THOSE DARK-EYED SEÑORITAS!
I
It was evening when the train brought Eustace and myself into Mazatlán.
Since the fortnightly steamer was scheduled to sail for the south at
eight o’clock, we leaped into a cab, and ordered the _cochero_ to drive
like fury.
He whipped up his slumbering nags, and we rattled toward the wharf,
through conventional narrow streets lined with the traditional
fortress-like houses of Latin America. But--although it may have been
the effect of the tropical climate--it seemed that each balcony or
window was occupied by a _señorita_ infinitely more attractive than any
that had occupied the same sort of balcony or window in the same sort
of dwellings in any of the previous cities.
“Whoa!” called Eustace. “In the interests of journalism, let’s have a
longer look at this town!”
But before the interests of journalism were fully satisfied, the
steamer whistled from the harbor, and our _cochero_ whipped up his
horses again. On we rattled until we came to the _plaza_. It was an
unusually attractive _plaza_. There were royal poincianas, tinkling
fountains, and--
“Whoa!” called Eustace. “In the int--”
The _plaza_ also appeared to be inhabited by what evidently was the
most abundant product of Mazatlán. But the steamer whistled again, and
the whip crackled, and we careened wildly around sharp corners to the
harbor. It was a delightful harbor. A semi-circle of driveway bordered
it--a driveway lined with graceful cocoa-palms that whispered softly
in the gentle breeze. A newly risen moon peeped through their fronds,
and sparkled along the wide expanse of sea, tipping each wave with a
streak of silver as the swells rolled in from the Pacific to shatter
themselves in gleaming spray against the rocks before us. From the
thatched cottages of the fisher-folk across the bay there drifted to us
the tinkle of a guitar. And from the city behind us sounded the chimes
of a cathedral clock. It was striking eight--the hour our steamer was
to sail.
“Hurrah!” we shouted. “We’ve missed it!”
II
We had just acquired the mental attitude requisite to appreciation of
Mexico--a state of unworried and unhurried tranquillity such as enables
the Mexican himself to sit all day on a _plaza_ bench, enjoying the
balmy southern breezes, smoking innumerable cigarettes, discussing
nothing in particular, watching the other idlers, and admiring the
beauties--both animate and inanimate--of the whole pleasant scene.
Mazatlán had been designed for people with such a mental attitude. The
climate was balmy. The whole city was quaintly Mexican. There was not a
tourist sight in town. There was, in short, nothing to do except to sit
in the _plaza_--such a _plaza_ as might be found in any other Mexican
city, a little square park with a music kiosk in the center, surrounded
by palms and ferns and shaded walks, and with an aged white cathedral
for its background. Sitting there, one saw the entire population pass
in review, for as elsewhere in Mexico, the _plaza_ was at once a club,
a meeting place, a music-hall, a playground, and even a marriage market.
III
On my first morning, fortunately a Sunday morning, while I still
retained a slight vestige of Anglo-Saxon energy, I was there at
daybreak, determined to observe minutely what transpired.
At 6.30, the only other occupants of the benches were several ragged
beggars.
At 7.00, the Mazatlán Street Cleaning Department, both members
barefoot, appeared upon the scene, dragging a long hose, whereupon the
beggars cautiously adjourned to the steps of the municipal building.
At 7.29, the first bootblack stopped to point accusingly at my shoes.
No sooner had he polished them than a dozen other bootblacks stopped to
point at them, evidently presuming that shoe-polish acted like alcohol,
and that I would now suffer from an insatiable craving for more.
At 7.30, I discovered that wiggling a finger--the Latin-American
gesture for “No!”--required less energy than shaking the head.
At 7.47, the first excitement! A policeman’s whistle screamed an alarm!
The policeman was chasing a small and very ragged urchin diagonally
across the park. The urchin appeared to be gaining, but just as they
reached the corner, out popped another policeman, also tooting his
whistle, and both pursued the youth up the north side of the square,
until joined by a third officer, similarly shrilling the alarm. They
disappeared around the cathedral, and the _plaza_ idlers settled back
into their seats. Popular sentiment seemed to be with the urchin.
At 7.48, a party of dogs invaded the _plaza_ fountain to enjoy a bath.
At 7.49, a party of _peons_ drove the dogs out of the fountain to enjoy
a drink.
