X.

Casa Grande,[A] the mansion of the Iturbi y Moncadas in Santa Barbara,

stood at the right of the Presidio, facing the channel. A mile behind,

under the shadow of the gaunt rocky hills curving about the valley,

was the long white Mission, with its double towers, corridor of many

arches, and sloping roof covered with red tiles. Between was the wild

valley where cattle grazed among the trees and the massive bowlders.

The red-tiled white adobe houses of the Presidio and of the little

town clustered under its wing, the brown mud huts of the Indians, were

grouped in the foreground of the deep valley.

The great house of the Iturbi y Moncadas, erected in the first years

of the century, was built about three sides of a court, measuring one

hundred feet each way. Like most of the adobes of its time, it had

but one story. A wide pillared corridor, protected by a sloping

roof, faced the court, which was as bare and hard as the floor of a

ball-room. Behind the dwelling were the manufactories and huts of the

Indian retainers. Don Guillermo Iturbi y Moncada was the magnate of

the South. His ranchos covered four hundred thousand acres; his

horses and cattle were unnumbered. His Indians, carpenters, coopers,

saddlers, shoemakers, weavers, manufacturers of household staples,

supplied the garrison and town with the necessaries of life; he also

did a large trading business in hides and tallow. Rumor had it that in

the wooden tower built against the back of the house he kept gold by

the bushel-basketful; but no one called him miser, for he gave the

poor of the town all they ate and wore, and kept a supply of drugs for

their sick. So beloved and revered was he that when earthquakes shook

the town, or fires threatened it from the hills, the poor ran in a

body to the court-yard of Casa Grande and besought his protection.

They never passed him without saluting to the ground, nor his house

without bending their heads. And yet they feared him, for he was an

irascible old gentleman at times, and thumped unmercifully when in a

temper. Chonita, alone, could manage him always.

When I returned to Santa Barbara with Chonita after her visit to

Monterey, the yellow fruit hung in the padres' orchard, the grass was

burning brown, sky and water were the hard blue of metal.

The afternoon of our arrival, Don Guillermo, Chonita, and I were on

the long middle corridor of the house: in Santa Barbara one lived in

the air. The old don sat on the long green bench by the sala door. His

heavy, flabby, leathery face had no wrinkles but those which curved

from the corners of the mouth to the chin. The thin upper lip was

habitually pressed hard against the small protruding under one, the

mouth ending in straight lines which seemed no part of the lips. His

small slanting eyes, usually stern, could snap with anger, as they did

to-day. The nose rose suddenly from the middle of his face; it might

have been applied by a child sculpturing with putty; the flat bridge

was crossed by erratic lines. A bang of grizzled hair escaped from the

black silk handkerchief wound as tightly as a turban about his head.

He wore short clothes of dark brown cloth, the jacket decorated

with large silver buttons, a red damask vest, shoes of embroidered

deer-skin, and a cravat of fine linen.

Chonita, in a white gown, a pale-green reboso about her shoulders, her

arms crossed, her head thoughtfully bent forward, walked slowly up and

down before him.

"Holy God!" cried the old man, pounding the floor with his stick.

"That they have dared to arrest my son!--the son of Guillermo Iturbi y

Moncada! That Alvarado, my friend and thy host, should have permitted

it!"

"Do not blame Alvarado, my father. Remember, he must listen to the

Departmental Junta; and this is their work." "Fool that I am!" she

added to herself, "why do I not tell who alone is to blame? But I need

no one to help me hate him!"

"Is it true that this Estenega of whom I hear so much is a member of

the Junta?"

"It may be."

"If so, it is he, he alone, who has brought dishonor upon my house.

Again they have conquered!"

"This Estenega I met--and who was _compadre_ with me for the baby--is

little in California, my father. If it be he who is a member of the

Junta, he could hardly rule such men as Alvarado, Jimeno, and Castro.

I saw no other Estenega."

