The Story of La Guenea.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 18, 30 April 1892, Page 446

The Story of La Guenea.

I. T 7y7'i,.^r_- .-,. ys=a H E evening train was on the point of leaving Madrid for Seville, and I w was congratulating myself on having •j secured an entire compartment for q the night, when the door swung open 1 once more, and a woman bounded in 1 —I can find no other word to describe d the almost panther-like agility of ij her movements—and seated herself a] opposite to me. In another instant we were steaming out of the station. The quiet nonchalance with which the new arrival leaned back against the cushions, the repose of her whole attitude, contrasting as it did with her somewhat energetic mode of entrance a moment since, roused in me a faint sense of curiosity. She was gowned in some clinging soft material, and a large mantilla, draped low over her forehead, veiled her head, throat and shoulders. As my eyes became more accustomed to the dim light afforded by the solitary oil-lamp, I could trace the outline of a slender but exquisitely moulded figure, and catch swift glimpses of a cameo-like profile, of a full and somewhat sensuous scarlet mouth, and handsome, sombre, deep-lashed eyes, arched over by strongly marked brows, that gave a look of energy which was yet inexpressibly piquant to the face.

The train sped along swiftly and noisily. My companion was gazing steadfastly out into the night. I was gazing furtively at my companion. Suddenly she turned and looked full at me. Such a glance ! In the densely dark pupils of her eyes there was a flash as of yellow flame. For a moment they looked almost phosphorescent. Involuntarily I closed my own eyes for an instant. When I re-

opened them, her face was transformed, her long lashes were half drooped, her lips curved in a faint smile. The almost diabolical expression of a moment since was changed into one of half-conscious feminine coquetry. The swift metamorphosis startled me. It also aroused in me a decided feeling of interest. Who and what was she 1 The answer was not easy to find. For in no country in the world is it more difficult to gauge a woman’s social status by her outward appearance than in Spain, where the liberty of manners and customs on the one hand, and the national dignity and pride of bearing on the other, constantly lead a stranger into most awkward mistakes. It was still early in the evening, and sleep was far from me. I resolved to start a conversation.

‘ Will you permit me to smoke, Senorita?’ * Si Senor, con macho gusto,’ [Yes Senor, with great pleasure! came the answer, accompanied by a charming smile. As I was lighting my cigar, she drew from her pocket a dainty silver case, tcok out a cigarette, and asked me for a fight, as simply and naively as though it were the most natural thing in the world that she should join me. Leaning forward to hold a match for her, I was astonished at the marvellous perfection of her features. But again I met that strange glance—a tawny gleam like that in the eyes of a beast of the forest as it watches its prey. * What a devilish handsome woman,’ I thought, recalling with a shudder the old Southern belief in the evil eye. She smoked with half closed eyes, and a dainty appearance of relish.

‘ We soon will be in Aragues,’ she said, presently, ‘ and then we go to Alcazar de San Juan, where we stop for supper. Do you know this route, Senor? No? I have been over it any number of times.'

* You aie from Andalusia ?’ I ventured. ‘You sound your “ s ’’ so much more softly than the northern Spaniards.'

‘ Our soft “s ” often betrays us, Senor. But I am surprised that you, as an Americano, would recognise it.’ I looked at her in amazement. I had spoken Spanish from my childhood, and flattered myself that I had little or no accent.

• Why American?' I asked. ‘ Why not French, English, or German ?’

