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CHAPTER V
A FIESTA

Although Mercedes could not speak English she knew French very well, and therefore through this medium the girls were able to become well acquainted. They found this new friend a simple-hearted, gentle Spanish girl with an eager mind, and such accomplishments as gave a denial to the impression that Spanish girls must not be expected to be in the least intellectual. She and her sister had a French governess for several years and were to have an English one the following year. "So," said Mercedes, "the next time you come I shall speak to you in English."

"It makes me quite ashamed of myself to hear how well she speaks French," said Nan, "and to know that she expects to master English and German, to say nothing of Italian. I feel now that I must work harder than ever at languages. What stupid things we are compared to her. She speaks French like a native, is quite at home with Italian, and has a reading knowledge of German. When shall I know so much as all that? Don't you like her, Mary Lee? She has such lovely dark eyes and such pretty soft hair, then she is so ready to do things for you and to think of things to please you."

"I think she is a dear," agreed Mary Lee. "I am wild to see her in her aldeana costume. She is to wear it to-morrow, and she is teaching me the jota. We must both learn it, Nan, and you must get the music for it. It would be fun to have costumes and do the dance when we go home."

"That would be great," declared Nan. "I wonder why they call them aldeana costumes?"

"Oh, don't you know? Aldeana simply means peasant, or as we would say, country costumes. I asked Miss Dolores. Mercedes will wear the peasant costume of this part of Asturias, you see."

"I understand. There come two of those funny squeaking cow-carts. What a noise they make. I am glad it is the haying season, for I think those carts piled up with hay and led by a tall man or a peasant woman carrying a long pole across the shoulders are such picturesque things."

"Everything is picturesque," agreed Mary Lee. "I love those dear little soft-nosed burros, only I wish the people treated them better. I saw a girl on one this morning. She was making it go very fast, and I wondered why it was going at such a gait till I saw she was sticking a long pin into it every few steps."

"They are cruel to the donkeys," acknowledged Nan, "but I think they are very good to the other animals. The poor burros get the worst of it, and seem to be creatures made only for ridicule and abuse. Oh, Mary Lee, I do believe that is a band of gipsies coming, real Spanish gipsies. Aren't they interesting? I suppose they are coming for the fiesta. Look at those two children with scarcely a rag on. Did you ever see such wild-looking, impish little things? And the man with the velveteen coat and red sash, do see his big sombrero. I hope we shall see them again." She turned from the window to greet Mercedes who came in to bid them come down to the patio to practice the jota.

Her pretty peasant dress was all ready for the morning, for it was quite the thing for others than the mere peasants to adopt the local dress on such occasions. She would wear a short red skirt with bands of black velvet around it, and smocked at the belt. Her brocade bodice trimmed with jet would partly cover her white chemisette. Around her neck she would wear a long chain with a handsome old reliquary attached to it. Very long filagree earrings would be fastened upon her ears, and upon her head she would wear a gay silk handkerchief tied in a peculiar way. A fancy apron of yellow silk completed the costume. Miss Dolores had consented to wear a manta de Manila or soft shawl wound gracefully around her, and in her hair a red clavel.

"You, too, must wear a clavel," said Mercedes, "for you are to dance the jota, and if you will, you can also wear mantas de Manila. You shall have Antonio for a partner and when not him, I will dance with you."

The little village where the fiesta was to take place was but a short distance away. The entire Cabrales family, which included Doña Teresa, her son Antonio, Mercedes and the two younger daughters, Maria Isabel and Consuelo, went with their guests, so theirs was quite a large party which arrived in front of the old church in time to hear the rocket-bombs, and to see the great ramas, or pyramids of bread, carried inside. Then all entered the ancient, low-arched edifice, where glimmering candles at the altar gave the only light. Upon the bare floor were many kneeling figures of women wearing black mantillas. The men occupied the gallery above the rear of the church, or stood at the back near the door.

"Isn't it solemn?" whispered Nan to her sister.

Just then with the chanting of the priests was mingled the song of a canary, then another chirped up, and a third joined in, so that all through the service the little songsters did their part.

