Kankakee Valley Post, Volume 8, Number 18, DeMotte, Jasper County, 31 March 1938 — Mistress of Monterey [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Mistress of Monterey

• Virginia Stivers Bartlett

Virginia Stivers Bartlett

WXU Service

SYNOPSIS In Spanish-governed California of 1783 a conflict between Church and State is represented by two friendly enemies, frail old Fray Junipero Serra, Franciscan missionary. and Don Pedro Fages, civil governor. After telling Serra he is sending to Mexico for his wife and son whom be has not seen for eight years, Don Pedro refuses his aid toward the founding of the Santa Barbara mission. Serra’s cherished dream, and the two part in bitterness.

CHAPTER I— Continued “Heretical words! How dare you 4peak so? Is it not to the glory of God that these pagans have been taught decency, cleanliness? That they have been taught the word of God? And that they have learned it is the lot of man to labor and toil honestly to produce a living from the soil in sweat of their brows? Can you refute that?” Fages managed a twisted smile. “ ‘Consider the lilies of the field,’ ” he quoted, “ ‘they toil not.’ Can you refute that?” “I shall not try to. You but mock such inspired words.” “No, you will not try to, because you know you can not. You know that before these poor savages came into the Church they were at least healthy. Look at them how! Diseased! ’_’ “And who is responsible for that? Can you lell. me? Yes, but you will not. It is the soldiers, your soldiers, the King’s soldiers! They have seduced the poor Indian women, and given them the loathsome diseases of - the Europeans. They are dying of it, like flies.’’ “ No, that is what you have brought them!” Fages rejoined Serra staggered. “Before God, explain those w ? ords! What I have brought?” “Yes, you. You and your missionaries with your greed <o save • souls for the further glory and powder of an already too - powerful church!” Serra was struggling for control, and when he spoke his voice was thick and trembling. “Rash man! Godless man! I wonder heaven does not open and the fires of holy wrath descend and destroy you!” He raised his hands with spread fingers, and advanced toward the Governor. “On your head be the blame! We men of God ask no escort of soldiery, it is forced upon us by the rapacious State, eager for dominion, swollen with the spoils of stolen empires! Leave us alone, you men of war, the cross must go alone!” Clutching the crucifix of his rosary he held it before him. “Alone the cross will conquer! I ask for no soldiers, I ask for priests, Pedro Fages, men of God, strong in the strength of righteousness, not armed with steel! Men bearing the word of God, with divine love in their hearts, not the fires-of lust that burn and kill!” He sank to his knees. “Blessed Mother of God, Holy Ghost Divine, Holy Master Jesus, here on my knees before you, I, the least of thy servants, Junipero Serra, do make a vow! Send me two strong brethren and with their help alone will I raise to thee a temple, th? Mission Santa Barbara! Then will I willingly give up my soul and without one regret tread the dark valley of the shadow of death.” _ The boy Pio slipped fearfully into •’ the room. *• “Padre mio,” he whispered awesomely, “it is the hour for vespers. Shall I ring the bell?” The father raised his face, stained with tears, drawn with agony. He nodded, and the boy departed silently. For a few moments the two men regarded each other. Then the Governor gathered up hat and riding whip that lay on the table. “Good night,” he said abruptly. “May your prayers be answered.” The other looked at him imploringly. “God soften your heart,” said he. As Pedro Fages and his servant rode away toward the Presidio of Monterey, they heard the plaintive notes 'of the vesper bells through the Carmel Valley. CHAPTER II A thousand cries rose from the street below and filtered through the open velvet-hung window’s of a room in the upper/floor of the palace of the Viceroy of Mexico, one Mayorga. Venders were hawking their wares: foodstuffs, parrots, baskets, pottery, burros and young pigs. The Viceroy, for the fiftieth time that bright morning, pulled aside one of the velvet curtains and looked down into the street, his nose twitching with agitation as he did so. “You are nervous, my friend,” chuckled a soldierly-looking man who stood beneath a great map of California stretched across the wall. A third man took a long cigar from between his bearded lips, to answer him. “You, Felipe de Neve, are a soldier, a fighter, and should be afraid of nothing—while our friend here, Mayorga, is—if he will pardon me, only Viceroy of Mexico. He should be allowed a few qualms.”

