Carmen | Page 7

are dressed in the evening. Women of the richer class only
wear black in the daytime, at night they dress a la francesa. When she
drew near me, the woman let the mantilla which had covered her head
drop on her shoulders, and "by the dim light falling from the stars" I
perceived her to be young, short in stature, well-proportioned, and with
very large eyes. I threw my cigar away at once. She appreciated this
mark of courtesy, essentially French, and hastened to inform me that
she was very fond of the smell of tobacco, and that she even smoked
herself, when she could get very mild papelitos. I fortunately happened
to have some such in my case, and at once offered them to her. She
condescended to take one, and lighted it at a burning string which a
child brought us, receiving a copper for its pains. We mingled our
smoke, and talked so long, the fair lady and I, that we ended by being
almost alone on the quay. I thought I might venture, without
impropriety, to suggest our going to eat an ice at the neveria.* After a
moment of modest demur, she agreed. But before finally accepting, she
desired to know what o'clock it was. I struck my repeater, and this
seemed to astound her greatly.
* A café to which a depot of ice, or rather of snow, is attached. There is
hardly a village in Spain without its neveria.
"What clever inventions you foreigners do have! What country do you
belong to, sir? You're an Englishman, no doubt!"*
* Every traveller in Spain who does not carry about samples of calicoes

and silks is taken for an Englishman (inglesito). It is the same thing in
the East.
"I'm a Frenchman, and your devoted servant. And you, senora, or
senorita, you probably belong to Cordova?"
"No."
"At all events, you are an Andalusian? Your soft way of speaking
makes me think so."
"If you notice people's accent so closely, you must be able to guess
what I am."
"I think you are from the country of Jesus, two paces out of Paradise."
I had learned the metaphor, which stands for Andalusia, from my friend
Francisco Sevilla, a well-known picador.
"Pshaw! The people here say there is no place in Paradise for us!"
"Then perhaps you are of Moorish blood--or----" I stopped, not
venturing to add "a Jewess."
"Oh come! You must see I'm a gipsy! Wouldn't you like me to tell you
_la baji_?* Did you never hear tell of Carmencita? That's who I am!"
* Your fortune.
I was such a miscreant in those days--now fifteen years ago--that the
close proximity of a sorceress did not make me recoil in horror. "So be
it!" I thought. "Last week I ate my supper with a highway robber.
To-day I'll go and eat ices with a servant of the devil. A traveller should
see everything." I had yet another motive for prosecuting her
acquaintance. When I left college--I acknowledge it with shame--I had
wasted a certain amount of time in studying occult science, and had
even attempted, more than once, to exorcise the powers of darkness.
Though I had been cured, long since, of my passion for such
investigations, I still felt a certain attraction and curiosity with regard to

all superstitions, and I was delighted to have this opportunity of
discovering how far the magic art had developed among the gipsies.
Talking as we went, we had reached the neveria, and seated ourselves
at a little table, lighted by a taper protected by a glass globe. I then had
time to take a leisurely view of my gitana, while several worthy
individuals, who were eating their ices, stared open-mouthed at
beholding me in such gay company.
I very much doubt whether Senorita Carmen was a pure-blooded gipsy.
At all events, she was infinitely prettier than any other woman of her
race I have ever seen. For a women to be beautiful, they say in Spain,
she must fulfil thirty ifs, or, if it please you better, you must be able to
define her appearance by ten adjectives, applicable to three portions of
her person.
For instance, three things about her must be black, her eyes, her
eyelashes, and her eyebrows. Three must be dainty, her fingers, her lips,
her hair, and so forth. For the rest of this inventory, see Brantome. My
gipsy girl could lay no claim to so many perfections. Her skin, though
perfectly smooth, was almost of a copper hue. Her eyes were set
obliquely in her head, but they were magnificent and large. Her lips, a
little full, but beautifully shaped, revealed a set of teeth as white as
newly skinned almonds. Her hair--a trifle coarse, perhaps--was black,
with blue lights on