II.
Delfina, the first child of Alvarado, born in the purple at thegovernor's mansion in Monterey, was about to be baptized with all thepomp and ceremony of the Church and time. Dona Martina, the wife ofa year, was unable to go to the church, but lay beneath her lace andsatin coverlet, her heavy black hair half covering the other side ofthe bed. Beside her stood the nurse, a fat, brown, high-beaked oldcrone, holding a mass of grunting lace. I stood at the foot of thebed, admiring the picture.
"Be careful for the sun, Tomasa," said the mother. "Her eyes must bestrong, like the Alvarados',--black and keen and strong."
"Sure, senora."
"And let her not smother, nor yet take cold. She must grow tall andstrong,--like the Alvarados."
"Sure, senora."
"Where is his Excellency?"
"I am here." And Alvarado entered the room. He looked amused, andprobably had overheard the conversation. He justified, however, theadmiration of his young wife. His tall military figure had the perfectpoise and suggestion of power natural to a man whose genius hadbeen recognized by the Mexican government before he had entered histwenties. The clean-cut face, with its calm profile and fieryeyes, was not that of the Washington of his emulation, and I neverunderstood why he chose so tame a model. Perhaps because of themeagerness of that early proscribed literature; or did the title"Father of his Country" appeal irresistibly to that lofty and doomedambition?
He passed his hand over his wife's long white fingers, but did notoffer her any other caress in my presence.
"How dost thou feel?"
"Well; but I shall be lonely. Do not stay long at the church, no?How glad I am that Chonita came in time for the christening! What abeautiful _comadre_ she will be! I have just seen her. Ay, poor Diego!he will fall in love with her; and what then?"
"It would have been better had she come too late, I think. To avoidasking Diego to stand for my first child was impossible, for he is theman of men to me. To avoid asking Dona Chonita was equally impossible,I suppose, and it will be painful for both. He serenaded her lastnight, not knowing who she was, but having seen her at her grating; heonly returned yesterday. I hope she plants no thorns in his heart."
"Perhaps they will marry and bind the wounds," suggested the woman.
"An Estenega and an Iturbi y Moncada will not marry. He might forget,for he is passionate and of a nature to break down barriers when awish is dear; but she has all the wrongs of all the Iturbi y Moncadason her white shoulders, and all their pride in the carriage of herhead; to say nothing of that brother whom she adores. She learned thismorning that it was Diego's determined opposition that kept Reinaldoout of the Departmental Junta, and meets him in no tender frame ofmind----"
Dona Martina raised her hand. Chonita stood in the door-way. She wasquite beautiful enough to plant thorns where she listed. Her tallsupple figure was clothed in white, and over her gold hair--lurid andbrilliant, but without a tinge of red--she wore a white lace mantilla.Her straight narrow brows and heavy lashes were black; but her skinwas more purely white than her gown. Her nose was finely cut, the archalmost indiscernible, and she had the most sculptured mouth I haveever seen. Her long eyes were green, dark, and luminous. Sometimesthey had the look of a child, sometimes she allowed them to flashwith the fire of an animated spirit. But the expression she chose tocultivate was that associated with crowned head and sceptered hand;and sure no queen had ever looked so calm, so inexorable, so haughty,so terribly clear of vision. She never posed--for any one, at least,but herself. For some reason--a youthful reason probably--the iron inher nature was most admired by her. Wherefore,--also, as she had thepower, as twin, to heal and curse,--I had named her the Doomswoman,and by this name she was known far and wide. By the lower class ofSanta Barbara she was called The Golden Senorita, on account of herhair and of her father's vast wealth.
"Come," she said, "every one is waiting. Do not you hear the voices?"
The windows were closed, but through them came a murmur like that of apine forest.
The governor motioned to the nurse to follow Chonita and myself, andshe trotted after us, her ugly face beaming with pride of position.Was not in her arms the oldest-born of a new generation of Alvarados?the daughter of the governor of The Californias? Her smock,embroidered with silk, was new, and looked whiter than fog againsther bare brown arms and face. Her short red satin skirt, a gift of herhappy lady's, was the finest ever worn by exultant nurse. About herstringy old throat was a gold chain, bright red roses were wovenin her black reboso. I saw her admire Chonita's stately figure withscornful reserve of the colorless gown.