"You will see the danza prima here," Miss Dolores had told them. "It is the most ancient and primitive of the Spanish religious dances. It can hardly be called a dance, in fact. And the ramas? They are huge pyramids on which are hung circular loaves of bread, and which are adorned with flowers and branches of green; that is why they are called ramas. They indicate the fruits of the harvest."

So when the moment came for the young men of the village to bear forth the ramas, the girls watched eagerly to see the body of maidens, in aldeana dress, taking a peculiar step backward, always backward, and beating their tambourines and drums while they sang a monotonous chant. The figure of the Virgin, in dazzling array, preceded the ramas, and as the procession issued into the open air again the rocket-bombs went up again. Women carrying tall lighted candles brought up the rear of the procession which moved around the church. The ramas were set up again outside while the Virgin was carried back to her shrine and then the real fiesta began.

"Almost all the fiestas have some special feature, some religious dance to distinguish them from one another," Miss Dolores told the girls. "At Llanes they have a very old dance called the danza peregrino, or dance of the pilgrims which is supposed to date back, no one knows how many centuries, to the days of the pilgrims, and the cockle-shells and staves are still conspicuous in the dress the children wear when they give the dance. At Ribadasella they have a procession of boats upon the water, which is quite pretty."

"I'd like to see that," said Nan.

"Perhaps we shall be able to. Now, we will wander about a while to see the people and the booths before the dancing begins."

"Why, it's just like a fair," remarked Mary Lee. And indeed, to see the stands where cakes, beer and wine were offered for sale, to see the women squatting on the ground in front of baskets of nuts or fruit, to see the merry-go-round and the merry crowd made one think that it might be anything but a religious occasion.

"The dancing has begun," cried Mercedes. "You must come." She urged the girls forward to where upon the grass two lines had formed, the men opposite the girls. A man with a violin and a woman with a drum were beginning the music of the jota, and presently Nan found herself opposite Don Antonio while Mary Lee had Mercedes for her vis-à-vis. Don Antonio was a tall, serious-looking lad of nineteen, but when with arms aloft, he snapped his fingers, and took graceful steps, he seemed quite a different person from the grave young man who had ventured but a few remarks to the American girls. Nan soon caught the spirit of the dance, while Mary Lee, under the teaching of Mercedes, was presently snapping her fingers and taking her steps with the best. It was energetic exercise and they were rather tired when the last notes of the jota ended.

"Now let us go and have some cider and cakes," proposed Mercedes.

"Cider? Do you have cider here?" asked Nan.

"Oh, yes," was the reply. "In Asturias we raise many apples, and cider is a favorite drink. I see Antonio has supplied us with cakes. We will go over there under the trees and have our feast and then we will walk down by the sea."

"I am so glad to see so many in peasant dress. Why don't the men wear it?" Mary Lee put the question.

"So few young men are here. Most of them have gone away and will come back Americanos when they have made money."

"Americanos?"

"Yes. They go to Buenos Ayres, to Mexico, to Venezuela, and when they come back they do not wear any more the aldeana dress, and they are always called Americanos."

"And what are we?" Nan put the question, a little puzzled to know how she and her sister would be distinguished. If they were not Americans what could they be?

"Oh, you are Inglesas," Mercedes told her.

"Because we speak English, I suppose." Nan was not quite sure that she liked this method of classification.

"Oh, yes, that is why, certainly," returned Mercedes. "See there is a man over there wearing the Asturian cap, the old man with a long peaked cap which hangs down one side."

"And so you don't call us Americanos," Mary Lee returned to the subject, after looking at the man with the peaked cap.

Mercedes smiled and shook her head.

"I always forget there is any America but the United States," said Mary Lee, "but of course South Americans have just as much right to be called so as we have. Dear me, do see that poor deformed creature, and there is another." She stood appalled and again Mercedes smiled.

"They always come to the fiestas, and they are not so deformed as they appear though they must be truly so, and must show that they are else they might be taken for impostors." She stopped to give each of the supplicants a copper coin. "The big coppers are perronos or the big dogs," she explained, "the little ones, perrinas, or little dogs," and each of the Corner girls took a perrono from her purse to put into the outstretched hands.

