Pepita

by Vita Sackville-West

  They knew exactly the hour at which Pepita would arrive, for she was coming out from Granada by the ordinary diligence, which would stop at the point where the road to Albolote branches off from the main road. It would stop there shortly before six o’clock in the evening. Catalina had been busy all day, making ready; amongst other things, Felix Gomez their handy-man, who slept over the stables, and who had heard Catalina telling Lopez that Pepita was soon coming, had been despatched into Granada to buy fish and other provisions. Thus, to his chagrin, he was not present at Pepita’s arrival, nor, presumably, at the departure of the whole family in their galera, accompanied by the Alcalde, the Ayuntamiento, the band from Atarfe, and most of the people from Albolote, setting out to meet Pepita at the stopping-place of the diligence.

  It was a double excitement for Catalina. For Lola also was returning after her sojourn in Germany in charge of Pepita; and although Lola was not Catalina’s own daughter, but only the daughter of Lopez by another woman, she was fond of the child in her exuberant, affectionate, inclusive way. As she hung her gold chain round her neck, preparing herself for the expedition to meet the diligence, she must have felt satisfaction underneath all her excitement: satisfaction at the thought of her family being once more united. That thought probably transcended, at the moment, even the flattering attendance of her neighbours upon the arrival of Pepita.

  VII

  Pepita alighted from the diligence at the expected place and at the expected hour. She was followed out of the diligence by Lola, then a child of eleven; by two German servants, who, already slightly bewildered by their journey across Europe, must have emerged completely puzzled by this final stage landing them near a village in the extreme south of Spain; and by two poodles, whom the inhabitants of Albolote described as ‘dogs of foreign breed, black, with woolly hair, called Prinnie and Charlie’. An additional glamour attended these queer animals, for it quickly became known that they had come from Germany, ‘which was very far away’.

  Thus followed, Pepita descended from the diligence to be enfolded in the arms of her mother.

  There are no existing accounts of the actual meeting between mother and daughter, but it is not straining the imagination too far to suppose that many embraces ensued and probably some emotional tears. What we do know for certain is that Pepita, Lola, the two servants, and the poodles then transferred themselves from the diligence into the family galera, and returned in it to Albolote escorted by the band, the villagers, the Ayuntamiento, and the Alcalde. They then retired into the Casa Blanca for several hours of private reunion before the celebrations of the evening should begin.

  Those celebrations were of a nature to be remembered in Albolote forty years afterwards. Witnesses gave evidence lavishly in 1896 relating to the events of that summer evening of 1855. They were most of them old people by then, but the evening still lived vividly in their minds. Perhaps this might be accounted for by the fact that they had been born in Albolote and had lived there all their lives,—as they monotonously and unanimously record at the beginning of their evidence. Anyhow, on the day that Pepita arrived they were all young, gay, excitable Andalusians, ready to enjoy themselves to the utmost on this singular occasion when the star of their province had come amongst them and was willing to give them a party.

  The party started after supper and lasted till morning. It was a summer night in Albolote, and the band from Atarfe assembled on the Plaza outside the Casa Blanca to serenade Pepita. It was not long, however, before the band was invited inside, about twenty of them, including the big drum. ‘A large concourse of people also went in. Catalina kept open house that night.’ The Casa Blanca threw itself open to all comers. All its windows revealed its lighted rooms, and those who were not fortunate enough to get inside felt themselves rewarded by a glimpse of the dancer, either ‘as she came out on to the balcony to salute the people’ as Maria Ramirez saw her, or as she was seen by Juan Ramirez who was standing out in the Plaza listening to the band. Juan Ramirez saw this princesse lointaine in perhaps the most approvedly romantic way of all. ‘I only saw Pepita once in my life, and that was on the night when she was serenaded. I was in the street, and saw her passing from time to time in the room.’ One could scarcely touch the fringe of romance more lightly; unless, indeed, Antonio Arantave achieved it, for, on returning from his work in the fields, he was told that Pepita had come, and that the whole Ayuntamiento had gone out to meet her, but although he walked up and down in front of the house hoping to catch a sight of her that evening, he did not succeed in doing so. If the essence of romance is to aspire to the unattainable, then Antonio Arantave and Juan Ramirez certainly deserve to rank with Joffroy Rudel.

