Remember the Alamo [72]
Navarro had brought his narrative of small events
down to the afternoon of that day. There had been a bull-
fight, and Isabel was making him describe to her the chulos,
in their pale satin breeches and silk waist-scarfs; the
toreros in their scarlet mantles, and the picadores on their
horses.
"And I assure you," he said, "the company of ladies was very
great and splendid. They were in full dress, and the golden-
pinned mantillas and the sea of waving fans were a sight
indeed. Oh, the fans alone! So many colors; great crescents,
growing and waning with far more enchantments than the moons.
Their rustle and movement has a wonderful charm, Senorita
Isabel; no one can imagine it.
"Oh, I assure you, Senor, I can see and feel it. But to be
there! That, indeed, would make me perfectly happy."
"Had you been there to-day you would have admired, above all
things, the feat of the matadore Jarocho. It was upon the
great bull Sandoval--a very monster, I assure you. He came
bellowing at Jarocho, as if he meant his instant death. His
eyeballs were living fire; his nostrils steamed with fury;
well, then, at the precise moment, Jarocho put his slippered
feet between his horns, and vaulted, light as a bird flies,
over his back. Then Sandoval turned to him again. Well, he
calmly waited for his approach, and his long sword met him
between the horns. As lightly as a lady touches her cavalier,
he seemed to touch Sandoval; but the brute fell like a stone
at his feet. What a storm of vivas! What clapping of hands
and shouts of `valiente!' And the ladies flung their flowers,
and the men flung their hats into the arena, and Jarocho
stepped proudly enough on them, I can tell you, though he was
watching the door for the next bull."
"Ah, Senor, why will men fight each other, when it is so much
more grand and interesting to fight bulls?"
"Senorita Isabel, if you could only convince them of
that! But then, it is not always interesting to the matadore;
for instance, it is only by the mercy of God and the skill of
an Americano that Jarocho is at this moment out of purgatory."
The Senora raised herself from among the satin pillows of her
sofa, and asked, excitedly; "Was there then some accident,
Senor? Is Jarocho wounded? Poor Jarocho!"
"Not a hair of his head is hurt, Senora. I will tell you.
Saint Jago, who followed Sandoval, was a little devil. He was
light and quick, and had intelligence. You could see by the
gleam in his eyes that he took in the whole scene, and
considered not only the people in the ring, but the people in
the amphitheatre also, to be his tormentors. Perhaps in that
reflection he was not mistaken. He meant mischief from the
beginning; and he pressed Jarocho so close that he leaped the
barrier for safety. As he leaped, Saint Jago leaped also.
Imagine now the terror of the spectators! The screams! The
rush! The lowered horns within an inch of Jarocho, and Fray
Joseph Maria running with the consecrated wafer to the doomed
man! At that precise moment there was a rifle-shot, and
the bellowing brute rolled backward into the arena--dead."
"Oh, Maria Purissima! How grand! In such moments one really
lives, Senor. And but for this absurd rebellion I and my
daughters could have had the emotion. It is indeed cruel."
"You said the shot was fired by an American?"
"Senorita Antonia, it was, indeed. I saw him. He was in the
last row. He had stood up when Saint Jago came in, and he was
watching the man and the animal with his soul in his eyes. He
had a face, fine and thin as a woman's--a very gentle face,
also. But at one instant it became stern and fierce,
the lips hard set, the eyes half shut, then the rifle at the
shoulder like a flash of light, and the bull was dead between
the beginning and the end of the leap! The sight was
wonderful, and the ladies turned to him with smiles and cries
of thankfulness, and the better part of the men bowed to him;
for the Mexican gentleman is always just to a great deed. But
he went
down to the afternoon of that day. There had been a bull-
fight, and Isabel was making him describe to her the chulos,
in their pale satin breeches and silk waist-scarfs; the
toreros in their scarlet mantles, and the picadores on their
horses.
"And I assure you," he said, "the company of ladies was very
great and splendid. They were in full dress, and the golden-
pinned mantillas and the sea of waving fans were a sight
indeed. Oh, the fans alone! So many colors; great crescents,
growing and waning with far more enchantments than the moons.
Their rustle and movement has a wonderful charm, Senorita
Isabel; no one can imagine it.
"Oh, I assure you, Senor, I can see and feel it. But to be
there! That, indeed, would make me perfectly happy."
"Had you been there to-day you would have admired, above all
things, the feat of the matadore Jarocho. It was upon the
great bull Sandoval--a very monster, I assure you. He came
bellowing at Jarocho, as if he meant his instant death. His
eyeballs were living fire; his nostrils steamed with fury;
well, then, at the precise moment, Jarocho put his slippered
feet between his horns, and vaulted, light as a bird flies,
over his back. Then Sandoval turned to him again. Well, he
calmly waited for his approach, and his long sword met him
between the horns. As lightly as a lady touches her cavalier,
he seemed to touch Sandoval; but the brute fell like a stone
at his feet. What a storm of vivas! What clapping of hands
and shouts of `valiente!' And the ladies flung their flowers,
and the men flung their hats into the arena, and Jarocho
stepped proudly enough on them, I can tell you, though he was
watching the door for the next bull."
"Ah, Senor, why will men fight each other, when it is so much
more grand and interesting to fight bulls?"
"Senorita Isabel, if you could only convince them of
that! But then, it is not always interesting to the matadore;
for instance, it is only by the mercy of God and the skill of
an Americano that Jarocho is at this moment out of purgatory."
The Senora raised herself from among the satin pillows of her
sofa, and asked, excitedly; "Was there then some accident,
Senor? Is Jarocho wounded? Poor Jarocho!"
"Not a hair of his head is hurt, Senora. I will tell you.
Saint Jago, who followed Sandoval, was a little devil. He was
light and quick, and had intelligence. You could see by the
gleam in his eyes that he took in the whole scene, and
considered not only the people in the ring, but the people in
the amphitheatre also, to be his tormentors. Perhaps in that
reflection he was not mistaken. He meant mischief from the
beginning; and he pressed Jarocho so close that he leaped the
barrier for safety. As he leaped, Saint Jago leaped also.
Imagine now the terror of the spectators! The screams! The
rush! The lowered horns within an inch of Jarocho, and Fray
Joseph Maria running with the consecrated wafer to the doomed
man! At that precise moment there was a rifle-shot, and
the bellowing brute rolled backward into the arena--dead."
"Oh, Maria Purissima! How grand! In such moments one really
lives, Senor. And but for this absurd rebellion I and my
daughters could have had the emotion. It is indeed cruel."
"You said the shot was fired by an American?"
"Senorita Antonia, it was, indeed. I saw him. He was in the
last row. He had stood up when Saint Jago came in, and he was
watching the man and the animal with his soul in his eyes. He
had a face, fine and thin as a woman's--a very gentle face,
also. But at one instant it became stern and fierce,
the lips hard set, the eyes half shut, then the rifle at the
shoulder like a flash of light, and the bull was dead between
the beginning and the end of the leap! The sight was
wonderful, and the ladies turned to him with smiles and cries
of thankfulness, and the better part of the men bowed to him;
for the Mexican gentleman is always just to a great deed. But
he went