"Ah, there are the Gallegos; you will like them." And Mercedes hurried them forward to join a crowd gathered around two women, one with a guitar, the other with a tambourine. They were saucy, mirthful looking creatures who turned knowing eyes upon the strangers and after whispering to one or two of the nearest bystanders, broke forth into a fresh song which caused much amusement.

"What are they saying?" asked Nan, as she saw all eyes turned in her direction.

Mercedes laughed. "They are singing about you. They say you are like a clavel with your pink cheeks, and that Mary Lee is a golden bird. They say you should be in the queen's court and that your husbands will be sure to occupy high places."

"Oh, dear!" Nan looked this way and that, feeling very conscious, to the delight of the audience. To be made the subject of improvisation seemed to the girls a very unusual experience, but presently they realized that it was a very common thing here in Spain, that it was meant as a compliment, so when the tambourine was passed around each girl dropped in her offering and the Gallegos smilingly started in a new direction.

More dancing and more feasting. The grass was trodden into the dust; the piles of cakes were perceptibly diminished; more people were arriving. The train brought numbers from the nearest towns and villages; carriages drove up with occupants dressed in their best. There were two sets of couples for the next jota in which even small children in the aldeana dress joined, all being perfectly familiar with the step.

An Andalusian with a sweet worn voice trolled out his ballads in a minor key at one end of the grounds; at the other end a blind violinist drew his bow raspingly and in cracked tones sang a wild Asturian melody. The lame beggars hopped hither and thither, the paralyzed ones crawled nearer, the maimed accosted each newcomer.

Soon the bright daylight began to fade. Long shadows crept across the grass, the ancient church, ten centuries old, grew grayer in the failing light. "One more look at the sea and then we go," said Mercedes. So they wandered down to the rocky shore where great crags rose on every side. Beyond these sparkled the Cantabrian sea which, softening the air, made it possible for chestnuts and orange trees, palms and apple trees, to live in neighborly fashion.

"We have flowers in our garden the year around," Mercedes told them, "and even when there is snow on the mountains it is not so very cold here."

"I know it is perfectly beautiful now," responded Nan. "August and no great heat, the sea so near and no sharp winds. It is perfect. The kind of weather that is just right, and that you don't have to think about one way or the other."

"What wonderful caves there seem to be about here," said Mary Lee looking off toward the rocks.

"There are a great many, and the old folks tell you that they are inhabited by fairy folk, the inxanos, we call them, tiny little people who live underground and build these rocky houses for themselves."

"Oh, I'd love to hear about them." The subject appealed to Nan's fancy. "Do people really think there are such fairies?"

"Some of the peasants do, and they have great tales to tell. Then there are the xanos who are water fairies and live in the streams and fountains. You must see the great caves near our village. I will take you to them to-morrow. We must go up the mountain, too, and there is a place not so very far away, from which you can see a great distance. We shall drive home to-day and you can see the Peaks of Europe, our highest peaks anywhere about."

The Corners never did forget the drive home over the best of hard roads, above mountain streams and green valleys, the great Peaks of Europe glistening far off, and the nearer mountains bathed in sunset glory. They encountered a band of gipsies with their donkeys, traveling along the white road which wound around a high hill, and these seemed more than ever picturesque, the orange and red of their costumes showing vividly against the gray background of rock.

There were more fiestas after this, but none that gave the girls greater enjoyment. They saw later the quaint little town of Ribadasella decked in the Spanish colors, and they enjoyed the procession of blossom-adorned boats when Santa Marina took place. They saw, too, the feast of "Our Lady of the Hay" when the great hay harvest was over and honor was done to the Virgin of a little chapel in the woods. There was a long day spent at Llanes which was very gay upon this feast of San Roque. It ended with a dance which kept up till very late. To this the girls did not go, though, at different times during the night, they heard revelers returning home.

Mary Lee and Nan had picked up a little Spanish when they were in California, and now continued to add constantly to their stock of words. In consequence they were soon able to carry on conversations, haltingly, to be sure, with Doña Teresa and Don Antonio, and managed to understand something of what was said to them.

"I wish you had been here for our day of San Juan," Mercedes said to them.

