And who can look about the beautiful ruin and not be impressed that
his purpose is a worthy one? For here, beyond question, was one of
the largest establishments and the finest church of all the twenty-one
missions of California. Our pictures must be the best description of
the ruin-but they can give little idea of the impressive ensemble. The
inner court was surrounded by arched cloisters, part of which still
remain, though time-stained to a mellow brown and covered with vines
and roses. A tiny garden now relieves the wide waste of the ancient
enclosure, fragments of whose walls are still to be seen. The original
tiles still cover the roof, giving that rich color combination of dull
reds, silver-grays, and moss-greens which one seldom sees elsewhere.
The ruins of the great church are the most impressive and melancholy
portion-doubly so when one learns that the earthquake of 1812 tumbled
the seven stone domes of the roof upon the congregation while at mass,
crushing out forty lives. Traces of the carvings and decorations still
remain which show that in rude artistic touches Capistrano church
surpassed all its compeers. A little nondescript campanile with four
bells remains, whose inscriptions and history are given in Father
O'Sullivan's "Little Chapters." Here, also, he gives one or two pleasing
traditions of the bells, which are worth repeating here:
"Of the mission bells there are many traditions known to all the older
people of San Juan. One of these relates to the good old padre, Fray
Jose Zalvidea. Of all the mission padres, he more than the others, still
survives in the living memory of the people and his name is the 'open
sesame' to the treasure caves of local tradition.
"Adhering to the ancient custom of his brethren, he always traveled
afoot on his journeys to other missions, or on calls to the sick. Once
while returning from a visit to a rancheria in the north, the story
runs, he was overtaken near El Toro, some twelve miles away, by the
other padre of the mission, who rode in a carreta drawn by oxen. On
being invited to get in and ride, he refused and answered pleasantly.
"'Never mind, my brother, I shall arrive at the mission before you to
ring the Angelus.'
"The other father, respecting Padre Jose's desire to proceed afoot, did
not urge him further, but continued on his way in the carreta.
"Now in those days El Camino Real came into San Juan from the north,
not as it does now, along the level side of the Trabuco Valley, but
some rods to the east, over the rolling breasts of the lomas. From
the mission patio one may still see the depression in the hill-top to
the northwest of the mission, where the roadway came over the swelling
ground there, and gave the weary traveler from the north a first full
view of the mission. When the father in the carreta reached this
point on the King's Highway, it was just the hour for the Angelus,
and promptly on the moment the bells rang out the three-fold call to
prayer. Wondering who could have rung the Angelus in the absence of both
fathers, he hastened forward and found that Father Zalvidea, true to his
word, had reached the mission before him; but how he did so to this day
remains a mystery.
"Another of the traditions is as follows: There lived with her parents
near the mission an Indian maid named Matilda, who was very gentle and
devout and who loved to care for the sanctuary and to keep fresh flowers
upon the altars. She took sick, however, and died just at the break of
day. Immediately, in order to announce her departure, the four bells
all began of their own accord, or rather, by the hands of angels, to
ring together-not merely the solemn tolling of the larger ones for an
adult nor the joyful jingling of the two smaller ones for a child, but
a mingling of the two, to proclaim both the years of her age and the
innocence of her life. Some say it was not the sound of the mission
bells at all that was heard ringing down the little valley at dawn, but
the bells in heaven which rang out a welcome to her pure soul upon its
entrance into the company of the angels."
This church was built of hewn stone and lime mortar, though most of the
other buildings are of adobe.
Capistrano has many interesting relics. There are several statues,
including one of San Juan Capistrano in military-religious habit, and of
the Blessed Virgin. In the library are numerous illuminated books done
by the old-time monks, who always ended their work with a flamboyant
"Laus Deo." There are numerous old paintings of doubtful value and
several beautiful silver candlesticks.
The story of the mission is soon told, for it was very much like that
of every other. It was founded in November, 1776, Father Serra himself
taking part in the ceremonies. Ten years later there were five hundred
and forty-four Indians under the padres, who had made good progress in
the cruder arts and manufactures as well as agriculture. The beautiful
church was consecrated with great ceremony in 1806 and was destroyed
just six years later. It was the first of all to be "secularized." "The
administration of the mission," writes Father O'Sullivan, "passed from
the fathers into the hands of salaried state officials and it was only
a short time until the lands and even the buildings themselves were
sold off and the Indians sent adrift. Some years later, 1862, smallpox
appeared among them and almost entirely wiped them out of existence,
so that to-day not half a dozen San Juaneros remain in the vicinity
of the mission." Even this pitiful remnant has disappeared since the
foregoing words were written. On our last visit, Father O'Sullivan told
us that on that very day he had buried the last descendant of the once
numerous San Juan Mission Indians. "Surely," said he, "the day marks the
end of an era in the history of San Juan Capistrano Mission, since it
witnesses the utter extinction of the race of people for whose welfare
this mission came into existence."
It was a lowering evening as we left after our first visit. The sky had
become overcast by a dark cloud rolling in from the sea and raindrops
began to patter on the ruin about us. "I am sorry to have the weather
interfere with your pleasure trip," said Father O'Sullivan, "but I know
that you yourselves would welcome the rain if you understood how badly
it is needed here." And so we cheerfully splashed over the sixty miles
of wet roads, reaching Los Angeles by lamplight.
We made other pilgrimages to San Juan Capistrano under more favorable
weather conditions, for the road is a lovely one. I have already told
of a trip through the charming country to Santa Ana through the orange,
lemon, and walnut groves that crowd up to the road much of the way.
Beyond Santa Ana there are fewer fruit trees; here grain fields and huge
tracts of lima beans predominate. The latter are a Southern California
staple, and it was some time before we learned what they were planting
with wheeled seeders the latter part of May. The beans usually mature
without rain or irrigation-a crop that seldom fails. The country in the
main is flat and uninteresting between Santa Ana and Capistrano, but
there is always the joy and inspiration of the distant mountains. On
one shimmering forenoon we saw a remarkable mirage in this vicinity-the
semblance of a huge lake with trees and green rushes appearing in
the distance. It receded as we advanced and finally faded away. Its
startling distinctness forcibly recalled the stories we had read of
travelers being deceived and tormented by this strange apparition in
waterless deserts.