The Project Gutenberg eBook of Christmas in Spain; or Mariquita's Day of
Rejoicing, by Sarah Gertrude Pomeroy
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Title: Christmas in Spain; or Mariquita's Day of Rejoicing
Author: Sarah Gertrude Pomeroy
Illustrator: Bertha D. Hoxie
Release Date: December 22, 2020 [eBook #64108]
Language: English
Character set encoding: UTF-8
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTMAS IN SPAIN; OR MARIQUITA'S
DAY OF REJOICING ***
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Christmas
in Spain
or
Mariquita’s Day
of Rejoicing
BY
SARAH GERTRUDE POMEROY
ILLUSTRATED
By BERTHA D. HOXIE
[Illustration]
BOSTON
DANA ESTES & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1910_
BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
CHRISTMAS IN SPAIN
_Electrotyped and Printed by_
_THE COLONIAL PRESS_
_C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A._
CHRISTMAS IN SPAIN
OR
MARIQUITA’S DAY OF REJOICING
“If your mother is willing, I will take you for a walk with me,” said
Señor Vasquez, smiling indulgently at his twin son and daughter. Anitia
clapped her hands in delight as she ran after Antonio in search of their
mother. They found her in the _despensa_, the store-house of many
delicious dainties, as she was busy giving out the supplies for the
holiday supper that evening. She followed them into the patio, however,
and gave them the desired permission. “It’s such a busy day,” she said
to their father, “that I am quite willing to spare them for the
afternoon and a walk with you will be a great treat.”
[Illustration]
They made a pretty picture as they went down the narrow street, stopping
once to wave their hands to the dark-eyed young mother who watched them
from behind the barred windows of their quaint old house. More than one
passer-by glanced after them half-enviously, for the erect young
military man with his little son and daughter on either side was good
to look upon, and their merry laughter was contagious.
To tell the truth light hearts were not plentiful in old Seville that
December day, for within the year the war with America had drained the
resources of Spain and many people mourned for soldiers dead ’neath
Cuban skies.
But there was great rejoicing in the home of Señor Vasquez, for the
father of the household had gone through the fierce campaign without
injury, and although his term of service was not completed, his regiment
had already landed in Spain and he had obtained a two weeks’ leave of
absence for the holidays.
[Illustration]
Antonio and Anitia were wild with delight when their father came home
and had scarcely let him out of their sight since his arrival. Antonio
was constantly begging for stories of the war, and Anitia listened too,
vaguely fascinated, although she shuddered sometimes when she thought of
the pale, sick soldiers she had seen brought home from those same
battle-fields. Her brother was always talking of the time when he should
grow up and enter the army. Anitia couldn’t understand his eagerness;
and she wondered if he would have been as anxious, if he had helped her
mother make bandages and hospital supplies. She hadn’t forgotten the
long hours when she had worked patiently, proud to be able to help the
soldiers a little, while Antonio was marching and counter-marching with
his boy friends. But the war was over now--Anitia drew a sigh of relief
as she realized it and clung more tightly to her father’s hand.
It was the afternoon of the day before Christmas and the sunny plazas
and busy market-places were gay with holiday wares. It seemed as if the
whole city were in the streets, for the laborers had all left their work
at twelve and a good-natured throng jostled the little party of three.
The children asked for a story this afternoon, so their father turned in
the direction of the river and they walked away from the busy crowd
towards the Triana bridge. From there they could look up and down the
yellow Guadalquivir and fancy they could see again the stately galleons
which rode there of old. They were familiar with the traditions of these
ships and the cargoes they had brought from over the seas in the days
when Seville was a busy port, but they loved to hear them again from
their father’s lips.
“Where shall we go next?” asked their father when they had spent some
moments on the bridge. “I’ll give you each a wish. What shall we do,
Anitia?”
The little girl answered rather shyly. “I was just thinking,” she said,
“how much I would like to carry some good things for the holiday to the
poor sick soldiers in the hospitals.”
“Well spoken, my dear, it’s a thought worthy of a soldier’s daughter,”
said Señor Vasquez. “And what is your wish, my son?” he asked.
