Remember the Alamo [63]
Nativity. Their rich clothing and air of idleness gave a
holiday feeling to the streets noisy with the buzzing of the
guitar, the metallic throb of the cithara, the murmurs of
voices, and the cries of the hawkers. Priests, Mexicans,
Indians and Americans touched each other on the narrow
thoroughfares, but that indescribable feeling of good will
which comes with Christmas pervaded the atmosphere, and gave,
even in the midst of war and danger, a sense of anticipated
pleasure.
At the Worth residence there was a household feast. The
Senora and her daughters were in full dress. They were
waiting for the dear ones who had promised to join them at the
Angelus. One by one the houses around were illuminated.
Parties of simple musicians began to pass each other
continually--they were going to serenade the blessed Mary all
night long. As Antonia closed the balcony window, half a
dozen of these young boys passed the garden hedge singing to
the clacking of their castanets--
"This is the eve of Christmas,
No sleep from night to morn,
The Virgin is in travail,
At twelve will the Child be born."
Luis appeared at the same moment. He caught up the wild
melody and came up the garden path singing it. Dare and the
doctor followed him. It struck Antonia that they were
talking of a change, or of something important. But there was
no time for observation. Isabel, radiant in crimson satin,
with her white mantilla over her head, darted forward to meet
Luis, and turned his song to the Virgin into a little
adulation for herself. Dare and the doctor took Antonia's
hands, and there was something in the silent clasp of each
which made her heart tremble.
But she was not one of those foolish women who enquire after
misfortune. She could wait and let the evil news find her,
and by so doing she won many a bright hour from the advancing
shadows. The Senora was in unusual spirits. She had obtained
a new confessor. "A man of the most seraphic mind, and,
moreover, so fortunate as to be connected with the house of
Flores." He had been gentle to her in the matter of penances,
and not set her religious obligations above her capacities.
Consequently, the Senora had laid aside her penitential
garments. She was in full Castilian costume, and looked very
handsome. But Antonia, who had been in New York during those
years when she would otherwise have been learning how to
wear a mantilla and use a fan, did not attempt such
difficulties of the toilet. She knew that she would look
unnatural in them, and she adhered to the American fashions of
her day. But in a plain frock of dark satin trimmed with
minever bands, she looked exceedingly noble and lovely.
The meal was a very merry one, and after it Lopez Navarro
joined the party and they had music and dancing, and finally
gathered around the fire to hear the singing of Luis. He knew
a great many of the serenades, and as he sang of the Virgin
and the Babe, a sweeter peace, a more solemn joy, came to each
heart. It was like bringing something of the bliss of heaven
into the bliss of earth. The Senora's eyes were full of
tears; she slipped her hand into her husband's and looked at
him with a face which asked, "Do you not also feel the
eternity of a true love?"
"How sweet and wild are these serenades, Luis! said Antonia.
"I wonder who wrote them?"
"But, then, they were never written, my sister. Out of the
hearts of lonely shepherds they came; or of women spinning in
their quiet houses; yes, even of soldiers in the strong
places keeping their watch."
"That is the truth, Luis," answered Isabel. "And every
Christmas, when I was in the convent the Sisters made a
serenade to the Virgin, or a seguidilla to our blessed Lord.
Very still are the Sisters, but when it comes to singing, I
can assure you the angels might listen!"
"There is a seguidilla I hear everywhere," said the doctor;
"and I never hear it without feeling the better for listening.
It begins--`So noble a Lord.'"
"That,
holiday feeling to the streets noisy with the buzzing of the
guitar, the metallic throb of the cithara, the murmurs of
voices, and the cries of the hawkers. Priests, Mexicans,
Indians and Americans touched each other on the narrow
thoroughfares, but that indescribable feeling of good will
which comes with Christmas pervaded the atmosphere, and gave,
even in the midst of war and danger, a sense of anticipated
pleasure.
At the Worth residence there was a household feast. The
Senora and her daughters were in full dress. They were
waiting for the dear ones who had promised to join them at the
Angelus. One by one the houses around were illuminated.
Parties of simple musicians began to pass each other
continually--they were going to serenade the blessed Mary all
night long. As Antonia closed the balcony window, half a
dozen of these young boys passed the garden hedge singing to
the clacking of their castanets--
"This is the eve of Christmas,
No sleep from night to morn,
The Virgin is in travail,
At twelve will the Child be born."
Luis appeared at the same moment. He caught up the wild
melody and came up the garden path singing it. Dare and the
doctor followed him. It struck Antonia that they were
talking of a change, or of something important. But there was
no time for observation. Isabel, radiant in crimson satin,
with her white mantilla over her head, darted forward to meet
Luis, and turned his song to the Virgin into a little
adulation for herself. Dare and the doctor took Antonia's
hands, and there was something in the silent clasp of each
which made her heart tremble.
But she was not one of those foolish women who enquire after
misfortune. She could wait and let the evil news find her,
and by so doing she won many a bright hour from the advancing
shadows. The Senora was in unusual spirits. She had obtained
a new confessor. "A man of the most seraphic mind, and,
moreover, so fortunate as to be connected with the house of
Flores." He had been gentle to her in the matter of penances,
and not set her religious obligations above her capacities.
Consequently, the Senora had laid aside her penitential
garments. She was in full Castilian costume, and looked very
handsome. But Antonia, who had been in New York during those
years when she would otherwise have been learning how to
wear a mantilla and use a fan, did not attempt such
difficulties of the toilet. She knew that she would look
unnatural in them, and she adhered to the American fashions of
her day. But in a plain frock of dark satin trimmed with
minever bands, she looked exceedingly noble and lovely.
The meal was a very merry one, and after it Lopez Navarro
joined the party and they had music and dancing, and finally
gathered around the fire to hear the singing of Luis. He knew
a great many of the serenades, and as he sang of the Virgin
and the Babe, a sweeter peace, a more solemn joy, came to each
heart. It was like bringing something of the bliss of heaven
into the bliss of earth. The Senora's eyes were full of
tears; she slipped her hand into her husband's and looked at
him with a face which asked, "Do you not also feel the
eternity of a true love?"
"How sweet and wild are these serenades, Luis! said Antonia.
"I wonder who wrote them?"
"But, then, they were never written, my sister. Out of the
hearts of lonely shepherds they came; or of women spinning in
their quiet houses; yes, even of soldiers in the strong
places keeping their watch."
"That is the truth, Luis," answered Isabel. "And every
Christmas, when I was in the convent the Sisters made a
serenade to the Virgin, or a seguidilla to our blessed Lord.
Very still are the Sisters, but when it comes to singing, I
can assure you the angels might listen!"
"There is a seguidilla I hear everywhere," said the doctor;
"and I never hear it without feeling the better for listening.
It begins--`So noble a Lord.'"
"That,