A note added by Highworth Ridden:
A note added by Highworth Ridden:
“The above was written by me to my mother soon after the completion of the dam, when I revisited Santa Barbara for the first time since the troubles. I left the pier on that morning of the troubles thinking to be back in ten days: I did not return save for that time as a prisoner for more than eleven years.
“What I did not and could not write to my mother, I write now, after another eleven years. It is about Carlotta. It is difficult to set down what she was to me. ‘Calf-love,’ I suppose most people would say. Well, there is a generosity in calf-love that gives it a grace: not that mine had any grace. I saw her on only one day twenty-two years ago: I have thought of her every day since; not as a lover of course (for years past), but as a spirit apart, unlike anyone else that ever was. You who never saw her cannot understand this. She was the most exquisite thing: in life marvellous, in the unspeakable end, heroic: and always so beautiful, so gracious. All who knew her felt this: she had cruel enemies, the mad, the diseased, the godless, the savage and the greedy hated her.
“I went to the chapel of Carlotta, which H. E. built. Her tomb, with her recumbent figure, is there: it is very beautiful. Her sculptured head on the stairs leading to the Plaza is liker her. Gamarro’s painting of her is not like. Bedwyn’s pencil sketch is like. But she was like the light, no one could have painted her.
“I tried to do something for her once, and though I failed, I am prouder of that than of anything else that I have ever done. Whatever she was, she made men know that gleams come into this world from a world beyond, which is better than this.
“H. F. R.”
“When I set out from the hotel on that morning of the troubles, I took with me a scrap of the hermosita which she had broken for me. This being in my pocket-book, was stolen from me at Ribote by the Englishman who got me out of jail. The rest of the spray, being in my trunk at the hotel, was, as I supposed, lost, during the troubles, with all my kit.
“But in 1899, being at the Club in Santa Barbara, I met the then proprietor of the hotel, who said, that he had recently found some trunks and bags in a disused cellar: that these had evidently been put away during the troubles and never claimed since, and were now to be sold. I went to see them, and among them found one of my tin trunks, in which were some ruined clothes. With the clothes, in some hotel blotting-paper, I found the hermosita spray which Carlotta had given to me, and the envelope, addressed by her to Donna Emilia, which I had picked up and kept. So that I have what few have, one of the last gifts and one of the last writings of a lovely soul.
“That is all that one can say of her, that she was a lovely soul. I have met no one in the least like her. I can but thank God for her, knowing that she came from God.
“H. F. R.”
A note upon Carlotta, by Arturo Grau, author of “Memoirs of Those Times.”
A note upon Carlotta, by Arturo Grau, author of “Memoirs of Those Times.”
“I felt when I met her, what I have felt ever since, that in her mortal body an angel walked, who needed but a small instrument though a perfect one.
“Those who met her, felt despair at their unworthiness beside so much perfection; yet felt exaltation at the thought that such perfection could be in this world. I can truly say, with so many others, that she altered my life for me.”
Another note upon Carlotta, by Roberto Mandariaga.
Another note upon Carlotta, by Roberto Mandariaga.
“None can describe her, nor would one understand, if she were described. She was like a light sent from God.”
Another note upon Carlotta, by Roger Weycock.
Another note upon Carlotta, by Roger Weycock.
“She was a little, sprightly thing with a lot of colour. She was very much of a lady by birth, being a de Leyva; but for this she might have passed for bold. She seemed to me to be very fond of her own opinion, which was not always wise. She had been the spoiled darling all her life; old de Leyva’s pet; the Chavez group worshipped her. Someone had told her, in her youth, that she was like a little fairy. She seemed to me to be always acting the fairy. I do not of course pretend to justify her murder, which must ever remain a blot upon an unconstitutional but, on the whole, rather great administration. At the same time I, who saw her, can testify that she was not the angel from Paradise which some, who never saw her, would have us believe. She was a pert young woman, accustomed to her own way, who had the tragical fate to run counter to a much stronger way than her own. The character of Carlotta de Leyva, as worshipped (this is scarcely too strong a word) at present at Santa Barbara, had no original in the young woman whom I met; it is an invention of the poets (of the sentimental-idealistic school, of whom Tomás de Medellin is the chief exponent), backed by an able but quite unscrupulous propagandist press, whose interest it is to blacken Don Lopez by every means in its power.”
Another note upon Carlotta, by Guillermo de Medellin, father of the poet.
Another note upon Carlotta, by Guillermo de Medellin, father of the poet.
“I saw her almost daily for many years. As a traveller in both hemispheres, I have met many thousands of people; some of them distinguished, a few great, none like her. I have met some with more compelling power; that, after all, was not what she had; she had blessing power, as though she came from Heaven.