At 7.50, the ragged urchin reappeared, having doubled around the
cathedral. There were now six cops in pursuit, still tooting their
whistles. Pursued and pursuers ran diagonally back across the _plaza_.
At the southeast corner, a seventh policeman dived out from behind a
rubbish can, and effected the capture. All marched away with a dignity
that emphasized the majesty of the law. The _plaza_ idlers settled
back again. No one inquired the wherefore of the chase. All seemed
sufficiently pleased that there had been such diversion.
At 8.00, the cathedral bells rang, not solemnly as though in invitation
to mass, but rapidly and aggressively, commanding attendance.
At 8.01, two middle-aged male _peons_ entered the church. They
wore their shirts outside the pants, in Indian fashion, and were
unconcernedly holding hands, like a pair of children.
At 8.35, more excitement! Policemen’s whistles were tooting again. This
time a pig had invaded the _plaza_. Evidently pigs were not allowed
there except when muzzled and on leash. Six policemen, assisted by a
full corps of bootblacks, chased the snorting little porker around palm
trees and through the flower beds.
At 8.37, the policemen formed an escort, and marched away again, still
with dignity and majesty, escorting the latest captive to the police
barracks.
At 9.00, the cathedral bell resumed its unhallowed racket.
At 9.08, Carmen Rosa María de la Concepción Purísima Rodríguez, who
lived upstairs opposite the _plaza_, commenced her piano lesson,
playing those rippling little Spanish melodies, with occasional pauses
while she searched for the bass note.
At 9.09, I decided to stroll to the other side of the park.
At 9.10, I found Eustace sitting on a bench with a
distinguished-looking middle-aged American who, I hoped, would gratify
my ideas of romance by proving an absconded bank cashier. But he was
introduced as a mining man by the name of Werner. He was eating oranges
and tossing the peels into the shrubbery, meanwhile bowing to the
celebrities who passed. “Here comes General _Cómo-se-Llama_, the worst
cut-throat in Mexico. Hello, General, _muy buenas días_, how are you?”
At 9.11, a second general passed, in a uniform which he had designed
himself--sky blue cap, bright red coat, and green trousers, all
embellished with gold braid. He was five feet high, and four feet wide.
“They use him for dress parade,” said Werner.
At 9.12, a third general passed, marching through the street, followed
by eight soldiers.
At 9.49, the first pretty _señoritas_, on their way to mass with a
forbidding-looking mother, stopped to rest on the bench opposite.
The girls wore the latest Parisian modes, but mother still clung to
the old-fashioned _rebozo_, or shawl. Each wore a little black lace
_mantilla_ pinned to the hair. One girl noted that we were looking at
her, and her eyes twinkled appreciatively. She whispered to the other
girl, and both smiled.
At 9.51, after an accusing glance from mother, we decided to stroll
around the _plaza_. “They’ll consider it an insult,” said Werner. “They
expect you to stay here and talk together about how lovely they are,
just loud enough for them to hear it.”
At 10.26, the musicians gathered for their Sunday morning concert.
Having tuned up, they continued to blow and toot, indulging the
Mexicans’ love of noise. Half of them were unshod; all were brown; none
looked like accomplished artists. I dreaded the racket they’d make when
all tooted at once.
At 10.30, they played the most beautiful band music I had ever heard.
At 10.52, society emerged from the cathedral. Barefoot _peons_ withdrew
from the _plaza_ to make room for the aristocrats.
At 11.00, the beggars became active. The blind men closed their eyes,
and the cripples started to flop. They wriggled from bench to bench;
they suffered themselves to be led by little children; they crawled
in snake-like twists and propelled themselves in frog-like jumps;
they hobbled upon crutches; they stumped upon legless knees; they
turned over on their backs and squirmed upside down. At each bench,
they would whine in plaintive voice, “A little penny, for the sake
of God, _señores_!” The Mexicans liked this. They regarded beggars
as an institution that enabled them to gratify personal vanity by
giving alms. It did not cost much. And they regarded curse or blessing
with superstitious respect. So the procession hopped and flopped and
squirmed and for-god-saked unmolested all around the park.