Mayorga walked from the window and joined de Neve beneath the map. “Si, you are a soldier, Felipe. One of the conquistadores of this heathen land here on the wall that is causing me so much trouble.” “A heathen land indeed,” answered de Neve. “And troublesome indeed. There is only one person who can help you. A woman.” “Yes—a woman—and that is why I tremble.” The third man, Romeu, joined them and looked up at the map. “There is one person who will keep Don Pedro happy and contented in California,” the Viceroy continued. “That is his wife, the beauteous Dona Eulalia Celis de Fages.” He preened himself and smoothed the creamy lace ruffles at his wrist. “I for one do not blame him for that. She would keep any man happy, anywhere.” He walked again to the window and peered out into the street. Romeu and de Neve exchanged. glances. “You are right, your Excellency,” agreed Romeu. “I w’ell remember the day the couriers met us, down in that desert of the Colorado, with dispatches that Don Pedro was to be governor. He did not give thanks that he would not have to chase Indios all over New Spain—he did

not think of his rise of position—from a humble Catalan soldado de cuero to governorship—he did not think of the glory of Spain or the Church. Oh, no. He knelt in the sand and said, ‘Now I can have my Eulalia with me.’ And he made me promise I would persuade her to join him. And here I am.” “Yes, and you must persuade her!” exclaimed Mayorga earnestly. “Fages is the only man for California, and I fear if his wife does not join him, he will not stay.” “Fear it!” snorted de Neve. “I know it. As for persuading her, you are to open the subject, and we will amen your suggestions.” “How can I! How can any man persuade a woman against her will! Look at the desolate stretch of country—the Californias, upper and lower! Regard the distance from this, the capital of Mexico, to that little spot which is Monterey, the capital of the Californias! The leagues of sea and desert that separate them! The sand, the cacti, the savages- 1 -” Romeu looked reflectively at the land he pointed out. “How will she reach there, by ship?” he asked. “She will have to walk,” said de Neve calmly. “Walk!” ejaculated the others. Just then there was a clamor in the street below. They went to the window and saw a carriage arriving up the filthy muddy street. The three men saw the footmen leap to their feet, open the carriage door and bow low. A woman dismounted, tall and bony-looking in spite of her enswathing clothing. Then another figure appeared, draped in gauzy black, a coquettish figure, they could see, for all the swaddlings of black lace that concealed her face, hands and all, against the sun’s rays. The two hurried across the pave and disappeared in the palace. The three men sighed. “It is she,” said Romeu. “The beauty of Barcelona,” said the Viceroy. “The fiery Catalan,” said de Neve. In a moment a lackey announced, “La Senora Dona Eulalia Celis de Fages, and the Dona Angustias Moreno.” “I am most happy to see your Excellency looking so well after the ball last night,” said the lady with a twinkle in her black eyes. “And to see you, Capitan Romeu, and you, General de Neve.” By this time she was seated in a high-backed chair, upholstered in

crimson leather, and was swinging a small satin-shod foot and silken ankle nervously back and forth. “I have had a mysterious letter from Don Pedro, and he told me, Don Felipe, that you would have news for me. Then when his Excellency invites me here this morning, I am more mystified. You are looking wonderfully well, Don Felipe, for one who has spent such a long time in that terrible country—that California.” Romeu looked whimsically at the Viceroy w’ho was twitching at his lace ruffles. “Thank you> Dona Eulalia. It is a miracle that I look well, for you are right, it is a terrible country.” Sighing lugubriously he looked at the fidgeting Mayorga. “As for the mysterious news, his Excellency will tell you Of it.” “Er—er—not at all—General—-that is your privilege—as Don Pedro’s old and valued friend, I will give you that privilege.” He began to pace rapidly back and forth, looking furtively from the map of California to Dona Eulalia’s cream white face, shadowed in its black lace. De Neve rose. “Your Excellency, I defer to your higher position. Yours is the honor —the privilege.” Mayorga ran a finger around his tight collar, and grew a little red above its gilt and purple. “I—er —no Capitan Romeu gave a dry chuckle. “Dona Eulalia, the honor which has befallen Don Pedro is so great, and will so affect your future, that I think I will ask permission of the General and his Excellency to break it to you myself.” “Yes!” exclaimed the two at once. “Very well. Come, Dona, and give me your hand.” In bewilderment she entrusted her fingers to the gentle urging of the Capitan, who drew her over to the map. “This,” he said, “is a map of California Of both Californias, Baja and Alta. Here, in Baja California we see little Loreto—the Jesuit missionaries founded this—but your ears and throat tell me you know also it produces the finest pearls in the world. Verdad?” She smiled. This was language she understood. “Very well. We will leave Baja California and go on to Alta California—just a jump—thus—and we find the Mission San Diego de Alcala —the first to be built in Alta California already the soil has been blessed with a martyr’s blood —then we find San Juan Capistrano, in a beautiful spot—and so on up we find San Gabriel Arcangel. Ah, that is the busy place—everyone going into or out of California stops there—it is quite a little metropolis.” Dona Eulalia was becoming interested in spite of herself. “Your finger passed over something here,” she exclaimed, “near San Gabriel—what is that?” Romeu peered closely. “That? Oh, that is just one of the two pueblos—de Neve’s pets. That is the Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de Los Angeles de Porciuncula. Los Angeles, they call it. A filthy, tiny place—scarcely noticed beside the mission settlement of San Gabriel.” De Neve interrupted. “Romeu, you falsify. That place will be, some day, the greatest—” “De Neve, do you wish to complete the lady’s geography lesson?” De Neve “Come, come, Capitan,” exclaimed Dona Eulalia. “What is the meaning of all this? I tremble with anticipation—or apprehension.” “Ah, yes. Pardon my digressions. But here is San Buenaventura, on the blue Pacific, San Luis Obispo, San Antonio de Padua, San Carlos Borromeo, Santa Clara and San

