A WEDDING
Merrily rang the chimes in the old belfry of the Mission church of San
José de Guadalupe. "Come! Come! Come! Come, Come!" the call sounded
far out into the valley shimmering in the green of springtide.
"Come! Come! Come! Come, Come!" echoed the hills.
Pigeons, denizens of the church tower, flew in, and out, and around,
the whirring of their wings sounding above the resonance of the bells,
in the intervals of their summoning notes. Flocks darted into the air,
circled for a moment, then disappeared, as if bearing away urgent
messages. Others dropped from emptiness, clung to the gargoyles on the
belfry corners, and, in low cooings, told some story.
"We are coming! coming! coming!" came in refrain from many footbeats.
Men and women from throughout the entire province were gathering on the
eastern slope of Santa Clara Valley that bright spring morning.
The Vallejos, of the North, came; their ladies were there, and their
sons and their daughters, personifications of the intellect, the valor,
the virtue and the beauty which glorified the valley of the Moon. Gold
and silver bespangled their horses' bridles, hung as pendants from the
bridlereins, inlaid the stirrups, and gilded the saddles from high
pommel in the front to long anquera reaching back to crupper.
Gold lace adorned the hatbands and decorated the ponchos of the men,
while gold spurs clicked at their heels. Silk and satin embellished
señoritas beautiful and señoras handsome. Peons and peonas, jigging
after their masters on horses clean-limbed and swift, were bravely
attired as for a fiesta.
The Picos rode in from the South, with retinue as splendid as that of
their Sonoma rivals, their Gallic heritage showing in the harmony and
luxuriousness of color in poncho and gowning.
José Antonio Carillo escorted representatives of his family along the
Camino Real, through San José pueblo, on to San José Mission, four
leagues away toward the setting sun.
The Bandinis followed the de la Guerras. The Auguellos and the
Malarins paced side by side. The busy bee of politics buzzed in vain
in the cap of Juan de Bautista Alvarado, for the active brain beneath
was under the spell of superior attraction in Mission San José, and the
man hastened thither faster than if the governor's chair awaited him
there.
Señor Castro, the steadfast, flanked his friend Señor Alvarado, and
looked about complacently, contentment complete, since his equipment
equaled any present.
The "Bostons," allied to the Spanish families, were there, as Latin in
dress and manner as the Spaniards themselves.
"Come! Come! Come, Come!" the bell kept saying. "Come, to the
nuptials of the Señorita Carmelita Mendoza and the Señor Alfredo
Morando."
Mission San José lay nestling in verdure. The vineyards pointed their
budding tendrils low, their gentler tints soft against the darker
leaves of the olive groves.
Orange orchards rioted in magnificence on the sunny slopes. The tree
foliage, shot through with the waxy petals of next year's promise, half
hid the golden balls of this year's harvest still awaiting the
gathering hand.
Almond trees, as yet showing never a leaf, were beclouded by their
snowy flowerings into vast pillars.
Gentle breezes rose and fell. Soft blossom-showers whitened the
ground, eddied around parent tree-trunk, or crept to modest hiding
place amidst the grass-blades.
Everywhere the odor of growing things loaded the air with sweet
messages. Myriad flower-breaths floated through open doors and
windows, dropping fragrant tribute in hacienda house and cloistered
corridor.
People in throngs, eager with expectancy, held the street fronting on
the Mendoza hacienda house. Masters of ceremony opened a wide lane
from mansion to church. The Spanish gentry fringed either side;
detachments of soldiers, in serried rank, stood next; back of them,
overflowing to the very limits of the village, crowded other residents
of the valley.
The deep-throated organ within the church began to voice its monologue.
The conversation of hidalgos fell to whisper; the chatter of peons and
peonas hushed.
The great gate of the courtyard swung open wide. Through the archway,
on a palfrey white as milk, came the daughter of the de la Mendoza.
Her mount, true to the strain of his forebears in far-away Arabia,
caracoled to and fro, and ambled forward slowly, step by step, as if to
show the perfection that California could breed in priceless
horseflesh. His mane flowed into the trappings on his breast; his
streaming tail almost touched the ground.
Carmelita, gowned in white, rode stately, as became the princess that
she well might be. The wreath of orange bloom clinging above her
forehead would have made a fitting diadem. The folds of her bridal
robe fell entrancingly about her. With eyes cast down, cheeks aglow,
she passed along, the fairest bride Santa Clara Valley ever saw; no
small claim, indeed, for hers was a time and she of a race wherefrom
beautiful women sprang in plenty.
Here bridesmaids followed in double file, their horses white, every
one; their apparel, the delicate pink of the first flush of dawn, the
result of skillful needlewomen through many a day.
Lolita Hernandez, pretty and piquant, was side by side with Lucinda
Higuera, demure and handsome. Alfreda Castro, with raven hair showing
beneath her satin head-covering, moved along with Tula Laynez,
gray-eyed, blonde-cheeked, and saucy as a sparrow. Palmita Peralta,
with cherry lips ever smiling, was paired with Leopolda Estudillo, of
the starry eyes.
The bride has reached the church steps.
Deftly her feet disengage themselves from the silken loops used for
stirrup; nimbly she reaches ground. Quickly the following señoritas
are at her side, while peon grooms lead away the horses.
