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Aztec Land
Aztec Landполная версия

Полная версия

Aztec Land

Язык: Английский
Год издания: 2017
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Speaking of old books, there are three or four second-hand bookstalls and stores under the arcades running along one side of the plaza, where rare and ancient tomes are sold. Volumes, of the value of which the venders seem to have no idea, are gladly parted with for trifling sums. Civil wars and the changes of government have never interfered with the operations of the Monte de Piedad. All parties have respected it and its belongings, with one exception – during the presidency of Gonzales in 1884, when its capital was somewhat impaired and its usefulness circumscribed by a levy of the government in its desperation to sustain the national credit in connection with its foreign loans. A curious collection of personal property is of course to be seen here, including domestic furniture, diamonds, rubies, and other precious stones, swords, pistols, guns, saddles, canes, watches, clothing, and so on. The large building used for the purpose of carrying on the business stands upon the site once occupied by the private palace which formed the home of Cortez for so many years, a short distance west of the great cathedral. This institution has lately been sold to an English syndicate for the sum of one million dollars. The new owners have a cash capital of twenty-five millions, and will resume the banking department, which was suspended in 1884, and carry on the pawnbroking business as heretofore.

The alameda, a name usually applied to large Spanish parks, is a parallelogram of about thirty or forty acres in extent, situated between the two streets of San Francisco and San Cosme, abounding in eucalyptus trees, poplars, evergreens, orange and lemon trees, together with blooming flowers and refreshing fountains. In olden times this alameda – this forest-garden in the heart of the city – was inclosed by a wall pierced with several gates, which were only opened to certain classes and on certain occasions; but these grounds, greatly enlarged and beautified, are now open on all sides to the public, easily accessible from the surrounding thoroughfares. We were told that the name comes from the fact that the park was originally planted with álamos, or poplars. One cannot forget, while standing upon the spot and recalling the early days of the Spanish rule, that it was on a portion of these grounds that the hateful Inquisition burned its victims, because they would not subscribe to the Roman Catholic faith. According to their own records, forty-eight unbelievers were here burned at the stake at one time. We do not think that the Aztec idolaters ever exceeded in wickedness or cruelty this fiendish act.

The alameda has a number of open circles with fountains in the centre, about which stone benches are placed as seats. These spaces are much frequented by children as playgrounds. An interesting aviary ornaments one of the roomy areas, filled with a variety of native and exotic birds, which attract crowds of curious observers. The inexhaustible spring at Chapultepec supplies these fountains, besides many others in various parts of the city, from whence water-carriers distribute the article for domestic use. The alameda is the largest public garden in the capital, of which there are twelve in all, and is the daily resort of the corpulent priest for exercise; of the ambitious student for thought and study; of the nursery maid with her youthful charge; and of wooing lovers and coquettish señoritas, accompanied by their staid chaperones. On Sunday forenoons a military band gives an out-of-door concert in the central music stand, on which occasion all grades of the populace come hither, rich and poor alike, the half-fed peon in his nakedness and the well-clad citizen. All classes have a passion for music. The cathedral empties itself, as it were, into the alameda just after morning mass. This, be it remembered, is the forenoon. The closing hours of the day are devoted to driving and promenading in the adjoining Paseo de la Reforma. On the evenings of festal days, the central pavilion, where the band is placed, as well as other parts of the alameda, are illuminated with Chinese lanterns and electric lights disposed among the trees and about the fountains, so that the artificial lamps rival the light of day. On these gala occasions two or three additional bands of musicians are placed at different points to assist in the entertainment. The fountains play streams of liquid silver; the military bands discourse stirring music; the people, full of merriment, indulge in dulces, fruits, ice-cream, and confectionery, crowding every available space in the fairy-like grounds, and Mexico is happy.

