Vagabond Life in Mexico

by Gabriel Ferry

This time the estrade was quite full, and among the women who advanced to take a part in this measure I recognized, by her graceful mien and dazzling beauty, Doña Sacramenta, whom my host called, in his flowery language, his dearly-beloved angel on earth. She was attired in a beautiful dress of transparent muslin. Her rounded arms were adorned in the upper part by the embroidery and lace of her cambric chemise, the rest remained bare. The contour of her fair shoulders was masked, but not entirely concealed, by a gorget of lace very like Arlesian. She wore shoes of the most beautiful satin, and a tress of her magnificent black hair was wound round a tortoise-shell comb mounted with massy gold. Her eyelids, cast down under the fiery glances that were shot from all sides at her, allowed one to see the long silken lashes with which they were fringed. She was not now the calm beauty that I had admired the evening before in the moonlight, but an impassioned daughter of the tropics in all her brilliancy.

The excitement among the spectators, increased by their frequent libations, became greater and greater every minute, but another and a more intense interest was soon awakened in the minds of the crowd.

"Ah!" cried a Jarocho at my side, whose hair was beginning to turn gray, "at the last fandango held at Malibran,[61] Quilimaco lost one of his ears, and Juan de Dios the point of his nose, in a quarrel that arose about a beauty who was not worth a lock of hair compared with that girl there."

"Have patience, tio,"[62] answered another; "the beautiful Sacramenta has more than one aspirant in this village, and I venture to predict that, before nightfall, she will have danced the machete and chamarra for two at least among us."

I did not understand what they meant, but the events that followed soon explained it. Two groups had by this time formed round the estrade occupied by the dancers. In the first, a Jarocho, as richly dressed as Calros, seemed to exercise a marked ascendency. In the second, my host appeared to be the head of another party. Animated by the hope of some quarrel arising between the two factions, the musicians strummed their guitars with redoubled ardor, and a fearful discord filled the air. Just when the dancers were beginning to put themselves in motion, some singers chanted, in a nasal tone of voice, a couplet whose words bore no relation whatever to the present circumstances, and which consisted of a series of proverbs put in verse, almost devoid of meaning, but strongly tinged with obscene allusions. I was then standing near my host, whose eye was following with a jealous attention the least movement of Sacramenta, but she did not deign to bestow upon him the slightest glance.

"You see my hard fate," said he to me, in a low voice; "in high hope one day, in despair the next. We shall set out to-morrow."

These last words betrayed such poignant grief that I could not help cursing in my heart that pitiless coquetry which could wound the feelings of so ardent a lover.

"Ah!" he resumed, "she has not yet forgiven me for that confounded bow of red ribbons which I was unable to procure for her."

At this moment his rival advanced to the estrade, and uncovering, presented his hat to Sacramenta with a very gallant air. She received it with a smile, without interrupting for a moment the evolutions in which she was engaged. Calros's face appeared quite impassible, and he contented himself with making an almost imperceptible gesture to one of his partisans. This person then advanced in his turn and did the same. Custom demanded that, in a case like this, the maiden should show preference to neither; she therefore continued to dance with the two hats in her hand. The advantage of seeing his hat placed upon the head of the dancer would by right belong to the third gallant; and, as I expected, Calros was the one who profited by this usage. The two rivals then exchanged looks of mutual defiance, while the first, untying his sash of China crape, formed it into a rosette, and stepped forward to suspend it to the bare shoulder of Sacramenta.

The guitars, now struck with the greatest vigor, made almost as much noise as a band of trumpeters, and the voices of the singers increased in proportion. The men were exchanging looks of evident satisfaction, but the women were chattering among themselves, evidently envying the homage paid to Sacramenta. This young girl kept her feet in motion; her complexion was heightened by a reddish glow, which lent an additional charm to her radiant black eyes. A vague apprehension, however, seemed to agitate her bosom. At once happy and miserable, she dared not turn her eyes upon him whose heart yearned for her with such true affection. In spite, also, of Calros's apparent calm, the involuntary working of the muscles of his face disclosed the torture he was suffering.