Travels and Adventures of Monsieur Violet. Фредерик Марриет

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      Queen city of California! to me there is poetry in thy very name, and so would it be to all who delight in honesty, bonhommie, simplicity, and the dolce far niente.

      Notwithstanding the many solicitations we received; Padre Marini went to the convent, and I took up my quarters with the old governor.

      All was new to me, and pleasant too, for I was not eighteen; and at such a time one has strange dreams and fancies of small waists, and pretty faces, smiling cunningly. My mind had sometimes reverted to former scenes, when I had a mother and a sister. I had sighed for a partner to dance or waltz with on the green, while our old servant was playing on his violin some antiquated en avant deux.

      Now I had found all that, and a merry time I had of it. True, the sack of doubloons helped me wonderfully. Within a week after my arrival, I had a magnificent saddle embossed with silver, velvet breeches instead of cloth leggings, a hat and feathers, glossy pumps, red sash, velvet round-about, and the large cape or cloak, the eternal, and sometimes the only, garment of a western Mexican grandee, in winter or in summer, by night or by day. I say it was a merry time, and it agreed well with me.

      Dance I did! and sing and court too. My old travelling companion, the missionary, remonstrated a little, but the girls laughed at him, and I clearly pointed out to him that he was wrong. If my English readers only knew what a sweet, pretty little thing is a Monterey girl, they would all pack up their wardrobes to go there and get married. It would be a great pity, for with your mistaken ideas of comforts, with your love of coal-fire and raw beef-steak, together with your severe notions of what is proper or improper, you would soon spoil the place, and render it as stiff and gloomy as any sectarian village of the United States, with its nine banks, eighteen chapels, its one “a-b-c” school, and its immense stone jail, very considerately made large enough to contain its whole population.

      The governor was General Morreno, an old soldier, of the genuine Castilian stock; proud of his blood, proud of his daughters, of himself, of his dignities, proud of every thing—but, withal, he was benevolence and hospitality personified. His house was open to all (that is to say, all who could boast of having white blood), and the time passed there in continual fiestas, in which pleasure succeeded to pleasure, music to dancing; courting with the eyes to courting with the lips, just as lemonade succeeded to wine, and creams to grapes and peaches. But unhappily, nature made a mistake in our conformation, and, alas! man must repose from pleasure as he does from labour. It is a great pity, for life is short, and repose is so much time lost; at so thought I at eighteen.

      Monterey is a very ancient city; it was founded in the seventeenth century by some Portuguese Jesuits, who established a mission there. To the Jesuits succeeded the Franciscans, who were a good, lenient, lazy, and kind-hearted set of fellows, funny yet moral, thundering against vice and love, and yet giving light penalties and entire absolution. These Franciscans were shown out of doors by the government of Mexico, who wished to possess their wealth. It was unfortunate, as for the kind, hospitable, and generous monks, the government substituted agents and officers from the interior, who, not possessing any ties at Monterey, cared little for the happiness of the inhabitants. The consequence is, that the Californians are heartily tired of these agents of extortion; they have a natural antipathy against custom-house officers; and, above all, they do not like the idea of giving their dollars to carry on the expense of the Mexican wars, in which they feel no interest. Some morning (and they have already very nearly succeeded in so doing) they will haul down the Mexican flag from the presidio, drive away the commissarios and custom-house receivers, declare their independence of Mexico, and open their ports to all nations.

      Monterey contains about three thousand souls, including the half-breeds and Indians acting as servants in the different dwellings. The population is wealthy, and not having any opportunity to throw away their money, as in the eastern cities (for all their pleasures and enjoyments are at no expense), they are fond of ornamenting their persons, and their horses and saddles, with as much wealth as they can afford. A saddle of 100 pounds in value is a common thing among the richer young men, who put all their pride in their steeds and accoutrements.

      The women dress richly and with an admirable taste; the unmarried girls in white satin, with their long black hair falling upon their shoulders; their brow ornamented with rich jewels when at home, and when out, their faces covered with a long white veil, through which their dark eyes will shine like diamonds.

      The married women prefer gaudy colours, and keep their hair confined close to their head by a large comb. They have also another delightful characteristic, which indeed the men share with them; I mean a beautiful voice, soft and tremulous among the women, rich, sonorous, and majestic among their lords. An American traveller has said, “A common bullock-driver on horseback, delivering a message, seemed to speak like an ambassador to an audience. In fact, the Californians appear to be a people on whom a curse had fallen, and stripped them of every thing but their pride, their manners, and their voices.”

      There is always much amusement in Monterey; and, what betwixt cock-fighting, racing, fandangoing, hunting, fishing, sailing, and so forth, time passes quickly away. Its salubrity is remarkable; there has never been any disease—indeed sickness of any kind is unknown. No toothache nor other malady, and no spleen; people die by accident or from old age; indeed, the Montereyans have an odd proverb, “El que quiere morir que se vaya del pueblo”—that is to say, “He who wishes to die must leave the city.”

      While remaining there I had rather a perilous adventure. I had gone with some of my friends to great fishing party at the entrance of the bay, which, by the bye, is one of the finest in the world, being twenty-four miles in length and eighteen in breadth. The missionary, Padre Marini, not being very well, had an idea that the sea-air would do him good, and joined our company. We had many boats; the one in which the Padre and I embarked was a well-shaped little thing, which had belonged to some American vessel. It was pulled with two oars, and had a small mast and sail.

      Our fishing being successful, we were all in high glee, and we went on shore to fry some of our victims for our afternoon’s meal. During the conversation, somebody spoke of some ancient ruins, fifteen miles north, at the entrance of a small creek. The missionary was anxious to see them, and we agreed that our companions should return to Monterey while he and I would pass the night where we were, and proceed the next morning on an exploring expedition to the ruins. We obtained from another boat a large stone jug of water, two blankets, and a double-barrelled gun. As soon as our companions quitted us, we pulled the boat round to the northern point of the bay, and having selected proper quarters for the night, we made a kind of shelter on the beach with the oars, mast, and sail, and lighted a fire to make ourselves more comfortable. It was one of those beautiful mild evenings which can be found only in the Bay of Monterey; the gentle and perfumed breeze softly agitated the foliage around and above us, and as night came on, with its myriads of stars and its silvery moon, the missionary having, for some time, raised his eyes above in silent contemplation, reverted to scenes of the past, and of other climes.

      He spoke of Hurdwar, a far distant mission in the north of India, close to the Himalayas. The Hindoos call it the “City of a Thousand Palaces;” they say it was built by the genii on the very spot where Vishnu had reposed himself for a few weeks, after one of his mystic transmutations, in which he had conquered Siva, or Sahavedra, the spirit of evil. Though not so well known, Hurdwar is a place still more sacred than Benares; people assemble there once a year from all parts, and consecrate several days to their ablutions in the purifying waters of the Ganges. In this noble city is also held one of the greatest fairs of India, indeed of all the world; and as its time is fixed upon the same month as that in which the Hindoo devotees arrive at the city, numerous caravans from Persia, Arabia, Cashmere, and Lahore repair to the spot, and erect their bazaars along the banks of the river, forming a street of many miles. The concourse collected at these times has been ascertained to number more than one million of souls.

      There the Padre Marini СКАЧАТЬ