IN GALA DRESS.
"The sun is warm, the sky is clear,
The waves are dancing, fast and bright;
Both isles and snowy mountains wear
The purple noon's transparent light."
To see Santa Barbara at its best you must go there for the Floral
Carnival. Then at high noon, on a mid-April day, all State Street is
brilliantly decorated with leaves of the date-palm, pampa plumes, moss
combined with tropical foliage, calla-lilies, wildflowers, bamboo,
immortelles, branches of pepper trees, evergreens, lemon boughs laden
with yellow fruit, and variegated shrubs. Draperies of white and gold,
with green or red in contrast, or blue and white, in harmony with red
flowers, or floral arches draped with fish-nets bestrewn with pink
roses; or yellow alone in draperies combined with the poppy, or gray
moss and roses. No one fails to respond to the color summons for the
day of days. The meat-markets are tastefully concealed with a leafy
screen and callas. The undertaker makes his place as cheerful as
possible with evergreens, roses, and red geraniums. The drugstore is
gaily trimmed, and above the door see the great golden mortar made of
marigolds. The Mexican and Californian colors are often flung out, and
flags are flying from many windows. The long broad street is a blaze of
glory; the immense audience, seated on tiers of benches, wait patiently,
then impatiently, for the expected procession; and as many more people
are standing in line, equally eager. Many have baskets or armfuls of
flowers, with which to pelt the passing acquaintance. There are moments
of such intense interest that everything is indelibly and eternally
photographed. I see, as I write, the absolutely cloudless sky of perfect
blue, the sea a darker shade, equally perfect, the white paved street,
the kaleidoscope of color, the fluttering pennants, the faces of the
crowd all turned in one direction, and hark! the band is really coming,
the beginning of the pageant is just seen, and now sea, sky, flags,
crowds are no more regarded, for the long-talked-of parade is here. See
advancing the Grand Commander and his showy aids, gay Spanish cavaliers,
the horses stepping proudly, realizing the importance of the occasion,
the saddles and bridles wound with ribbons or covered with flowers. And
next the Goddess of Flowers, in canopy-covered shell, a pretty little
Mayflower of a maiden, with a band of maids of honor, each in a dainty
shell. The shouts and applause add to the excitement, and flowers are
hurled in merry war at the cavaliers, and the goddess and her
attendants. Next comes the George Washington coach, modelled after the
historic vehicle, occupied by stately dames and courtly gentlemen in
colonial array; even the footmen are perfection in the regulation livery
of that period. Solemn and imposing this may be, but they get a
merciless shower of roses, and one of the prizes. And do look at the
haymakers! Oh, that is charming! Country girls and boys on a load of
new-mown hay, with broad-brimmed hats, and dresses trimmed with
wild-flowers. And now the advance-guard is coming down again; they have
just turned at the head of the line, and it is already a little
confusing. But the judges! How can they keep cool, or even think, with
such a clamor of voices, and guests chattering thoughtlessly to them.
Here comes a big basket on wheels, handle and all covered with moss and
roses. Four girls in pink silk trimmed with moss stand within, bearing
shields of pink roses to protect their laughing faces from excess of
attention. What a lovely picture! Another basket just behind covered
entirely with marguerites; the wheels also are each a marguerite, the
white horses with harness covered with yellow ribbon--so dainty, so
cool. Is it better than the other? And here is a Roman chariot, a
Spanish market-wagon, a phaeton covered with yellow mustard, a hermit in
monastic garb; then Robin Hood and his merry men, and Maid Marian in
yellow-green habit, Will Scarlet and Friar Tuck in green doublets,
yellow facings, bright green felt hats, bows and quivers flower-trimmed,
even the tiny arrows winged with blossoms. Now there are equipages
three deep to survey instead of one, as they pass and repass in
bewildering splendor. And do look! Here come the comicalities! "The Old
Woman who lived in a Shoe"--a big floral slipper, with a dozen children
in pink and gray-green, and the old woman on great poke-bonnet; a
Japanese jinrikisha; an egg of white flowers, and a little boy hid away
so as to peep and put out a downy head as a yellow chicken; a bicycle
brigade; equestriennes; an interesting procession of native
Californians, with the accoutrements of the Castilian, on horseback. One
carriage is banked with marigolds, and the black horses are harnessed in
yellow of the exact shade. It is fitly occupied by black-eyed Spanish
beauties, with raven hair done up high with gold combs, and black lace
costumes with marigolds for trimming, and takes a well-deserved prize.