She shrugged her shoulders and said, with conviction : ‘ No, you are Americano. You are an orphan. You are unmarried. You were poor, but now you are rich. You have travelled much, very much. You speak many languages. You have crossed great waters, and I could tell you much more.’ ‘ But,’ I exclaimed dumfounded, ‘ are you a witch?’ * Perhaps !’ And again that odd gleam in her half-closed eyes. ‘ Aragues !’ shouted the guard. ‘ Five minutes’ stop!’ We both alighted. I was longing for a breath of the cool night air. As I sauntered back towards my compartment, I saw my incognita in a low, but eager conversation with a dark, picturesque-looking fellow. From the frequency witli which they glanced toward me, it was easy to guess that I was the subject of their conversation. And from the malignant look in the man’s eyes, I inferred that he was probably a jealous lover. As he assisted my companion into the carriage, two sentences caught my ear distinctly : ‘ Sos les bengoros le ligueren,’ he growled with a side-look in my direction, and then added in softer tone: ‘ Ostebe te gararbe. ’

It was by the merest chance that I understood him. Some years before I had come across a little book on the dialect of the Spanish gipsies, and as I had become quite interested in it, I still remembered enough to catch the significance of his words. ‘ May the devil take him !’ was

the amiable wish intended doubtless for myself; and the second, ‘ God guard thee,’ was his adieu to my companion. The mystery was partially solved. She evidently belonged to one of the numerous bands of Spanish gipsies; and judging from the deference with which the fellow had spoken to her, and the attention and homage shown to her by a little group of swarthy nomads by whom I saw her surrounded in the station at Alcazar, where we stopped at midnight, I judged her to be a person of some rank and importance among them. There was no use endeavouring to see the scenery. After leaving Alcazar the night was pitchy dark, and the rain beat wildly against the carriage windows as the train tore through the night crashing every mile or so through some tiny country station. Being fond of my creature comforts, I soon fell asleep, and when I woke the sun was shining brightly in at the carriage windows. ‘ Have you slept well, Senor ?’ asked my charming visavis, amusedly. * Delightfully, I must confess, although I should blush for having done so in such charming company.’ ‘Leave flattery for Frenchmen and Spaniards,’ she answered with a touch of pretty disdain. Seen in the clear light of day her beauty was simply dazzling. I was lost in admiration of her exquisite features. But there was a sort of uncanny fascination about her face, and her trick of smiling brilliantly with her lips while the eyes remained sombre and threatening gave one cause for reflection. A beautiful woman and a dangerous one, who would be capable of any cruelty, any treachery, but alluring, subtle. Involuntarily the thought came to my mind: ‘God help any man who falls in love with her !’ * You seem to be travelling with quite a suite, Senorita,’ I said presently. ‘ 1 saw you surrounded by friends at Alcazar.’

‘ Ah, yes ! Those are my people. ’ ‘ And you are—?’ *We are travelling artists returning to Seville. Flamencos, who ’ —with an enigmatical smile—‘ earn their living by dancing.’ ‘ You seem, also, to tell fortunes, as I perceived yesterday.’ She grew very grave. ‘ It’s quite true,’ she said, slowly, ‘ I can read men’s past in their eyes, and their future in the lines of the hand.’ • Will you not read my fortune ?’ I asked, laying my left hand, palm upward, on hers which was cold as ice. There was a moment of perfect silence. Then her sombre eyes looked straight into mine. ‘ You will meet, unexpectedly, a friend in Cordova. If you love him you will do well to warn him not to attend our dances in Seville.’ She ceased abruptly. How had she guessed that it was my intention to stay over in Cordova ? ‘ What of myself ?’ I asked. ‘ Will you not tell me something of my own future ?’ The locomotive gave a shrill whistle. We were gliding into the station. ‘ Later, senor,’ she said ‘ in Seville.’ ‘ But how ? When ?’ I persisted, my curiosity being aroused. ‘I do not even know your name.’ ‘Ask for La Cuenca, Senor. All Spain,’ drawing herself up regally, ‘ knows me by that name.’ There was a little crowd of her people at the door of the coupi, as the train stopped. Her truculent-looking admirer seemed to lead the band. A smile brightened his handsome evil face as he helped her to alight. As they moved off, she paused, and glancing back over her shoulder with an infinitely graceful movement of her beautiful head, she called to me ■ ‘ Do not forget, Senor ; we will meet again in Seville. 11. It was fair-time in Cordova. The boulevards were lined with long rows of booths, laden with articles of every description. There were circuses, shooting-galleries, strolling players, merry-go-rounds and even an improvised ball-room. A little knot of people were gathered on one of the open