"What did you do then?" asked Mary Lee.

"We had a fiesta at the house of our good doctor whose name is Juan. As it was his feast day we went very early to hang garlands about the gateway and the windows. We set up a tree in his patio, and many persons from far and near brought presents to him. He provided cakes and other things for the feast and we danced till dark in front of the house. From all the neighboring villages the young people came dancing the dance of San Juan all the way, singing as they came. It was very pretty."

"Oh, what awfully nice things you do here," said Nan. "I think it is lovely to celebrate days like that."

Mercedes nodded. "Yes, we think it is. We enjoy our fiestas and we have many of them. If you were to be here you would see. I think you should stay a year that you might understand what goes on at every season. Could you not stay a year?"

"Dear me!" Nan smiled. "What a darling thing you are, Mercedes. We'd love to stay but we must study. We go to Germany in the fall."

"Oh, you could study here with the English governess and you could learn Spanish. Would it not do as well as German?"

Nan gave her a hug. "I should love to do it, but we must do as our mother says."

"Of course. I understand that, but I should like you to stay and so would mother, my brother also."

"It is perfectly lovely for you to say so, but I suppose we must be thankful to have as much as a month here, and as we speak French all the time I am losing none of my knowledge of that language, while I am also learning a little Spanish. I hope some day you will come to our country and then you will visit us in our home."

"I should like much to do that. My cousin Dolores says I shall come if my mother permits, and my mother says when I have learned to speak English it will be time enough to talk of going, so I shall work very hard, and when you see me in your country I shall be saying more than 'E ahm very glad to zee you.'" She laughed merrily.

"You will come, of course you will. I shall speak often to Miss Dolores about it so she will remember to write to your mother so often that she will not forget about it."

"We shall have to do all we can to have you see our Asturias, as much as is possible, while you are here for this short month." And with this intention to be carried out it was to be expected that the days did not hang heavily. If there was not a fiesta or a feria there was an excursion to the seashore, or to some neighboring town; there was maybe a fishing party or a long drive to some mountain village, and the longer they stayed the more attached did the girls become to sweet Mercedes, and the more interesting did they find the beautiful province of Asturias.

CHAPTER VI
SPANISH HOSPITALITY

The great caves which stood each side the little beach to which the girls often went were remarkable for more than one reason. They served as bath houses, they were unique in construction and they suggested tales of folk-lore in which Nan delighted. Through one of these caverns, as through an arched passage, one could go to get a better view of the stretch of sea beyond, while from the rocky hill above a still better view was to be had. The way to the sea was rather rough, and only the younger ones of the household cared to travel it often. Mr. Pinckney declared it was too great an effort for his portly person, and Doña Teresa said it was out of the question for her to attempt it, so often but the three girls, Nan, Mary Lee and Mercedes, would find their way there. They must first pass through one of the winding streets, or roads, of the little village, then over a stony way leading past the small chapel of Nuestra Señora del Henar, in the woods, and on through shady paths till the sea was at hand.

A daily dip in the salt water was desirable, however, for Miss Dolores who was not very strong, and therefore one morning the family was surprised by the arrival of a stout little donkey and cart which Mr. Pinckney explained he had bought for the use of the family. So in the jouncing, bouncing cart thereafter the four went, the little donkey not seeming to mind the load in the least. Often, nevertheless, Nan or Mary Lee would insist upon getting out and walking up-hill to spare Master Neddy, as they called him. It goes without saying that the lines of this special donkey fell in pleasant places when Mr. Pinckney became his purchaser.

In spite of the donkey, the girls often preferred to take long walks, sometimes stopping at the house of a peasant to see something quaint and old of which Mercedes had told them.

"Would you like to see an old, a very old loom, and some one weaving linen?" she asked one day.

"We should be delighted," responded Nan.

"Then we will go. It is not far and perhaps my cousin Dolores would like also to go. The old woman I know well, and she will be pleased to welcome us. The house, too, is old, oh, so old, I do not know how many years, hundreds, I think, and I am sure you will like to see it."