“She was one whom many loved; surely all to their great good. No hatred or other evil could exist in a mind full of her memory.
“Once, when she was a little girl, five or six years old, I asked her what she would do when she grew up. She said that she would build everybody a palace. ‘What,’ I said, ‘with your little hands?’ ‘No,’ she said, ‘my lover will build it for me.’ This I have so often, often thought of.”
* * * * * * *
The poem “Carlotta,” by Tomás de Medellin, is well-known in Santa Barbara. It is a formless but interesting jumble of writing about her, in sonnets, ballads, lyrics and dramatic dialogues. It contains most of the fables about her which the imagination of the race has seized upon. I quote here some translation from portions of the poem.
The Sonnet of Camilla, Mother of Don Manuel, on hearing of her son’s betrothal to Carlotta:
The Sonnet of Camilla, Mother of Don Manuel, on hearing of her son’s betrothal to Carlotta:
Lord, when Thy servant, doubting of Thy grace,Went in despair from what she judged Thy frownTo search for comfort in an earthly town,Despairing of all help in any place!When she was sure, that not in any caseCould her demerits touch the longed for crown,But rather sorrow, that would bring her downWhere no light comes, nor joy, nor Bridegroom’s face:* * * * * * *Then, in the chaos, lo, a plan revealed.Lo, in the sand, the lilies of the field.All thy blind servant’s darkness of untrustProven more wicked than her tongue can speak.To her unfaith thou turn’dst the other cheek,And, to her greed, gavest gold that cannot rust.
Lord, when Thy servant, doubting of Thy grace,Went in despair from what she judged Thy frownTo search for comfort in an earthly town,Despairing of all help in any place!When she was sure, that not in any caseCould her demerits touch the longed for crown,But rather sorrow, that would bring her downWhere no light comes, nor joy, nor Bridegroom’s face:* * * * * * *Then, in the chaos, lo, a plan revealed.Lo, in the sand, the lilies of the field.All thy blind servant’s darkness of untrustProven more wicked than her tongue can speak.To her unfaith thou turn’dst the other cheek,And, to her greed, gavest gold that cannot rust.
Lord, when Thy servant, doubting of Thy grace,Went in despair from what she judged Thy frownTo search for comfort in an earthly town,Despairing of all help in any place!When she was sure, that not in any caseCould her demerits touch the longed for crown,But rather sorrow, that would bring her downWhere no light comes, nor joy, nor Bridegroom’s face:* * * * * * *
Lord, when Thy servant, doubting of Thy grace,Went in despair from what she judged Thy frownTo search for comfort in an earthly town,Despairing of all help in any place!When she was sure, that not in any caseCould her demerits touch the longed for crown,But rather sorrow, that would bring her downWhere no light comes, nor joy, nor Bridegroom’s face:* * * * * * *
Lord, when Thy servant, doubting of Thy grace,
Went in despair from what she judged Thy frown
To search for comfort in an earthly town,
Despairing of all help in any place!
When she was sure, that not in any case
Could her demerits touch the longed for crown,
But rather sorrow, that would bring her down
Where no light comes, nor joy, nor Bridegroom’s face:
* * * * * * *
Then, in the chaos, lo, a plan revealed.Lo, in the sand, the lilies of the field.All thy blind servant’s darkness of untrustProven more wicked than her tongue can speak.To her unfaith thou turn’dst the other cheek,And, to her greed, gavest gold that cannot rust.
Then, in the chaos, lo, a plan revealed.
Lo, in the sand, the lilies of the field.
All thy blind servant’s darkness of untrust
Proven more wicked than her tongue can speak.
To her unfaith thou turn’dst the other cheek,
And, to her greed, gavest gold that cannot rust.
Lines, on the same occasion. This poem is known in Santa Barbara as “The Vision of Camilla concerning Manuel.”
Lines, on the same occasion. This poem is known in Santa Barbara as “The Vision of Camilla concerning Manuel.”
In the dark night I saw Death drawing nearTo make me go from here;In all my sin, with all my work undone,Leaving behind my sonWith no more stay nor pathThan what the wild horse hath.I saw the souls of all my earthly friendsLaid bare, their aims and ends;How some might love him, many help, but noneBe wisdom to my son.Wisdom that is a roadWhere no track showed,A dawn, when no lamp glowed.Thus in the night I heard Death come, I heardThe mouse shriek at the bird;My sins came huddled to my bed, the bellDead hours did tell:There was no light: only the tick of time:Life, strangling in the slime.Then in the multitude of souls I sawA bright soul, without flaw,Wearing a star upon her brow like heavenIn the green light of even.However black (I knew) the night might turnThat star would burn.She reached her hand to me and cried: “Death calls,Time strikes, the hour falls.And like a flight of birds the souls prepareTo whirl into the air,To bring to be what none may understand.I shall but light the hand . . .Lo, here, the light upon my brow shall leadThy son until he bleed;Until he fail, and falter, and despair.Even in his blackest night I shall be thereMy star will be his guidance: he will knowWhat light is, from its glow.”