Roses, roses, roses, roses! How they fly and fall as the fleeting
display is passing! Thirty thousand on one carriage. Roses cover the
street. And yet the gardens don't seem stripped. Where millions are
blooming thousands are not missed. And not roses alone, but every flower
of field and garden and conservatory is honored and displayed. Now the
contestants are driving up to the grand stand to secure silken banners.
Every one looks a little bit weary in procession and audience. Is it
over? I murmur regretfully:
"All that's bright must fade,
The brightest still the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made
But to be lost when sweetest."
Yes, it is over! Waving banners, rainbow colors, showers of blossoms,
rosy faces, mimic battle, fairy scenes, the ideal realized!
This is better than the New Orleans Mardi Gras, so often marred by rain
and mud, with mythological ambiguities that few can understand, and
difficult to interpret in passing tableaux; better than similar display
at Nice and Mentone. _This_ I do call "unique" and the only. Let Santa
Barbara have this yearly festa for her own. She has fairly won the
preeminence.
We at the comparatively frozen and prosaic north can indulge in gay
coaching parades at Franconia, Newport, or Lenox, where costumes of
gorgeous hues assist the natural beauty of the flowers. But it is only a
coaching parade, at the wind-up of a gay season. We cannot catch the
evanescent glamour, the optical enchantment, the fantastic fun, the
exquisite art of making long preparation and hard work, careful schemes
for effect, appear like airy nonsense for the amusement of an idle hour.
We show the machinery. A true carnival can only be a success in a
perpetual "summer-land," "within a lovely landscape on a bright and
laughing seacoast." Taine said, "Give me the race, the surroundings, and
the epoch, and I show you the man." Give me fair women, roses, sunshine,
leisure, and high-bred, prancing steeds, and I show you this Santa
Barbara Carnival.
But this is only a portion of the entertainment. There is a display of
flowers at the Pavilion, where everything can be found that blooms in
California, all most artistically arrayed; and more fascinating in the
evening, when hundreds of tiny electric lights twinkle everywhere from
out the grayish-green moss, and the hall is filled with admiring guests.
There is always a play given one evening by amateur talent, a
tournament, and a grand closing ball.
The tournament is exciting, where skilful riders try tilting at rings,
trying to take as many rings as possible on lance while galloping by the
wires on which these rings are lightly suspended---a difficult
accomplishment. Their costumes are elaborate and gay, but never _outre_
or bizarre, and no two alike. Each has his own color, and, like the
knights of old, has a fayre ladye among the spectators who is especially
interested and anxious for his success.
Next comes the Spanish game of "colgar," picking up ten-dollar gold
pieces from the saddle, the horse at full speed. And the gymkhana race
ends the games. Those who enter, saddle at the word "go," open an
umbrella, and, taking out a cigar, light and smoke it--then see who
first rides to the goal.
Last came the real _vaqueros_, and they ride untamed, unbroken horses,
after a long and rather painful struggle to mount. They lasso mustangs
and do wonderful things. But it was too much. I was glad to go and rest.
The Flower Dance at the ball, where human flowers formed intricate
figures and dances for our edification and delight, was so attractive
that my words are of no avail. Picture twenty-eight young ladies, each
dressed to represent a flower--hollyhock, pansy, moss, rose,
morning-glory, eucalyptus blossom, pink clover, yellow marguerite,
Cherokee rose, pink carnation, forget-me-not, buttercup, pink-and-white
fuchsia, lily of the valley, wine-colored peony, white iris, daffodil,
and so on. They advance with slowly swaying motion, with wreaths
uplifted until they reach the stage, where sit the guests of honor.
There they bow low, then lay the garlands at their feet, and retire,
forming ingeniously pretty groups and figures, while bees and
butterflies flit in and out. See the bees pursuing the little pink
rosebuds until at last they join hands and dance gaily away, only to be
enthusiastically recalled.
Do you ladies want to understand a little in detail about the dresses?
Of course you do. Well, here is the yellow marguerite:
Slender petals of yellow satin falling over a skirt of white silk crepe,
a green satin calyx girdle about her waist, and golden petals drooped
again from the neck of her low bodice and over her shoulders.
