by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER NINE.
Though the field-sports were over, the fiesta of San Juan was not yetended. There were still many sights to be seen before the crowdscattered to their homes. There was to be another turn at the church--another sale of "indultos," beads, and relics,--another sprinkling ofsacred water, in order that the coffers of the padres might bereplenished toward a fresh bout at the _monte_ table. Then there was anevening procession of the Saint of the day (John), whose image, set upona platform, was carried about the town, until the five or six fellowswho bore the load were seen to perspire freely under its weight.
The Saint himself was a curiosity. A large wax and plaster doll,dressed in faded silk that had once been yellow, and stuck all over withfeathers and tinsel. A Catholic image Indianised, for the Mexicandivinities were as much Indian as Roman. He appeared bored of thebusiness, as, the joinings between head and neck having partially givenway, the former drooped over and nodded to the crowd as the image wasmoved along. This nodding, however, which would have been laughed at assupremely ridiculous in any other than a priest-ridden country, was hereregarded in a different light. The padres did not fail to put theirinterpretation upon it, pointing it out to their devout followers as amark of condescension on the part of the Saint, who, in thus bowing tothe crowd, was expressing his approbation of their proceedings. It was,in fact, a regular miracle. So alleged both padres and cura, and whowas there to contradict them? It would have been a dangerous matter tohave said nay. In San Ildefonso no man dared to disbelieve the word ofthe Church. The miracle worked well. The religious enthusiasm boiledup; and when Saint John was returned to his niche, and the little"cofre" placed in front of him, many a "peseta", "real," and"cuartillo," were dropped in, which would otherwise have been depositedthat night in the _monte_ bank. Nodding Saints and "winking Madonnas"are by no means a novel contrivance of the Holy Church. The padres ofits Mexican branch have had their wonderful saints too; and even in thealmost _terra ignota_ of New Mexico can be found a few of them that haveperformed as _smart_ miracles as any recorded in the whole jugglery ofthe race.
A pyrotechnic display followed--and no mean exhibition of the sortneither--for in this "art" the New Mexicans are adepts. A fondness for"fireworks" is a singular but sure characteristic of a declining nation.
Give me the statistics of pyrotechnic powder burnt by a people, and Ishall tell you the standard measure of their souls and bodies. If thefigure be a maximum, then the physical and moral measure will be theminimum, for the ratio is inverse.
I stood in the Place de Concorde, and saw a whole nation--its rich andits poor--gazing on one of these pitiful spectacles, got up for thepurpose of duping them into contentment. It was the price paid them forparting with their liberty, as a child parts with a valuable gem for afew sugar-plums. They were gazing with a delight that seemedenthusiasm! I looked upon scrubby, stunted forms, a foot shorter thanwere their ancestors. I looked upon eyes that gleamed with demoralisedthought.
These were the representatives of a once great people, and who stilldeem themselves the first of mankind. I felt sure that this was anillusion. The pyro-spectacle and its reception convinced me that I sawbefore me a people who had passed the culminating point of theirgreatness, and were now gliding rapidly down the declining slope thatleads to annihilation and nothingness.
After the fireworks came the "fandango." There we meet the same faces,without much alteration in the costumes. The senoras and senoritasalone have doffed their morning dresses, and here and there a prettypoblana has changed her coarse woollen "nagua" for a gay flouncedmuslin.
The ball was held in the large saloon of the "Casa de Cabildo," whichoccupied one side of the "Plaza." On this festival day there was noexclusiveness. In the frontier towns of Mexico not much at any time,for, notwithstanding the distinctions of class, and the domineeringtyranny of the government authorities, in matters of mere amusementthere is a sort of democratic equality, a mingling of high and low, thatin other countries is rare. English, and even American travellers, haveobserved this with astonishment.
All were admitted to the "Salon de baile" who chose to pay for it; andalongside the rico in fine broad-cloth you might see the ranchero in hisleathern jacket and velveteen calzoneros; while the daughter of the richcomerciante danced in the same set with the "aldeana," whose time wastaken up in kneading tortillas or weaving rebosos!
The Comandante with Roblado and the lieutenant figured at the fandangoin full uniform. The alcalde was there with his gold-headed cane andtassel; the _cura_ in his shovel hat; the padres in their swingingrobes; and all the "familias principales" of the place.