  Those who got inside, and they were many, for Catalina’s hospitality was a byword and this was the occasion for which she had been waiting many months, fell irresistibly under the spell of Pepita’s graciousness and charm. How, indeed, could any young man resist her when she came up to him as she did to Jose Galan, and, on hearing that he did not know how to waltz, insisted on his taking several turns round the room with her? ‘She wore slippers of gold-brocaded velvet’, he says. ‘I thought I should have died of ecstasy.’ Even Francisca Rivira who was Galan’s sweetheart at the time, could bear Pepita no grudge for thus carrying off her novio: ‘Pepita’, she says, ‘showed politeness to all; we were all enchanted with her amiability.’ Her gaiety and laughter delighted them. ‘Dressed in rose-coloured silk with flounces, she was doing the honours in and out of the room, saluting and receiving the company all the time.’ The love-lock lay against her cheek, the dark hair swept back from the forehead in soft glistening waves above the long dark eyes and serenely winged eyebrows. The mouth was curved and voluptuous, with deeply indented corners. She was just slim enough for a dancer, but just plump enough to appeal to Spanish taste with her beautiful shoulders, dimpled arms, and tiny hands. Her foot was surely the smallest ever seen, and she was innocently vain of it. This innocent vanity did not escape the eye of her feminine acquaintances: ‘She wore her dresses very short in front, to show her foot, though very long behind’. Her jewels excited much admiration: ‘from a gold chain round her neck hung a pendant in the form of a heart of gold, with a large emerald in the centre surrounded by magnificent brilliants. She had in each ear a very good brilliant. She wore on the left hand four or five rings, and one or two on the right hand, and they were magnificent. She also wore a bracelet.’ Could it be true what rumour said, that the Prince of Bavaria had presented her with jewellery to the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars? Juan de Dios Gonzalez swore that Pepita had told him so herself. But then, as everybody knew, Juan de Dios was a renowned liar.

  Pepita, presumably, was not thinking of her lovers, past or present, unless every now and then she wondered what Lionel Sackville-West, whom she had left behind in Berlin, would think of this gay, mixed party going on in Albolote, the Alcalde rubbing shoulders with the grocer’s boy. She was the sort of person who throws herself whole-heartedly into whatever she is doing at the moment, and her one preoccupation now was the entertainment of her guests. Refreshments circulated freely; ‘there were many chocolates, sweets, and liqueurs to be passed round’. The guests all noticed and commented in detail on the lavishness of the hospitality. There were no speeches, but there was a good deal of cheering coupled with the name of Pepita. Catalina completely lost her head with over-excitement. Perhaps memories of her circus days came surging over her as the strains of the band from Atarfe filled the rooms of the Casa Blanca and floated out to the Plaza on the warm air through the open windows. Anyway, on hearing Jose Galan, who was known to be studying music with other young men, speak of ‘the music and the desire the young fellows of Albolote had of playing’, she offered to buy up all the Atarfe instruments then and there and present them to Albolote. What with one thing and another, the party was a great success, and the day was beginning to dawn when the last of the guests took their leave. It was, said several of these guests, ‘a regular fête’.


  Only one wistful note sounds suddenly in the midst of all the gaiety. Jose Galan, after being made to waltz by Pepita, asked her how long she was staying and whether she would soon come back. She looked at him sadly, and replied, ‘God only knows when I shall come here again’.