At 11.10, the Promenade was in full swing. The elders kept a watchful
eye on their daughters from the benches. The youths draped themselves
gracefully on their canes along the outer walk. The girls, in merry
groups of twos and threes and fours, arm in arm, swung past on
exhibition--dainty little creatures, fairly radiating sweetness and
modesty, yet keenly aware of the masculine admiration they aroused,
quick to notice if a youth’s gaze lingered, ready to exchange opinions
in whispered conference, ready even to respond with a brief flash of
eyes, supremely self-assured, yet never bold. From childhood they
had paraded this _plaza_, accustoming themselves to the sensation of
being on exhibition. They liked to be looked at. It brought a flush
to their cheeks, and a luster to their dark eyes. This was their only
opportunity, in an existence of semi-seclusion, to see and to be seen.
There were stolid-looking maids in the procession, carrying babies all
done up in silks and laces. There were little girls of ten and twelve,
already practicing coquetry. And there were innumerable maidens of
fifteen and twenty, suitable for marriage, and watching the circle
of young men for an indication that to-day’s parade had awakened the
divine fire.
At 11.20, the first youth fell. He detached himself from the onlookers
and--accompanied by a companion who carefully showed his neutrality by
a super-nonchalance of manner--followed one of the damsels around and
around the square, affecting a melting expression of countenance, and
beseeching her with melancholy eyes for a backward glance. The girl’s
companions nudged her and giggled; the girl herself pretended to be
unaware that she was followed; but the flush heightened in her cheeks,
and her eyes sparkled.
At 11.59, the families reassembled, and moved homeward, each a parade
by itself. The enamored youth gazed in the proper affectation of
despair after his departing maiden, and gave an imitation of a candle
that has been extinguished.
At 12.00, Werner announced that the bench-slats had stamped him with an
accordion-pleated design, and left us.
At 12.01, two surviving _señoritas_--the two of the 9.49
episode--stopped at our bench, and seated themselves coyly at the far
end.
At 12.02, a boy sold us three bags of peanuts for a nickel.
At 12.04, not knowing what to do with the third bag of peanuts, I
offered it to the _señoritas_, and was rewarded with a “_Gracias_”
which could not have been sweeter had the offering been a five-pound
upholstered box of the most expensive chocolates.
At 12.05, the observations inscribed in my now-faded notebook during
those first vestiges of Anglo-Saxon energy, appear for some reason to
have ceased.
IV
As I recall that first conversation with Herminia and Lolita, it ran
somewhat as follows:
Were we from the United States? _Ay_, what a wonderful country must
be the United States! How they would love to go to a land where women
enjoyed such freedom! And American men respected women more than
did the Mexicans. But how long were we remaining in Mazatlán? So
short a time! Why did we not stay longer? Did we not think Mexican
girls as attractive as American girls? _Ay_, but we were very polite
to say such nice things! Still, did we not have wives at home? Not
even sweethearts? No? Then why should one be in such haste to leave
Mazatlán? _Ay, Dios!_ The cathedral clock was striking twelve and a
half, and their family would scold them for lingering so long! But
they came to the _plaza_ every evening at eight. Yes, always at eight.
_Adios!_ And again _muchas gracias_ for the peanuts!
V
The _plaza_ became a very definite habit to Eustace and myself. At
home, we could never have loitered day after day in a park, doing
nothing, but in Mexico one could. The other idlers were always
interesting. Some amusing little incident was always happening. Yet
nothing ever seemed to disturb the prevailing restful calm.
Herminia and Lolita were always there at eight.
They were slender little girls, with the delicately molded features and
the immense dark eyes characteristic of their race. They were adept,
too, in the use of those eyes--as all Spanish girls are adept--yet
if, to a casual observer they appeared flirtatious, they proved upon
further acquaintance--as all Spanish girls prove--to be quite the most
shy, and modest, and altogether circumspect little misses to be found
anywhere in the world.
For some inexplicable reason, the Spanish _señorita_ has been most
inaccurately portrayed in our fiction and drama as a wild vampire,
modeled after the operatic Carmen, until the average American pictures
her as a fiery adventuress who lifts one shoulder higher than the other
and curls her sensuous lips into a sinister smile destined to wreck
the life of every passing bullfighter.