“When we have been to the hospital, may we buy something for Mariquita?”
asked Antonio.
“Indeed you may, you shall take her whatever you think will make her
most happy,” answered their father.
“Oh, I’m so glad,” cried Anitia. “It was good you thought of it,
Antonio. Mariquita was so kind to help me make my nacimento,” she
explained to her father. “It certainly was splendid,” said Señor
Vasquez. Anitia, pleased with his praise, thought gratefully of the many
hours her mother’s friend had spent helping her make the plaster
representation of the birth of Christ which every Spanish child prepares
at Christmas time. Thanks to Mariquita’s deft fingers, the little
figures of the Baby, St. Joseph and the Blessed Virgin had been
fashioned most artistically and Anitia might well be proud of her
nacimento.
“First, we will buy whatever you wish to take to the hospital,” said
Señor Vasquez. They had left the river behind them and were back in the
city streets again. Soon they paused in a busy market-place where
swarthy peasants were displaying their wares and a crowd of purchasers
were buying holiday dainties.
There was such a bewildering display of good things that it was hard to
make a selection. The luscious golden oranges of Andalusia were piled
high in pyramids and Anitia said she wanted some for the soldiers.
Antonio suggested that they add some nuts from Granada and the
market-man displayed some fresh dates from Tangiers which their father
added to their store.
Both children looked longingly at the various sweetmeats, dried and
candied, which were shown so invitingly, but their father told them they
would not be good for sick people. He bought some turmi, however, and
laughed with the salesman at the children’s delight when he had the
parcel of this favorite Christmas candy wrapped separately for their own
use.
The shops were decorated with ribbons and streamers, while all kinds of
wares were given a holiday air by their decorations. Even the sausages
were gaily displayed and the folds of red and yellow serge which the
peasant women buy gave an added note of color.
There was laughter and gay talk. Sometimes a dark-eyed girl danced
gracefully while she tossed her tambourine, and in other places the low
monotonous scraping of the zambomba
[Illustration]
accompanied the strains of the Christmas hymn with its familiar old
refrain.
“This night is the good night,
And therefore is no night of rest.”
Soon they came to the hospital where the children had frequently been
with their mother. The portress who opened the door for them seemed to
know their errand without being told and held out her hands for their
gifts. The children could see many baskets of fruit and flowers in the
corridor behind her. She recognized them at once and told Señor Vasquez
that she had just sent a messenger for him. A sick soldier had been
asking for him and would like to see him at once.
Antonio and his sister were told to wait for their father in the
courtyard, and he immediately followed a sweet-faced nun down the long
corridor to the wards.
Left alone, the children amused themselves by watching the doorway, for
the portress was kept busy admitting visitors. Some had come to visit
their sick friends, but many people came to leave fruit and gifts as the
children had done.
“What shall we buy for Mariquita?” said Antonio suddenly.
Anitia shook her head doubtfully. “I am afraid there is nothing she
cares for very much except to have Don Francisco back again,” she said.
“What do you suppose has become of him?”
“I don’t wonder Mariquita is sad,” answered her brother. “It is so long
since she has had any word from him.”
They were both very fond of the young girl who had been “_en deposito_”
with their mother for several months, and they were greatly interested
in her sad love-story which was no secret in the family. They knew that
Mariquita’s lover, Don Francisco, had gone to Cuba with his regiment,
and that in his absence her parents had tried to force her to marry an
old man who was very rich but whom Mariquita hated.
So she had taken advantage of the Spanish law and, having signed a
document stating the facts, had been placed by the magistrate “_en
deposito_” with Señora Vasquez. It was that good lady’s duty to care for
her and protect her until her parents had time to relent. If they did
not agree to allow her to marry Don Francisco at the end of the
appointed time, she was free to do so without her parents’ consent
according to Spanish law.
Señora Vasquez had found Mariquita a great comfort while her husband was
away, and the children had grown to love her dearly, but the poor girl
was often sad. She had heard nothing from Don Francisco for many weeks,
and her parents had tried to convince her that he was dead. Still she
refused to believe them and would not return home or marry as they
wished.