"True! I must have other enemies in the North; but I had not known

of it. But they shall learn of my power in the South. Don Juan de la

Borrasca went to-day to Los Angeles with a bushel of gold to bail my

son, and both will be with us the day after to-morrow. A curse upon

Carillo--but I will speak of it no more. Tell me, my daughter,--God

of my soul, but I am glad to have thee back!--what thoughtest thou of

this son of the Estenegas? Is it Ramon, Esteban, or Diego? I have seen

none of them since they were little ones. I remember Diego well. He

had lightning in his little tongue, and the devil in his brain. I

liked him, although he was the son of my enemy; and if he had been an

Iturbi y Moncada I would have made a great man of him. Ay! but he was

quick. One day in Monterey, he got under my feet and I fell flat, much

imperilling my dignity, for it was on Alvarado Street, and I was a

member of the Territorial Deputation. I could have beaten him, I was

so angry; but he scrambled to his little feet, and, helping me to

mine, he said, whilst dodging my stick, 'Be not angry, señor. I gave

my promise to the earth that thou shouldst kiss her, for all the world

has prayed that she should not embrace thee for ninety years to come.'

What could I do? I gave him a cake. Thou smilest, my daughter; but

thou wilt not commend the enemy of thy house, no? Ah, well, we grow

less bitter as we grow old; and although I hated his father I liked

Diego. Again, I remember, I was in Monterey, and he was there; his

father and I were both members of the Deputation. Caramba! what hot

words passed between us! But I was thinking of Diego. I took a volume

of Shakespeare from him one day. 'Thou art too young to read such

books,' I said. 'A baby reading what the good priests allow not men

to read. I have not read this heretic book of plays, and yet thou dost

lie there on thy stomach and drink in its wickedness.' 'It is true,'

he said, and how his steel eyes did flash; 'but when I am as old as

you, señor, my stomach will be flat and my head will be big. Thou

art the enemy of my father, but--hast thou noticed?--thy stomach is

bigger than his, and he has conquered thee in speech and in politics

more times than thou hast found vengeance for. Ay!--and thy ranchos

have richer soil and many more cattle, but he has a library, Don

Guillermo, and thou hast not.' I spanked him then and there; but I

never forgot what he said, and thou hast read what thou listed. I

would not that the children of Alejandro Estenega should know more

than those of Guillermo Iturbi y Moncada."

"Thou hast cause to be proud of Reinaldo, for he sparkles like the

spray of the fountain, and words are to him like a shower of leaves in

autumn. And yet, and yet," she added, with angry candor, "he has not a

brain like Diego Estenega. _He_ is not a man, but a devil."

"A good brain has always a devil at the wheel; sharp eyes have sharper

nerves behind; and lightning from a big soul flashes fear into a

little one. Diego is not a devil,--I remember once I had a headache,

and he bathed my head, and the water ran down my neck and gave me a

cold which put me to bed for a week,--but he is the devil's godson,

and were he not the son of my enemy I should love him. His father was

cruel and vicious--but smart, Holy Mary! Diego has his brain; but he

has, too, the kind heart and gentle manner--Ay! Holy God!--Come, come:

here are the horses. Call Prudencia, and we will go to the bark and

see what the good captain has brought to tempt us."

Four horses led by vaqueros, had entered the court-yard.

"Prudencia," called Chonita.

A door opened, and a girl of small figure, with solemn dark eyes and

cream-like skin, her hair hanging in heavy braids to her feet, stepped

upon the corridor, draping a pink reboso about her head.

"I am here, my cousin," she said, walking with all the dignity of the

Spanish woman, despite her plump and inconsiderable person. "Thou art

rested, Doña Eustaquia? Do we go to the ship, my uncle? and shall we

buy this afternoon? God of my life! I wonder has he a high comb to

make me look tall, and flesh-colored stockings. My own are gone with

holes. I do not like white--"

"Hush thy chatter," said her uncle. "How can I tell what the captain

has until I see? Come, my children."

We sprang to our saddles, Don Guillermo mounted heavily, and we

cantered to the beach, followed by the ox-cart which would carry the

fragile cargo home. A boat took us to the bark, which sat motionless

on the placid channel. The captain greeted us with the lively welcome

due to eager and frequent purchasers.

"Now, curb thy greed," cried Don Guillermo, as the girls dropped down

the companion-way, "for thou hast more now than thou canst wear in

five years. God of my soul! if a bark came every day they would want

every shred on board. My daughter could tapestry the old house with

the shawls she has."