[Illustration: THE MEXICAN SEÑORITA HAS ALWAYS BEEN PORTRAYED IN OUR
FICTION AS A WILD VAMPIRE]
In real life, the Mexican maiden--and one might include her sisters of
Spanish ancestry--is, with all her mischievous smiling--the most timid,
sedate and well-behaved little miss that can be found anywhere. She
lives at home in semi-seclusion. She never appears in public without a
chaperon, except possibly to stroll with another maiden to the shops or
the _plaza_. She is at all times guarded against the machinations of
wicked males--who are always assumed to be predatory animals until they
indicate very definitely that they intend marriage, and who are by no
means to be trusted even then--and she never meets a man except where
others are present or when the window-bars afford insulation for her
virtue.
In the more cosmopolitan centers, where the daughters of the wealthier
families have been educated abroad, and where parents have adopted a
foreign viewpoint, this close guardianship is often relaxed. But in the
smaller city, like Mazatlán, the _señorita_ is still the victim of a
social system carefully designed to protect her against a race of men
whose mind dwells almost exclusively on sex.
The Mexican--even more than most of his brothers of Spanish
ancestry--while he publicly extols women as the most exquisite
handiwork of God, privately regards them as instruments exclusively
for the gratification of natural instincts. Although he may talk
eloquently of love, he is incapable of any infatuation which is not
based primarily upon sex appeal. But, since he is a jealous creature,
and since he knows that his brothers, like himself, would take
advantage of any opportunity for seduction, he demands that his wife be
a model of unquestionable propriety.
And the Mexican maiden, brought up to believe that her only aim in
life is to attract a husband, smiles quite alluringly, and leads
conversation to sentimental themes, yet remains most circumspect. In
her smile there is a promise, but her family will see that the promise
is not fulfilled until marriage.
Even in love there is nothing genuinely impulsive about the Latin of
either sex. He, originally, is motivated by the desire to possess
something more attractive and exclusive than the females which can
easily be found in Latin America, either in officially segregated
districts or among the servant classes. She, originally, is motivated
by a desire for home and children--a desire not unknown among the women
of other countries, but far keener in lands where, despite the inroads
of foreign custom, there is still but little amusement for women except
the care of babies.
Romance, in the beginning, is as carefully studied by the Latin as is
his politeness and his every other quality. Once begun, since he is an
adept at self-hypnotism, it may become a thing of tremendous emotion.
Yet the courtship at all times follows an extremely formal course. The
youth, charmed by a maiden’s smile (and having made inquiries about her
family), follows her home from the _plaza_ night after night, and leans
against the opposite wall to stare at her window until she, finally
captivated by his persistence (and having made inquiries about his
family), allows him to coo at her through the bars. At length he makes
a formal call, announces his intentions, and is duly accepted by her
parents, who thereafter welcome him to the parlor, but seldom allow him
alone with the daughter.
It is the ideal system for these people. It may seem absurd to a
_Gringo_, yet it is quite satisfactory to the Spanish-American. The
barriers that surround the girl prove to him that others have not been
able to reach her. If they prevent him from learning her disposition,
it does not particularly matter. He knows that she has been brought
up with the idea of becoming an obedient wife. He does not expect
intellectual stimulation from her companionship. He can see that
she is beautiful and desirable. And if there has been an element of
premeditation in the beginning of his courtship, his mental habit of
dwelling almost exclusively upon sex will soon arouse a keen desire
which the tantalizing window-bars merely aggravate.
Yet after marriage, children usually bring something akin to a
higher love. The man may not remain faithful, but he will provide for
his wife, and honor her, and accord her every respect. She, having
accomplished her chief aim in life, will forget herself in her devotion
to husband and offspring. She will grow fat and sloppy, and spend most
of her time preparing daughters for _their_ chief aim. But at all
times, unlike the Carmen of fiction, she will be modest and reserved,
and faithful to a degree seldom found elsewhere in the world.
If Herminia and Lolita gave us a longer flash of eyes than was
customary, at eight o’clock in the _plaza_, they were not adopting
Carmen’s tactics. They were merely two of many girls in a small city
which, like most small cities, was equipped with comparatively few men
to smile at.
VI
At that time, Eustace and I knew very little about Spanish custom.
We looked upon our mild flirtation as a pleasant and instructive way of
spending the evening while waiting for another boat.