“If only Don Francisco would come back for Christmas,” cried Anitia. “I
can think of nothing which would make Mariquita happy except that.”
“What do you suppose the sick soldier wanted?” said Antonio, to change
the subject, for tender-hearted Anitia’s eyes were filled with tears of
sympathy.
“He wanted to tell me some news that will help us to make Mariquita
happy,” answered their father’s voice. He had come up behind them and
had heard both questions.
“Come with me quickly, for we have no time to lose.” The children
questioned him eagerly as they hurried along together, and he told them
all the soldier had said.
The sick man had been in Don Francisco’s regiment, and many nights, by
the side of the camp-fire, they had exchanged stories of their home and
loved ones. Don Francisco had confided to him how he longed to return to
Spain and marry his Mariquita, but the weeks had lengthened into months
and still their orders
[Illustration]
to return had been delayed. When, at length, they landed at Cadiz Don
Francisco had heard of Mariquita’s plight and, impatient of the endless
formalities and delays which were more than a lover’s impatience could
endure, he had left the army without leave and started for Seville. But
he had been captured and imprisoned, for such an infringement of
military discipline was always severely punished.
His comrade had sent for Señor Vasquez and told him the story, thinking
that the news of her lover’s whereabouts might cheer Mariquita.
“But you must not tell her, children,” cautioned their father. “She
would be distressed to know that he is in prison. Do not let her know
that we have heard any news for a little time. Meanwhile, I will see
what I can do.”
He had just finished speaking, when they stopped at an imposing-looking
building which their father said was the headquarters of the military
governor. The guard at the entrance saluted, as they passed, and none of
the soldiers prevented their advance. Antonio felt very proud of this
evidence of their father’s importance, for even the door-keeper at the
governor’s office seemed to recognize that the handsome young officer
was a person of authority and, very soon, they had permission to enter.
The governor greeted Señor Vasquez most cordially and spoke pleasantly
to the children when their father explained that his business was so
urgent that he had been unable to take them home, before making his
call.
Antonio’s eyes were fastened admiringly on his splendid uniform, but
Anitia saw that his eyes were kind, and she felt sure that he would help
Mariquita, when he knew about her trouble.
Both children knew that it was the custom to pardon many prisoners on
Christmas Day, and they suspected what their father’s request would be.
First Señor Vasquez asked for the records of Don Francisco’s regiment
and found that the soldier’s story was not only true, but that his
friend had been transferred to a military prison in their own city. All
this he showed to the governor, telling the story he had just heard and
explaining about Mariquita.
The governor looked very grave and sat thinking silently for several
minutes after Señor Vasquez had ceased speaking. Then he said, “It is
our custom, as you know, to visit all the soldier-prisoners on
noche-buena and to pardon all those who are in gaol for light offences.
But Don Francisco’s offence is not a light one, and I fear it would not
do to overlook it.”
The twins had been sitting very quietly in the corner, but at the
governor’s words, Antonio forgot his awe of the great man and
interrupted him. “Oh, sir,” he said, “couldn’t you pardon him for
Mariquita’s sake? She has worked so hard making bandages and packing
comforts for the soldiers.” “I’ve heard her say many times that, in
spite of all her suffering, she would send Don Francisco to war again,
if Spain needed him,” added Anitia shyly.
Their father and the governor were both startled, for they had quite
forgotten the children in the interests at stake. Now the governor
smiled encouragingly. “Suppose you tell me about Mariquita and what you
have done at home during these months of warfare,” he said quite kindly.
Thus encouraged, the children did not lack for words and they told about
their friend very enthusiastically. When they had finished, the governor
glanced at their father with an amused smile. “It certainly would be a
shame to keep such a patriotic young woman waiting any longer for her
soldier-lover,” he said. “After all,” he added, “although it is true
that Don Francisco’s offence is not a light one, there are circumstances
which explain the case. His war-record is such a good one that
[Illustration]
I think we may safely pardon him.” As he spoke, he reached for pen and
paper, and in a few moments had signed and sealed an official-looking
document which he handed to Señor Vasquez. The children thanked him very
politely, but they could hardly restrain their impatience until they
found themselves in the street again.
