Though the field-sports were over, the fiesta of San Juan was not yet
ended. There were still many sights to be seen before the crowd
scattered to their homes. There was to be another turn at the church--
another sale of "indultos," beads, and relics,--another sprinkling of
sacred water, in order that the coffers of the padres might be
replenished toward a fresh bout at the _monte_ table. Then there was an
evening procession of the Saint of the day (John), whose image, set upon
a platform, was carried about the town, until the five or six fellows
who 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 with
feathers and tinsel. A Catholic image Indianised, for the Mexican
divinities were as much Indian as Roman. He appeared bored of the
business, as, the joinings between head and neck having partially given
way, the former drooped over and nodded to the crowd as the image was
moved along. This nodding, however, which would have been laughed at as
supremely ridiculous in any other than a priest-ridden country, was here
regarded in a different light. The padres did not fail to put their
interpretation upon it, pointing it out to their devout followers as a
mark of condescension on the part of the Saint, who, in thus bowing to
the crowd, was expressing his approbation of their proceedings. It was,
in fact, a regular miracle. So alleged both padres and cura, and who
was there to contradict them? It would have been a dangerous matter to
have said nay. In San Ildefonso no man dared to disbelieve the word of
the Church. The miracle worked well. The religious enthusiasm boiled
up; 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 deposited
that night in the _monte_ bank. Nodding Saints and "winking Madonnas"
are by no means a novel contrivance of the Holy Church. The padres of
its Mexican branch have had their wonderful saints too; and even in the
almost _terra ignota_ of New Mexico can be found a few of them that have
performed as _smart_ miracles as any recorded in the whole jugglery of
the race.
A pyrotechnic display followed--and no mean exhibition of the sort
neither--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 I
shall tell you the standard measure of their souls and bodies. If the
figure be a maximum, then the physical and moral measure will be the
minimum, for the ratio is inverse.
I stood in the Place de Concorde, and saw a whole nation--its rich and
its poor--gazing on one of these pitiful spectacles, got up for the
purpose of duping them into contentment. It was the price paid them for
parting with their liberty, as a child parts with a valuable gem for a
few sugar-plums. They were gazing with a delight that seemed
enthusiasm! I looked upon scrubby, stunted forms, a foot shorter than
were their ancestors. I looked upon eyes that gleamed with demoralised
thought.
These were the representatives of a once great people, and who still
deem themselves the first of mankind. I felt sure that this was an
illusion. The pyro-spectacle and its reception convinced me that I saw
before me a people who had passed the culminating point of their
greatness, and were now gliding rapidly down the declining slope that
leads 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 senoritas
alone have doffed their morning dresses, and here and there a pretty
poblana has changed her coarse woollen "nagua" for a gay flounced
muslin.
The ball was held in the large saloon of the "Casa de Cabildo," which
occupied one side of the "Plaza." On this festival day there was no
exclusiveness. In the frontier towns of Mexico not much at any time,
for, notwithstanding the distinctions of class, and the domineering
tyranny of the government authorities, in matters of mere amusement
there is a sort of democratic equality, a mingling of high and low, that
in other countries is rare. English, and even American travellers, have
observed this with astonishment.
All were admitted to the "Salon de baile" who chose to pay for it; and
alongside the rico in fine broad-cloth you might see the ranchero in his
leathern jacket and velveteen calzoneros; while the daughter of the rich
comerciante danced in the same set with the "aldeana," whose time was
taken up in kneading tortillas or weaving rebosos!
The Comandante with Roblado and the lieutenant figured at the fandango
in full uniform. The alcalde was there with his gold-headed cane and
tassel; the _cura_ in his shovel hat; the padres in their swinging
robes; and all the "familias principales" of the place.
There was the rich comerciante, Don Jose Rincon, with his fat wife and
four fat sleepy-looking daughters--there, too, the wife and family of
the alcalde--there the Echevarrias, with their brother the "beau" in
full Paris costume, with dress coat and crush hat--the only one to be
seen in the saloon. There, too, the rich hacendado, Senor Gomez del
Monte, with his lean wife and several rather lean daughters--differing
in that respect from the hundreds of kine that roam over the pastures of
his "ganada." And there, too, observed of all, was the lovely Catalina
de Graces, the daughter of the wealthy miner Don Ambrosio, who himself
is by her side, keeping a watchful eye upon her.
Besides these grand people there were employes of the mines of less
note, 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 dances
were the waltz, the _bolero_, and the _coona_. It is but just to say
that finer dancing could not have been witnessed in the saloons of
Paris. Even the peon, in his leathern spencer and calzoneros, moved as
gracefully as a professor of the art; and the poblanas, in their short
skirts and gay coloured slippers, swept over the floor like so many
coryphees of the ballet.
Roblado, as usual, was pressing his attentions on Catalina, and danced
almost every set with her; but her eye wandered from his gold epaulettes
and seemed to search the room for some other object. She was evidently
indifferent 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 to
be present, for the Comandante strolled to and fro, peering into every
group 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 the
exhibition of the fireworks. Their house was far down the valley, and
they had gone to it, accompanied by Carlos and the young ranchero.
These, however, had returned to be present at the fandango. It was late
before they made their appearance, the road having detained them. This
was why the eye of Catalina wandered. Unlike Vizcarra, however, she was
not to meet with disappointment.
While the dance was going on two young men entered the saloon, and soon
mingled with the company. One of them was the young ranchero, the other
was Carlos. The latter might easily have been distinguished by the
heron-plume that waved over his black sombrero.
The eye of Catalina was no longer restless. It was now directed upon an
object, 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 would
he not have given to have danced with her? But he knew the situation
too 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 even
listened with interest to Roblado--to the beau Echevarria--to others.
This was but Catalina's fine acting. It was meant for other eyes than
those 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 length of time, but Carlos at length grew
tired of his partner, and sat down upon the _banqueta_ alone. His eyes
followed the movements of Catalina. He saw that hers were bent upon him
with glances of love,--love that had been avowed in words,--yes, had
already been plighted upon oath. Why should they suspect each other?
The confidence of both hearts was restored; and now the excitement of
the dance, and the less zealous guardianship of Don Ambrosio, half drunk
with wine, gave confidence to their eyes, and they gazed more boldly and
frequently at one another.
The ring of dancers whirling round the room passed close to where Carlos
sat. It was a waltz. Catalina was waltzing with the beau Echevarria.
At each circle her face was towards Carlos, and then their eyes met. In
these transient but oft-recurring glances the eyes of a Spanish maid
will speak volumes, and Carlos was reading in those of Catalina a
pleasant tale. As she came round the room for the third time, he
noticed something held between her fingers, which rested over the
shoulder of her partner. It was a sprig with leaves of a dark greenish
hue. When passing close to him, the sprig, dexterously detached, fell
upon his knees, while he could just bear, uttered in a soft whisper, the
word--"_Tuya_!"
Carlos caught the sprig, which was a branch of "tuya," or cedar. He
well understood its significance; and after pressing it to his lips, he
passed it through the button-hole of his embroidered "jaqueta." As
Catalina came round again, the glances exchanged between them were those
of mutual and confiding love.
The night wore on--Don Ambrosio at length became sleepy, and carried off
his daughter, escorted by Roblado.
Soon after most of the ricos and fashionables left the saloon, but some
tireless votaries of Terpsichore still lingered until the rosy Aurora
peeped through the "rejas" of the Casa de Cabildo.