ANDALUSIAN NIGHT

Greymouth Evening Star, 4 March 1926, Page 2

ANDALUSIAN NIGHT

MYSTIC AND MUSICAL. A deep, thrilling, dreamy voice, that held romance, the silvery dull twang of a guitar, then silence complete, yet fraught with expectancy. We waited, but only the soft rustle of whispering leaves, and far a>way the faint tinkle of goat bells came to us. Then from somewhere near by a little sobbing sigh, and the gentle closing of a window, told of human life. Again slowly and subtly the troubadour’s melodious voice drifted up through the. night, the guitar weaving its magic tones into the song of love; and the whole night quivered with beauty. It was Spain (says a writer in the “Christian Science Monitor”) —sunny, romantic Spain —still treading the paths of yesterday- At our feet the little town of Seville shone and glistened, as one by one the myriad lamps of the sky gleamed through the warm air, fragrant with the perfume of oranges and flowers. The swift southern twilight soon faded, leaving fingers of orange, purple, and green in the west. Like grey shadows clear-cut and compelling, the quaint buildings stood out, clustered and huddled together in a mass of gleaming opal. A herd of black and white goats, drtven by a picturesque boy astride a patient donkey, stumbled recklessly down the steep rocky path to their night’s (shelter, their thin tinkling bells mingling with the mellower notes of cow bells. In the narrow streets, at the hour of twilight, windows are thrown wide to catch the fleeting breeze. From a gaudy painted balcony a Spanish maiden, whose jet black hair is adorned with a lacy mantilla, leans over the balustrade, flinging a deep Ted rose into the crowd. On flows the careless stream of humanity, the day’s work done ; all cares laid aside until the morrow. It is not a silent gathering, but a crowd full of song and laughter. Quaint carriages drawn by sturdy horses career recklessly over Uie

cobbled way, vanishing into the gloom. Peasant women garbed in rusty black, a vivid shawl draping their shoulders, pass along under the burden of huge wicker panniers laden with deep red carnations, dark violets and glowing roses, leaving a trail of heavy, sweet scent. This mystic, musical night of Andalusia enthralled us. We wandered down a narrow uneven street where sleepy children, brown faced and tousled, still played; and the soft voices of men and women filled with hidden laughter, rose and fell to the lovely garden of the Alcazar wrapped in silver moonlight- Far beyond, the glorious .Giralda tower with the bronze figure of Faith on its summit —rosepink and faintly mauve in the soft radiance —looked across the joyous city, as it, had done since the 12th century; beyond the-gently swishing Guadalmiivir H>» - I: '+ant line of Sieiva Morr-nn Mountains.