There is no noisy demonstration on these occasions. The multitude, we must frankly acknowledge, are better behaved than any such assemblage usually is in Boston or New York. All seem to be quiet, contented, and enjoying themselves placidly. It should be mentioned, in this connection, that all pulque shops in the capital are promptly closed at six o'clock P. M. throughout the year. This is imperative and without exception; consequently, no evening disturbance is to be anticipated from that source. It was found that there are over two thousand pulquerias in the capital. The effect of this special stimulant, however, is not to make those who indulge freely in it pugnacious or noisy. It acts more like a powerful narcotic, and puts those who are overcome with it to sleep, having, in fact, many of the properties of opium. The gilded bar-rooms where the upper classes seek refreshment, who, by the way, seem rarely to abuse the privilege, are permitted to remain open until midnight, but into them the common people have not the wherewithal to procure entrance. A tumbler of pulque which costs them a penny they indulge in, but drinks at fifteen or twenty cents each, and in small portions at that, are quite beyond their means. A somewhat peculiar effect of pulque drinking was also mentioned to us. The people who partake of it freely have an aversion to other stimulants, and prefer it to any and all others without regard to cost. The beer-drinking German is often similarly affected as regards his special tipple. Chemical test shows pulque to contain just about the same percentage of alcohol as common beer; say, five or six per cent.

Besides witnessing the foul deeds of the Inquisition when the priesthood publicly burned and otherwise tortured unbelievers, the alameda has frequently been the scene of fierce struggles, gorgeous church spectacles, and many revolutionary parades. Here scores of treasonable acts have been concocted, and daring robberies committed in the troublous times not long past. To-day it is peaceable enough; so quiet in the summer afternoons, here in the very heart of the busy city, that the drone of the busy humming-birds among the flowers comes soothingly upon the ear of the wakeful dreamer. Quiet now, but awaiting the next upheaval, for such, we are sorry to say, is pretty sure to come, sooner or later; the Roman Catholic Church party is not dead, but sleepeth. A strong, costly, and united effort on its part, stimulated from Rome, to once more gain control of the government of Mexico, has been successfully defeated without an open outbreak since the second term of President Diaz commenced. The success of the church party would simply throw Mexico back half a century in her march of improvement towards a higher state of civilization. It would check all educational progress, all commercial advance, and smother both political and religious freedom.

The number of infant children, strapped or tied to their mothers' backs, that one sees in the streets of the capital, and indeed all through the country, is something marvelous. The fecundity of the peons is beyond all calculation. Eight women out of ten, belonging to the humbler classes, are sure to be thus encumbered. Marriages take place here at as early an age as in Cuba or South America, namely, at twelve years. Few young girls among the common people remain unmarried after fourteen years of age, or rather there are few of them that do not bear children as early as that. Marriage among the poor is a ceremony not always considered necessary, and, indeed, as a rule, they are too poor to pay the priest the price he charges for performing the ceremony. Speaking of marriage, this relationship among people of position and property is assumed under somewhat peculiar circumstances in Mexico. First, a civil marriage takes place, which makes all children born to the contracting parties legitimate. After this civil rite is duly complied with, perhaps a day and perhaps ten intervening, the usual church ceremony is performed, and then the bride and bridegroom join each other to enjoy their honeymoon, but until the latter ceremony is consummated, the couple are as much separated as at any time of their lives. Why this delay in consummation takes place is by no means clear to an outsider.

One not infrequently sees a mother carrying two infants at a time wrapped in her rebosa, and tied across her chest; only ten months of age separating the little creatures. Besides these infants the mother carries her burden of vegetables, fruit, baskets, or pottery, to dispose of in the market near the plaza. Like Japanese and Chinese babies, these little ones seldom, if ever, cry, but submit patiently and with apparent indifference to what seems to be a very trying position, as well as to almost total neglect. These children were never in a bed since they were born. They probably sleep at night upon a straw mat spread upon the earthen floor, and we much doubt if they are ever washed. Sometimes the father is seen carrying the baby, but this is very rare; the women take the laboring oar almost always here, as among our Indian tribes, the people of the East, and the South Sea Islanders. This is a characteristic applicable not alone to the national capital, but observable again and again all over the republic. Though so very poor, and doubtless often suffering from hunger, the half naked people are not infrequently seen with a cigarette between the lips. Drunkenness is seldom seen, notwithstanding that pulque is cheap and potent, and it is very rarely the case, as already intimated, that any quarreling is witnessed among the people. They are quiet and orderly, as a rule, yet most of them are homeless and hopeless.

