Maria, beyond her beautiful voice and excellent method, possessed, as a daughter of the common people, the infusing of science in the songs of Andalusia; and that grace, that charm which a stranger could not understand nor value, without having resided a long time in the country, without having, so to speak, become identified with the national character. There is in these songs, as well as in the airs of the dances, a richness of imagination, an attraction so powerful, an enchainment of surprises, complaints, bursts of joy, of languor, and of exaltation, that the audience, at first astonished, soon finish by being captivated and intoxicated.
Thus when Maria took the guitar, and sang—
“Si me pierdo, que me busquen
Al lado del Mediodia,
Donde nacen las morenas,
Y donde la sal se cria,”[4]
admiration became enthusiasm. The young people marked the measure by clapping their hands, repeating “Good! Good!” to encourage the singer; the cards fell from the hands of the players; the major could no longer contain himself, and beat the measure in the wrong time; Sir John swore that the song was even better than “God save the Queen;” but that which was the triumph of the Spanish music was, that it smoothed the brow of the general.
“Do you remember, brother,” the marchioness smilingly asked him, “the time when we sang el Zorengo and el Tripili?”
“What is that, the Zorengo and the Tripili?” asked the baron of Raphael.
“They are,” replied Arias, “the fathers of Sereno and of la Cachucha, and the forefathers of la Jaca de Terciopelo, of Vito, and other songs of the day.”
These particulars of songs and of national dances, of which we have spoken, may seem in bad taste, and they would certainly be so in other countries. But to abandon one’s self without reserve to sentiments which instigate our songs and our dances, one must have a character like ours; it must be that grossness and vulgarity be, as they are with us, two things unknown, two things which do not exist. A Spaniard may be insolent, but rarely will he ever be gross, because it is not in his nature. He lives according to his inspiration, which will never efface in him the stamp of a special distinction. This is what gives to Spain, despite of an education but little nourished, that finish of manner and frank elegance which render their intercourse so agreeable.
Mariquita left the hotel of the countess as pale and as impassible as she had entered it.
When the countess was alone with her friends, she said with a triumphant air to Raphael—