XVIII.
At sunrise the next morning the guests of Casa Grande were horsed andready to start for the Mission. The valley between the house and theMission was alive with the immediate rancheros and their families, andthe people of the town, aristocrats and populace.
At Estenega's suggestion, I climbed with him to the attic of thetower, much to the detriment of my frock. But I made no complaintafter Diego had removed the dusty little windows on both sides andI looked through the apertures at the charming scene. The rising sungave added fire to the bright red tiles of the long white Mission,and threw a pink glow on its noble arches and towers and on the whitemassive aqueduct. The bells were crashing their welcome to the bride.The deep valley, wooded and rocky, was pervaded by the soft glow ofthe awakening, but was as lively as midday. There were horses of everycolor the Lord has decreed that horses shall wear. The saddles uponthem were of embossed leather or rich embroidered silk heavily mountedwith silver. Above all this gorgeousness sat the caballeros andthe donas, in velvet and silk, gold lace and Spanish, jewels andmantillas, and silver-weighted sombreros; a confused mass of color andmotion; a living picture, shifting like a kaleidoscope. Nor wasthis all: brown, soberly-dressed old men and women in satin-paddedcarretas,--heavy ox-carts on wheels made from solid sections of trees,and driven by a ganan seated on one of the animals; the populace incheap finery, some on foot, others astride old mules or broken-windedhorses, two or three on one lame old hack; all chattering, shouting,eager, interested, impatiently awaiting the bride and a week ofpleasure.
In the court-yard and plaza before it the guests of the house weremounted on a caponera of palominas,--horses peculiar to the country;beautiful creatures, golden-bronze, and burnished, with luxuriantmanes and tails which waved and shone like the sparkling silver ofa water-fall. A number were riderless, awaiting the pleasure of thebridal party. One alone was white as a Californian fog. He lifted hishead and pranced as if aware of his proud distinction. The aquera andsaddle which embellished his graceful beauty were of pink silk workedwith delicate leaves in gold and silver thread. The stirrups, cut fromblocks of wood, were elaborately carved. The glistening reins weremade from the long crystal hairs of his mane, and linked with silver.A strip of pink silk, joined at the ends with a huge rosette, washung from the high silver pommel of the saddle, depending on the leftside,--a stirrup for my lady's foot.
A deeper murmur, a sudden lining of sombreros and waving of littlehands, proclaimed that the bridal party had appeared, and we hasteneddown.
Prudencia, the mantilla of the _donas_ depending from a comb sixinches high, was attired in a white satin gown with a train ofportentous length, and looked like a kitten with a long tail. Reinaldowas dazzling. He wore white velvet embroidered with gold; his linenand lace were more fragile than cobwebs; his white satin slipperswere clasped with diamond buckles, the same in which his father hadmarried; his jacket was buttoned with diamonds. His white velvetsombrero was covered with plumes. Never have I seen so splendida bridegroom. I saw Estenega grin; but I maintain that, whateverReinaldo's deficiencies, he was a picture to be thankful for thatmorning.
Dona Trinadad was quietly gowned in gray satin, but Don Guillermo wasas picturesque in his way as his son. His black silk handkerchief hadbeen knotted hurriedly about his head, and the four corners hung uponhis neck. His short breeches were of red velvet, his jacket of bluecloth trimmed with large silver buttons and gold lace; his vest wasof yellow damask, his linen embroidered. Attached to his slippers wereenormous silver spurs inlaid with gold, the rowels so long that theyscratched more trains than one that day.
The bridesmaids stood in a group apart, a large bouquet: each worea gown of a different color. Valencia blazed forth in yellow,and flashed triumphant glances at Estenega, now and again one ofirrepressible envy and resentment at Reinaldo. Chonita looked like awater-witch in pale green covered with lace that stirred with everybreath of air; her mantilla was as delicate as sea-spray. About herwas something subtle, awakened, restive, that I noticed for the firsttime. Once she intercepted one of Valencia's lavish glances, and herown eyes were extremely wicked and dangerous for a moment. I looked atEstenega. He was regarding her with a fierce intensity which made himoblivious for the moment of his surroundings. I looked at Valencia.Thunderclouds were those heavy brows, lowered to the lightning whichsprang from depths below. I looked again at Chonita. The pink colorwas in her marble face; pinker were her carven lips.
"God of my soul!" I said to Estenega. "Go home."
