It is customary in Europe to accuse the Creole ladies of tropical
America of the crime of indolence. This custom is common with those who
talk of woman and her political rights, and who believe that woman was
created to share man's labours instead of soothing them. He, however,
who has looked upon these fair Creole women and observed their tranquil
repose of spirit--perhaps a certain sensualism, which only adds to their
beauty--he, I say, who has seen this, will be disposed to look with a
more lenient eye upon their so-called indolence, and will scarce believe
it a crime.
The two daughters of Don Mariano de Silva offered at this moment, though
in degrees somewhat different, examples of this peculiar characteristic
of their countrywomen. One of them, with her limbs crossed in the
oriental fashion, was seated upon a Chinese mat. Her long black hair,
that had been plaited in several tresses, and recently combed out, still
preserved the wavy outlines of the plaits, as it fell profusely over her
shoulders.
Perhaps there are no women in the world who take more pride in their
hair than do the Creoles of Spanish-America. It is never desecrated by
the touch of the scissors; and several hours of every day are bestowed
upon the dressing of it. For all this, the young girl in question, as
she sat with her head pensively inclined, seemed to give but little
thought to those luxuriant tresses that, undulating over her white
shoulders, lay in clusters upon the mat. She appeared rather to deliver
them up mechanically to the hands of her attendant, who was occupied in
arranging them.
The face encircled by these exuberant masses of glossy hair, possessed
all the characteristics of the finest Creole beauty. Her features, at
once proud and calm, denoted an ardent and enthusiastic spirit
habitually hidden under an expression of indolent serenity. The
elegance of the Spanish race was also manifest in her small white hands,
and in those little feet possessed by Mexican and South American women
of whatever class. Blue satin slippers covered those of the young girl,
otherwise nude: for stockings are not a rigorous necessity of Creole
costume.
The young lady thus described was Dona Gertrudis, the elder of the two
daughters of Don Mariano.
The younger, Marianita, was scarce less beautiful, but her beauty was of
a different style. Quick-witted, and prone to laughter, her sparkling
glances formed a contrast to the calm yet brilliant gaze of her sister;
while varying expressions passed as rapidly over her countenance as the
fleeting shadows of an April sky. With Dona Gertrudis it was altogether
different; she resembled the volcanoes of her country, with their
perpetual fire hidden under a robe of snow.
Neither of the young girls had yet reached the age of womanhood.
Gertrudis was only seventeen, while the other was a year and a half
younger. Both, however, had acquired that full development of feminine
beauty which a tropical climate often calls forth at a much earlier age.
While the hair of Gertrudis was being arranged by her waiting woman,
Marianita was tying around her ankle the ribbons that were to confine
the tiny slipper upon her pretty little foot.
The grand political events at this time occurring had disturbed the
quietude of this family, as well as that of most others. There were
some probabilities, too, of there being a difference of opinion among
its members, for at the moment when our narrative commences, a marriage
was on the _tapis_ between a young Spaniard of the neighbourhood and
Dona Marianita.
Previous to the Mexican revolution, the most ardent wish of a young
Creole lady was to obtain for a husband some new arrival from the mother
country--Spain. Gertrudis, nevertheless, had more than once declined
this honour, which Marianita, as we have seen, had accepted. Why did
the Dona Gertrudis form an exception to the general rule? The sequel
will show.
We have presented these two young girls in the act of making their
toilet; we may add, that these preparations were in view of the arrival
of two gentlemen who were that evening expected. One was the young
Spaniard, the betrothed lover of Marianita; the other Don Rafael
Tres-Villas, Captain in the Queen's Dragoons. The former lived within
less than two leagues of the hacienda Las Palmas, and might be expected
at any moment--the other, having two hundred to travel, could scarce be
looked for with equal punctuality; for although he had sent positive
word that he would arrive on that evening, it was reasonable to suppose
that upon such a long journey some incident might arise to derange his
calculations. Was this uncertainty the reason why Gertrudis had scarce
commenced making her toilet, while Marianita had finished hers? Was Don
Rafael the only man in whose eyes Gertrudis cared to appear beautiful?
We shall presently know.
One of the daily cares of a young Creole lady is to take down the
abundant plaits of her hair, and combing out the separate tresses, leave
them hanging over her shoulders, so that the air may circulate freely
among them. As soon as the attendant of Gertrudis, charged with this
duty in the present instance, had accomplished her task, she passed out
of the chamber, and the two sisters were left alone.
There are certain subjects of conversation which young girls, of
whatever country, love only to talk of between themselves, and in their
own private apartment.
Scarce had the servant closed the door behind her, than Marianita--who
had just finished placing some pomegranate flowers behind her
tortoiseshell comb--glided eagerly towards the window. On reaching it
she stood for some moments with her eyes bent inquiringly on the plain.
Gertrudis had changed her oriental posture for a seat upon a leathern
_fauteuil_. After casting back, by an indolent movement of her arms,
the dark masses of her hair, she delivered herself up to a silent
reverie.
"I have examined the plain with all my eyes," said Marianita after a
while spent at the window; "it appears entirely deserted. I cannot see
a human creature upon it, much less Don Fernando, or Don Rafael.
