At sunrise the next morning the guests of Casa Grande were horsed and
ready to start for the Mission. The valley between the house and the
Mission was alive with the immediate rancheros and their families, and
the people of the town, aristocrats and populace.
At Estenega's suggestion, I climbed with him to the attic of the
tower, much to the detriment of my frock. But I made no complaint
after Diego had removed the dusty little windows on both sides and
I looked through the apertures at the charming scene. The rising sun
gave 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 white
massive aqueduct. The bells were crashing their welcome to the bride.
The deep valley, wooded and rocky, was pervaded by the soft glow of
the awakening, but was as lively as midday. There were horses of every
color the Lord has decreed that horses shall wear. The saddles upon
them were of embossed leather or rich embroidered silk heavily mounted
with silver. Above all this gorgeousness sat the caballeros and
the doñas, in velvet and silk, gold lace and Spanish, jewels and
mantillas, and silver-weighted sombreros; a confused mass of color and
motion; a living picture, shifting like a kaleidoscope. Nor was
this all: brown, soberly-dressed old men and women in satin-padded
carretas,--heavy ox-carts on wheels made from solid sections of trees,
and driven by a gañan seated on one of the animals; the populace in
cheap finery, some on foot, others astride old mules or broken-winded
horses, two or three on one lame old hack; all chattering, shouting,
eager, interested, impatiently awaiting the bride and a week of
pleasure.
In the court-yard and plaza before it the guests of the house were
mounted on a caponera of palominas,--horses peculiar to the country;
beautiful creatures, golden-bronze, and burnished, with luxuriant
manes and tails which waved and shone like the sparkling silver of
a water-fall. A number were riderless, awaiting the pleasure of the
bridal party. One alone was white as a Californian fog. He lifted his
head and pranced as if aware of his proud distinction. The aquera and
saddle which embellished his graceful beauty were of pink silk worked
with delicate leaves in gold and silver thread. The stirrups, cut from
blocks of wood, were elaborately carved. The glistening reins were
made 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, was
hung from the high silver pommel of the saddle, depending on the left
side,--a stirrup for my lady's foot.
A deeper murmur, a sudden lining of sombreros and waving of little
hands, proclaimed that the bridal party had appeared, and we hastened
down.
Prudencia, the mantilla of the _donas_ depending from a comb six
inches high, was attired in a white satin gown with a train of
portentous length, and looked like a kitten with a long tail. Reinaldo
was dazzling. He wore white velvet embroidered with gold; his linen
and lace were more fragile than cobwebs; his white satin slippers
were clasped with diamond buckles, the same in which his father had
married; his jacket was buttoned with diamonds. His white velvet
sombrero was covered with plumes. Never have I seen so splendid
a bridegroom. I saw Estenega grin; but I maintain that, whatever
Reinaldo's deficiencies, he was a picture to be thankful for that
morning.
Doña Trinadad was quietly gowned in gray satin, but Don Guillermo was
as picturesque in his way as his son. His black silk handkerchief had
been knotted hurriedly about his head, and the four corners hung upon
his neck. His short breeches were of red velvet, his jacket of blue
cloth trimmed with large silver buttons and gold lace; his vest was
of yellow damask, his linen embroidered. Attached to his slippers were
enormous silver spurs inlaid with gold, the rowels so long that they
scratched more trains than one that day.
The bridesmaids stood in a group apart, a large bouquet: each wore
a gown of a different color. Valencia blazed forth in yellow,
and flashed triumphant glances at Estenega, now and again one of
irrepressible envy and resentment at Reinaldo. Chonita looked like a
water-witch in pale green covered with lace that stirred with every
breath of air; her mantilla was as delicate as sea-spray. About her
was something subtle, awakened, restive, that I noticed for the first
time. Once she intercepted one of Valencia's lavish glances, and her
own eyes were extremely wicked and dangerous for a moment. I looked at
Estenega. He was regarding her with a fierce intensity which made him
oblivious for the moment of his surroundings. I looked at Valencia.
Thunderclouds were those heavy brows, lowered to the lightning which
sprang from depths below. I looked again at Chonita. The pink color
was 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, placed
one arm about her waist, took the bridle in his other hand, and
cantered out of the court-yard. Reinaldo sprang to his horse, lifted
his 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 the
valley, those awaiting us joined the cavalcade, the populace closing
it, spreading out like a fan attached to the tail of a snake. The
bells rang out a joyful discordant peal; the long undulating line of
many colors wound through the trees, passed the long corridor of the
Mission, to the stone steps of the church.
The ceremony was a long one, for communion was given the bride and
groom; and during the greater part of it I do not think Estenega
removed 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 than
in that close-fitting gown; her hips being rather wide, she wore fewer
gathers than was the fashion. Her faultless arms had a warmth in their
whiteness; the filmy lace of her mantilla caressed a throat so full
and round and white and firm that it seemed to invite other caresses;
even the black pearls clung lovingly about it. Her graceful head was
bent 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 on
the chill desolation of dawn.
"Is she not beautiful?" whispered Estenega, eagerly. "Is not that a
woman 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 the
door.