  VIII

  It is impossible to fathom the secrets of Pepita’s mind. We have the comments of observers, but no comments of her own. The one person who never speaks in this whole history, is Pepita herself. We see her always objectively, never subjectively, gay, laughing, rebellious, sometimes sad,—and are always left to guess the cause. Pepita herself is never explicit. In order to understand her at all, we have to find a piece from a different part of the puzzle, and fit it in. Thus I incline to suppose that a few short phrases uttered by Lionel Sackville-West may explain her sudden lapse into melancholy after her mood of reckless liveliness. Pepita, who led no easy ordinary life, was in addition a temperamental person, and, as such, was frequently led by the varying complications of her existence to betray herself in an abrupt change of mood. At the back of her suddenly sad words to Jose Galan I perceive a difficulty which had arisen between her and Lionel Sackville-West, and which may perhaps partially account for her long-awaited visit to Albolote, if, as a wise and very feminine woman, she had thought it advisable to absent herself from him awhile. We know how sincerely they loved one another, and indeed the whole of their subsequent lives proves it. But Pepita was not an easy woman to hold, nor Lionel Sackville-West an easy-going lover. I think the vehemence of their natures had led to trouble just then: ‘I was in Berlin,’ he says, ‘and I heard that Pepita was living with Prince Youssoupoff at Munich. I started from Berlin with the intention of following them to Marienbad where I heard they were. I meant to quarrel with Youssoupoff, but was prevailed upon by my old servant to stay at Frankfort. I wrote to Pepita from there, expostulating with her on her conduct. She answered me by letter, begging me not to come to Marienbad and make trouble, saying that she was going to leave Youssoupoff, which she did.’

  IX

  Accounts differ as to how long she stayed at Albolote; some say one month, some two or three. But all agree that the Casa Blanca was the centre of much merriment while she was there. There were little parties almost every evening, when Lola and the German governess were made to play the piano for the others to dance. The German governess, in accordance with the strict Spanish tradition, had by then been turned into a sort of duenna who accompanied Lola everywhere, never leaving her for a moment. Rafaela, as the poor relation, did a great deal of work about the house, but Lola was never required to do anything. It was noticed with some amusement that, child as she was, the absurd Juan de Dios was paying considerable attention to her. Nobody took this very seriously: they were all far more interested in Pepita.

  How often I have longed for a more complete record of Pepita’s sojourn at Albolote! How revealing would be one single statement from Catalina’s own lips! If only Catalina had not died before all the trouble began and before all the evidence was taken! Her evidence, from what I know of Catalina, I feel sure would have been rambling and expansive, full of rich detail and irrelevant illuminating comments. As it is, I have to content myself with piecing together scraps of outside evidence, just casual remarks to the effect that Pepita had been seen riding the piebald jaca; or that someone had seen an oil-painting of her, full length, standing up in a riding-habit; or that she went out driving with Catalina and Lola while Rafaela remained at home; or that Francisca Rivira would call out to them from the window of her house as they went by; or that she could often be seen standing in the doorway or on the balcony of the Casa Blanca; or that Juan de Dios Gonzalez often saw her writing letters; or that,—rather vaguely,—she was very good to the poor. Felix Gomez, the same who had been sent into Granada to buy fish on the day of her arrival, was employed in the house every day so long as she remained, and often saw her about the house and heard her talking to Catalina. She would call out ‘Mamma!’ and Catalina would reply, ‘Pepa?’ One can hear them shouting to one another. On the other hand, she was never heard to call Lopez anything but Don Manuel.

  The servants remembered her well. ‘No,’ said Felix Carrera indignantly, ‘my recollection of her is not dim.’ He was only the handy-man who did odd jobs about the house when he wasn’t wanted in the stables. ‘The work I used to do in the house was to sweep the patio and draw water from the well. I groomed all the horses myself and cleaned the harness. The horses and carriages were turned out very smart. I remember the Señorita Pepita coming to Albolote. I saw her almost daily, sometimes several times a day. I heard her talk and she used to talk to me; she used to come to the stables to look at her horse. It was a piebald pony, very pretty, named La Preciosa. She used to talk to me about taking care of the horse, keeping the stables clean, etc. She was handsome; you can just imagine, sir, that I took a good deal of notice of her, for I was forty years younger then than I am now. One always likes anything that is good. There were portraits of her hanging up against the walls of the house; I used to notice them. They were good portraits, like her. Everyone in the house thought a great deal of the Señorita and her appearance, as even the Justices came to see her.’

