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Updated: May 17, 2025
We think not of that. We look beyond it to that promised hour when I am to teach, and she is to learn, what is "to marry." Someone is touching the strings of a bandolin. We look around. Madame Seguin is seated upon a bench, holding the instrument in her hands. She is tuning it. As yet she has not played. There has been no music since our return.
The bandolin was soon placed in concert with the harp, and the strings of both vibrated to the thrilling notes of the Marseillaise. There was something exceedingly graceful in the performance. The instrumentation, as I thought, was perfect; and the voices of the players accompanied it in a sweet and spirited harmony.
She sings it, accompanying her voice with the bandolin. She throws all her energy into the song until the strain seems inspired. She gives the words with full and passionate effect "Tu duermes, cara nina! Tu duertnes en la paz. Los angeles del cielo Los angeles guardan, guardan, Nina mia! Ca ra mi " The song was interrupted by a cry a cry of singular import uttered by the girl.
I will desist and spare details, which to you may be of little interest. In return, do me the favour to believe, that the being who impressed me then and for ever was beautiful, was lovely. "Ah! it wod be ver moch kindness if madame and ma'm'selle wod play la Marseillaise, la grande Marseillaise. What say mein liebe fraulein!" "Zoe, Zoe! take thy bandolin.
My dream was broken by the abrupt cessation of the music. I thought I heard, through my sleep, the opening of a door. When I looked to the spot lately occupied by the musicians, I saw that they were gone. The bandolin had been thrown down upon the ottoman, where it lay, but "she" was not there.
One evening, as usual, we sat under the solemn shadow of the grove. We had brought with us the guitar and bandolin; but, after a few notes had been struck, the music was forgotten, and the instruments lay upon the grass at our feet. We loved to listen to the music of our own voices. We preferred the utterance of our own thoughts to the sentiments of any song, however sweet.
In one corner half a dozen sons of Orpheus twanged away upon harp, guitar, and bandolin; occasionally helping out the music with a shrill half-Indian chant. In another angle of the apartment, puros, and Taos whisky were dealt out to the thirsty mountaineers, who made the sala ring with their wild ejaculations. There were scenes like the following:
There are bedsteads of bamboo; the universal tortilla-stone; mats of palm-leaf; baskets of the same material; a small altar-like fireplace in the middle of the floor; a bandolin hanging by the wall; a saddle of stamped leather, profusely ornamented with silver nails and plates; a hair bridle, with huge Mameluke bit; an escopette and sword, or machete; an endless variety of gaily-painted bowls, dishes, and cups, but neither knife, fork, nor spoon.
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