When their father told them that it was really true and that the paper
was indeed Don Francisco’s pardon, Anitia danced for very happiness.
“But you must not tell Mariquita,” cautioned their father. “We will let
her lover tell the good news, himself.” So the children promised to keep
the secret carefully and not spoil the surprise he had in store for her.
They stopped on the way home to buy some great bunches of scarlet
geranium and masses of heliotrope for their mother, for in the warm
climate of southern Spain these blossoms answer the purpose of Christmas
holly and mistletoe. They bought Mariquita a flagon of cologne for
Anitia remembered that she was very fond of the fragrant toilet-water,
smelling of orange-blossoms which is manufactured in their own city.
But, as Antonio said quite truly, it didn’t make much difference what
they carried her when her best gift was still in store for her.
At last they were at home again and the children scampered through the
delicately wrought iron gates which separated their home from the
street, across the marble patio, or courtyard with its silvery fountain
in the centre, up the stairs to the winter living-rooms. For, in
Seville, the people live up-stairs in the winter and move down-stairs in
the summer, when they wish to be cooler.
The children were left alone with Mariquita while their father and
mother talked together in another room. They knew that Señor Vasquez was
telling his wife about their adventures, and they had hard work to keep
the good news from Mariquita when she questioned them about their walk.
She thanked them for the cologne and listened to their account of buying
presents for the sick soldiers, but although she smiled bravely, they
could see that she was unhappy, and tender-hearted little Anitia pitied
her so genuinely that she had to run away lest she should tell the great
secret.
Their father went out again soon and their mother told them quietly that
he had gone to the prison to secure Don Francisco’s liberty. Of course
they were very impatient for his arrival, but soon their aunts and
uncles and all the family relatives began to gather for the Christmas
Eve supper which is always a gala event. There were no outside guests,
except Mariquita, for this evening festivity is purely a family affair.
When their father returned, the supper was served, and it seemed as if
the jollity was at its height when Dolores their good old ayo (nurse)
appeared to take them to bed. It was very hard to leave the lights and
flowers and smiling faces, but neither of the children objected, for
they had been promised a great treat if they would go early to bed. For
the first time in their lives they were going to the “Misa del Gallo” or
“Cock-crow Mass” which is universally celebrated throughout Spain, at
midnight, on Christmas Eve.
But Anitia was not at all sleepy, and she begged Dolores to tell her
some stories of her own childhood until she could fall asleep. So
good-natured Dolores told her some of the quaint customs which were
still practised in her old home, a little old-fashioned town in southern
Andalusia.
“Did you go to the ‘Misa del Gallo’ when you were as little as I am?”
inquired Anitia. The little girl was quite impressed by the distinction
she enjoyed.
“Yes, I was just your age when I went for the first time,” said
Dolores. “I well remember the gorgeous procession when the beautiful
Señora Juanita, our mistress, went to church with my father and all her
other men-servants going in procession before her. Each one played a
different instrument and I thought the sight was splendid.”
“Oh, will they do that to-night?” cried the little girl in excitement.
Dolores laughed at the idea and told her that there were too many grand
ladies in Seville to keep up such a custom. It is only practised in
little towns where there is only one noble family.
[Illustration]
“I remember another custom, too,” she said thoughtfully, as she stroked
Anitia’s soft black hair. “In my little village there was no room in any
house without its picture of the Saviour, and there was hardly a maiden
who did not kneel before her picture of the Babe on noche-buena and hope
to see His Mother. For they say that the Virgin visits every house where
she can find a picture of her Son, on Christmas Eve, and brings
blessings in her train.”
“I have a picture of the Babe, right here in my room,” murmured little
Anitia drowsily.