piazzas. Drawing nearer to see what was the attraction, I recognised, to my surprise, the central figure, A tall, handsome, blonde young man, with a laughing, boyish face, who was amusing himself by scattering handfuls of small coppers among a crowd of swarthy, half-naked children, scrambling, laughing, shouting, tumbling over one another in their eagerness to capture rhe coins. I was no less delighted than surprised to see him. He was a young Russian, Ivan Kasanjew by name, who had lived in the same hotel with me for two winters in Paris. He was a bright, genial fellow, something of a dare-devil, a trifle eccentric, like all true Russians, and sufficiently well off to indulge his passion for the collection of works of art of every description. ‘lvan !’ 1 called to him, when I had been watching the fun for a few moments. ‘ Ivan Kasanjew !’ His amazement and delight were equal to my own. Questions were asked ; explanations of how, whence and where soon made. He had been making a short trip through Spain ; had stopped in Cordova for a day or two and was going on the morrow to Seville. On learning that that was also my destination, it was at once decided to travel together, and on the following morning we weie en route for the Andalusian capital.

In my pleasure at meeting Ivan, La Cuenca and her prophecy had completely faded from my mind. One evening, as we sat sipping our after-dinner coffee, about a week after our arrival in Seville. Ivan, who usually planned our evening’s amusement, said to me : ‘ I've got something new for to-night, Harris—what you Americans would call awfully jolly. There is going to Ge a §ipsy entertainment at Calle de Carbon — singing and ancing, I believe. They say the show is immense, and that some of the girls are bewilderingly handsome.'

As he spoke there came to me, like a Hash, the memory of my adventure in the train ; of the dark, sombre face of the gipsy woman, and her prophecy of our meeting in Seville. lam not superstitious naturally, yet an odd feeling of dread-came over me. * Well!’ said Ivan, impatiently. I glanced at his handsome, insouciant face. Should I tell him ! The fear of being laughed at kept me silent. ‘Do you want very much to go to this show?’ I stammered, lamely. ‘ Why, are you ill? You look infernally queer.’ ‘ No, not ill, but—’ * But me no “ buts,” Harris. Come along, man. What is the matter with you ?’ An hour later we were seated in a huge hall, amongst an immense audience, chiefly of the lower classes, with a sprinkling of young swells, drawn there, doubtless, by the shapely contours of the women.

Before us was a roughly’ constructed stage, on which the gipsy troupe, attired in gorgeous and fantastic costumes, were seated in a large semicircle. The form of the entertainment was unique. One of the men would start a weird twanging on his guitar, and commence a sort of low, nasal chant, which was taken up, one by one, by the troupe, and then by the whole audience, while they all kept time with their feet and by a quick tapping of their hands. This noise, now rising, now falling, was intended to arouse the highest point of nervous tension and excitement both in the audience and the performers. One after another the gipsies would rise and come forward, and go through some symbolic pantomime of love or hate, joy or sorrow, by dancing and gesture, to the accompaniment of the guitar, in whose principal player I recognised the man who had consigned me to the evil one in the station of Aragues. The lithe, almost snake-like movements of the dancers, the wild music, added to, ever and anon, by the banging of a tambourine or the rattle of castanets, made a scene which was suggestive to my prosaic mind of an orgie in a mad-house. Suddenly there was a lull followed by wild cries of ‘ La Cuenca ! La Cuenca !’

She glided from behind a heavy curtain and stood smiling before the audience, acknowledging their rapturous acclamations with regal grace.

A fantastic costume of orange and gold set off her form to perfection. Her bare throat and arms were glittering with golden baubles. She poised one arm above her head, rested her right hand lightly on her hip and commenced to dance. Such dancing ! Now soft, sensuous, undulating; now swaying langorously with half-closed eyes ; now whirling and bounding lightly and swiftly ; now half-crouching with flashing eyes, and then springing forward again, laughing radiantly. It was diabolical. A sudden grasp at my arm recalled me to myself. Ivan was breathless with excitement. His fair face was flushed crimson.