Francisco de Asis. And here is another pueblo, San Jose. All these lovely places—and loveliest of all, the Capital of California, the Presidio of Monterey. It is not a terrible country, Dona, it is a lovely country—one of the loveliest of the world, where living may be a joy, a pleasure, such as could never be known otherwhere.’* In the background de Neve snorted. The Viceroy came up and stood beside the two gazing at the map. “And over all that country, one man has been chosen as governor—one man out of all who have served there—one man, whom all the Indios, frailes and soldiers will honor. And the wife of that man will be received like a little queen of the land—will be a queen, in her owh right. All the missions and pueblos and presidios will do her hemage—it will be her queendom.” The large gloomy room was very still, except for the heavy breathing of the Viceroy, and the street noises that filtered in through the windows. Eulalia put her hand on her breast. “You mean that Pedro—that I—that we— ’’ Romeu nodded. ’ Eulalia screamed. Angustias rushed to her side. “I won’t! I never will go there! That barbarous place! No! This Mexico City is bad enough after Barcelona—but California—Monterey! Noh Angustias, take me home! I don’t believe Pedro is governor—you are lying to mei—deceiving me —you old—old—fools!’’ “Senora, you do hot realize what you are doing,” interjected de Neve. “I assure you California is a marvelous land—a land that in time will be looked upon with envy by all the nations of earth—and which will attract millions from all over the world—a land of commerce and accomplishment. It is your fate, your destiny to go there.’’ “Ai, what do I care for its commerce—its accomplishment!” Romeu spoke thoughtfully. “Certainly—but it would be nice in future days to knjow that generations yet unborn will say when they con the history of that country you so despised, 'Lovely Dona Eulalia de Fages! The first Lady of all the Californias!’ For you will be, you know. No other lady of quality has set foot in the land. Wives of petty officers, soldier’s women, yep —but none like yourself.” He concluded with a sweeping bow. “Now that is rpore interesting, Capitan Romeu. The first First Lady. That would be very amusing. I am sorry I can not do it.” “That is just what you' will be, Senora. As for lj)on Pedro—what his life will be, who can say? Of course he is a devoted husband—a man of honor —bijt who can say where his loneliness will lead him during those years apart from your fascinating self?” At this Eulalia rose definitely to her feet. “You are. tricking me! You have just told me there were no women in California—” “I did not say! that, Senora—l said there were nq ladies. Women, ah, yes—young Indian girls—quite attractive, and er-j-quite careless as to clothing—and |in whom, alas, the holy fathers have not as yet been able to plant the seeds of decency.” ; “How dare you,(General de Neve! You, Pedro’s old friend, to speak of him this way! Slandering him!” “Pardon, Senora. I do no such thing. I was simply pointing out the characteristics of the present population of California.” Eulalia’s heart Ipouhded, and she laid her hand on her bosom. Turning away from the window she leaned back, a black butterfly against the red velvet hanging. (TO BE CONTINUED)

“Yes!” Exclaimed the Two at Once.