We were followed in a moment by the governor, adjusting his collarand smoothing his hair. As he reached the door-way at the front of thehouse he was greeted with a shout from assembled Monterey. The plazawas gay with beaming faces and bright attire. The men, women, andchildren of the people were on foot, a mass of color on the oppositeside of the plaza: the women in gaudy cotton frocks girt with silkensashes, tawdry jewels, and spotless camisas, the coquettish rebosodraping with equal grace faces old and brown, faces round and olive;the men in glazed sombreros, short calico jackets and trousers;Indians wound up in gala blankets. In the foreground, on prancingsilver-trapped horses, were caballeros and donas, laughing andcoquetting, looking down in triumph upon the duenas and parents whorode older and milder mustangs and shook brown knotted fingers atheedless youth. The young men had ribbons twisted in their long blackhair, and silver eagles on their soft gray sombreros. Their velvetserapes were embroidered with gold; the velvet knee-breeches werelaced with gold or silver cord over fine white linen; long deer-skinbotas were gartered with vivid ribbon; flaunting sashes bound theirslender waists, knotted over the hip. The girls and young marriedwomen wore black or white mantillas, the silken lace of Spain,regardless of the sun which might darken their Castilian fairness.Their gowns were of flowered silk or red or yellow satin, the waistlong and pointed, the skirt full; jeweled buckles of tiny slippersflashed beneath the hem. The old people were in rich dress of sobercolor. A few Americans were there in the ugly garb of their country, ablot on the picture.
At the door, just in front of the cavalcade, stood General Vallejo'scarriage, the only one in California, sent from Sonoma for theoccasion. Beside it were three superbly-trapped horses.
The governor placed the swelling nurse in the carriage, then glancedabout him. "Where is Estenega?--and the Castros?" he asked.
"There are Don Jose and Dona Modeste Castro," said Chonita.
The crowd had parted suddenly, and two men and a woman rode toward thegovernor. One of the men was tall and dark, and his somber militaryattire became the stern sadness of his face. Castro was notComandante-general of the army at that time, but his bearing was asimperious in that year of 1840 as when six years later the AmericanOccupation closed forever the career of a man made in derisionfor greatness. At his right rode his wife, one of the most queenlybeauties of her time, small as she was in stature. Every woman'seye turned to her at once; she was our leader of fashion, and we allcopied the gowns that came to her from the city of Mexico.
But Chonita gave no heed to the Castros. She fixed her cold directregard on the man who rode with them, and whom, she knew, must beDiego Estenega, for he was their guest. She was curious to see thisenemy of her house, the political rival of her brother, the owner ofthe voice which had given her the first thrill of her life. He wasdressed as plainly as Castro, and had none of the rich southern beautyof the caballeros. His hair was cut short like Alvarado's, and hisface was thin and almost sallow. But the life that was in that face!the passion, the intelligence, the kindness, the humor, the grimdetermination! And what splendid vitality was in his tall thin figure,and nervous activity under the repose of his carriage! I rememberI used to think in those days that Diego Estenega could conquer theworld if he wished, although I suspected that he lacked one quality ofthe great rulers of men,--inexorable cruelty.
From the moment his horse carried him into the plaza he did not removehis
eyes from Chonita's face. She lowered hers angrily after amoment. As he reached the house he sprang to the ground, and Alvaradopresented the sponsors. He lifted his cap and bowed, but not as low asthe caballeros who were wont to prostrate themselves before her. Theymurmured the usual form of salutation:
"At your feet, senorita."
"I appreciate the honor of your acquaintance."
"It is my duty and pleasure to lift you to your horse." And, stillholding his cap in his hand, he led her to one of the three horseswhich stood beside the carriage; with little assistance she sprang toits back, and he mounted the one reserved for him.
The cavalcade started. First the carriage, then Alvarado and myself,followed by the sponsors, the Castros, the members of the DepartmentalJunta and their wives, then the caballeros and the donas, the oldpeople and the Americans; the populace trudging gayly in the rear,keeping good pace with the riders, who were held in check by afragment of pulp too young to be jolted.
"You never have been in Monterey before, senorita, I understand," saidEstenega to Chonita. No situation could embarrass him.
"No; once they thought to send me to the convent here,--to DonaConcepcion Arguello,--but it was so far, and my mother does not liketo travel. So Dona Concepcion came to us for a year, and, after, Istudied with an instructor who came from Mexico to educate my brotherand me." She had no intention of being communicative with DiegoEstenega, but his keen reflective gaze confused her, and she tookrefuge in words.
"Dona Eustaquia tells me that, unlike most of our women, you haveread many books. Few Californian women care for anything but to lookbeautiful and to marry,--not, however, being unique in that respect.Would you not rather live in our capital? You are so far away downthere, and there are but few of the _gente de razon_, no?"
