When dreams come true

by Ritter Brown

A thrill of rapturous, exquisite emotion swept over them, as suddenly and without warning, she threw back her head and sprang to the center of the rug with a swift, whirling motion, the effect of which was like a shower of sparks or a jet of glittering spray tossed unexpectedly into the air from a fountain, expressive of the abandon and exuberance felt by the lovers as they met in the dance.

Again, without warning, she paused as abruptly as she began, and with short, interluding snatches of song, slowly began to sway to the soft rhythm of the music and sharp click of her castanets. First slowly, then swifter and swifter she glided and whirled noiselessly in the moonlight, graceful as a wind-blown rose, or suddenly paused, languid and sensuous, according to the rhapsodic character of the dance when the music ceased altogether and naught was heard save the plashing of the fountain in the patio, the click of her castanets and the soft swish of her silken saya which seemed to whisper and sigh like a living thing, like the mythical voices of Lilith's hair. Like a musician transposing upon a theme, she introduced new and elaborate motives of her own until, at a sign from her, the music took up the principal theme of the dance once more.

Captain Forest had seen practically all the great dancers of our time, the Geisha and Nautch girls of the East, the Gypsies from Granada to St. Petersburg, and the Bedouin women dance naked on the sands of the Sahara beneath the stars while celebrating the sacred rites of their festivals, but it soon became apparent that, all with few exceptions, were mere novices in comparison, and stood in about the same relation to her as a dilettante does to an artist.

She lifted the dance above the portrayal of sensuous emotion into the realms of poetry. The wild spirit of the Gypsy, captivating, fresh and invigorating and compelling as the winds of the mighty Sierras and plains of the land she inhabited, enveloped and animated her. The rushing, whirling climaxes up to which she worked were startling—tremendous. The subtle, hypnotic influence and witchery of her presence filled her entire surroundings and so held and dominated the spectators that they were swept irresistibly along with her as the rhythm of the dance increased. She swayed and enthralled the imagination and emotions with a supremacy akin to that of music or the noblest landscape. The mastery of every motion, every fleeting expression but increased the impression she endeavored to convey—the intensity of life, vibrant, joyous life.

The soft, rhythmic undulations of her graceful, sinuous body, vibrating and pulsating with the ecstatic, rapturous emotion inspired by the music and the dance, were a revelation of beauty. She became the living expression of rhythm and grace as she paused for an instant before them, scintillating and quivering like an aspen leaf, or glided and whirled wraith-like, fragile and delicate and ethereal, wondrously lithe and airy like films of gossamer or foam tossed up by the sea. The dance itself seemed to fade into the background as their attention became riveted upon her, and visions and vistas of life rose before the imagination instead.

She danced with her soul, not with her feet; became the living incarnation of the ancients' conception of plastic creation, enchanting, intoxicating. They heard the myriad voices of spring, the voices of birds and insects and the sound of falling waters; beheld the Elysian, flower-strewn fields of youth, recalling the immortal, fairy days of childhood and with them their golden dreams, and experienced the sweetness and bitterness of unfulfilled longings and aspirations of later years. All felt that it was an event of a lifetime—one of those hours that would never again return.

The company gave vent to its emotion in alternate exclamations of enthusiasm or sighs as it was swept irresistibly along by the buoyancy and captivating creation of the dancer. Two bright tears stood in Padre Antonio's eyes as he gazed upon the object of his love and pride. Don Felipe forgot his hatred for the moment and gazed enraptured, drinking in with eyes and soul the enchanting vision before him. The heart of Blanch grew cold as ice as she, like the rest, looked on entranced in spite of herself by the witchery of her rival, for she knew she had blundered again, that she had lost, that Chiquita was transformed—irresistible. The blood seemed to freeze in her veins as the truth was borne in upon her. She longed to scream, to rush forward and stop her—anything to break the spell, but in vain. Helpless and immovable she was forced to look on; see the prize of life slip slowly from her grasp.

Again Captain Forest beheld the mighty expanse of mountain and plain, heard the lashing of the sea and the myriad voices of the singing stars as they whirled in their courses through space—listened to the chant of life. Yes, she was the ideal, the living incarnation of nature, the Golden Girl with the white starry flower on her breast who was awaiting his coming, the woman of José's dream to whom he had been guided unconsciously by the hand of the Unseen. No wonder he had failed to find the place of his dreams; without knowing it, he had been waiting for her. But now all was changed. The earth had become their footstool; the old life had come to an end.

XXXI

A sigh of regret escaped the company as the dance ceased. Blanch turned to speak to Don Felipe, but he was no longer by her side—he had vanished. The musicians struck up a waltz. It was now the turn of the guests to dance if they chose; a privilege of which they were not slow to avail themselves.