DOI article:
Scott, Samuel Mathewson: La Goya: a passion of the Peruvian desert
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.26393#0117
By Samuel Mathewson Scott 113
voices tried to follow while the little feet performed an awkward
dance. I could catch only a few of the words :
Hermanas pastoras,
Vamos a adorar
A1 recien nacido—
Shepherd sisters, let us go to worship the new born child.
Then a procession was formed which marched slowly round
the church between two lines of worshippers. The singing
children walked in front. The priest carried in his arms a figure
of the infant Christ. When the altar was regained, he again
seated himself beneath the canopy and each of the little girls
repeated the song in turn, followed by a chorus of all. The
scene was ended by the two boys, who during the whole
ceremony had performed pantomimic buffooneries while the
orchestra piped, and the little girls circled in the dance. Then the
procession reformed and left the church to repeat the performance
at each house in which was a nacimiento. The congregation
dispersed.
I hurried to the plaza and waited. Soon the Goya came out
and we all sat down on the stone benches, there in the moonlit
square with its soft white walls of houses. They all clamoured
for “ Pascuas,” Christmas presents. I sent for a bottle of
anizado. I don’t know why, but it was pleasant to sit there at
her feet and pay her compliments which her lips pretended to
misunderstand, although her eyes responded : the stilted extrava-
gant Spanish compliments which lay tribute on all the stars and
flowers in the universe, and which sound so absurd in our reserved
English. Indian, savage, what you will, she was still a pretty
woman, and I—I asked no more.
The bottle finished they went to bed, while I roved about
among
voices tried to follow while the little feet performed an awkward
dance. I could catch only a few of the words :
Hermanas pastoras,
Vamos a adorar
A1 recien nacido—
Shepherd sisters, let us go to worship the new born child.
Then a procession was formed which marched slowly round
the church between two lines of worshippers. The singing
children walked in front. The priest carried in his arms a figure
of the infant Christ. When the altar was regained, he again
seated himself beneath the canopy and each of the little girls
repeated the song in turn, followed by a chorus of all. The
scene was ended by the two boys, who during the whole
ceremony had performed pantomimic buffooneries while the
orchestra piped, and the little girls circled in the dance. Then the
procession reformed and left the church to repeat the performance
at each house in which was a nacimiento. The congregation
dispersed.
I hurried to the plaza and waited. Soon the Goya came out
and we all sat down on the stone benches, there in the moonlit
square with its soft white walls of houses. They all clamoured
for “ Pascuas,” Christmas presents. I sent for a bottle of
anizado. I don’t know why, but it was pleasant to sit there at
her feet and pay her compliments which her lips pretended to
misunderstand, although her eyes responded : the stilted extrava-
gant Spanish compliments which lay tribute on all the stars and
flowers in the universe, and which sound so absurd in our reserved
English. Indian, savage, what you will, she was still a pretty
woman, and I—I asked no more.
The bottle finished they went to bed, while I roved about
among