Though begging is chronic with the Spanish race everywhere, and notoriously prevalent in continental Spain, persistent in Havana and Matanzas, and nearly universal throughout the Mexican republic, still, in the national capital it is far less obtrusive than elsewhere, because the police are instructed to suppress it. So, also, begging is prohibited by law in Paris, London, and Boston, but how constantly the law is disregarded we all know. Sad is the condition of things which, as Thackeray expresses it, gives the purple and fine linen to one set of men, and to the other rags for garments and dogs for comforters.

It is not uncommon to see a family group, mother, father, and one or two children, huddled close together in a street corner, where they have passed the night, sleeping in a half upright position, while leaning against an adobe wall. In an early morning walk towards the Paseo de la Viga, we saw just such a scene, with the addition of a mongrel dog, which had so bestowed himself as to give the shelter of his body as well as its natural warmth to a couple of small children. One thing the reader may be assured of, to wit: the whole family, including the dog, had a hearty and nourishing breakfast that morning at least.

CHAPTER X

Benito Juarez's Grandest Monument – Hotel del Jardin. – General José Morelos. – Mexican Ex-Convents. – City Restaurants. – Lady Smokers. – Domestic Courtyards. – A Beautiful Bird. – The Grand Cathedral Interior. – A Devout Lottery Ticket Vender. – Porcelain-Ornamented Houses. – Rogues in Church. – Expensive Justice. – Cemetery of San Fernando. – Juarez's Monument. – Coffins to Let. – American and English Cemetery. – A Doleful Street and Trade.

There exists a much grander monument to the memory of Benito Juarez than the fine marble group over his last resting-place in the cemetery of San Fernando, namely, the noble School of Arts and Trades founded by him. Poor native girls are here afforded excellent advantages for acquiring a knowledge of various arts, while they are both clothed and fed free of cost to themselves. The pupils are taught type-setting, book-binding, drawing, music, embroidery, and the like. There is a store attached to the institution in which the articles produced by the inmates are placed for sale at a moderate price. We were told that their industry went a long way towards rendering the institution self-supporting, and so admirably is the work of embroidery executed here that the orders for goods are in advance of the supply. Nearly four hundred girls are at all times reaping the advantage of this school, which is a grand and practical form of charity worthy of emulation. Individual instances of notable success crowning the career of graduates from this institution were related to us, some of which were of touching interest, and many quite romantic, showing that genius knows no sex, and that opportunity alone is often all that is required to develop possibilities frequently lying dormant about us.

The College of Medicine, near the Plazuela of San Domingo, occupies the old palace of the Inquisition, whose last victim in Mexico, General José Morelos, was executed in December, 1815. For two hundred and fifty years, since 1571, this institution of the church fattened upon the blood of martyrs. We do not wonder at the futile efforts of the Romish church of the nineteenth century to ignore, deny, and cover up these iniquities; but their awful significance is burned too deeply into the pages of history to be obliterated.

While engaged upon a voyage of discovery accompanied by a friend who has long resided in the city of Mexico, we chanced upon the Hotel del Jardin, a cheerful, sunny hostelry, occupying a building which was once a famous convent, leading our companion to remark that "the shameful record of wickedness, licentiousness, and cruelty, practiced in these Mexican institutions before their suppression, could it be made public, would astonish the world." The present Hotel del Jardin nearly surrounds a garden full of tropical verdure, and seemed very inviting. Determining to test its cuisine, dinner was ordered, the presiding genius being given carte blanche to do his best; but, heaven save the mark! – all we have to add is, don't try the experiment of dining at the place referred to. The best and most usual way for transient visitors to this city is to take rooms in comfortable quarters, and to eat their meals at some of the fairly good restaurants in the neighborhood of the plaza. Of course, one cannot expect New York or Boston fare, nor do we come to Mexico for what we can obtain in the way of food and drink.