“Oh, Anitia, Anitia, you do not need her kind blessing as much as I do,”
said a sweet voice brokenly, as Mariquita buried her face in the pillow
by the sleeping child. Then it was good Dolores’ turn to comfort the
lonely girl who had stolen away from the gay family party and had been
sitting in the darkness listening to the stories of old-world Spain.
It seemed only a few moments to Anitia, but it was really more than
three hours later when she woke from her long nap. For a moment she lay
still in her little white bed wondering why she should waken with such a
strange feeling of anticipation in what seemed the middle of the night.
Then she saw Mariquita kneeling in the moonlight with her face upturned
towards the picture of Mary and her Babe which hung on Anitia’s wall.
[Illustration]
The little girl remembered everything at once--the stories that Dolores
had told her and the sadness of Mariquita’s heart. Then she forgot all
else in her longing to comfort the sweet girl, who had been so kind to
her. She slipped softly out of bed and, running noiselessly across the
floor, put her arms around Mariquita’s neck. At the gentle embrace, the
girl looked up half-startled, almost believing that the old legend had
come true and that the Virgin had really come. But Anitia kissed her
before she could speak.
“Oh, Mariquita,” she said, “you heard Dolores’ story, I know you did.
But don’t be sorry because it is only I, for the Virgin has sent you her
blessing, indeed she has.”
The girl caught the child in her arms. “Little comfort,” she murmured.
Just at that moment the soft tinkle of a guitar commenced beneath their
window and the sound of a man’s rich voice in song.
“This night is the good night,
And therefore is no night of rest.”
The words were the familiar lines of the Christmas song which the
children had heard in the streets, but the voice was more familiar still
to Mariquita. She gave a low glad cry and ran to the window. One look
below and she had turned to run swiftly down the stairs to the summer
apartment on the lower floor, where she could stretch out her hand to
her lover between the bars that guarded the casement. For it was indeed
Don Francisco who had returned at last.
Anitia told Antonio all about it while their mother and Dolores were
making them ready. They were both so excited that they could hardly
drink the warm chocolate which had been prepared for them, and they were
quite wide awake when it was time to start for the cathedral.
Through the patio and out into the narrow street went the family party,
Mariquita the happiest of all. The children had passed through the same
streets many times, but they seemed unfamiliar in the semi-darkness with
their glimpses of lighted houses through uncurtained windows and across
deserted patios. The sound of many feet, all hastening in the same
direction, reëchoed through the streets, and the murmur of many voices
rose on the midnight air.
Antonio and Anitia had visited the cathedral often in the day-time, but
they had never been there at night. It seemed like a strange wonderful
place when they first caught sight of it beneath the starry sky, in the
shadow of the Giralda--that beautiful square tower built by the Moors so
many centuries ago. It seemed to them that the Santa Maria and the
other bronze bells in the ancient belfry pealed more joyfully than
usual.
Within the cathedral it was all more wonderful still. The twinkling
lights glimmered on painted frescos and sculptured saints and penetrated
the mysterious shadows of the aisles. Thousands of candles blazed on the
high altar, scores of priests and acolytes went noiselessly to and fro
while, now and then, the tinkle of the golden mass-bells sounded
overhead.
Then the celebrated twin organs pealed forth, softly at first, then
louder and still louder, answering each other and joining in chorus in
the glad paean of the Adeste Fideles, the ancient Christmas hymn of the
church. Sad hearts were lightened and sorrow was forgotten, for in that
glad and triumphant song the poorest and the richest alike rejoiced.
The great congregation did not seem strange to the children, for they
were used to seeing nuns and gypsies, matadors and noble gentlemen,
kneel side by side in the vast cathedral. In all the multitude there was
no happier heart than Mariquita’s. Although she followed the service
devoutly, her eyes were constantly seeking those of the bronzed young
soldier who knelt in the shadow of a near-by column, and the folds of
her lace mantilla framed a radiant face.
When the service was over, the family party separated at the cathedral
door and the children walked home with their parents and Mariquita. It
seemed strange to go to bed again for the second time in one evening,
but, this time, neither Antonio nor Anitia needed any story-telling to
put them to sleep. The whole household was soon quiet, and when the
watchman went his rounds a little later not one of them heard his cry,--
“Ave Maria purissima; las dos; y sereno.”