"We are well satisfied, senor, and we are gay when we wish. There areten families in the town, and many rancheros within a hundred leagues.They think nothing of coming to our balls. And we have grand religiousprocessions, and bull-fights, and races. We have beautiful canons formeriendas; and I could dance every night if I wished. We are few, butwe are quite as gay and quite as happy as you in your capital." Thepride of the Iturbi y Moncadas and of the Barbarina flashed in hereyes, then made way for anger under the amused glance of Estenega.
"Oh, of course," he said, teasingly. "You are to Monterey whatMonterey is to the city of Mexico. But, pardon me, senorita; I wouldnot anger you for all the gold which is said to lie like rocks underour Californias,--if it be true that certain padres hold that mightysecret. (God! how I should like to get one by the throat and throttleit out of him!) Pardon me again, senorita; I was going to say thatyou may be pleased to know that there is little magnificence where myranchos are,--high on the coast, among the redwoods. I live in a housemade of big ugly logs, unpainted. There are no cavalcades in the colddepths of those redwood forests, and the ocean beats against raggedcliffs. Only at Fort Ross, in her log palace, does the beautifulRussian, Princess Helene Rotscheff, strive occasionally to makeherself and others forget that the forest is not the Bois of herbeloved Paris, that in it the grizzly and the panther hunger for her,and that an Indian Prince, mad with love for the only fair-hairedwoman he has ever seen, is determined to carry her off----"
"Tell me! tell me!" cried Chonita, eagerly, forgetting her role andher enemy. "What is that? I do not know the princess, although she hassent me word many times to visit her--Did an Indian try to carry heroff?"
"It happened only the other day. Prince Solano, perhaps you haveheard, is chief of all the tribes of Sonoma, Valley of the Moon. Heis a handsome animal, with a strong will and remarkable organizingabilities. One day I was entertaining the Rotscheffs at dinner whenSolano suddenly flung the door open and strode into the room: we areold friends, and my servants do not stand on ceremony with him. As hecaught sight of the princess he halted abruptly, stared at her for amoment, much as the first man may have stared at the first woman, thenturned and left the house, sprang on his mustang and galloped away.The princess, you must know, is as blonde as only a Russian can be,and an extremely pretty woman, small and dainty. No wonder the mightyprince of darkness took fire. She was much amused. So was Rotscheff,and he joked her the rest of the evening. Before he left, however,I had a word with him alone, and warned him not to let the princessstray beyond the walls of the fortress. That same night I sent acourier to General Vallejo--who, fortunately, was at Sonoma--biddinghim watch Solano. And, sure enough--the day I left for Montereythe Princess Helene was in hysterics, Rotscheff was swearing like amadman, and a soldier was at every carronade: word had just come fromGeneral Vallejo that he had that morning intercepted Solano in histriumphant march, at the head of six tribes, upon Fort Ross, and senthim flying back to his mountain-top in disorder and bitterness ofspirit."
"That is very interesting!" cried Chonita. "I like that. What anexperience those Russians have had! That terrible tragedy!--Ah, Iremember, it was you who were to have aided Natalie Ivanhoff in herescape--"
"Hush!" said Estenega. "Do not speak of that. Here we are. At yourservice, senorita." He sprang to the whaleboned pavement in front ofthe little church facing the blue bay and surrounded by the gray ruinsof the old Presidio, and lifted her down.
Chonita recalled, and angry with herself for having been beguiledby her enemy, took the infant from the nurse's arms and carried itfearfully up the aisle. Estenega, walking beside her, regarded hermeditatively.
"What is she?" he thought, "this Californian woman with her hair ofgold and her unmistakable intellect, her marble face crossed now andagain by the animation of the clever American woman? What ananomaly to find on the shores of the Pacific! All I had heard of TheDoomswoman, The Golden Senorita, gave me no idea of this. What a pitythat our houses are at war! She is not maternal, at all events; Inever saw a baby held so awkwardly. What a poise of head! She looksbetter fitted for tragedy than for this little comedy of life in theCalifornias. A sovereignty would suit her,--were it not for her eyes.They are not quite so calm and just and inexorable as the rest ofher face. She would not even make a good household tyrant, like DonaJacoba Duncan. Unquestionably she is religious, and swaddled in allthe traditions of her race; but her eyes,--they are at odds with allthe rest of her. They are not lovely eyes; they lack softness andlanguor and tractability; their expression changes too often, and theymirror too much intelligence for loveliness, but they never will beold eyes, and they never will cease to look. And they are the eyesbest worth looking into that I have ever seen. No, a sovereignty wouldnot suit her at all; a salon might. But, like a few of us, she is someyears ahead of her sphere. Glory be to the Californias--of the future,when we are dirt, and our children have found the gold!"