Herminia and Lolita would pass us two or three times, always with that
promising flash of eyes, and a murmured “_Adios_.” Presently they would
stop at a bench beyond, and glance back. Thereupon we would rise,
stroll around the park as we had seen Mexican youths do, and stop
casually, as though by accident, at the girls’ bench.
And conversation, as I recall it, invariably ran somewhat as follows:
_Ay_, but one was surprised that to-night we came to _their_ bench!
After the way we had stared at Carmen Rosa María de la Concepción
Purísima Rodríguez, one expected that we might have gone to _her_
bench. _Ay_, but both of them had seen! And Carmen Rosa María was the
most beautiful girl in Mazatlán, no? No? Then who was? Ay, _gracias,
gracias, señores_! So nice it was that we should say so! Did we really
think so? Ay, but we were _simpatico_--_muy simpatico_--to say it!
Then commenced the Spanish lesson. It seemed, at times, a trifle
impractical, for it was usually limited to phrases conveying admiration
of feminine charm. If the male Latin-American revels in flattery, the
female lives upon it, and these two _señoritas_ were merely typical
of most of their sisters in Mexico. A young man in their country was
expected to spend the entire evening raving about their beauty. It
mattered not how elaborate were his phraseology; he could expand his
theme to a degree which would have brought any American flapper to her
feet with the disgusted exclamation of, “How do you get that way? Do
you think I’m a dumb-bell?”, yet here it was not only accepted, but
demanded. This, as any traveling Gringo soon discovers in Mexico, was
the theme most interesting to a _señorita_.
I suspected, at times, that I lacked the true grace of the Spanish
cavalier. Since my command of the language was still somewhat limited,
it was necessary to repeat the same phrases with tiresome regularity. I
became aware of a foreboding, as we sat there beneath the coco-palms,
that if I recited those phrases once more, all the cocoanuts would drop
on me.
But when I suggested, as a change of entertainment, that we stroll over
to a little café on the harbor-front for ice cream, the _señoritas_
were quite shocked.
_Ay_, but one was now in Mexico! It was not custom! People would talk!
And was it true that in the United States the girls--nice girls--could
do such things? One had heard so, but it sounded incredible. One had
even heard that young people went away, without chaperones, to theaters
or dances. And was this true? One had actually heard that there were
petting parties. How delightfully wicked! _Ay_, what a wonderful place
must be the United States!
There was a pleasing simplicity about these little convent-sheltered
maidens. If they craved flattery until it seemed a bit monotonous,
one could at least pay it with veracity. And the _plaza_, although it
was overpopulated with observers, was always pleasant. One had the
illusion, particularly in the evening, that it was a theater where
one collaborated with the rest of the populace in enacting a polite
comedy-drama. The palms and ferns hung lifeless in the tropic calm, and
the red hibiscus resembled paper flowers. The old cathedral transformed
itself into a backdrop. The strains of the band came to one as from an
orchestra hidden off-stage. There was something unreal about the soft
whispers and the rippling laughter of the other youths and maidens.
And when, as the chimes announced the hour of ten, the _señoritas_
betook themselves homeward with cheerful little calls of “_Adios_ until
to-morrow!”, I waited expectantly for a curtain to descend.
One evening, after the girls had departed, Werner stopped at our bench.
“Just thought I’d warn you,” he said. “I know you don’t mean any harm.
There’s something about this place that makes one lonesome for feminine
company. But down here, unless you show very definitely that you intend
marriage, they take it for granted you’re up to monkey business. So
just go easy, or you’ll have their family jumping on your necks.”
We thanked him. It was timely advice. And when, on the following
evening, the girls suggested that we meet the family, we agreed. It
seemed advisable as an indication of the highly sanitary state of our
consciences.
Theirs was the usual one-story dwelling of solid masonry
characteristic of the country. A faded and crumbling plaster front
concealed a pleasing, albeit conventional interior. The living room
was floored with cool tiling. The furnishings--except for a piano with
yellowed keys, and a marble-topped table littered with forbidding
pictures of stout female ancestors--consisted mainly of stiff-backed
chairs formally arranged in a row along each wall; yet the conventional
effect was relieved somewhat by numerous white lace doilies on the
seats, or by potted palms which gave the room the semblance of a garden.
