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Updated: May 8, 2025
"The ballet is very important to-night," Nina heard the marchese saying to the Princess Sansevero. "La Favorita is to appear in the Birth of Venus. She does another dance first a Spanish one, I think." As he spoke, the ballet music had already begun, and the Spanish coryphées were twisting and bowing, and straightening their spines as they danced to the beat of their castanettes.
For three mortal hours, without a break, to the banging of a tambourine, the click of castanettes, and the drone of a monotonous song, the swarthy god engaged in a frenzied dance, crouching on his hams like a tailor, sweating like a pig, and bounding about with an agility which testified to the strength and elasticity of his divine legs.
Besides, it was only a step from a gaming-table to a Father Confessor. The soul of old Spain still lived in the land. The click of castanettes was heard daily in her plazas and streets where the fandango and jotta were gayly danced; while at night the soft sounds of guitars and voices issued from out the deep shadow of her walls.
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