The baby was nearly baptized by the time he had finished hissoliloquy. She had kicked alarmingly when the salt was laid on hertongue, and squalled under the deluge of water which gave her her nameand also wet Chonita's sleeve. The godmother longed for the ceremonyto be over; but it was more protracted than usual, owing to theimportance of the restless object on the pillow in her weary arms.When the last word was said, she handed pillow and baby to the nursewith a fervent sigh of relief which made her appear girlish andnatural.
After Estenega had lifted her to her horse he dried her sleevewith his handkerchief. He lingered over the task; the cavalcade andpopulace went on without them, and when they started they were in therearward of the blithesome crowd.
"Do you know what I thought as I stood by you in the church?" heasked.
"No," she said, indifferently. "I hope you prayed for the fortune ofthe little one."
"I did not; nor did you. You were too afraid you would drop it. I wasthinking how unmotherly, I had almost said unwomanly, you looked. Youwere made for the great world,--the restless world, where people flyfaster from monotony than from a tidal wave."
She looked at him with cold dignity, but flushed a little. "I am notunwomanly, senor, although I confess I do not understand babies and dodetest to sew. But if I ever marry I shall be a good wife
and mother.No Spanish woman was ever otherwise, for every Spanish woman has had agood mother for example."
"You have said exactly what you should have said, voicing the inbornprinciples and sentiments of the Spanish woman. I should be interestedto know what your individual sentiments are. But you misunderstand me.I said that you were too good for the average lot of woman. You are awoman, not a doll; an intelligence, not a bundle of shallow emotionsand transient desires. You should have a larger destiny."
She gave him a swift sidelong flash from eyes that suddenly lookedchildish and eager.
"It is true," she said, frankly, "I have no desire to marry and havemany children. My father has never said to me, 'Thou must marry;' andI have sometimes thought I would say 'No' when that time came. For thepresent I am contented with my books and to ride about the countryon a wild horse; but perhaps--I do not know--I may not always becontented with that. Sometimes when reading Shakespeare I haveimagined myself each of those women in turn. But generally, of course,I have thought little of being any one but myself. What else could Ibe here?"
"Nothing; excepting a Joan of Arc when the Americans sweep down uponus. But that would be only for a day; we should be such easy prey.If I could put you to sleep and awaken you fifty years hence, whenCalifornia was a modern civilization! God speed the Americans: Thereinlies our only chance."
"What!" she cried. "You--you would have the Americans? You--aCalifornian! But you are an Estenega; that explains everything."
"I am a Californian," he said, ignoring the scorn of the last words,"but I hope I have acquired some common-sense in roving about theworld. The women of California are admirable in every way,--chaste,strong of character, industrious, devoted wives and mothers, bornwith sufficient capacity for small pleasures. But what are our men?Idle, thriftless, unambitious, too lazy to walk across the street, butwith a horse for every step, sleeping all day in a hammock, gamblingand drinking all night. They are the natural followers of a race ofmen who came here to force fortune out of an unbroken country withlittle to help them but brains and will. The great effort producedgreat results; therefore there is nothing for their sons to do, andthey luxuriously do nothing. What will the next generation be? Ourwomen will marry Americans,--respect for men who are men will overcomeprejudice,--the crossed blood will fight for a generation or two, thena race will be born worthy of California. Why are our few great men sovery great to us? What have men of exceptional talent to fight down inthe Californias except the barriers to its development? In England orthe United States they still would be great men,--Alvarado and Castro,at least,--but they would have to work harder."
Chonita, in spite of her disapproval and her blood, looked at himwith interest. His ideas and language were strikingly unlike thesentimental rhetoric of the caballeros.
"It is as you say," she admitted; "but the Californian's highest dutyis loyalty to his country. Ours is a double duty, isolated as we areon this far strip of land, away from all other civilization. We shouldbe more contemptible than Indians if we were not true to our flag."
"No wonder that you and that famous patriot of ours, Dona EustaquiaOrtega, are bonded friends. I doubt if you could hate as well as she.You have no such violence in your nature; you could neither love norhate very hard. You would love (if you loved at all) with majesty andserenity, and hate with chili severity." While he spoke he watched herintently.
She met his gaze unflinchingly. "True, senor; I am no 'bundle ofshallow emotions,' nor have I a lion in me, like Eustaquia. I am acreature of deliberation, not of impulse: I love and hate as dutydictates."
"You are by nature the most impulsive woman I ever saw," he said, muchamused, "and Eustaquia's lion is a kitten to the one that sleeps inyou. You have cold deliberation enough, but it is manufactured, andthe result of pretty hard work at that. Like all edifices rearedwithout a foundation, it will fall with a crash some day, andthe fragments will be of very little use to you." And there theconversation ended: they had reached the plaza, and a babel of voicessurrounded them. Governor Alvarado stood on the upper corridor of hishouse, throwing handfuls of small gold coins among the people, whowere shrieking with delight. The girl guests mingled with them, seeingthat no palm went home empty. Beside the governor sat Dona Martina,radiant with pride, and behind her stood the nurse, holding the infanton its pillow.
