returned to the house, and heard some ladies play upon a harp, so called, a small, light instrument in that form, but without pedals, so light, that they can lift it with one hand; and yet the music they bring from it is surprising; one air after another, a little monotonously, but with great ease and a certain execution, and with the additional merit of being self-taught.
I imagine that there must be a great deal of musical taste thrown away here. There are pianos in almost every house, and one lady, who came to see me to-day, and whose mother was English, had been extremely well taught, and played with great taste. They attempted dancing, but having no masters, can only learn by what they hear. On the balcony this evening, it was delightful, and the moon is a universal beautifier.
21st.—We walked about the city yesterday, and returned visits. The streets are clean, and some few churches tolerably handsome.
The Comicos came in the morning to offer us the centre box in the theatre, it being the benefit night of Donna Inocencia Martinez from Madrid, a favourite of the public, and, in fact, a pretty woman and good comic actress. The theatre is small, and, they say, generally deserted, but last night it was crowded. The drop-scene represents the fine arts, who are so fat, that their condition here must be flourishing. We were, however, agreeably disappointed in the performance, which was the "Segunda Dama Duende," nearly a translation from the "Domino Noir," and very amusing; full of excellent coups-de-theatre. Donna Inocencia in her various characters, as domino, servant-girl, abbess, etc., was very handsome, and acted with great spirit. Moreover, she and her sister, with two Spaniards, danced the Jota Aragonesa in perfection, so that we spent a pleasant evening, upon the whole, within the precincts of the city of the True Cross.
To-morrow is the day fixed for our departure, and we shall not be sorry to leave this place, although this house is excellent, a whole suite of rooms given to us, and neither ceremony nor gene of any sort. The weather is certainly beautiful. The heat may be a little oppressive in the middle of the day, but the evenings are cool and delightful.
Departure from Vera Cruz
We had a visit yesterday from the English and French consuls. M. de—— prophesies broken arms and dislodged teeth, if we persist in our plan of taking the diligence—but all things balanced, we think it preferable to every other conveyance. General Victoria returned to see us this morning, and was very civil and amiable, offering very cordially every service and assistance in his power. We are to rise to-morrow at two, being invited to breakfast with General Santa Anna, at his country-seat Manga de Clavo, a few leagues from this.
We have been sitting on the balcony till very late, enjoying the moonlight and refreshing breeze from the sea, and as we rise before daybreak, our rest will be but short.
LETTER THE FIFTH
Departure from Vera Cruz—Sandhills—Oriental Scene—Manga de
Clavo—General Santa Anna—Breakfast—Escort and Diligence—Santa
Fe—Puente National—Bridge sketched by Mrs. Ward—Country in
December—Don Miguel—First Impressions—Fruit—Plan del Rio—German
Musicians—Sleeping Captain—Approach to Jalapa—Appearance of the
City—Cofre de Perote-Flowers—House and Rock—Last View of Jalapa—Change
of Scenery—San Miguel de los Soldados—Perote—Striking Scene before
Daybreak—Non-arrival of Escort—Yankee Coachman—Dispute—Departure
—Company of Lancers—Alcalde—Breakfast at La Ventilla—Pulque—Double
Escort—Crosses—Brigand-looking Tavern-keeper—Ojo de Agua—Arrival at
Puebla—Dress of the Peasants—Christmas-eve—Inn—"Nacimento."
JALAPA, 23rd December.
Yesterday morning at two o'clock we rose by candlelight, with the pleasant prospect of leaving Vera Cruz and of seeing Santa Anna. Two boxes, called carriages, drawn by mules, were at the door, to convey us to Magna de Clavo. Señor V—o, C—n, the commander of the Jason, and I being encased in them, we set off half-asleep. By the faint light, we could just distinguish as we passed the gates, and the carriages ploughed their way along nothing but sand—sand—as far as the eye could reach; a few leagues of Arabian desert.
At length we began to see symptoms of vegetation; occasional palm-trees and flowers, and by the time we had reached a pretty Indian village, where we stopped to change mules, the light had broke in, and we seemed to have been transported, as if by enchantment, from a desert to a garden. It was altogether a picturesque and striking scene; the huts composed of bamboo, and thatched with palm-leaves, the Indian women with their long black hair standing at the doors with their half-naked children, the mules rolling themselves on the ground, according to their favourite fashion, snow-white goats browsing amongst the palm-trees, and the air so soft and balmy, the first fresh breath of morning; the dew-drops still glittering on the broad leaves of the banana and palm, and all around so silent, cool, and still.
The huts, though poor, were clean; no windows, but a certain subdued light makes its way through the leafy canes. We procured some tumblers of new milk, and having changed mules, pursued our journey, now no longer through hills of sand, but across the country, through a wilderness of trees and flowers, the glowing productions of tierra caliente. We arrived about five at Manga de Clavo, after passing through leagues of natural garden, the property of Santa Anna.
The house is pretty, slight-looking, and kept in nice order. We were received by an aide-de-camp in uniform, and by several officers, and conducted to a large, cool, agreeable apartment, with little furniture, into which shortly entered the Señora de Santa Anna, tall, thin, and, at that early hour of the morning, dressed to receive us in clear white muslin, with white satin shoes, and with very splendid diamond earrings, brooch, and rings. She was very polite, and introduced her daughter Guadalupe, a miniature of her mamma, in features and costume.
In a little while entered General Santa Anna himself; a gentlemanly, good-looking, quietly-dressed, rather melancholy-looking person, with one leg, apparently somewhat of an invalid, and to us the most interesting person in the group. He has a sallow complexion, fine dark eyes, soft and penetrating, and an interesting expression of face. Knowing nothing of his past history, one would have said a philosopher, living in dignified retirement—one who had tried the world, and found that all was vanity—one who had suffered ingratitude, and who, if he were ever persuaded to emerge from his retreat, would only do so, Cincinnatus-like, to benefit his country. It is strange, how frequently this expression of philosophic-resignation, of placid sadness, is to be remarked on the countenances of the deepest, most ambitious, and most designing men. C—n gave him a letter from the Queen, written under the supposition of his being still President, with which he seemed much pleased, but merely made the innocent observation, "How very well the Queen writes!"
It was only now and then, that the expression of his eye was startling, especially when he spoke of his leg, which is cut off below the knee. He speaks of it frequently, like Sir John Ramorny of his bloody hand, and when he gives an account of his wound, and alludes to the French on that day, his countenance assumes that air of bitterness which Ramorny's may have exhibited when speaking of "Harry the Smith."
Otherwise, he made himself very agreeable, spoke