When I reached the cabin I found the table covered with silks,

satins, crêpe, shawls, combs, articles of lacquer-ware, jewels, silk

stockings, slippers, spangled tulle, handkerchiefs, lace, fans. The

girls' eyes were sparkling. Chonita clapped her hands and ran around

the table, pressing to her lips the beautiful white things she quickly

segregated, running her hand eagerly over the little slippers, hanging

the lace about her shoulders, twisting a rope of garnets in her yellow

hair.

"Never have they been so beautiful, Eustaquia! Is it not so, my

Prudencia?" she cried to the girl, who was curled on one corner of

the table, gloating over the treasures she knew her uncle's generosity

would make her own. "Look, how these little diamonds flash! And the

embroidery on this crêpe!--a dozen eyes went out ay! yi! This satin

is like a tile! These fans were made in Spain! This is as big as a

windmill. God of my soul!"--she threw a handful of yellow sewing-silk

upon a piece of white satin; "Ana shall embroider this gown,--the

golden poppies of California on a bank of mountain snow." She suddenly

seized a case of topaz and a piece of scarlet silk and ran over to

me: I being a Montereña, etiquette forbade me to purchase in Santa

Barbara. "Thou must have these, my Eustaquia. They will become thee

well. And wouldst thou like any of my white things? Mary! but I am

selfish. Take what thou wilt, my friend."

To refuse would be to spoil her pleasure and insult her hospitality:

so I accepted the topaz--of which I had six sets already--and the

silk,--whose color prevailed in my wardrobe,--and told her that I

detested white, which did not suit my weather-dark skin, and she was

as blind and as pleased as a child.

"But come, come," she cried. "My father is not so generous when he has

to wait too long."

She gathered the mass of stuff in her arms and staggered up the

companion-way. I followed, leaving Prudencia raking the trove her

short arms would not hold.

"Ay, my Chonita!" she wailed, "I cannot carry that big piece of pink

satin and that vase. And I have only two pairs of slippers and one

fan. Ay, Cho-n-i-i-ta, look at those shawls! Mother of God, suppose

Valencia Menendez comes--"

"Do not weep on the silk and spoil what thou hast," called down

Chonita from the top step. "Thou shalt have all thou canst wear for a

year."

She reached the deck and stood panting and imperious before her

father. "All! All! I must have all!" she cried. "Never have they been

so fine, so rich."

"Holy Mary!" shrieked Don Guillermo. "Dost thou think I am made of

doubloons, that thou wouldst buy a whole ship's cargo? Thou shalt have

a quarter; no more,--not a yard!"

"I will have all!" And the stately daughter of the Iturbi y Moncadas

stamped her little foot upon the deck.

"A third,--not a yard more. And diamonds! Holy Heaven! There is

not gold enough in the Californias to feed the extravagance of the

Señorita Doña Chonita Iturbi y Moncada."

She managed to bend her body in spite of her burden, her eyes flashing

saucily above the mass of tulle which covered the rest of her face.

"And not fine raiment enough in the world to accord with the state

of the only daughter of the Señor Don Guillermo Iturbi y Moncada, the

delight and the pride of his old age. Wilt thou send these things to

the North, to be worn by an Estenega? Thy Chonita will cry her eyes

so red that she will be known as the ugly witch of Santa Barbara, and

Casa Grande will be like a tomb."

"Oh, thou spoilt baby! Thou wilt have thy way--" At this moment

Prudencia appeared. Nothing whatever could be seen of her small person

but her feet; she looked like an exploded bale of goods. "What! what!"

gasped Don Guillermo. "Thou little rat! Thou wouldst make a Christmas

doll of thyself with satin that is too heavy for thy grandmother, and

eke out thy dumpy inches with a train? Oh, Mother of God!" He turned

to the captain, who was smoking complacently, assured of the issue.

"I will let them carry these things home; but to-morrow one-half, at

least, comes back." And he stamped wrathfully down the deck.

"Send the rest," said Chonita to the captain, "and thou shalt have a

bag of gold to-night."

[Footnote A: In writing of Casa Grande and its inmates, no reference

to the distinguished De la Guerra family of Santa Barbara is intended,

beyond the description of their house and state and of the general

characteristics of the founder of the family fortunes in California.]