"We had better go to the house as soon as possible," said Estenega."It is nearly time for the bull-bear fight, and we must have goodseats."
They forced their way through the crowd, dismounted at the door, andwent up to the corridor. The Castros and I were already there, with anumber of other invited guests. The women sat in chairs, close to thecorridor railing; several rows of men stood behind them.
The plaza was a jagged circle surrounded by dwelling-houses, some onestory in height, others with overhanging balconies; from it radiatedfive streets. All corridors were crowded with the elegantly-dressedmen and women of the aristocracy; large black fans were waving; everyeye was flashing expectantly; the people stood on platforms which hadbeen erected in four of the streets.
Amidst the shouts of the spectators, two vaqueros, dressed in blackvelvet short-clothes, dazzling linen, and stiff black sombreros,tinkling bells attached to their trappings, jingling spurs on theirheels, galloped into the plaza, driving a large aggressive bull.They chased him about in a circle, swinging their reatas, dodginghis onslaughts, then rode out, and four others entered, dragging anunwilling bear by a reata tied to each of its legs. By means of a longchain and much dexterity they fastened the two beasts together, freedthe legs of the bear, then retired to the entrance to await events.But the bull and the bear would not fight. The latter arose on hishaunches and regarded his enemy warily; the bull appeared to disdainthe bear as too small game; he but lowered his horns and pawed theground. The spectators grew impatient. The brave caballeros and daintydonas wanted blood. They tapped their feet and murmured ominously. Asfor the populace, it howled for slaughter. Governor Alvarado made asign to one of the vaqueros; the man rushed abruptly upon the bull andhit him a sharp blow across the nose with the cruel quirto. Thebull's dignity vanished. With the quadrupedian capacity for measuringdistance, he inferred that the blow had been inflicted by the bear,who sat some twenty feet away, mildly licking his paws. He made asavage onset. The bear, with the dexterity of a vaquero, leapedaside and sprang upon the assailant's neck, his teeth meetingargumentatively in the rope-like tendons. The bull roared with painand rage and attempted to shake him off, but he hung on; both losttheir footing and rolled over and over amidst clouds of dust, a mightynoise, and enough blood to satisfy the early thirst of the beholders.Then the bull wrenched himself free; before the mountain visitor couldscramble to his feet, he fixed him with his horns and tossed him onhigh. As the bear came down on his back with a thud and a snap whichwould have satisfied a bull less anxious to show what a bull could do,the victor rushed upon the corpse, kicked and stamped and bituntil the blood spouted into his eyes, and pulp and dust wereindistinguishable. Then how the delighted spectators clapped theirhands and cried "Brava!" to the bull, who pranced about the plaza,dragging the carcass of the bear after him, his head high, his bigeyes red and rolling! The women tore off their rebosos and waved themlike banners, smashed their fans, and stamped their little feet; themen whirled their sombreros with supple wrists. But the bull was notsatisfied; he pawed the ground with demanding hoofs; and the vaquerosgalloped into the ring with another bear. Nor had they time to detachtheir reatas before the bull was upon the second antagonist; and theywere obliged to retire in haste.
Estenega, who stood between Chonita and myself, watched The Doomswomanattentively. Her lips were compressed fiercely: for a moment theybore a strange resemblance to his own as I had seen them at times.Her nostrils were expanded, her lids half covered her eyes. "She hascruelty in her," he murmured to me as the first battle finished; "andit was her imperious wish that the bull should win, because he is themore lordly animal. She has no sympathy for the poor bundle of hairand quiveri
ng flesh that bounded on the mountain yesterday. Has shebrutality in her?--just enough--"
"Brava! Brava!" The women were on their feet; even Chonita for themoment forgot herself, and beat the railing with her small fist.Another bear had been impaled and tossed and trampled. The bull,panting from his exertions, dashed about the plaza, still dragging hisfirst victim after him. Suddenly he stopped; the blood gushed from hisnostrils; he shivered like a skeleton hanging in the wind, then fellin an ignominious heap--dead.
"A warning, Diego," I said, rising and shaking my fan at him. "Be nottoo ambitious, else wilt thou die of thy victories. And do not lovethe polar star," I murmured in his ear, "lest thou set fire to it andfall to ashes thyself."
The Doomswoman: An Historical Romance of Old California Page 2