A handsome brunette represented a wine-colored peony in a rich costume
of wine-colored velvet and satin. The petals fell to make the skirt, and
rose again from a bell sheathing the neck of her low corsage, and the
cap on her dark hair was a copy of the flower.
There, you see how it is done. But it requires genius to succeed in such
an undertaking. Look at Walter Crane's pictures of human flowers for
more suggestions.
Most effective of all was the cachuca, danced by a girl of pure
Castilian blood, who was dressed to symbolize the scarlet passionflower.
The room was darkened save where she stood, and her steps and poses were
full of Spanish fire and feeling, combined with poetic grace.
Yes, it is over, but the pictures remain as freshly colored as if I saw
it all but yesterday.
During the Carnival sentiment reigns supreme--that is, if you have
engaged rooms far in advance, and the matter of three daily meals is
settled--and portly business men become gallant, chivalrous, and even
poetic. In testimony I offer two verses sent to a lady visitor with a
bunch of roses:
"We had not thought it was for aught
He lingered round us, scanning,
But to admire our spring attire,
The south wind softly fanning.
"But when we knew it was for you
Our charms he sought to capture,
All round the bower each budding flower
Blushed pink with rosy rapture.
"Lovingly,
THE ROSES."
George Eliot once said: "You love the roses--so do I! I wish the sky
would rain down roses as they rain from off the shaken bush. Why will it
not? Then all the valleys would be pink and white, and soft to tread on.
They would fall as light as feathers, smelling sweet; and it would be
like sleeping and yet waking all at once."
She never knew Santa Barbara.
I said the horses feel proud, and their owners tell me how they turn
their heads to see their adornment. And well they may, for a true
Barbareno loves his horse as does the Arab, and delights in his
decoration. Easily first in this matter is Mr. W. D. Thompson, who came
to Santa Barbara from Maine more than forty years ago, a nephew of the
captain with whom Dana sailed. Mr. Thompson is a progressive man, who
appreciates the many improvements achieved and contemplated, but still
loves to tell of the good old times when he was roughing it as a
pioneer. He has done a most important and valuable work in having a
typical Mexican saddle and bridle of the most approved and correct
pattern made out of the finest leather and several thousand silver
dollars. As his favorite mare stood before me with this magnificent
saddle on, and her forelegs tied with a little strap so that she could
step daintily but not run, I never saw such a pretty sight of the kind.
This saddle and bridle, worth over $3000, are now on exhibition in
Chicago. No more significant or beautiful exhibition of the early
argonautic period could be sent from Southern California, and it will
surely attract constant and admiring attention. Here is a description
from the San Francisco _Argonaut_:
"This saddle and bridle, manufactured of bullion from Mexican dollars,
are exquisite works of art. The saddle is of typical Mexican pattern,
with a high pommel, well-hollowed seat, and the most elaborate of
trappings. The leather is stamped with elegant designs, and the whole
thing is a complete, costly, and elaborate equipment, of good taste and
artistic design. The saddle is studded over with silver ornaments. The
leather facings are set thick with buttons and rosettes; the pommel is
encased in silver; the corners of the aprons are tipped with silver; the
stirrups are faced and edged with silver half an inch thick, elaborately
chased and carved. The saddle-tree is hung with silver rings, fore and
aft, to answer all the requirements of the vaquero in lacing up his
riata. The girth, which passes under the horse's belly and cinches the
saddle in place, is woven of hair from horses' manes by a native
artisan, and is fully eight inches broad, with a tassel hanging at its
middle. The saddle, the bridle, and all its appointments are marvels of
beauty. The reins, martingale, and whip are composed of solid silver in
woven strands. The headstall is covered with fluted silver, with large
engraved silver rosettes at the sides, with decorations of flowers and
heads of wheat, with an elaborate nose-piece with silver engraving. The
side-pieces are of silver, massive and ornate, with a silver chain under
the horse's jaw. The bridle, reins, and accessories weigh about twelve
pounds, and are worth not less than two hundred and fifty dollars in
value of silver coin used in its manufacture."