"My Prudencia," said Don Guillermo. He lifted her to the pink saddle,adjusted her foot in the pink ribbon, climbed up behind her, placedone arm about her waist, took the bridle in his other hand, andcantered out of the court-yard. Reinaldo sprang to his horse, liftedhis mother in front of him, and followed. Then went the bridesmaids;and the rest of us fell into line as we listed. As we rode up thevalley, those awaiting us joined the cavalcade, the populace closingit, spreading out like a fan attached to the tail of a snake. Thebells rang out a joyful discordant peal; the long undulating line ofmany colors wound through the trees, passed the long corridor of theMission, to the stone steps of the church.
The ceremony was a long one, for communion was given the bride andgroom; and during the greater part of it I do not think Estenegaremoved his gaze from Chonita. I could not help observing her too,although I was deeply impressed with the solemnity of the occasion.Her round womanly figure had never appeared to greater advantage thanin that close-fitting gown; her hips being rather wide, she wore fewergathers than was the fashion. Her faultless arms had a warmth in theirwhiteness; the filmy lace of her mantilla caressed a throat so fulland round and white and firm that it seemed to invite other caresses;even the black pearls clung lovingly about it. Her graceful head wasbent forward a little, and the soft black lashes brushed her cheeks.The pink flush was still in her face, like the first tinge of color onthe chill desolation of dawn.
"Is she not beautiful?" whispered Estenega, eagerly. "Is not that awoman to make known to herself? Think of the infinite possibilities,the sublimation of every----"
Here I ordered him to keep quiet, reminding him that he was in church,a fact he had quite forgotten. I inferred that he remembered it later,for he moved restlessly more than once and looked longingly toward thedoor.
It was over at last, and as the bride and groom appeared in the doorof the church and descended the steps, a salute was fired from thePresidio. On the long corridor a table had been built from end toend and a goodly banquet provided by the padres. We took our seatsat once, the populace gathering about a feast spread for them on thegrass.
Padre Jimeno, the priest who had officiated at the ceremony, sat atthe head of the table; the other priests were scattered among us, andgood company all of them were. We were a very lively party. Prudenciawas toasted until her calm important head whirled. Reinaldo made aspeech as full of flowers as the occasion demanded. Alvarado madeone also, five sentences of plain well-chosen words, to which thebridegroom listened with scorn. Now and again a girl swept the stringsof a guitar or a caballero sang. The delighted shrieks of the peoplecame over to us; at regular intervals cannons were fired.
Estenega found himself seated between Chonita and Valencia. I wasopposite, and beginning to feel profoundly fascinated by this dramadeveloping before my eyes. I saw that he was amused by the situationand not in the least disconcerted. Valencia was nervous and eager.Chonita, whose pride never failed her, had drawn herself up and lookedcoldly indifferent.
"Senor," murmured Valencia, "thou wilt tarry with us long, no? We havemuch to show thee in Santa Barbara, and on our ranchos."
"I fear that I can stay but a week, senorita. I must return to LosAngeles."
"Would nothing tempt thee to stay, Don Diego?"
He looked into her rich Southern face and approved of it: when had heever failed to approve of a pretty woman? "Thine eyes, senorita, wouldtempt a man to forget more than duty."
"And thou wilt stay?"
"When I leave
Santa Barbara what I take of myself will not be worthleaving."
"Ay! and what thou leavest thou never shalt have again."
"There is my hope of heaven, senorita."
He turned from this glittering conversation to Chonita.
"You are a little tired," he said, in a low voice. "Your color hasgone, and the shadows are coming about your eyes."
The suspicion was borne home to her that he must have observed herclosely to detect those shades of difference which no one else hadnoted.
"A little, senor. I went to bed late and rose early. Such times asthese tax the endurance. But after a siesta I shall be refreshed."
"You look strong and very healthy."
"Ay, but I am! I am not delicate at all. I can ride all day, andswim--which few of our women do. I even like to walk; and I can danceevery night for a week. Only, this is an unusual time."
Her supple elastic figure and healthy whiteness of skin betokenedendurance and vitality, and he looked at her with pleasure. "Yes, youare strong," he said. "You look as if you would _last_,--as if younever would grow brown nor stout."
"What difference, if the next generation be beautiful?" she said,lightly. "Look at Don Juan de la Borrasca. See him gaze upon PanchitaLopez, who is just sixteen. What does he care that the women of hisday are coffee-colored and stringy or fat? You will care as littlewhen you too are brown and dried up, afraid to eat dulces, and eachmonth seeking a new parting for your hair."
"You are a hopeful seer! But you--are you resigned to the time wheneven the withered old beau will not look at you,--you who are theloveliest woman in the Californias?"
