A MEXICAN PARLOR.
Most readers will probably be interested to know how custom rules that
a parlor shall be furnished "in Spanish" as we quaintly say in Mexico.
For the knowledge that all are of a different tongue makes a rather
queer impression and it is quite common for foreigners to remark: "Oh,
they can't hear, they are Spanish." We even get to think they cannot
see and that people laugh and babies cry "in Spanish."
A parlor, or _sala,_ is found in every private Mexican house, but until
within the last two years there was not a hotel in the Republic that
had a parlor. Boarders entertained their friends in their bedrooms--and
this is yet considered quite the proper thing to do. Some of the hotels
now advertise as _Americanos_ on the strength of having a little
parlor. Calling or visiting is quite uncommon, as there is no society,
and little sociability outside their home doors, yet occasionally
relatives call on one another; still I have been with cousins who
accidentally met at church, and though they were the best of friends,
living within a dozen squares of each other, they had not exchanged
visits for three years; this is quite common. I know two sisters living
within four squares of each other who have not been in each other's
house for a year. I hardly think the reason is a lack of sociability
or hospitality, as, once within the massive walls of their _casa,_ the
Spanish courtesy is readily exhibited; they are your servants, and
their house is yours for the time being, but the main causes are the
gradual decrease of their once princely fortunes, and their laziness;
the latter I regard, from close observation, as the chief fault.
Yet with all their retired habits they retain the "custom" of former
generations as to how their parlor must be arranged and visits paid
and received, as strictly us though they were in the midst of an ultra
society circle; their customs, I have been informed, are thoroughly
Spanish and are the only ones practiced both in Spain and Cuba.
The _sala_ is always on the second floor, as none but servants occupy
the ground or first floor, and it is generally the only room in the
house which boasts of a carpet. In several cases I have seen the floors
made of polished wood and marble tiling; the walls are beautifully
frescoed in colors, and the ceiling, which is always very high, has a
magnificent painting in the center, the subject invariably of angels
or a group of scantily-clad females. In each corner there are round,
brass-edged openings of about ten inches in circumference, which serve
as ventilators and very often a double purpose by letting scorpions in
on unwilling victims.
The windows are but glass doors opening out upon little iron-railed
balconies shaded by awnings. Each window-shade is transparent, and
as the light shines through, it not only fills the room with some
beautiful delicate tints, but discloses a lovely Southern scene.
Cobweby curtains of creamy white hang from brass poles, suspended at
least a foot and a half from the window, forming in themselves little
nooks which would be idolized by romantically inclined "spoons" and
"spooners" of the States.
The Mexicans are all good judges of paintings and many are talented
artists; they do not harrow up one's sensibilities with dollar daubs of
blue-trees, lavender-tinted skies and a mammoth animal with horns and
tail, standing on a white streak in the foreground, which (the animal)
placed cross-wise, could stand on all fours and never touch water. Nor
does one's eyes have to long for the waters of Lethe because of tea
prizes and Mikado ornaments. But a selection of good oil paintings and
French-plate mirrors, all framed in brass, grace their rooms.
The piano is almost universal and occupies some nook by itself; the
furniture for the _sala_ is always cushioned and is composed mainly of
easy chairs; the sofa--the seat of honor--is placed against the wall
beneath some large painting or mirror and a large rug is laid in front.
Starting from either end are the easy chairs which form an unbroken
circle around the sofa, all thus being able to face it without turning
their backs on any one. Directly at the back of the chairs, or facing
the sofa, is a round table with a "crazy" patchwork cover--which craze
has invaded even that country--or a knitted scarf. Then it is actually
littered with ornaments of every description, leaving no empty space;
as an Englishman rather tersely remarked to me, "They look like a
counter in a crowded pawn shop."
All the chairs, and the sofa, have crocheted tidies on the backs,
arms and seat, each separate, and enough to madden a Talmage convert.
You may rise up slowly with an Andersonian grace and first one female
politely begs permission to remove one of her tidies from your hat;
then they will file into the next room, one by one, to see how _La
Americanos'_ sombrero becomes them, while another removes a white,
delicately constructed thing from your "tournure" (what they dote on),
which latter they have been dying to closely inspect, and to find how
you manage to have it hang so prettily. And after you remove another
tidy which has become fastened to your heel (although you can't imagine
how), you detach yet another from the side trimmings of your dress. By
that time you are flustered, forget the Andersonian grace, and utter
some emphatic words about tidies and tidy matters in general, and sit
down with a real Castletonian kick.
The _sala_ is not complete without at least two cabinets to hold the
overflow of the center table. In all the odd corners are pedestals on
which are statuettes in marble, bronze, or plaster-of-Paris, just as
the owner's purse permits. Tropical plants in quaint jars of Indian
design and construction and rustic stands are grouped about, and
parrots, mocking-birds, and gayly-colored birds of high and low voices
complete the attractions of the beautiful Mexican _sala._