It was late on Christmas morning when they were awakened by the warm
sunshine streaming into the uncurtained windows.
[Illustration]
There was a slight chill in the air, but the palms and orange trees in
the patio were green as summer foliage and the skies were clear and
blue. The children thought it was perfect Christmas weather, for, though
the distant Sierras were snow-capped, they were not used to the ice and
snow in winter which is common in the northern part of their country.
They had no gifts nor did they expect any, for Spanish children wait
until the Feast of the Three Kings in January for their presents. They
took great pleasure, however, in the gifts they made to others. They had
a little present prepared for each house servant, and when they sat down
to breakfast they found several little verses headed “A Happy Christmas”
which had been left by humble petitioners who hoped to be remembered at
the Christmas season. Señora Vasquez was used to such appeals, and she
had a number of little gifts waiting for the children to distribute.
Anitia watched for the postman, of whom she was very fond, and gladly
ran to present his gift. Antonio was quite as eager to remember his
friend the newsboy, and there were many others whom they were pleased to
make happy. It seemed such a pleasant way to spend Christmas morning and
the time of gift-giving passed too quickly.
There were other visitors, also, whose coming added to the excitement of
the day. Young Señor Vasquez had several tenants and, according to
tradition, all these must come to greet him and bring their rent on
Christmas morning. Very few brought money, but one presented a barrel of
grapes, another a cask of finest olive-oil, and funniest of all were the
peasants from the country who brought their offerings in the form of
live pigs and turkeys. Of course each one was received most politely,
given a Christmas box and sent away content.
Then came the midday luncheon which the children had been anticipating.
There was almond soup and truffled turkey with roasted chestnuts and
Spanish sweetmeats. In fact they had all the good things that were
appropriate to Christmas Day, and nothing was lacking to make their
holiday meal complete.
After the afternoon siesta, it was time for another walk, and this time
both their parents went with them for a stroll under the elms of the
beautiful Alameda, a street which is lined with splendid palaces on
either side. Everybody was out for a promenade and they met many
friends. Then they continued their walk in the gardens of the Alcazar,
the beautiful palace of which all Seville is proud. Here their father
told them more stories of the building of the palace in the days when
the Moors held Seville as their own, by means of the heavy fortified
walls which have long since fallen in ruins. But the children preferred
the tales of their own people and made him tell other stories of the
beautiful Queen Isabella who once held court there. Antonio and Anitia
were home-loving children and they thought no city in the world could be
more beautiful than their own sunny Seville.
The hours passed too quickly. It seemed to the children that the day was
only fairly begun when the afternoon shadows began to lengthen and their
walk was over. When they reached home, they found Mariquita impatient to
tell them her good news. She said she was the happiest girl in all
Seville, for her parents had relented and she was going home to be
formally betrothed to Don Francisco. In fact she was quite ready to go
and was only waiting to bid them good-bye.
It was hard to have her leave them and Anitia could scarcely keep back
the tears when she thought that Mariquita would not live with them any
longer. But she smiled again at the prospect of the wedding in the near
future, for Mariquita declared that Don Francisco’s brave little
“defensores” should be numbered first among her wedding guests.
So the Christmas Day ended happily for all, and two tired children were
glad when nightfall came.
“It’s only a week until New Year’s,” said Anitia, “and then Mariquita
will be a bride.”
“And in another week comes the Feast of the Three Kings,” said her
brother. “You know that is the day that the Wise Men pass by on their
way to visit the Christ-child. We mustn’t forget to put some straw in
our shoes and place them outside where the Magi’s horses can see them.”
“Of course we won’t forget,” answered his sister, reproachfully, “for
you know, Antonio, I think the happiest part of our holiday has been
when we were making gifts to others.”
And with this wise little speech, Anitia said good-night rather
sleepily, quite unconscious that she had found the secret of real
Christmas happiness which so many seek in vain.
THE END.
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