It was the first compliment he had paid her, and she looked up with aswift blush, then lowered her eyes again. "With truth, I never imaginemyself except as I am now; but I should have always my books, and nohusband to teach me that there were other women more fair."
"And books will suffice, then?"
"Sure." She said it a little wistfully. Then she added, abruptly, "Ishall go to confession this week."
"Ah!"
"Yes; for although I hate you still--that is, I do not like you--Ihave forgiven you. I believe you to be kind and generous, althoughthe enemy of my brother; that if you did oppose him and cast himinto prison, you did so with a loyal motive; you cannot help makingmistakes, for you are but human. And I do not forget that if it werenot for you he would not be a bridegroom to-day. Also, you are notresponsible for being an Estenega; so, although I do not forgive theblood in you,--how could I, and be worthy to bear the name of Iturbi yMoncada?--I forgive you, yourself, for being what you cannot help, andfor what you have unwittingly and mistakenly done. Do you understand?"
"I understand. Your subtleties are magnificent."
"You must not laugh at me. Tell me, how do you like my friendValencia?"
"Well enough. I want to hear more about your confession. You fall backinto the bosom of your Church with joy, I suppose?"
"Ay!"
"And you would never disobey one of her mandates?"
"Holy God! no."
"Why?"
"Why? Because I am a Catholic."
"That is not what I asked you. Why are you a Catholic? if I must makemyself more plain. Why are you afraid to disobey? Why do you cling tothe Church with your back braced against your intelligence? It is hopeof future reward, I suppose,--or fear?"
"Sure. I want to go to the heaven of the good Catholic."
"Do not waste this life, particularly the youth of it, preparing fora legendary hereafter. Granting, for the sake of argument, that thisexistence is supplemented by another: you have no knowledge of whatelements you will be composed when you lay aside your mortal part toenter there. Your power of enjoyment may be very thin indeed, like themusic of a band without brass; the sort of happiness one can imagine ahuman being to experience out of whose anatomy the nervous system hasby some surgical triumph been removed, and in whom love of the artsalone exists, abnormally cultivated. But one thing we of earth doknow; you do not, but I will tell you; we have a slight capacity forhappiness and a large capacity for enjoyment. There is not much inlife, God knows, but there is something. One can get a reasonableamount out of it with due exercise of philosophy. Of that we are sure.Of what comes after we are absolutely unsure."
She had endeavored to interrupt him once or twice, and did so now, hereyes flashing. "Are you an atheist?" she demanded, abruptly. "Are younot a Catholic?"
"I am neither an atheist nor a Catholic. The question of religion hasno interest for me whatever. I wish it had none for you."
She looked at him sternly. For a moment I thought the Doomswoman wouldannihilate the renegade. But her face softened suddenly. "I will prayfor you," she said, and turned to the man at her right.
Estenega's face turned the chalky hue I always dreaded, and he benthis lips to her ear.
"Pray for me many times a day; and at other times recall what I saidabout the relative value of possible and improbable heavens. You are awoman who thinks."
"Don Diego," exclaimed Valencia, unable to control her impatiencelonger, and turning sharply from the caballero who was talking to herin a fiery undertone, "thou hast not spoken to me for ten minutes."
"For ten hours, senorita. Thou hast treated me with the scorn andindifference of one weary of homage."
She blushed with gratification. "It is thou who hast forgotten me."
"Would that I could!"
"Dost thou wish to?"
"When I am away from thee, or thou talkest to other men,--sure."
"It is thy fault if I talk to other men."
"You make me feel the Good Samaritan."
"But I care not to talk to them."
"Thy heart is a comb of honey, senorita. On my knees I accept thelittle morsel the queen bee--thy swift messenger--brings me. Truly,never was sweet so sweetly sweet."
"It is thou who hast the honey on thy tongue, although I fear theremay be a stone in thy heart."
"Ah! Why? No stone could sit so lightly in my breast as my heart whenthose red lips smile to me."
Chonita listened to this conversation with mingled amazement andanger. She did not doubt Estenega's sincerity to herself; neither didValencia appear to doubt him. But his present levity was manifest toher. Why should he care to talk so to another woman? How strange weremen! She gave up the problem.
After the long banquet concluded, the cavalcade formed once more, andwe returned to the town. Prudencia rode her white horse alone thistime, her husband beside her. Leading the cavalcade was the Presidioband. Its members wore red jackets trimmed with yellow cord, Turkishtrousers of white wool, and red Polish caps. With their music mingledthe regular detonations of the Presidio cannon. After we had woundthe length of the valley we made a progress through the town for thebenefit of the populace, who ran to the corridors to watch us, andshouted with delight. But the sun was hot, and we were all glad to bebetween the thick adobe walls once more.