Everybody up and down the coast knows Dixie Thompson. His talk is full
of delightful anecdotes of the early settlers, and he has a droll, dry
humor of his own that is refreshing. Mr. Nordhoff, who is an old
friend, once wrote to the Harper "Drawer" about his shrewd way of
restraining the over-keen traders and laboring men who tried to impose
upon him. He heads the pleasant bit of gossip, "Captain Thompson's
Club," and says:
"Captain Dixie is, to all appearance, the man of most leisure in all
leisurely Santa Barbara. He and his horses and carriages are always at
the service of a friend. But while he seems to be the idlest of men, he
is, in fact, an extremely capable business man who has many irons in the
fire--tills much good land, has horses and cattle and pigs of the best
breeds on many hills and in several rich valleys, and keeps all his
affairs running in good order. Still, he is an easy-going, not a
bustling, man of business. And it is just here that his social
contrivance comes in: he has judged it expedient to form a club.
"'You see,' said he, the other day, to an old friend, 'the boys don't
always see me around, and sometimes they try to take a little advantage.
I find a fellow who don't haul half a load for me while I am paying for
a full load; another one who gives me short measure; or another who does
not do what I have told him. I hate to scold; and as they all deny when
I accuse them, and I can't be telling men that they are lying to me, I
thought I'd just establish a Liars' Club and bring them all in. It is
now in good, healthy operation. We don't call it the Liars' Club, of
course; we speak of the Club. But when I catch a man trying to 'do' me,
I just tell him that I'll have to make him a member of the Club.--Oh,
how do you do, Mr. President?' said Captain Dixie to a well-known
character just then passing by.--'He's the president of the Club, you
know,' he added. 'Here's Pancho now; I told him the other day I would
have to make him a member of the Club if he didn't look out. I guess
he'll get in yet. It's a very flourishing club, and more useful, I
guess, than some others.'
"Don't laugh, my dear Drawer. I believe Captain Thompson has struck an
admirable idea, and one which might well have wide application. Don't
you suppose the material for such a club exists, for instance--not here
in New Haven, of course, but over in New York, say, or perhaps in
Washington? Think it over. The Drawer has always taken the lead in great
moral and social improvements. I leave it to you."
Here, as in all Southern California, you will never know anything of the
real town unless you have a friend who can take you to unfrequented
cross-country drives up winding paths to mesas, or upland pasture
guarded by lock and key from the average tourist, and get views
indescribably fine.
I am ashamed of my fellow-travellers who pick oranges by the score, and
even break off boughs from the choicest and most conspicuous trees, and
rush uninvited pell-mell into private grounds and quiet homes of
well-bred people to see and exclaim and criticise. Add to this nuisance
the fact that hundreds of invalids come yearly to the most desirable
localities, turning them into camping-grounds for bacilli. I wonder at
the singular forbearance and courtesy of the residents.
Occasionally some one invited to speechify or air his opinion of things
in general here bluntly expresses his surprise at finding everywhere so
much culture, wealth, and refinement. This is a queer reflection on the
fact that this part of the State is filled with specimens of our finest
families from the East. I will frankly admit that I must be at my very
best to keep up with those I have been privileged to meet here.
You must not forget when in Santa Barbara to visit the fine public
library, the best adapted for the convenience of actual workers of any I
have entered. You must not fail to drive to Montecito ("little forest"),
to Carpenteria and Goleta.
I also advise you to spend a morning in Mr. Ford's studio, and an
afternoon with Mr. Starke and his treasures in wood-carving and
inlaying, brought yearly from the Yosemite, wrought out with his own
hands. He uses nearly fifty varieties of trees in his woodwork, and few
see his stock and go away without investing in a redwood cane, a
paper-knife, or an inlaid table. His orders come from all parts of the
world, and are often very large, mounting up to hundreds of dollars. He
is a simple-hearted student of nature, and a thorough workman. I enjoyed
a brief visit to Chinatown and Spanishtown close by, where I saw a woman
scrubbing clothes on a long flat board, with a piece of soap in each
hand, standing in a hut made of poles covered with brush, and noticed an
old oven outdoors and the meat hung up in strips to dry. I enjoyed also
a call on the old fellow who "catcha de fisha."
And now, looking back as we are whirled away, I find I am repeating
those lines from Shelley which so exactly reproduce the picture:
"The earth and ocean seem
To sleep in one another's arms and dream
Of waves, flowers, clouds, woods, rocks, and all that we
Read in their smiles, and call reality."