The Crown Princess was, of course, generously remembered, and seemed much pleased with our offering, an Indian basket curiously wrought with shells, bird feathers and sweet grasses and containing a pair of moccasins and a watch-case, all made by Indians of Northern New York. Neither her presents to members of the royal household nor theirs to her were displayed.
Old Baron Humboldt, who was the best-known and most popular member of Berlin society, often called the court enfant gâté (spoiled child), acted as Kris Kringle, and played the rôle to perfection, the King and Prince of Prussia serving as his aides and leading in the merriment his happy jokes excited. The bon-bons and fancy confections on the tree were divided among us and promptly disposed of, though the other decorations were undisturbed, the tree being intended, presumably, for use on another occasion. After the presents had been distributed the Baron, turning to the Crown Princess, said with mock humility: “Having accomplished my task, I await further orders from Your Royal Highness.” “And I,” said she, handing him a box containing a gold pen, “order you, honored Baron, to reserve this pen for the sonnets and madrigals to be henceforth indited to your lady-loves.” These words, the Baron being a confirmed old bachelor, never having been known in all his life to express a preference for any woman, caused a general titter.
We were invited to partake of a collation in the state dining-room—bouillon, eau sucree, cold meats, salads, ices, cakes and divers confections. The King, Queen and royal personages occupied tables at the upper end of the room and enjoyed probably a more elaborate menu, with Champagne and Johannisberg; we were at tables lower down, the Crown Princess, her brother and royal cousins being at one in our midst. The hilarity usual when young people, always hungry, enjoy appetizing eatables prevailed.
At the close of the repast the King, Queen and other royalties rose and passed down the room, bowing right and left. The Crown Princess then rose, and, stopping at each table, smilingly bade her guests good-night. Guided by Fraulein von Boyen and the ladies-in-waiting we then returned to the Salle de Musique, where, superintending the donning of our wraps and being sure that our attendant footmen were on hand, they received our adieux. By half-past seven we were back at home, having enjoyed an entertainment which, though formal and ceremonious, punctilious etiquette being observed, was free from stiffness or constraint and devoid of anything that could offend republican pride. Though the marks setting apart those of royal blood were unmistakable, what refined courtesy, what kindly grace characterized their intercourse with their unroyal associates! There were no suggestions of the nouveaux riches or parvenue autocrats, everything betokening generations of culture and refinement, ancestral dignity, inherited power and withal a simplicity and modesty characteristic of self-respecting superiority. The costumes of the Queen and Princesses were elegant and tasteful, their superb satins, velvets, brocades, their sparkling jewels, becoming them as the appropriate setting of rare gems. And those brave, lordly men! so chivalric and gentle, so noble and courteous. How appropriate seemed their orders and decorations. Truly the bravest are the tenderest!
THE ALCALDE’S DAUGHTER AND HER CHRISTMAS LAMP
LONG years ago, while the Mexican standard still waved over the Alamo, San Antonio de Bexar, the most flourishing Catholic Mission east of the Rio Grande, rejoiced in an Alcalde as famous for wisdom and virtue as for piety and goodness. Successful in his public enterprises, he was equally fortunate in his private relations, having a beautiful wife, an inviting home, and a brood of stalwart sons. That they had no daughter was much regretted by both, Donna Inez saying: “Boys serve to perpetuate the name and uphold the family honor, but it is the girls who, lifting the domestic burden from the mothers’ shoulders, and cheering, comforting the fathers, bless and brighten home,” and, when in answer to repeated Novenas of prayer and votive offerings, a daughter was born to them, they, naming her Maria Jesusa Pepita, gratefully dedicated her to the Virgin. Growing in beauty and grace and developing many lovable traits, Jesusa more than fulfilled parental hopes. Humoring, petting her father, preparing his pulque, filling his pipe, she became his daily companion and the idol of his heart.
Don Pedro’s office, adjoining the Alamo, then garrisoned by Mexican troops ordered to report to him and serve him when needed, was really the High Court of Justice where the Mission officials met to consider public matters, whether civil, religious or military. His home, the most spacious and pretentious at the Mission, was a one-story, flat-roof adobe structure, with about fifteen chambers separated by quaint halls, corridors and alcoves, and stood back of the Alamo amid extensive grounds, which, irrigated by a large acequia, teemed with rare, beautiful flowers, with orange, lemon and citron trees, with vine-covered bowers and arcades almost hidden beneath clusters of luscious grapes. Some curious animals roamed in these beautiful grounds, and among those specially petted and cared for by Jesusa were Chihuahua dogs, tricky and playful; Maltese cats, soft-eyed fawns, white rabbits, and a canary bird which, as it tuned up when the matin and vesper bells rang, was supposed to be under the Virgin’s protection. Though an earnest defender of the faith, Don Pedro was a devotee of those sports—cock fighting, bull fighting, card playing—patronized by his associates. He had a cock pit in his yard for the rearing and training of game cocks, where their mettle was often tried Sunday afternoons, and on his Salado ranch, where, in spite of frequent Indian raids, his family spent much time, he had a breed of superior bulls imported from Spain.
The Alamo