Among the groups observed sitting on the little balconies of the dwelling-houses, matrons are seen smoking their cigarettes as openly as do their husbands. Señoritas do the same on the sly. No place is exempt from the pungent fumes of tobacco. Pipes seem to be very seldom resorted to, and the chewing of tobacco, we are glad to say, is not indulged in at all, – a disgusting use of the weed almost solely confined to North America and ships' forecastles. Smoking, after all, did not seem to be so universal and incessant as we have seen it in some other countries. Perhaps this arises, in a measure, from want of means to pay for the article among the general population, since they are only half clothed in wretched rags, being mostly bareheaded and barefooted also. The lower class of Mexico could give the lazzaroni of Naples "points," and then outdo them vastly in squalor and nakedness. The idle, indolent, and thriftless outnumber all other classes in the republic, one reason for which is found in the fact common to all tropical countries, that the climate is such that the poor can safely sleep out of doors and without shelter, with nearly as much comfort as those who have an humble covering in the shape of four adobe walls and a thatched roof. As a rule, these common people, men and women, are ugly in form and feature, except that they have superb black eyes and pearl-white teeth. Physical hardships do not tend to develop comeliness.

Strong contrasts meet the eye, – naturally to be expected in a community which is slowly becoming revolutionized from a state of semi-barbarism, as it were, to the broader civilization of its neighbors. This transition is very obvious as regards the dress of the populace. Silk stove-pipe hats and Derbys are crowding hard upon the cumbersome sombrero; the dainty Parisian bonnet is replacing the black lace mantilla; broadcloth is found to be more acceptable clothing than leather jackets and pantaloons; close-fitting calico and merino goods are driving out the rebosas, while woolen garments render the serapes needless. This, of course, is a city view. Small country communities still adhere to the simpler and cheaper national costume of the past, and will probably continue to do so for years to come.

In strolling about the better part of the city, one sees through the broad, arched entrances to the courtyards of the finest private residences in Mexico, upon the first or street floor, the stable, the kitchen, and the coach house, with hostlers grooming the animals, or washing the harnesses and vehicles, while the family live directly over all these arrangements, up one flight of broad stone steps. This is a Spanish custom, which is observable in Havana and continental Spain, as well as in all the cities of Mexico. Other patios, whose occupants do not keep private vehicles, adorn these areas with charming plants, small tropical trees, blooming flowers, statuary, and fountains. Here and there hang cages containing bright-colored singing birds, parrots, and paroquets, not forgetting to mention the clear, shrill-voiced mocking-bird, which is a universal favorite. The Mexican macaw is pretty sure to be represented by a fine member of his species in these ornamental patios. He is a gaudy, noisy fellow. The head, breast, and back are of a deep red, the wings yellow, blue, and green. The tail is composed of a dozen feathers, six of which are stout, short, and tapering, while the rest are fourteen inches in length. He passes his time in screaming, and scrambling about with the aid of his claws and hooked beak combined, going as far as the tiny chain which is attached to one foot and fastened to the perch will permit. His favorite attitude seems to be hanging head downward from his perch like an acrobat, often remaining thus a distressingly long time, until one would fain coax him into a normal position with some favorite tidbit of cake, sugar, or fruit.

Officials and merchants often combine their dwellings and places of business, so that here and there a patio will exhibit various samples of merchandise, or the sign of a government official over a room devoted to office purposes. How people able to do otherwise are willing to sleep, eat, and live over a stable certainly seems, to us, very strange. At night these patios are guarded by closing large metal – studded doors, a concierge always sleeping near at hand either to admit any of the family or to resist the entrance of any unauthorized persons, very much after the practice which is common in France and the cities of Northern Europe.

We used the expression "while strolling about the better part of the city," etc.; but let us not convey a wrong impression thereby, for there are no exclusively aristocratic streets or quarters in the city of Mexico. The houses of both the upper and lower classes are mingled, scattered here and there, often adjoining each other. Some few of the better class of houses, like the domes of some of the churches, are faced with porcelain tiles, giving the effect of mosaic; but this has a tawdry appearance, and is exceptional in the national capital. At Puebla it is much more common, that city being the headquarters of tile-manufacturing.