  Again, she would ‘show her treasures’ to the visitors who came in the evenings, and then would say that ‘she would like them to have something to remember her by’, for, like her mother, she was a generous and giving person. That something would usually be a portrait of herself, which she insisted upon signing. People cherished these portraits, had them framed, and hung them up in their houses. As Catalina also was not averse to distributing similar mementoes of her beautiful daughter, there must at one time have been quite a number of lithographs of Pepita hanging up in the drawing-rooms of Albolote.

  Micaela Gonzalez preserved a very vivid recollection of those weeks, during which she had lived in a state of youthful ecstasy. To that simple girl, who had never been further from Albolote than Granada in her life, the advent of Pepita’s family had already provided sufficient cause for excitement, but the bewildering presence of Pepita herself was a fairy-tale scarcely to be believed. For one thing, Pepita had brought Lola back with her, and with Lola, a child of almost her own age, Micaela rapidly renewed her friendship. This friendship provided Micaela with an easy passport to Pepita’s indulgent affections, for the relations between the two families were already so close that the two children were free to run in and out of each other’s houses at any time during the day, and to hang round Pepita’s skirts, beseeching her to ‘show them her things’. Pepita loved children, nor was she without an innocent vanity that liked impressing the young or the ignorant when she had nothing better to do. I fancy that, accustomed though she was to the admiration of crowds and princes, she did not altogether scorn the adoration of those two small girls, Lola and Micaela. They would go and find her in her bedroom. ‘Show us your things, Pepa’; and she would say, ‘What do you want to see?’ Then she would open her boxes and show them things which awed Micaela by their ingenuity and splendour: ‘a brooch in the shape of a frog with blue stones; another brooch in the shape of a lizard set with streaks of gold and emeralds alternately; a great number of bracelets, one of them shaped like a snake; rings by the handful, the gold of a good colour and heavy, and the stones very bright, and many other things which appeared very good. We used to be all three together looking at the things brought from abroad.’

  SOME OF PEPITA’S ‘TREASURES’

  Sometimes Catalina would join them, and would boast that Pepita had a necklet of pearls, with a pendant with an emerald in the centre; but Micaela never saw that jewel. ‘She had a great many necklets,’ says Micaela, ‘but as I never saw her wearing a low dress I cannot describe any necklet with a pendant.’ This means, of course, that Micaela was too young ever to have attended any of the evening parties. On the other hand, she had her compensation in making Pepita open her cupboards as well as her boxes, to show her the hats, dresses, and finery she had brought from abroad. �
��We’, said Micaela, admiring these things rather enviously, ‘lived in a country place and dressed very simply.’ These exhibitions of foreign fashions always ended well for Micaela, for the good-natured and generous Pepita invariably gave her something, a dress, a hat, or even a piece of ribbon: ‘She was very fond of me, we were very good friends, she used to give me presents out of the things she had brought from abroad’.

  Undoubtedly, with her youth, her beauty, her warm nature, her simplicity, and the romance of her whole personality, Pepita must have been very charming indeed. The young man Antonio Arantave who had walked up and down outside the Casa Blanca hoping in vain to catch a sight of her on the first evening had his reward later on when she and Catalina came to the house where he lived with his sister, on their way for a walk accompanied by two servant-girls. (‘When they went out,’ he notes, ‘they always left Rafaela behind, with at least one servant, to take care of the house.’) Pepita had called expressly to see his sister Maria’s flowers. It was the first time that either Catalina or Pepita had been to their house. As they came up his sister was standing at the door; they stopped, asked if they might look at the flowers, and his sister asked them to step in. He was there all the time they were there, and in the same room. The italics are his. His sister cut some of the flowers and gave them to Pepita, who took them away with her. (Luckily, neither Antonio Arantave nor his sister ever saw the evidence of another witness who had known Pepita in Munich: ‘She received showers of bouquets always’. Those showers of bouquets were orchids and lilies, not the humble dusty produce of a Spanish peasant’s garden.)