The Bride of Mission San Jose
A Tale of Early California
9781465626509
208 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
Fairer art thou than the lily, than the rose more sweet, sang a mellow baritone voice. A guitar thrummed accompaniment. At the end of his improvisation the singer waved the instrument gracefully, now in sweeping stroke, again in shorter measure, as if he were a maestro directing his musicians. Then he touched the strings in melancholy strain: "Beat, beat, little dove, thy tender wings against thy iron cage." Next triumphantly he intoned: "Fly away, little dove, fly away; the cruel bars are broken." Once more in pantomime he directed his fancied musicians. "What is it, Don Alfredo? Art fanning thyself, or do mosquitoes annoy thee?" He looked upward into a pair of dark, laughing eyes not three feet distant. "O, Doña Carmelita," rapturously, "I was marking rhythm for the angel choirs which sing in praise of thy beauty and charm. They sing of one angel, even thou, Doña mia, more fair than they." The girl withdrew from the embrasure, brushing her fan across its iron-barred front. "I shut out, Don Alfredo, thy foolish words. I drive them back into the air. I fear the angels are displeased at thy presumption. Many nights have you sung here meaningless words, empty nothings; but even better such than to speak thoughts which must offend the saints in heaven." "O, Doña Carmelita, let me once again see thy eyes sparkle in the moonlight; add a flash or two from thy teeth of pearl——" "Hush, Don Alfredo, or I leave. Perhaps at other embrasures not far away wait caballeros, not so vain as to fancy themselves directors of the music celestial. Good night, Don Alfredo. Clip the wings of thy imagination lest thou fly too near the sun." "O, Doña mia, do not go away. If it please thee I'll praise the heavenly angels." The window was suddenly closed. "Caramba! again. It's difficult for a soldier to trim his tongue that he may speak words of love to the tender ears of the capricious señorita." "Good evening, Captain Morando." The soldier turned abruptly. At his side stood Señor Mendoza, administrator of the Mission of San José, gravely looking at him. "Good evening, your Excellency. I hope your health is all of the best," somewhat discomposedly. "Many thanks, Captain. Your hope is generously fulfilled in me, for my health is indeed good." The Administrator's expression became quizzical. "May I ask you, brave soldier, why you stand on guard here in the moonlight, bearing that singular-appearing firearm?" pointing to the guitar. "Can it be that renegade Indians threaten?" "When a soldier stands at guard, Señor Administrator, may there not be motives many, other than renegade Indians?" The other laughed and changed the subject. "Did I but dream the comandante of the pueblo of San José was to be here to-night, he would have been invited to sit with our council meeting but now concluded. Spring advances, and the rains fall not. Never has Alta California seen such drought. Our live stock sadly need grazing and water. Hence I called the council. I would that you had been present. The military mind is fertile in expedient." "I fear it would be sadly deficient in surmounting the need of a south wind." "Our Captain has wit, as well as vigilance. But I am forgetting hospitality, soldier protector of the Mission. Come within. Let others woo, if they will, the goddess of dreams, but for you and me the pleasures of fellowship will hasten lagging hours."