In the dark night I saw Death drawing nearTo make me go from here;In all my sin, with all my work undone,Leaving behind my sonWith no more stay nor pathThan what the wild horse hath.I saw the souls of all my earthly friendsLaid bare, their aims and ends;How some might love him, many help, but noneBe wisdom to my son.Wisdom that is a roadWhere no track showed,A dawn, when no lamp glowed.Thus in the night I heard Death come, I heardThe mouse shriek at the bird;My sins came huddled to my bed, the bellDead hours did tell:There was no light: only the tick of time:Life, strangling in the slime.Then in the multitude of souls I sawA bright soul, without flaw,Wearing a star upon her brow like heavenIn the green light of even.However black (I knew) the night might turnThat star would burn.She reached her hand to me and cried: “Death calls,Time strikes, the hour falls.And like a flight of birds the souls prepareTo whirl into the air,To bring to be what none may understand.I shall but light the hand . . .Lo, here, the light upon my brow shall leadThy son until he bleed;Until he fail, and falter, and despair.Even in his blackest night I shall be thereMy star will be his guidance: he will knowWhat light is, from its glow.”
In the dark night I saw Death drawing nearTo make me go from here;In all my sin, with all my work undone,Leaving behind my sonWith no more stay nor pathThan what the wild horse hath.
In the dark night I saw Death drawing near
To make me go from here;
In all my sin, with all my work undone,
Leaving behind my son
With no more stay nor path
Than what the wild horse hath.
I saw the souls of all my earthly friendsLaid bare, their aims and ends;How some might love him, many help, but noneBe wisdom to my son.Wisdom that is a roadWhere no track showed,A dawn, when no lamp glowed.
I saw the souls of all my earthly friends
Laid bare, their aims and ends;
How some might love him, many help, but none
Be wisdom to my son.
Wisdom that is a road
Where no track showed,
A dawn, when no lamp glowed.
Thus in the night I heard Death come, I heardThe mouse shriek at the bird;My sins came huddled to my bed, the bellDead hours did tell:There was no light: only the tick of time:Life, strangling in the slime.
Thus in the night I heard Death come, I heard
The mouse shriek at the bird;
My sins came huddled to my bed, the bell
Dead hours did tell:
There was no light: only the tick of time:
Life, strangling in the slime.
Then in the multitude of souls I sawA bright soul, without flaw,Wearing a star upon her brow like heavenIn the green light of even.However black (I knew) the night might turnThat star would burn.
Then in the multitude of souls I saw
A bright soul, without flaw,
Wearing a star upon her brow like heaven
In the green light of even.
However black (I knew) the night might turn
That star would burn.
She reached her hand to me and cried: “Death calls,Time strikes, the hour falls.And like a flight of birds the souls prepareTo whirl into the air,To bring to be what none may understand.I shall but light the hand . . .
She reached her hand to me and cried: “Death calls,
Time strikes, the hour falls.
And like a flight of birds the souls prepare
To whirl into the air,
To bring to be what none may understand.
I shall but light the hand . . .
Lo, here, the light upon my brow shall leadThy son until he bleed;Until he fail, and falter, and despair.Even in his blackest night I shall be thereMy star will be his guidance: he will knowWhat light is, from its glow.”
Lo, here, the light upon my brow shall lead
Thy son until he bleed;
Until he fail, and falter, and despair.
Even in his blackest night I shall be there
My star will be his guidance: he will know
What light is, from its glow.”
A sonnet upon Ezekiel Rust.
A sonnet upon Ezekiel Rust.
Son of Isaiah Rust, of Churn, his wageWas eighteenpence a day, working for Squire,With rabbits twice a year, and sticks for fire,In a stoopt cottage, broken-backt with age.His life was among horses from his birth,He uttered cries which horses understood,He handled squire’s stallion in his mood.Strange blood being in him from the ancient earth.Often, when moons were full, he ranged the Downs,Much like the fox, but liker to the hareWho forms in the thymed grass in the hill air,And sees from the hill edge, as the stars rise,The glare in heaven above the market townsAnd turns back to the midnight, being wise.
