowthat he cannot work, there will be no money."

  The doctor said, "Um-m" and stroked his beard. Then he asked, "Have younothing which you might sell?"

  "Only--" And Pilar gazed into her tiny cubbyhole of a room next door."Only an old wooden chest filled with souvenirs, left to me by mymother." She added in a whisper, "I could not sell them!"

  The doctor was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I am afraid you mustsell them, Pilar, if you wish your grandfather to live."

  When the doctor was gone, Pilar went into her room and looked at theprecious wooden chest. In it were the souvenirs which her mother hadcollected throughout her interesting life as a dancer.

  The doctor had given her grandfather medicine, and now he slept. Butwhat would happen in the morning?

  Pilar shuddered. She was only a little girl, and she was afraid. Thedoctor had said that her grandfather must have the best of everything,or maybe he would die.

  A tear splashed down upon the old, carved chest. There was only onething to do. Tomorrow she would go into town and sell one of hermother's souvenirs so that she might buy medicine and food.

  She brushed away the tears and began to look through her treasures.There were a tall, graceful comb; a faded, but elegant fan; a richlydecorated old bonnet; oh, such lovely things! How could she ever partwith them?

  She pulled out a pair of castanets (k[)a]s'-t[.a]-n[)e]ts'). Now, inSpain, it seems that every baby is born with a pair of castanets in itshand. Of course, I only said, "It seems." Yet some of the tiniest totsare taught to click these wooden clappers to the rhythm of thetraditional Spanish songs and dances.

  Castanets are shaped very much like chestnuts. They say that this is whythey are called castanuellos, which means "chestnuts" in Spanish.

  PILAR KNELT DOWN BESIDE THE CHEST]

  But those which had belonged to Pilar's mother were no ordinarycastanets. Indeed, they were said to possess some wonderful anddangerous power.

  Mysterious legends had passed from mother to daughter down throughPilar's family. Each legend told of trouble caused by the loss of thesecastanets. For whenever they had been lost, given, stolen, or sold,misfortune had come to their owners.

  A bit of verse, composed, no doubt, by the first ancestor who had usedthem, warned thus:

  "_Castanets, with magic spell, Never lose or give or sell; If you do, then grief and strife Will follow you through all your life._"

  But Pilar had never heard the old rime. Nor had her grandfather evertold her the strange legends. He did not want to frighten her. Besides,he realized that modern, educated people would have called such beliefsvery foolish.

  So Pilar did not know about the power of the magic castanets, and shefell asleep that night with these words going through her head: "Whichsouvenir shall I sell tomorrow? Which one shall it be?"

  GIRALDA TOWER, SEVILLE]