Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1898-03-10
MY LADY OF MADRID.
THE FAIR CAsTlLlAN AT HER DEvo-
TIONS AND HER ADJUSTMENTS.

ti0iN0 rttNG TEN FAtU00CuE
None More Devout at Mathis Than She,
None More Gay and Eager at the Sun
day Afternoon Bullhght - A. Discreet
and Fascinating Coquette.
copyright. 1895, by the Author1
thine flies, saith the epicurean
idler of Granada. Meanwhile study
woman"
am ready to kiss the Koran on it.
and it is my firm belief, that there is
something worthy of perusal if you lift
with me this evening the heavy leathern
ourtained portal of this old Spanish ca
thedral whence the threads of incense
breath unroll and if you come with me
into the cool and numbered solitudes of
saints and subtleties out Of sun that
fries your forehead and reduces your
thinking apparatus to despair. The va
rious chapels are glittering with FREELY
lights, like a garden party in Calcutta.
The altar bell is tinkling for benedic-
g4OAs AZ 40 q WOuQCI1ul clRuU d6 yOQ
stand with folded arms, or kneel rather,
and look along this mighty ark. The
Spanish woman is kneeling or is pros
trate before one or other of her pet pa
irons, the wax auxiliary for tomorrows s
intrigue or triumph. Her duenna is seat
ed on the ground beside her. But watch
her-this beautiful Spanish womanl |
You catch glimpse of those twilight
eyes beyond the black cascade of her
lace mantilla as she turns moment
yes, oquettishly-and draws the man
tilla closer. She prostrates again, and
her devotion is divine Your eyes are
riveted upon her. Every outline OF that
form is supplication and aspiration.
Fair saint, ora pro nobis bursts from
your lips, and your soul ascends with
hers to the Almighty.
The fair senorita rises again, sits
down on the marble floor, and, oh, with
what delicate touch draws the man
tilla just a favoring hairs breadth away
from that delicious olive outline of
cheek-and plies her fan quite exqui-
sitely. How that fan catches the crimson
of the martyred saint ON the window
abovel Why, no! The colors on the
beauty's fan are those of her favorite
matadore. What are you thinking of?
And what is she thinking of as that fan
The fair senorita makes her obeisance to
the altar, and, with such gentle timidity,
follows her duenna out of the church.
The artist leaning against the pillar
catches that roguish look in the Spanish
eyes within those little side curls called
picardios (rogueries).
The artist strangers reasoning ap-
paratus begins to work again, and he
knows that this divine devotion he has
just witnessed is but prelude to to-
morrow, when the fair senorita, bowed
to the dust today, will shout her breath
away at the whirl of blood and dust 60
ing on within the arena of the corrida
de toros
On your homeward path from vespers
your attention is arrested by a crowd
collected around a matador in gorgeous
raiment for tomorrew's fete. Watch
the faces Of the men in the crowd. The
man who comes under the influence of
woman rises or falls in the whole scale
Of intellectual or moral being The ten
little fingers of woman that hold
mans destiny can guide it to crowns or
subtract 1t from glory. Watch the faces
in this main artery of Madrid where the
hoarse shouts for the slayer rise in
deafening thunder You begin to Won
der if you were wise in leaving your
trusty derringer in your steamer trunk
at the hotel.
Above, from the balconies SO prettily
shaded by tawny Moorish awnings, the
watching senorita peeps. She may new
er see her lover alone, SO welcome these
balcony moments, where the two may
talk in sign language that to any one
else on the outside Of it all looks like
the gestures of one in danger of apo
plexy. The tourist turns his steps to-
ward the cemetery, feeling trifie lone
1y amid all these balcony calisthenics.
Now, this last resting place Of the Cas-
lillian noble is weird and wonderful
place. The Spanish lady in affection
comes here to hang up new picture in
the mortuary chapel or to go up and
down to the grewsome twilight Of the
vault or to sit plunged in grief. This
chapel is gorgeous with decoration of
mosaic pavement and stained glass win
dows and an intricate ironwork Of carv-
ed grille through which the tourist
stranger may peep. The sanctuary lamp
- 81 Iox
the opening eye of the dead A fight of
stairs, broad and echoing, go down and
down to the vault below into whose
gray shadows the dead Castilian noble
has been carried this morning only. And
the poor lady yonder in the black and
white (the fashionable colors of Cas-
lillian af1iction) is SO profoundly bowed
in grief. The artist tourist withdraws
on tiptoe from before the grille.
It is the afternoon Of the morning
when the dead count went down to his
final account In the noble lady's house
in Madrid the lady who owns the
mortuary chapel and who sobbed very
much this morning-there is quite a
stir going on. My lady countess is
standing in her room. My lady is stand
ing before her mirror, and she is draw
ing, oh, SO coquettishly, splendid black
lace mantilla around her shapely little
head and then she pins, oh, SO jauntily,
a pretty white rose on her head, and
then she pins another prettier white one
nesting close to it. and she laughs
again. Just the co1ors of the Itinerary
wreath In the mortuary chapell And
then she holds up over her head
adorned with the black lace mantilla
and the two snow roses little red fan,
and she peeps away from under it and
throws that little head on one side.
And then down the stairs and away!
To the mortuary chapel? Oh, dear, no;
to the bullfight Why, it's Sunday aft
ernoon, and Jose, the celebrated mata-
dore, does the Staying today.
Lucy CLEVELAND