Son of Isaiah Rust, of Churn, his wageWas eighteenpence a day, working for Squire,With rabbits twice a year, and sticks for fire,In a stoopt cottage, broken-backt with age.His life was among horses from his birth,He uttered cries which horses understood,He handled squire’s stallion in his mood.Strange blood being in him from the ancient earth.Often, when moons were full, he ranged the Downs,Much like the fox, but liker to the hareWho forms in the thymed grass in the hill air,And sees from the hill edge, as the stars rise,The glare in heaven above the market townsAnd turns back to the midnight, being wise.
Son of Isaiah Rust, of Churn, his wageWas eighteenpence a day, working for Squire,With rabbits twice a year, and sticks for fire,In a stoopt cottage, broken-backt with age.
Son of Isaiah Rust, of Churn, his wage
Was eighteenpence a day, working for Squire,
With rabbits twice a year, and sticks for fire,
In a stoopt cottage, broken-backt with age.
His life was among horses from his birth,He uttered cries which horses understood,He handled squire’s stallion in his mood.Strange blood being in him from the ancient earth.
His life was among horses from his birth,
He uttered cries which horses understood,
He handled squire’s stallion in his mood.
Strange blood being in him from the ancient earth.
Often, when moons were full, he ranged the Downs,Much like the fox, but liker to the hareWho forms in the thymed grass in the hill air,And sees from the hill edge, as the stars rise,The glare in heaven above the market townsAnd turns back to the midnight, being wise.
Often, when moons were full, he ranged the Downs,
Much like the fox, but liker to the hare
Who forms in the thymed grass in the hill air,
And sees from the hill edge, as the stars rise,
The glare in heaven above the market towns
And turns back to the midnight, being wise.
The Meditation of Carlotta in Prison.
The Meditation of Carlotta in Prison.
This that I understand,This that I touch with hand,This body, that is I,To-day will die.O given Spirit, now taken,Keep to this truth unshaken,That the good thing, well-willed,Becomes fulfilled.
This that I understand,This that I touch with hand,This body, that is I,To-day will die.O given Spirit, now taken,Keep to this truth unshaken,That the good thing, well-willed,Becomes fulfilled.
This that I understand,This that I touch with hand,This body, that is I,To-day will die.
This that I understand,
This that I touch with hand,
This body, that is I,
To-day will die.
O given Spirit, now taken,Keep to this truth unshaken,That the good thing, well-willed,Becomes fulfilled.
O given Spirit, now taken,
Keep to this truth unshaken,
That the good thing, well-willed,
Becomes fulfilled.
The Meditation of Highworth Ridden.
The Meditation of Highworth Ridden.
I have seen flowers come in stony places;And kindness done by men with ugly faces;And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races;So I trust, too.
I have seen flowers come in stony places;And kindness done by men with ugly faces;And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races;So I trust, too.
I have seen flowers come in stony places;And kindness done by men with ugly faces;And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races;So I trust, too.
I have seen flowers come in stony places;
And kindness done by men with ugly faces;
And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races;
So I trust, too.
The Comfort of Manuel, on Setting Forth defeated in theVenturer.
The Comfort of Manuel, on Setting Forth defeated in theVenturer.
Bad lies behind, worse lies before.What stars there were are in us still;The Moon, the Inconstant, keeps her will,The Sun still scatters out his store,And shall not Man do more?When the worst comes, the worst is going:As a gate shuts, another opes:The power of man is as his hopes:In darkest night the cocks are crowing.In the sea roaring and wind blowingAdventure: man the ropes.
Bad lies behind, worse lies before.What stars there were are in us still;The Moon, the Inconstant, keeps her will,The Sun still scatters out his store,And shall not Man do more?When the worst comes, the worst is going:As a gate shuts, another opes:The power of man is as his hopes:In darkest night the cocks are crowing.In the sea roaring and wind blowingAdventure: man the ropes.
Bad lies behind, worse lies before.What stars there were are in us still;The Moon, the Inconstant, keeps her will,The Sun still scatters out his store,And shall not Man do more?
Bad lies behind, worse lies before.
What stars there were are in us still;
The Moon, the Inconstant, keeps her will,
The Sun still scatters out his store,
And shall not Man do more?
When the worst comes, the worst is going:As a gate shuts, another opes:The power of man is as his hopes:In darkest night the cocks are crowing.In the sea roaring and wind blowingAdventure: man the ropes.
When the worst comes, the worst is going:
As a gate shuts, another opes:
The power of man is as his hopes:
In darkest night the cocks are crowing.
In the sea roaring and wind blowing
Adventure: man the ropes.
THE LONDON AND NORWICH PRESS, LIMITED, ST. GILES’ WORKS, NORWICH
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.
Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.
A Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience.