DOI article:
Scott, Samuel Mathewson: La Goya: a passion of the Peruvian desert
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.26393#0119
By Samuel Mathewson Scott 115
I was received with great cordiality, a spontaneous kindness
mingled with respect, such as you would never find among a
similar class in Europe. Her father is a Serrano, an Indian of
the mountains. Like many of those people, he wears his hair
closely cropped, with the exception of a wide shock in front that
hangs like a thick fringe over his forehead. Besides cultivating
his gardens, he carries on a trade with the interior, whence he
brings back dulces and chancaca—a paste of raw sugar. The
dukes are conserves of fruits and sugar similar to Guava jelly,
and almost sickeningly sweet. The people are very fond of
them.
If the Goya’s mother ever possessed any of her daughter’s
beauty she must have lost it long ago, for no trace of it remains.
But what she lacks in grace she makes up in virtue, for she is
the jolliest, happiest, most gossipy old dame I have met for many a
day. She has several children, all of whom, with the exception of
a young sister, are older than the Goya.
They gave me a great feast at which I sat alone, while all the
rest waited upon me. The Goya was very quiet; she seemed to
be watching me intently, as if she were trying to penetrate the
screen of manners and compliments to discover the real effect of
their efforts to please me. All through the afternoon, even until
I left, she kept up her pondering. I wish I knew what her final
impression was. It would be interesting to know just what was
going on in that little brain, which is separated from mine by all
the forces of the universe save that of human sympathy. And,
after all, what is it that we are always seeking up and down the
world but that one quality that knows no law of intellect, race, or
station ?
Well, such was my Christmas. It might fairly be called a
merry one. I trust yours was no worse.
January.
I was received with great cordiality, a spontaneous kindness
mingled with respect, such as you would never find among a
similar class in Europe. Her father is a Serrano, an Indian of
the mountains. Like many of those people, he wears his hair
closely cropped, with the exception of a wide shock in front that
hangs like a thick fringe over his forehead. Besides cultivating
his gardens, he carries on a trade with the interior, whence he
brings back dulces and chancaca—a paste of raw sugar. The
dukes are conserves of fruits and sugar similar to Guava jelly,
and almost sickeningly sweet. The people are very fond of
them.
If the Goya’s mother ever possessed any of her daughter’s
beauty she must have lost it long ago, for no trace of it remains.
But what she lacks in grace she makes up in virtue, for she is
the jolliest, happiest, most gossipy old dame I have met for many a
day. She has several children, all of whom, with the exception of
a young sister, are older than the Goya.
They gave me a great feast at which I sat alone, while all the
rest waited upon me. The Goya was very quiet; she seemed to
be watching me intently, as if she were trying to penetrate the
screen of manners and compliments to discover the real effect of
their efforts to please me. All through the afternoon, even until
I left, she kept up her pondering. I wish I knew what her final
impression was. It would be interesting to know just what was
going on in that little brain, which is separated from mine by all
the forces of the universe save that of human sympathy. And,
after all, what is it that we are always seeking up and down the
world but that one quality that knows no law of intellect, race, or
station ?
Well, such was my Christmas. It might fairly be called a
merry one. I trust yours was no worse.
January.