So the four started off up the long white carretera, passing on the way first a creaking cow-cart loaded with hay, then a viajante in his wagon lolling back and singing a strange song ending in a weird note, next a little shepherdess tending her two sheep which cropped the herbage at the side of the road, then an old woman bending under a mass of hay so great that the wizened face and bright eyes could scarcely be discerned. All these gave a cheerful "Adios" or "Buenas tardes" as they passed.

As the girls turned off the carretera and entered a narrow winding road, Mercedes said, "I want you to see the little chapel of Nuestra Señora de Soledad. It is such a quiet little spot where it is. When I am sad or unhappy I go there, for it seems as if it were nearer heaven than some other places."

She led the way to where the tiny chapel stood at the meeting of two paths. Truly "Our Lady of Solitude" could have no more fitting title. The rustling of leaves on the great trees, the murmur of a little stream, the song of a bird, the occasional creaking of a distant cow-cart were the only sounds heard. The girls stepped up on the small porch, without which is never a church or chapel in Spain, and looked in through the iron grating at the unpretentious little figure in her shrine, then they sat down on the porch to rest.

"How still it is," whispered Mary Lee to Miss Dolores. "I wonder how long the 'Lady of Solitude' has been here."

"Many, many years, no doubt. The chapel is very old, as you see. Many of these small churches and chapels were demolished, or at least abused by the French in 1808, but this one has evidently escaped. It is charming. I think I shall make a sketch of it for my cousin Teresa. She will like it, for she has known and loved it always."

They left the little chapel and mounted higher, then making another turn they came to an old gray house set in a patio. There was an entrance to the lower floor from below, but a long flight of crooked stone steps led up outside to the upper floor. A great tree overshadowed the house; under it some white hens were picking around industriously. Above, in the small windows, were set boxes of pinks and geraniums – no house so poor but had its clavel. Mercedes mounted the crooked steps, the others waiting below till an answer to the knock should come. "Manuela is in," Mercedes announced. "Will you come up or will you wait till she comes down to open the lower door? The loom is below."

Miss Dolores decided that they would wait, although Nan and Mary Lee were hoping they could see the inside of the old stone house.

"Perhaps we can go later," whispered Mary Lee to her sister.

Mercedes joined them, saying, "You will find it very dark and dingy, but clean."

Here Manuela opened the door and they stepped into a room whose blackened rafters were very near their heads. The earthen floor was beaten down hard by the tread of those who had gone in and out for centuries. A tiny window gave the only light, and under this was set the great unwieldy loom which Manuela started going. The clumsy shuttle clacked noisily as the weaving proceeded. A pile of coarse linen lay near; it was such as the peasants had for household use, and was literal homespun. Manuela, though quite overpowered by the sight of these strange visitors, was, nevertheless, dignified and gracious, and at Mercedes' suggestion offered to show the rest of the house.

Up through the narrowest of crooked stairs they groped their way to the kitchen, a dark little place, but clean and orderly. There was no stove in the great fireplace but only a stone platform which the girls decided looked like an ancient altar, for it was on the top of this the fire was kindled. In this primitive way all the cooking was done, and so it was in most houses, even in those of the well-to-do. A shining array of copper and brass utensils hung near the fireplace, and some old blue and white plates stood a-row on a shelf. In the next room there was but little furniture; a bed, a settle, an old chest, a small mirror, a picture of "Our Lady of Covadonga," a few gaudily colored prints of various saints. Though the rooms seemed small and dark they were tidy and Manuela, in her black frock and with black handkerchief tied over her head, was not an inartistic figure in the midst of the setting. She offered them flowers, a pink clavel and geranium to each, and they took their leave. As they passed out of the patio two women, bent under their loads of hay, came through the gateway to deposit their burdens in the loft back of the kitchen.

"Now," said Mercedes, "if you can stand the walk, I should like to show you my favorite view. It is a long climb, Cousin Dolores, but Antonio said he would meet us with the cart at the foot of the last hill and he will help you up to the top."

With this prospect Miss Dolores decided to undertake the walk. It was a long one, but it was worth the effort to see from the top of the high hill seven villages nestled at the foot of the mountains on one side, and a semicircle of sea on the other.