There was the rich comerciante, Don Jose Rincon, with his fat wife andfour fat sleepy-looking daughters--there, too, the wife and family ofthe alcalde--there the Echevarrias, with their brother the "beau" infull Paris costume, with dress coat and crush hat--the only one to beseen in the saloon. There, too, the rich hacendado, Senor Gomez delMonte, with his lean wife and several rather lean daughters--differingin that respect from the hundreds of kine that roam over the pastures ofhis "ganada." And there, too, observed of all, was the lovely Catalinade Graces, the daughter of the wealthy miner Don Ambrosio, who himselfis by her side, keeping a watchful eye upon her.
Besides these grand people there were employes of the mines of lessnote, clerks of the comerciantes, young farmers of the valley,gambucinos, vaqueros, ciboleros, and even "_leperos_" of the town,shrouded in their cheap serapes. A motley throng was the fandango.
The music consisted of a bandolon, a harp, and fiddle, and the danceswere the waltz, the _bolero_, and the _coona_. It is but just to saythat finer dancing could not have been witnessed in the saloons ofParis. Even the peon, in his leathern spencer and calzoneros, moved asgracefully as a professor of the art; and the poblanas, in their shortskirts and gay coloured slippers, swept over the floor like so manycoryphees of the ballet.
Roblado, as usual, was pressing his attentions on Catalina, and dancedalmost every set with her; but her eye wandered from his gold epaulettesand seemed to search the room for some other object. She was evidentlyindifferent to the remarks of her partner, and tired of his company.
Vizcarra's eyes were also in search of some one that did not appear tobe present, for the Comandante strolled to and fro, peering into everygroup and corner with a dissatisfied look.
If it was the fair blonde he was looking for, he would be unsuccessful.She was not there. Rosita and her mother had returned home after theexhibition of the fireworks. Their house was far down the valley, andthey had gone to it, accompanied by Carlos and the young ranchero.These, however, had returned to be present at the fandango. It was latebefore they made their appearance, the road having detained them. Thiswas why the eye of Catalina wandered. Unlike Vizcarra, however, she wasnot to meet with disappointment.
While the dance was going on two young men entered the saloon, and soonmingled with the company. One of them was the young ranchero, the otherwas Carlos. The latter might easily have been distinguished by theheron-plume that waved over his black sombrero.
The eye of Catalina was no longer restless. It was now directed upon anobject, though its glances were not fixed, but quick and stolen--stolen,because of the observation of an angry father and a jealous lover.
Carlos assumed indifference, though his heart was burning. What wouldhe not have given to have danced with her? But he knew the situationtoo well. He knew that the offer of such a thing would lead to a scene.He dared not propose it.
At times he fancied that she had ceased to regard him--that she evenlistened with interest to Roblado--to the beau Echevarria--to others.This was but Catalina's fine acting. It was meant for other eyes thanthose of Carlos, but he knew not that, and became piqued.
He grew restless, and danced. He chose for his partner a very pretty"aldeana," Inez Gonzales by name, who was delighted to dance with him.Catalina saw this, and became jealous in turn.
This play continued for a leng
th of time, but Carlos at length grewtired of his partner, and sat down upon the _banqueta_ alone. His eyesfollowed the movements of Catalina. He saw that hers were bent upon himwith glances of love,--love that had been avowed in words,--yes, hadalready been plighted upon oath. Why should they suspect each other?
The confidence of both hearts was restored; and now the excitement ofthe dance, and the less zealous guardianship of Don Ambrosio, half drunkwith wine, gave confidence to their eyes, and they gazed more boldly andfrequently at one another.
The ring of dancers whirling round the room passed close to where Carlossat. It was a waltz. Catalina was waltzing with the beau Echevarria.At each circle her face was towards Carlos, and then their eyes met. Inthese transient but oft-recurring glances the eyes of a Spanish maidwill speak volumes, and Carlos was reading in those of Catalina apleasant tale. As she came round the room for the third time, henoticed something held between her fingers, which rested over theshoulder of her partner. It was a sprig with leaves of a dark greenishhue. When passing close to him, the sprig, dexterously detached, fellupon his knees, while he could just bear, uttered in a soft whisper, theword--"_Tuya_!"
Carlos caught the sprig, which was a branch of "tuya," or cedar. Hewell understood its significance; and after pressing it to his lips, hepassed it through the button-hole of his embroidered "jaqueta." AsCatalina came round again, the glances exchanged between them were thoseof mutual and confiding love.
The night wore on--Don Ambrosio at length became sleepy, and carried offhis daughter, escorted by Roblado.
Soon after most of the ricos and fashionables left the saloon, but sometireless votaries of Terpsichore still lingered until the rosy Aurorapeeped through the "rejas" of the Casa de Cabildo.