The Devotion of Enriquez

"The Devotion of Enriquez" is a short story by Bret Harte, set in the rugged landscapes of California's Gold Rush era. The narrative centers on the character Enriquez, a loyal and devoted Mexican servant who navigates themes of love, sacrifice, and cultural tensions. Through his unwavering dedication to a wealthy American family, the story explores the complexities of loyalty across social and racial divides, ultimately revealing profound insights into human relationships and the moral dilemmas faced by individuals in a rapidly changing society. Harte's vivid storytelling and rich characterizations offer a poignant reflection on honor and devotion in an era marked by both opportunity and conflict.

• Short story

								
In another chronicle which dealt with the exploits of "Chu Chu,"
a Californian mustang, I gave some space to the accomplishments of
Enriquez Saltillo, who assisted me in training her, and who was also
brother to Consuelo Saitillo, the young lady to whom I had freely given
both the mustang and my youthful affections. I consider it a proof of
the superiority of masculine friendship that neither the subsequent
desertion of the mustang nor that of the young lady ever made the
slightest difference to Enriquez or me in our exalted amity. To a
wondering doubt as to what I ever could possibly have seen in his sister
to admire he joined a tolerant skepticism of the whole sex. This he was
wont to express in that marvelous combination of Spanish precision and
California slang for which he was justly famous. "As to thees women and
their little game," he would say, "believe me, my friend, your old
Oncle 'Enry is not in it. No; he will ever take a back seat when lofe is
around. For why? Regard me here! If she is a horse, you shall say, 'She
will buck-jump,' 'She will ess-shy,' 'She will not arrive,' or 'She will
arrive too quick.' But if it is thees women, where are you? For when you
shall say, 'She will ess-shy,' look you, she will walk straight; or
she will remain tranquil when you think she buck-jump; or else she will
arrive and, look you, you will not. You shall get left. It is ever so.
My father and the brother of my father have both make court to my mother
when she was but a senorita. My father think she have lofe his brother
more. So he say to her: 'It is enofe; tranquillize yourself. I will go.
I will efface myself. Adios! Shake hands! Ta-ta! So long! See you
again in the fall.' And what make my mother? Regard me! She marry my
father--on the instant! Of thees women, believe me, Pancho, you shall
know nothing. Not even if they shall make you the son of your father or
his nephew."

I have recalled this characteristic speech to show the general tendency
of Enriquez' convictions at the opening of this little story. It is
only fair to say, however, that his usual attitude toward the sex he so
cheerfully maligned exhibited little apprehension or caution in dealing
with them. Among the frivolous and light-minded intermixture of his race
he moved with great freedom and popularity. He danced well; when we went
to fandangos together his agility and the audacity of his figures
always procured him the prettiest partners, his professed sentiments,
I presume, shielding him from subsequent jealousies, heartburnings,
or envy. I have a vivid recollection of him in the mysteries of the
SEMICUACUA, a somewhat corybantic dance which left much to the invention
of the performers, and very little to the imagination of the spectator.
In one of the figures a gaudy handkerchief, waved more or less
gracefully by dancer and danseuse before the dazzled eyes of each other,
acted as love's signal, and was used to express alternate admiration
and indifference, shyness and audacity, fear and transport, coyness
and coquetry, as the dance proceeded. I need not say that Enriquez'
pantomimic illustration of these emotions was peculiarly extravagant;
but it was always performed and accepted with a gravity that was an
essential feature of the dance. At such times sighs would escape him
which were supposed to portray the incipient stages of passion;
snorts of jealousy burst from him at the suggestion of a rival; he was
overtaken by a sort of St. Vitus's dance that expressed his timidity in
making the first advances of affection; the scorn of his ladylove struck
him with something like a dumb ague; and a single gesture of invitation
from her produced marked delirium. All this was very like Enriquez; but
on the particular occasion to which I refer, I think no one was prepared
to see him begin the figure with the waving of FOUR handkerchiefs! Yet
this he did, pirouetting, capering, brandishing his silken signals like
a ballerina's scarf in the languishment or fire of passion, until, in a
final figure, where the conquered and submitting fair one usually
sinks into the arms of her partner, need it be said that the ingenious
Enriquez was found in the center of the floor supporting four of the
dancers! Yet he was by no means unduly excited either by the plaudits of
the crowd or by his evident success with the fair. "Ah, believe me, it
is nothing," he said quietly, rolling a fresh cigarette as he leaned
against the doorway. "Possibly, I shall have to offer the chocolate or
the wine to thees girls, or make to them a promenade in the moonlight
on the veranda. It is ever so. Unless, my friend," he said, suddenly
turning toward me in an excess of chivalrous self-abnegation, "unless
you shall yourself take my place. Behold, I gif them to you! I vamos!
I vanish! I make track! I skedaddle!" I think he would have carried
his extravagance to the point of summoning his four gypsy witches of
partners, and committing them to my care, if the crowd had not at
that moment parted before the remaining dancers, and left one of
the onlookers, a tall, slender girl, calmly surveying them through
gold-rimmed eyeglasses in complete critical absorption. I stared in
amazement and consternation; for I recognized in the fair stranger Miss
Urania Mannersley, the Congregational minister's niece!

Everybody knew Rainie Mannersley throughout the length and breadth of
the Encinal. She was at once the envy and the goad of the daughters of
those Southwestern and Eastern immigrants who had settled in the valley.
She was correct, she was critical, she was faultless and observant. She
was proper, yet independent; she was highly educated; she was suspected
of knowing Latin and Greek; she even spelled correctly! She could wither
the plainest field nosegay in the hands of other girls by giving the
flowers their botanical names. She never said "Ain't you?" but "Aren't
you?" She looked upon "Did I which?" as an incomplete and imperfect
form of "What did I do?" She quoted from Browning and Tennyson, and was
believed to have read them. She was from Boston. What could she possibly
be doing at a free-and-easy fandango?

Even if these facts were not already familiar to everyone there, her
outward appearance would have attracted attention. Contrasted with
the gorgeous red, black, and yellow skirts of the dancers, her
plain, tightly fitting gown and hat, all of one delicate gray, were
sufficiently notable in themselves, even had they not seemed, like the
girl herself, a kind of quiet protest to the glaring flounces before
her. Her small, straight waist and flat back brought into greater relief
the corsetless, waistless, swaying figures of the Mexican girls, and her
long, slim, well-booted feet, peeping from the stiff, white edges of her
short skirt, made their broad, low-quartered slippers, held on by the
big toe, appear more preposterous than ever. Suddenly she seemed
to realize that she was standing there alone, but without fear or

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