‘ She is wonderful !’ he gasped. ‘ She is divine!’ ‘ Say devilish, rather,’ I muttered. He did not even hear me. He was watching again, with his whole soul in bis eager blue eyes. When the peiformance was over I could hardly drag him away. * I must see her again,’he kept repeating. ‘lf I could only meet her, only speak to her.’ His wish was soon granted. As we passed out we saw her about to enter a neighbouring restaurant. She recognized me at once and came toward us.

‘ Welcome to Seville !’ she exclaimed, holding out her brown, slender hand, and then added, a little maliciously ; ‘ I see that you brought your friend.’ Kasanjew looked bewildered. ‘ Why, Harris,’ he broke forth at last, * why didn’t you tell me you knew the Senorita?’ There was a world of reproach in his voice. I did not know whether to laugh or be angry. The dansense relieved me from my embarrassment. * Will not the gentleman join us ?’ she said, invitingly. Ivan accepted eagerly. I could only follow his example. We found the rest of the company already seated. ‘ If the cabaleros will deign to take supper with us,’ she said, with a charming smile. ‘ This is Pepe,’ introducing with a graceful gesture the dark-browed guitar-player, who scowled at us fiercely. ‘ And that is Juan and there is Palma and that nina (girl) is our Pepita.’ The supper was a joyous one. All, with the exception of Pepe, relaxed under the Quantities of wine which Ivan insisted on ordering. My friend was radiantly happy. But it was the smile of La Cuenca, not the wine, that mounted to his head. Whether her capiicious fancy had been caught by his blonde beauty, or whether she was enticing him for some purpose of her own, I could not decide. If I was doubtful of her feelings, Pepe was more easily read. He frowned darkly, ate little, drank nothing, ami when Ivan

insisted upon tilling his glass, he struck it as though accidentally with his arm, sending it crashing to the floor. The broken glass seemed ominous. All the way back to our hotel, Ivan simply rhapsodized on the charms of his new acquaintance. She had told him that her name was Gabriella, and boasted that she had royal Moorish blood in her veins. He insisted on hearing the story of our meeting in all its details. Unconsciously I gre m very earnest as I spoke of the warning which I had received.

‘ What nonsense, my dear fellow !' he exclaimed, laughing. * The only thing worth consideration in the matter is Pepe. He seems to be an ugly customer. But,’ he added, drawing a silver mounted revolver from the inner pocket of his coat, • if he proves troublesome, I have a plaything here, which will perhaps influence him.’ In vain I protested, entreated, warned. I doubt if he even heard half of what I said, so wrapt was he in his rapturous dream. • If Gabriella is the woman I take her to be, I will marry her,’ he concludedin his reckless, impetuous fashion, as he bade me good night. I knew how utterly useless it was to battle against any determin ation, however eccentric and capricious, in one of his nationality. One might as well try to break a block of granite as a Russian’s will. I could only hope that his caprice would wear out with time. From now on Ivan spent almost all his time among the gipsies. La Cuenca seemed to have bewitched him. When away from her he was restless, irritable and abstracted, taking no apparent interest in anything. He also spent a great deal of his money for very handsome presents. I pitied the fellow sincerely. He had fallen a victim to the diabolical fascinations of a woman without heart or conscience. One evening, wishing to see how far matters had gone between them, I proposed that I should accompany him.

The performance was the same as before. Afterward we all assembled again in a restaurant. I was puzzled at the change in Pepe. He greeted us, if not graciously, at least with an outward show of civility. I soon understood. After supper he suggested a little game. My friend acquiesced at once. Ivan lostcontinuously. Watching the gipsy keenly, I discovered that he was playing with falsecards. When I was alone with Ivan, I had a long, earnest talk •with him on the subject, and told him what I had seen.

