DOI article:
Scott, Samuel Mathewson: La Goya: a passion of the Peruvian desert
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.26393#0131
By Samuel Mathewson Scott 127
escorted her to her new abode. Although he had ridden all night,
the devoted fellow came over early in the morning to tell me of
her safe arrival, and as soon as I could I galloped away to welcome
her.
I found her alone, seated at the table in her sitting-room,
amusing herself by feeding a clamorous young blackbird, which
one of Juan’s daughters had just given her. Owing to the heat
she had thrown off her bodice, and her breast was but lightly
covered by the snowy white sleeveless chemise of her people. In
her hair-ribbon she had tucked the familiar red flower, while
around her neck she wore a little chain with a golden medallion
of her patron saint which I had given her. I shall never forget
the picture she made, as in a half-embarrassed way she turned her
head over her shoulder to look at me, as I paused for a moment
on the threshold to watch her.
She did not say very much about the house. She was quiet,
perhaps a little tired but I could see she was content. And
so my new domestic life has begun.
April.
Perhaps it is the strangeness and half romance of this new life
that most delight me. There is the gallop across the desert in
the splendour of the sunset or in the moonlight to the little
suppers at which she has learned to preside with so much dignity,
while she tells me, with the greatest seriousness, all the trifles of
the day—so diffidently, so appealingly. Then the early ride,
brightened by the nameless colours of morning, while the magic
kiss of the princely sun is warming and waking the sleeping
beauty of the night; the still valley with its little river; the
stunted feathery trees where the white herons perch as in the
pictures on a fan ; the blue hills, the desert, and at last the
flashing
escorted her to her new abode. Although he had ridden all night,
the devoted fellow came over early in the morning to tell me of
her safe arrival, and as soon as I could I galloped away to welcome
her.
I found her alone, seated at the table in her sitting-room,
amusing herself by feeding a clamorous young blackbird, which
one of Juan’s daughters had just given her. Owing to the heat
she had thrown off her bodice, and her breast was but lightly
covered by the snowy white sleeveless chemise of her people. In
her hair-ribbon she had tucked the familiar red flower, while
around her neck she wore a little chain with a golden medallion
of her patron saint which I had given her. I shall never forget
the picture she made, as in a half-embarrassed way she turned her
head over her shoulder to look at me, as I paused for a moment
on the threshold to watch her.
She did not say very much about the house. She was quiet,
perhaps a little tired but I could see she was content. And
so my new domestic life has begun.
April.
Perhaps it is the strangeness and half romance of this new life
that most delight me. There is the gallop across the desert in
the splendour of the sunset or in the moonlight to the little
suppers at which she has learned to preside with so much dignity,
while she tells me, with the greatest seriousness, all the trifles of
the day—so diffidently, so appealingly. Then the early ride,
brightened by the nameless colours of morning, while the magic
kiss of the princely sun is warming and waking the sleeping
beauty of the night; the still valley with its little river; the
stunted feathery trees where the white herons perch as in the
pictures on a fan ; the blue hills, the desert, and at last the
flashing