My great-great grandfather's house stood a short distance from the cathedral plaza. It occupied a third of a city block and presented a severe, uncompromising facade to what had become the main shopping street of the town. At the street level its walls of thick masonry were pierced by heavy doors leading into rooms which had once been offices and storerooms for the produce of the haciendas and were now let to a silversmith, a linen draper and an importer of American shoes. One massive arched door, studded with hand wrought nails, admitted the visitor to the house itself. French windows adorned the upper storey, giving on to balconies with simple iron rails. The house had been painted a creamy yellow - now mellowed by years of sun and rain.

The patio had changed much with the years. I knew it only in its last phase when it mirrored the refined taste of my Aunt Carlota - acquired during her travels in Europe. -- Four neat grass plots, bordered with violets and jade-like "frescura", lay around a dainty summer house of lattice work which had the opening of the water cistern. La France roses, imported from Havana and carefully tended, gave scent and colour. High up - along the balustrade of the corridors which bordered two sides of the upper storey of the house - the line of pink and green continued; for terracotta pots of springeraia and roses were placed at intervals.

The dining room was flanked by two bedrooms, vast and severe; with heavy mahogany and walnut wardrobes, stiff chairs, and statues of saints in glass cases as their only furniture. I was never encouraged to explore these regions, though my Aunt Carlota did not seem to mind my going into the drawing room. The severity of this room was mitigated by the airy height of its ceiling which was supported by great beams of cedar, and by the graceful, shell-like ornamentation, scooped out of the thickness of the wall, which crowned the French windows. Quaintly stiff and dignified portraits of bygone Regils hung on the walls, contrasting strangely with the cheap bentwood and cane furniture which had replaced the old mahogany pieces as a concession to modernity. (My mother remembered the room when it still boasted its full complement of forty-eight mahogany chairs - made in 1820 and placed there by Don Pedro de Regil y Estrada - whose fine portrait dominated one end of the room. These chairs had been relegated to the corridor - where they were at the mercy of wind and rain.)

Felipa and Julia were the daughters of Jose Maria Fajardo and Dona Felipa Pacheco y Galera.  

My Great-aunt Felipa was unique. Born in 18__ she was one of the several pretty daughters of ____ Fajardo. The Fajardos were well born but poor, so that it was a distinct triumph when in 185_ one of the sisters, Julia, married the wealthy and cultured Pedro de Regil y Peon. I have a daguerreotype of my grandmother made about this time, which shows a rather lovely girl, with oval face, fine eyes and a good figure. But the expression is both brooding and petulant.

I have also a picture of Felipa - possibly taken at the same time. She was a tiny thing, slender and erect, her head carried proudly. Her features were irregular, her hair black and wavy, her black eyes, under heavy brows, magnificent. (They sparkled and flashed - expressing joy - anger - pity - sadness - they were the most alive eyes I have ever seen. I only knew Tia Felipa as an old lady. By that time the black hair was snowy, the slender body less erect. But the eyes were just as alive, the head just as proudly held.

In things of the mind and spirit the girl and the old woman were the same. A lack of formal education was more than compensated by an amazing clarity of thought, sparkling wit and plain common sense. Her mind was so uncluttered that she could see things, events and persons with piercing clarity - and her memory was prodigious and exact.

All her life she was fearless. She spoke her mind, but since she was so completely honest and sincere - no one resented her outspokenness. To her family and friends - and the latter came from all walks of life, she was deeply loyal. A devout Catholic, she, unlike some of the other relatives, never paraded her religious feelings, and I am inclined to believe she was tolerant of sinners, though she might chastise them with her tongue - in private.

She preserved certain sensibilities and delicacies of behavior which were, even at the turn of the century, quite obsolete. In England Mother and I, starved for news of our friends in Mérida - would have to put up with polite conversation on the weather - or enquiries as to our health when we received letters from tia Felipa. In her youth gossip, especially via the mails, had not been considered genteel, I would marvel at how she succeeded so well in hiding her vibrant personality behind these platitudes written in a flowing copperplate.

Her early life was a mystery to her nephews and nieces. I think many men must have fallen in love with her but on this subject her lips were closed. I do know that many men sought her friendship and advice - even when she was quite old.