It was over at last, and as the bride and groom appeared in the door
of the church and descended the steps, a salute was fired from the
Presidio. On the long corridor a table had been built from end to
end and a goodly banquet provided by the padres. We took our seats
at once, the populace gathering about a feast spread for them on the
grass.
Padre Jimeno, the priest who had officiated at the ceremony, sat at
the head of the table; the other priests were scattered among us, and
good company all of them were. We were a very lively party. Prudencia
was toasted until her calm important head whirled. Reinaldo made a
speech as full of flowers as the occasion demanded. Alvarado made
one also, five sentences of plain well-chosen words, to which the
bridegroom listened with scorn. Now and again a girl swept the strings
of a guitar or a caballero sang. The delighted shrieks of the people
came over to us; at regular intervals cannons were fired.
Estenega found himself seated between Chonita and Valencia. I was
opposite, and beginning to feel profoundly fascinated by this drama
developing before my eyes. I saw that he was amused by the situation
and not in the least disconcerted. Valencia was nervous and eager.
Chonita, whose pride never failed her, had drawn herself up and looked
coldly indifferent.
"Señor," murmured Valencia, "thou wilt tarry with us long, no? We have
much to show thee in Santa Barbara, and on our ranchos."
"I fear that I can stay but a week, señorita. I must return to Los
Angeles."
"Would nothing tempt thee to stay, Don Diego?"
He looked into her rich Southern face and approved of it: when had he
ever failed to approve of a pretty woman? "Thine eyes, señorita, would
tempt a man to forget more than duty."
"And thou wilt stay?"
"When I leave Santa Barbara what I take of myself will not be worth
leaving."
"Ay! and what thou leavest thou never shalt have again."
"There is my hope of heaven, señorita."
He turned from this glittering conversation to Chonita.
"You are a little tired," he said, in a low voice. "Your color has
gone, and the shadows are coming about your eyes."
The suspicion was borne home to her that he must have observed her
closely to detect those shades of difference which no one else had
noted.
"A little, señor. I went to bed late and rose early. Such times as
these 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, and
swim--which few of our women do. I even like to walk; and I can dance
every night for a week. Only, this is an unusual time."
Her supple elastic figure and healthy whiteness of skin betokened
endurance and vitality, and he looked at her with pleasure. "Yes, you
are strong," he said. "You look as if you would _last_,--as if you
never 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 Panchita
Lopez, who is just sixteen. What does he care that the women of his
day are coffee-colored and stringy or fat? You will care as little
when you too are brown and dried up, afraid to eat dulces, and each
month seeking a new parting for your hair."
"You are a hopeful seer! But you--are you resigned to the time when
even the withered old beau will not look at you,--you who are the
loveliest woman in the Californias?"
It was the first compliment he had paid her, and she looked up with a
swift blush, then lowered her eyes again. "With truth, I never imagine
myself except as I am now; but I should have always my books, and no
husband 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, "I
shall go to confession this week."
"Ah!"
"Yes; for although I hate you still--that is, I do not like you--I
have forgiven you. I believe you to be kind and generous, although
the enemy of my brother; that if you did oppose him and cast him
into prison, you did so with a loyal motive; you cannot help making
mistakes, for you are but human. And I do not forget that if it were
not for you he would not be a bridegroom to-day. Also, you are not
responsible for being an Estenega; so, although I do not forgive the
blood in you,--how could I, and be worthy to bear the name of Iturbi y
Moncada?--I forgive you, yourself, for being what you cannot help, and
for 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 friend
Valencia?"
"Well enough. I want to hear more about your confession. You fall back
into 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 make
myself more plain. Why are you afraid to disobey? Why do you cling to
the Church with your back braced against your intelligence? It is hope
of 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 for
a legendary hereafter. Granting, for the sake of argument, that this
existence is supplemented by another: you have no knowledge of what
elements you will be composed when you lay aside your mortal part to
enter there. Your power of enjoyment may be very thin indeed, like the
music of a band without brass; the sort of happiness one can imagine a
human being to experience out of whose anatomy the nervous system has
by some surgical triumph been removed, and in whom love of the arts
alone exists, abnormally cultivated. But one thing we of earth do
know; you do not, but I will tell you; we have a slight capacity for
happiness and a large capacity for enjoyment. There is not much in
life, God knows, but there is something. One can get a reasonable
amount 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, her
eyes flashing. "Are you an atheist?" she demanded, abruptly. "Are you
not a Catholic?"
"I am neither an atheist nor a Catholic. The question of religion has
no interest for me whatever. I wish it had none for you."
She looked at him sternly. For a moment I thought the Doomswoman would
annihilate the renegade. But her face softened suddenly. "I will pray
for you," she said, and turned to the man at her right.
Estenega's face turned the chalky hue I always dreaded, and he bent
his lips to her ear.
"Pray for me many times a day; and at other times recall what I said
about the relative value of possible and improbable heavens. You are a
woman who thinks."
"Don Diego," exclaimed Valencia, unable to control her impatience
longer, and turning sharply from the caballero who was talking to her
in a fiery undertone, "thou hast not spoken to me for ten minutes."
"For ten hours, señorita. Thou hast treated me with the scorn and
indifference of one weary of homage."