"I never beheld anything more glorious," cried Nan enthusiastically. "We have, of course, some greater and more magnificent scenery on our Pacific coast, but this is unique. To see half the world mountains and half sea from the top of a hill not a mile from home is not vouchsafed everybody."

"I knew you would like," said Mercedes well pleased. "I think there is no finer view in all Asturias."

At the foot of the hill they found Neddy and the cart, and went home joyously, taking turns in the cart to spare Neddy.

It was rather late when they passed by the plaza in the centre of the village, and here they saw that something was going on, for a man was setting up two poles, and some paraphernalia near by suggested that he had intentions in other directions.

"A comedia!" cried Antonio.

Nan looked at Mercedes questioningly.

"A comedia, a little drama on the plaza to-night. We must all come to it, all of us."

"Is there a tent, or what?"

"It is in the open air. These are strolling players."

Nan marveled, but was very curious and eager to see the performance. Supper was always a late meal, sometimes it was not served before ten o'clock, but there was always a merienda, chocolate, tea or coffee at five, so one did not mind. This evening the meal was hurried a little so it was over by nine, yet even then the play had not begun, though the performers were drumming up custom, as the roll of the drum proclaimed some time before the party reached the spot. This kept up for another half an hour, the crowd gathering slowly. But at last a ring was formed around the centre of the plaza, some brought chairs, others sat on the steps of surrounding houses, some squatted on the ground, some stood up. In all the windows and balconies overlooking the spot, spectators were gathered.

The two American girls were perhaps the most eager ones in the audience, for this was a rare treat to them, and they were curious enough to see the performance begin. It seemed long delayed, but at last two men came out and did some acrobatic feats; these were followed by a little play of which Nan and Mary Lee understood very little. Then a small girl and a tiny boy walked a tight rope. Next came a mock bull-fight in which the tiny boy took the part of a toreador, and ran so precipitately from the pretended bull at each onslaught that he brought forth shouts of laughter. At last the mock bull amiably presented himself to be killed and the victorious toreador retired amid great applause.

"That is the only bull-fight I want to see," whispered Mary Lee to Nan. "But I am glad to know how they do it. Nobody was hurt and the youngster was too funny for words."

The next act on the programme was a pretty dance given by the little girl, after which came a second farce in which a donkey appeared, and then the hat was passed around. Mr. Pinckney declared that a peseta apiece was none too much for such a novel performance, and thereupon dropped a gold piece into the hat to the surprise and joy of the actors.

"You have seen real old-time play-acting," he told the Corners. "It is the primitive method of performing dramas. So Shakespeare gave his plays, and so the old Spanish dramatists, Lope de Vega and Calderon, saw theirs played."

"It was great fun," the girls declared, "and we shall not forget it in a hurry."

"What a country of surprises it is," said Nan. "It isn't a bit like any other, and I am so glad we could come."

The crowd had dispersed, seeming actually to melt away, so quickly the plaza was deserted by all but two or three persons. Among these was the little girl who had taken part in the show. It seemed to be a family affair in which mamma beat the drum, papa and another younger man took the principal parts, and the children fitted in wherever a place could be made for them.

Nan stood watching the child, who, with a candle, was searching for something. "What have you lost?" asked Nan in her best Spanish.

"My slippers," said the child, and Nan could see that she had been crying.

"She has lost her slippers," said Nan to Mercedes. "Let us help her look for them. I wonder if that is why she has been crying."

Mercedes put some questions. "It is not that," she told Nan, "but she had to walk the tight rope, which is really a wire, without them, and it cut her poor little feet badly."

"Dear me!" Nan was all sympathy and rushed off to tell the tale to Mr. Pinckney, who, as usual, was moved to a better condition by a poultice of money. He slipped a gold piece into the child's hand and she went off happily, since she had now more than enough to make good the loss of the slippers.

"Rather an expensive performance for you, grandfather," said Miss Dolores smiling.

"Not so very," he replied, "when you consider what we pay for opera in New York, and this was much more of a novelty."

"That is just like you, Mr. St. Nick," said Mary Lee. "You play Santa Claus all the year round."

The time flew by till there were but three days left. One of these was given to Covadonga which all were eager to see.