The family proved gracious, but not entertaining. Papa and mama assured
us that the house was ours--as is customary when a stranger enters
the Latin-American home. Then, one by one, they brought forward their
relatives and presented them--a daughter or two, several sons, a few
cousins, nephews or nieces, a flock of aunts, some assorted uncles or
brothers-in-law with their respective families, and finally grandma.
Having informed us in turn that they were our servants, they took
seats until the walls were lined with them, and silence fell upon the
gathering.
Papa opened the conversation with a pleasant inquiry regarding the
object of our visit to Mazatlán. Ah, we were writers! An admiring nod
ran around the circle, finally reaching grandma, where it stopped
momentarily until Uncle Somebody transmitted our answer through an
ear trumpet. Grandma seemed a trifle perplexed, as though she did not
know just what writers might be, but she nodded politely. Thus the
conversation proceeded, papa acting as spokesman for the entire party,
until--after the ordeal had continued for an hour or more--a servant
entered with glasses of vermouth, and our reception closed in a toast
proposed by papa to the “very distinguished guests, who have honored
our humble household to-night.”
Our necks seemed to be free from the likelihood of assault, for upon
the following evening the girls announced that they had permission to
stroll beyond the _plaza_, as far as the driveway that bordered the
harbor.
“Never have our parents permitted it with our own countrymen,” they
added. “Our people trust Americans more than themselves.”
To show our appreciation, we took the girls home each night, even
though it involved another session at which the family lined up around
the wall to nod while papa conducted another tedious conversation. Yet,
if we were occasionally bored, our two weeks passed rapidly.
VII
Our steamer finally whistled from the harbor. We had already purchased
our tickets, and were on our way to bid the _señoritas_ farewell, when
Werner intercepted us, waving a newspaper.
“Congratulations, boys! You’ve picked out mighty nice girls!”
Papa, it seems, had announced our engagement without consulting us. It
was in the daily journal of Mazatlán!
“Why, good Heavens! Look here, Werner, we haven’t said a word to them!
We called at the house every night, and we walked along the Olas Altas,
with the permission of the family, but--”
“Oh, you called at the house every night! That’s the worst thing
you could have done, my boys! That’s considered an avowal down
here--especially since the town’s full of marriageable daughters with
scarcely any men in sight! And it’s taken for granted, of course, that
all Americans are millionaires. So you’re engaged all right. Now, what
are you going to do about it?”
“I can’t think of any suggestion,” said Eustace, “except that we run
like the devil for that boat.”
Werner shook his head.
“That means the girls are ruined for life. When a man breaks the
engagement, it’s assumed that he’s learned the girl wasn’t chaste, or
that he’s succeeded himself and doesn’t want her any more. No one else
would marry them after that. And it’s hell to be an old maid in Mexico.”
We were somewhat appalled. They were really very lovely little girls.
But a Gringo couldn’t pay compliments night after night for the next
fifty years. And one thought, too, of grandma and her ear trumpet, and
a solemn circle of relatives, and a table littered with pictures of
forbidding-visaged female ancestors.
“There’s one way out,” said Werner. “Say good-by to them as though you
were going on a short business trip. From Manzanillo wire me that you
were shot by bandits. That’ll clear the girls. Hurry now, or you’ll
miss another boat. And by the way, when you wire me that you’re dead,
don’t sign your own names.”
VIII
At 7.49 p.m., having recovered the last vestiges of my Anglo-Saxon
energy, I drove with Eustace to the house, and bade the family
farewell. The girls appeared a trifle distressed, but not so much
as we felt they ought to be. The family knew intuitively that we
were fleeing, but with true Mexican politeness they accepted our
explanations as though they believed.
At 7.52, we leaped back into the cab and ordered the cochero to drive
like fury.
At 7.56, we passed the _plaza_, but paused not in the interests of
journalism.
At 8.00, we sailed out of Mazatlán’s attractive harbor, where the
moonlight sparkled along the wide expanse of sea, and the tinkle of a
guitar came to us from the thatched cottages of the fisher-folk, as
though it were an accompaniment to the chimes of the old cathedral
clock that we knew so well. Eight o’clock! Herminia and Lolita would be
strolling in the _plaza_, where the strains of the band, as though from
an orchestra off-stage, blended with the ripple of the fountain, with
the voices of youths and maidens and the whispering of the palm trees!
At 8.01, Eustace discovered three peanuts in his pocket, and we
solemnly dumped them overboard.