From the age of 15 she had lived in her brother-in-law's house - helping her sister Julia with the upbringing of the five children. She must have supervised the many servants and retainers of that great and complex establishment, because the bond which existed between her and some of the old servants was a very close one - based on years of shared experiences.

I suppose she never had much money - for her personal effects were of the simplest, save for a few jewels which had been gifts. However, she did own a small house on the outskirts of the town - to which she would go every now and again for a few days of quiet and country air. I only went there once, and was surprised by its rustic charm. The house was small and nondescript but was kept sweet and shining by the two old servants who lived there. But if the house was poor the garden was a revelation. Over the years, by a system of selection of the finest, my great-aunt had created an orchard of choicest fruit trees all grown from seed. An ascetic in her eating habits she had one weakness - she could never resist fine fruit. So her friends would send her the choice produce of their orchards, and she in turn would lay aside the seeds of the best fruit. These would be sent to her Quinta where an old gardener would plant them, then tend the young shoots and then the tree, till in the fullness of time, it produced fine fruit of its own. Knowing no science her inquiring mind and keen sense of observation led her to the same results achieved by the great horticulturists of the century.

She had strong political feeling, and, as an ardent imperialist, held the republican regime in scorn. When President Porfirio Diaz visited this far off corner of the republic in 190_ tia Felipa left town and traveled to Cuba. She did not wish to share the same sky with the victor of the battle of Puebla.

I have lived to regret that I did not listen more carefully to her stories of the Empire and of Carlota's visit to Yucatan. As a child I found the delights of the kitchen of the big house more alluring than long accounts of events which seemed already shadowy and unimportant and I would make my escape as soon as I could. Though not too soon, because my Great-aunt Felipa had old fashioned ideas on the requirements of courtesy. (The younger generation came in for many an acid comment.) Nevertheless I did absorb some of the "feel" of that earlier period: of the sincere and passionate attachment to the blond young Emperor Maximillian and his enigmatic Carlota on the part of some - balancing an equally sincere and passionate attachment to the republican cause on the part of others. Who is to say which were right?

There were other tales which I found more interesting - and one sticks in my memory as throwing light on the courtesy and good breeding of those times. Midway through the century many families were penniless due to the Indian War of '48 and to civil strife. When the time came for the traditional carnival balls, lest any young lady suffer from lack of an appropriate dress - the sponsors of the ball decreed that all should come dressed in tarletan (cheapest of all materials) adorned only with fresh flowers. The girls must have looked charming.

Endearing quirks of my Great-aunt Felipa were her passion for cleanliness and her equal passion for certain barly sugar candies procurable only in London. Also for English needles and fine black lisle hose. The latter were difficult to find, for her foot was so tiny that no English shop would have them in stock. It is my theory that Walpole's would order them from France - to oblige my mother, who was an old and valued customer. With these stockings tia Felipa wore little shoes of black stuff - such as must have been familiar to Miss Austen - and forerunners of today's "ballerina's".

The bath, from which she emerged a chaste Venus delicately perfumed with the finest of Castille soap and rice powder, was a daily ritual which started with two maids wheeling into her room an ancient, ponderous hip bath mounted on two wheels. Buckets of hot and cold water followed, and a handmaiden carrying a very large bath towel. As the last of the singular procession entered the room the great doors were shut. If by some chance my mother arrived during the period of the bath, a comfortable leather chair was placed for her on the outer side of the door and the visit would proceed (conversation between the two ladies being conducted through the transom) to the accompaniment of gentle sounds of splashing and the soft movements of the maids. When the portals were at last flung open, and the procession of maids, bath towel, and bath emerged, we would go in to find Tia Felipa sitting in her hammock, delicately powdering her face with 'creme de riz', her black eyes, now losing their sight, riveted on a hand mirror.

Conversation would ripple and flow for a little and then be interrupted by the arrival of the lunch tray. Tiny portions of food lay on tiny plates and though the food was of the plainest it had to be beautifully cooked and seasoned. She would take a few mouthfuls then push away the tray, apologizing for her lack of appetite. "I have always eaten little - I was called "la nina de la media almendra'" (the girl of half an almond) and she would smile with pleasure at memories brought back by this mild witticism. It was difficult for me with my hearty appetite to understand how she could have resisted for so many years the delicacies which came from my grandmother's kitchen.