We took a long siesta that day, but hours before dark the populacewas crowded in the court-yard under the booth which had been erectedduring the afternoon. After the early supper the guests of CasaGrande, and our neighbors of the town, filled the sala, the large barerooms adjoining, and the corridors. The old people of both degreesseated themselves in rows against the wall, the fiddles scraped, theguitars twanged, the flutes cooed, and the dancing began.
In the court-yard a small space was cleared, and changing couplesdanced El Jarabe and La Jota,--two stately jigs,--whilst thespectators applauded with wild and impartial enthusiasm, and DonGuillermo from the corridor threw silver coins at the dancers' feet.Now and again a pretty girl would dance alone, her gay skirt liftedwith the tips of her fingers, her eyes fixed upon the ground. A manwould approach from behind and place his hat on her head. Perhaps shewould toss it saucily aside, perhaps let it rest on her coquettishbraids,--a token that its owner was her accepted gallant for theevening.
Above, the slender men and women of the aristocracy, the former inblack and white, the latter in
gowns of vivid richness, danced thecontradanza, the most graceful dance I have ever seen; and since thoseCalifornian days I have lived in almost every capital of Europe.The music is so monotonous and sweet, the figures so melting andharmonious, that to both spectator and dancer comes a dreaming languidcontentment, as were the senses swimming on the brink of sleep.Chonita and Valencia were famous rivals in its rendering, always thesala-stars to those not dancing. Valencia was the perfection of grace,but it was the grace now of the snake, again of the cat. She suggestedfangs and claws, a repressed propensity to sudden leaps. Chonita'sgrace was that of rhythmical music imprisoned in a woman's form ofproportions so perfect that she seemed to dissolve from one figureinto another, swaying, bending, gliding. The soul of grace emanatedfrom her, too evanescent to be seen, but felt as one feels perfume orthe something that is not color in the heart of a rose. Her star-likeeyes were open, but the brain behind them was half asleep: she dancedby instinct.
I was watching the dancing of these two,--the poetry of promise andthe poetry of death,--when suddenly Don Guillermo entered the room,stamped his foot, pulled out his rosary, and instantly we all wentdown on our knees. It was eight of the clock, and this ceremony wasnever omitted in Casa Grande, be the occasion festive or domestic.When we had told our beads, Don Guillermo rose, put his rosary in hispocket, trotted out, and the dancing was resumed.
As the contradanza and its ensuing waltz finished, Estenega went up toChonita. "You are too tired to dance any more to-night," he said. "Letus sit here and talk. Besides, I do not like to see you whirling aboutthe room in men's arms."
"It is nothing to you if I dance with other men," she said,rebelliously, although she took the seat he indicated. "And to danceis not wrong."
"Nothing is wrong. In some countries the biggest liar is king. Weknow as little of ethics--except, to be sure, the ethics ofcivilization--as one sex knows of another. So we fall back oninstinct. I have not a prejudice, but I feel it disgusting to see awoman who is somewhat more to me than other women, embraced by anotherman. It would infuriate me if done in private; why should it not atleast disgust me in public? I care as little for the approving sealof the conventions as I care whether other women--including my ownsisters--waltz or not."
And, alas! from that night Chonita never waltzed again. "It is notthat I care for his opinion," she assured me later; "only he made mefeel that I never wanted a man to touch me again."
Valencia used every art of flashing eyes and pouting lips and gaysally--there was nothing subtle in her methods--to win Estenega to herside; but the sofa on which he sat with Chonita might have beenthe remotest star in the firmament. Then, prompted by pique anddetermination to find ointment for her wounded vanity, she suddenlyopened her batteries upon Reinaldo. That beautiful young bridegroomwas bored to the verge of dissolution by his solemn and sleepyPrudencia, who kept her wide eyes upon him with an expression of raptadoration, exactly as she regarded the Stations in the Mission whenperforming the Via Crucis. Valencia, to his mind, was the handsomestwoman in the room, and he felt the flattery of her assault. Besides,he was safely married. So he drifted to her side, danced with her,flirted with her, devoted himself to her caprices, until every one wasnoting, and I thought that Prudencia would bawl outright. Just in themoment, however, when our nerves were humming, Don Guillermo thumpedon the door with his stick and ordered us all to go to bed.
The Doomswoman: An Historical Romance of Old California Page 18