"Viva! Viva! The Señorita Mendoza! Viva! Viva!"
Then from some one: "Viva! the Señorita doña's bridesmaids!"
"Ah! Ah! Look!" cried many.
Morando, on coal-black steed, came through the gate and slowly to the
church door. Comandante of all California he was now, promotion from
guardian of pueblo San José to post commander at Yerba Buena having
been succeeded by transfer to Monterey presidio; and, finally, came the
command of all the land forces.
With him rode, as groomsmen, the presidio commanders of Yerba Buena, of
Monterey, of Santa Barbara, and of San Diego, and accompanied by many
caballeros.
Señor Mendoza, now Governor Mendoza, was horsed on old Mercurio falling
into years, still peerless for speed in all the valley. Flanked by
members of his council and the junta departmental the Governor made his
way up to the church. With sweeping gesture of his bridle-rein, to the
right and to the left, he gave salute for salute to the waiting
grandees, as he passed along.
Up the aisle, decorated with innumerable Castilian roses intertwined
with ivy, came Carmelita, on her father's arm, orange blossoms
clustered in her hand, her bridesmaids well in the lead.
The organ swelled in notes of rejoicing.
Directly before the señorita went two little girls, clad in white,
backing slowly altarward, as she advanced. Freshly gathered
rose-petals, handful by handful, they showered before her, making a
pathway sweetly yielding as she trod.
Captain Morando, awaiting his bride, stood at the altar gate, in
uniform, his poncho laid aside, his brother officers attending him.
Bride and groom knelt within the sanctuary.
Neophyte Indian acolytes swung censers. Incense hung in the air,
tingling the nostrils with its Oriental perfume, while the many candles
glowed through the maze like burnished spear-points.
As the clergy solemnly intoned the nuptial service, the choir, a
hundred strong, of Indian men and women touchingly gave back its
responses. The melody of Pepita's voice flooded nave and chancel, love
for her mistress the inspiration.
An instant's pause. Every breath stilled.
With hands upraised over bride and groom stood the officiating padre.
"Whom, therefore, God hath joined together let no man put asunder."
Down the aisle husband and wife led bridesmaid and groomsman, governor,
council, and junta departmental.
Muskets crashed, as they crossed the street; the multitude shouted
congratulations; the hills above them lived in medley of reiterated
acclaimings of good will.
At the wedding breakfast words dripped like honey from the mouth of
Señor Alvarado, as he spoke of the lovely bride. Grave Castro smiled
approbation; the clever Carillo applauded; his ally, Don Pio Pico,
cried aloud, "Bon! Bon! Buena!" Even Alvarado's saturnine enemy, the
half-Sicilian, Di Vestro, clapped his hands, as the señor, the
honey-drip becoming torrential eloquence, said: "For the kiss of such a
bride as the Señora Morando, gladly would I again drive that Mexican
usurper, Micheltorena, from California soil; yes, and every follower he
has!"
"Will you! Will you!" exclaimed the young wife, blushing at mention of
the new name. Stepping up, she kissed squarely the Señor Alvarado, her
mother's brother.
"A challenge! A challenge!" from the guests. "The former governor at
last has found a nut he cannot crack. Aha! Alvarado, thy kinswoman is
ever quicker in retort than thou."
The tall politician bowed gently to the Señora Doña Carmelita.
"If you draw them hither, mi querida, no power of mine could budge them
a single inch."
"Well said! Well said!"
Later came the afternoon barbecue in the foothills. Dozens of beeves
were roasting in deep pits, on live-coals, the outdoor sports of early
California first whetting the appetite for the feast.
Bonfire blazed red against crag and forest that night, as peon and
peona continued the repast, and danced the fandango to the music of
guitar, and the surprised cries of catamount and wolf.
At the hacienda house the Señor and Señora Morando danced in the contra
danza amidst the plaudits of the lookers-on.
Señor Mendoza, threescore and ten and one, led forth the lithe
Francesca Sanchez, and never youth tripped a lighter step than did the
governor of California at his daughter's wedding.
Pio Pico, gallant and graceful, placed his hat on a señorita's head,
and they followed Mendoza and his partner.
Alvarado and Castro, Pedro Zelaya and Abelardo Peralta found ladies and
joined; so did de la Barra, and Higuera, Salvador Vallejo and Nazario
Dominguez, until, as some said, California north, and south, and
center, was united, if only for the contra danza.
Small hours found the gaiety undiminished, for midnight supper
strengthened for further dancing. Neither was one day deemed
sufficient to do adequate honor to the marriage of Carmelita Mendoza
and Comandante Morando.
Next day the couple, the Governor Mendoza, and all friends repaired to
the hacienda house of Fulgencio Higuera, two leagues away, to dance and
to make merry till the break of another morning.
The third day was passed with Señor Berryessa, near pueblo San José,
the following at Marco Calderon's, and so on.
The seventh day found them entering the porte cochere of their own
home, once the residence of Colonel Barcelo, from whose gates, ere many
moons, they were to see, with rejoicing hearts, the Stars and Stripes
burst, in unending vigil, over government house, plaza and castle.
Long years, and happy ones, they lived, and their descendants, now of
the third and fourth generation, bless their memory, and tell of the
honor, the bravery, the virtue of General Morando and his bride of
Mission San José.