Santissima! I fear I have had all this trouble for nothing; in half an
hour it will be sunset."
"You need not be uneasy. Don Fernando will come," said Gertrudis, in a
calm voice.
"Ah!" exclaimed Marianita, "one might tell by the tone in which you
speak that you are not expecting your _novio_ (betrothed), as I am. My
very impatience makes me despair of seeing him. Ah! Gertrudis, you
have never experienced the emotion of love."
"Were I in your place I should feel more chagrin than impatience."
"Chagrin, oh! no; if Don Fernando don't choose to come this evening, he
will lose the pleasure of seeing me in this beautiful white dress which
he admires so much, and with these purple pomegranates in my hair, which
I put in just to please him. For my part I prefer the white blossoms of
the orange; but they say that a woman when married must make some
sacrifices, and I may as well accustom myself to them."
In saying these words the young girl snapped her fingers together till
they cracked like castanets; while her countenance, instead of
expressing any very painful emotion, exhibited an air of perfect
contentment.
Gertrudis made no answer, except by a sigh, half-suppressed. She sat
motionless, with the exception of her foot, which kept balancing upward
and downward the little slipper of blue satin, while the fresh breeze of
the evening blowing in from the window, caused a gentle tremulous
movement among the tresses of her hair.
"It's very tiresome--this country life," continued Marianita; "it's true
one can pass the day by combing out one's hair, and taking a siesta; but
in the evening, to have nothing else to do but walk in the garden and
listen to the sighing breeze, instead of singing and dancing in a
_tertulia_! Oh, it is wearisome--very, very wearisome, I declare. We
are here, like the captive princesses in an Eastern romance, which I
commenced reading last year, but which I have not yet finished. Santa
Virgen! I see a cloud of dust upon the horizon at last--a horseman!
_Que clicha_! (what happiness!)"
"A horseman!--what is the colour of his steed?" inquired Gertrudis,
suddenly aroused.
"Ha--ha! As I live his horse is a mule--what a pity it was not some
knight-errant! but I have heard that these fine gentry no longer exist."
Gertrudis again sighed.
"Ah! I can distinguish him now," continued Marianita. "It is a priest
who rides the mule. Well, a priest is better than nobody--especially if
he can play as well on the mandolin as the last one that travelled this
way, and stayed two days with us. He! He is coming on a gallop--that's
not a bad sign. But no! he has a very grave, demure look. Ah! he sees
me; he is waving a salute. Well, I must go down and kiss his hand, I
suppose."
Saying these words, the young Creole--whose education taught her that it
was her duty to kiss the hand of every priest who came to the hacienda--
pursed up her pretty rose-coloured lips in a saucy mocking fashion.
"Come, Gertrudis!" continued she; "come along with me. He is just by
the entrance gate!"
"Do you see no one upon the plain?" inquired Gertrudis, not appearing to
trouble herself about the arrival of the priest. "No other horseman--
Don Fernando, for instance?"
"Ah, yes!" answered Marianita, once more looking from the window. "Don
Fernando transformed into a mule-driver, who is forcing his _recua_ into
a gallop, as if he wished the loaded animals to run a race with one
another! Why, the muleteer is making for the hacienda, as well as the
priest, and galloping like him, too! What on earth can be the matter
with the people? One would think that they had taken leave of their
senses!"
The clanging of bolts and creaking hinges announced the opening of the
great gate; and this, followed by a confused clatter of hoof-strokes,
told that the mule-driver with his train of animals was also about to
receive the hospitality of the hacienda. This circumstance, contrary to
all usage, somewhat surprised the young girls, who were wondering why
the house was being thus turned into an hostelry. They were further
surprised at hearing an unusual stir in the courtyard--the servants of
the establishment talking in a clamorous medley of voices, and footsteps
falling heavily on the pavements and stone stairs leading up to the
_azotea_ of the building.
"Jesus!" exclaimed Marianita, making the sign of the cross; "is the
hacienda going to be besieged, I wonder? Mercy on us! I hope the
insurgent brigands may not be coming to attack us!"
"Shame, sister!" said Gertrudis, in a tone of calm reproach. "Why do
you call them brigands?--these men who are fighting for their liberties,
and who are led by venerable priests?"
"Why do I call them brigands?" brusquely responded Marianita. "Because
they hate the Spaniards, whose pure blood runs in our veins; and
because," continued she--the impetuous Creole blood mounting to her
cheek--"because _I_ love a Spaniard!"
"Ah!" replied Gertrudis, in the same reproachful tone; "you perhaps only
fancy you love him? In my opinion, sister, true love presents certain
symptoms which I don't perceive in you."
"And what matters if I do not love him, so long as he loves me? Am I
not soon to belong to him? And why, then, should I think different to
what he does? No, no!" added the young girl, with that air of
passionate devotion which the women of her country and race lavish
without limits on those whom they love.
At this moment, the sudden and unexpected strokes of the alarm-bell
breaking upon their ears interrupted the dialogue between the two
sisters, putting an end to a conversation which promised to engender
ill-feeling between them--just as the same topic had already caused
dissension in more than one family circle, breaking the nearest and
dearest ties of friendship and kindred.