‘ I knew it,’ he replied, wearily. ‘ But lam willing to lose a little money to keep him in good humour, and prevent him continually spying on Gabriella and myself.’ * Did it never occur to you,’ I responded, ‘ that she might be his accomplice ?’ He sprang to his feet, livid with rage. * How dare you !’ he cried, hoarsely. For a moment I thought that he was going to strike me. I met his angry glance sadly but unflinchingly. His clenched hand dropped slowly to his side. * Harris,’ he said, in a voice quivering with emotion, ‘ you misjudge her on account of her surroundings. If you could only know her as Ido ! She is the bravest, noblest, truest woman I have ever met.’

• Ivan !’ I cried, desperately, ‘ you are mad ! Throw off this spell. Be a man. Come away with me at once to Russia—Paris—anywhere ; but come before it is too late. When once you have left this place, time and change will cure you of this folly.’ For a moment a look of despair crossed his face. • It is too late now,’ he replied, in a tone that permitted of no argument- ‘ I love Gabriella more than my life.’ • And she ?’

‘ Harris, I fully believe that she returns my love. In a short time she hopes to be able to escape from her tribe and follow me to my own country. If I do not marry her,’ he added, after a moment’s pause, ‘ I shall die.’ The next day I went with the lovers on a boating party. We were drifting down the Guadalquiver at sundown. Gabriella was at the rudder; Ivan and I worked the oars. As La Cuenca was free this evening, we did not think of retuining until the silver light of the moon was streaming over the water I persuaded my friend to let me manage the boat myself, and he, only too glad to be relieved, threw himself at his charmer’s feet. They made a handsome picture. He, strong and fair and radiant as a young sun god, she, dark, dreamy, mystical as fate. ‘ How beautiful is love !’ he murmured. She stooped and pressed her lips passionately to his forehead. •My beloved !’ We were slowly gliding past the golden tower which once held the treasures of the New W’orld. At that moment a voice broke forth on the stillness of the night—low, thrilling, despairing, like a warning of death. It was the lament of the fall of Granada.

‘ I am cold,’ murmured the gipsy, wrapping her shawl closer round her, as the last despairing notes died away on the evening air. We, too, had been chilled by the song. We had all recognized the voice of Pepe, although no one spoke of it. Little more was said till we leached the landing. A false note had sounded in our gamut of pleasure. The harmony of our enjoyment had been disturbed. A few days afterwards an important telegram called me to Paris. I parted from Ivan with a heavy heart. I could not conquer the feeling that our hands clasped for the last time. I think that he felt it also, for his blue eyes were clouded with a mist that looked like tears when the last moment came.

Six weeks later I read among the foreign news in a Paris paper the following:

Seville, Sept. 15th.—For some time past a troupe of gipsy dancers have been drawing large audiences to their entertainments in the Calle do Carbon of this city. The priinu donna of the troupe is the famous Cuenca, a woman of extraordinary beauty, but possessed of all the unscrupulousness ot her tribe, ami whose charms have ruined numbers of our young noblemen, who. blinded by her fascinations, have squandered large sums of money on her, while her companions plundered them ruthlessly at cards.

The latest victim was a wealthy Russian. Ivan Kasanjew whose reckless passion for her has been a matter of much com

ment. Yesterday morning his dead body, stabbed in five places was found lying in the Alameda de Capuehinos. A short, pointed dagger, sueh as is customarily carried bv gipsies, was found near the corpse, covered with blood. The murderer is supposed to be one Pepe Araujo, a member of the same troupe, and the lover of the prima ballerina. The motive of the crime is presumed to have been jealousy. Pep,* Aranjo and La Cuenca have disappeared together. It is said that they embarked on a French steamer for Lisbon. The authorities are on their track, but it is possible that they have made good their escape from the country before they can lie overtaken.

This was the tragic ending of Ivan Ka-sanjew’s mad in fatuation. E. Da B. Gude.