No matter how many times one may visit the grand cathedral, each fresh view impresses him with some new feature and also with its vastness. As to the harmony of its architectural effect, that element does not enter into the consideration, for there is really no harmony about it. Everything is vague, so to speak, irregular, and a certain appearance of incompleteness is apparent. There is at all times a considerable number of women, and occasionally members of the other sex, to be seen bending before the several chapels; deformed mendicants and professional beggars mingle with the kneeling crowd. Rags flutter beside the most costly laces; youth kneels with crabbed old age; rich and poor meet upon the same level before the sacred altar. Priests by the half dozen, in scarlet, blue, gilt, and yellow striped robes officiate hourly before tall candles which flicker dimly in the daylight, while boys dressed in long white gowns swing censers of burning incense. The gaudy trappings have the usual theatrical effect, and no doubt serve, together with the deep peals of the organ, the dim light of the interior, the monotone of the priest's voice, in an unknown tongue, profoundly to impress the poor and ignorant masses. The largest number of devotees, nearly all of whom, as intimated, are women, were seen kneeling before the small chapel where rest the remains of Iturbide, first emperor of Mexico, whose tomb bears the simple legend: "The Liberator." None more appropriate could have been devised, for through him virtually was Mexican independence won, though his erratic career finally ended so tragically.

Just outside of the main entrance of the cathedral, a middle-aged woman was seen importuning the passers, and especially strangers, to purchase lottery tickets, her voice being nearly drowned by the loud tongue of the great bell in the western tower. Presently she thrust her budget of tickets into her bosom and entered the cathedral, where she knelt before one of the side altars, repeating incessantly the sign of the cross while she whispered a formula of devotion. A moment later she was to be seen offering her lottery tickets on the open plaza, no doubt believing that her business success in their sale would be promoted by her attendance before the altar. How groveling must be the ignorance which can be thus blinded!

It may not be generally known that these lotteries are operated, to a considerable extent, by the church, and form one of its never-failing sources of income, proving more profitable even than the sale of indulgences, though the latter is all profit, whereas there is some trifling expense attendant upon getting up a lottery scheme. A few prizes must be distributed in order to make the cheat more plausible. As to the validity of indulgences, one cannot actually test that matter on this side of Lethe.

As will be seen, all classes of rogues are represented among the apparently devout worshipers. On the occasion of our second visit to the cathedral, a gentleman who had his pockets picked by an expert kneeling devotee hastened for a policeman, and soon returning, pointed out the culprit, who was promptly arrested; but, much to the disgust of the complainant, he also was compelled to go with the officer and prisoner to the police headquarters, where we heard that he recovered his stolen property, though it cost him three quarters of a day's attendance at some sort of police court, and about half the amount of the sum which the rogue had abstracted.

All observant strangers visit the cemetery of San Fernando, which adjoins the church of the same name. This is the Mount Auburn or Père la Chaise of Mexico, in a very humble sense, however. Here rest the ashes of those most illustrious in the history of the country. One is particularly interested in the tomb and monument of the greatest statesman Mexico has known, her Indian President, Benito Juarez, pronounced Hoo-arèz. The design of this elaborate tomb is a little confusing at first, but the general effect is certainly very fine and impressive. The group consists of two figures, life size, wrought in the purest of white marble, showing the late president lying at full length in his shroud, with his head supported by a mourning female figure representing Mexico. The name of the sculptor is Manuel Islas, who has embodied great nobility and touching pathos in the expression of the combined whole. The base of the monument, as we stood before it, was half hidden by freshly contributed wreaths of flowers. A small Grecian temple surrounded by columns incloses this commemorative group, to which the traveler will be very sure to pay a second visit before leaving the capital. Many of the monuments in this city of the dead are of the beautiful native onyx, which has a very grand effect when cut in heavy slabs. The grounds are circumscribed in extent and overcrowded. No name, we believe, is held in higher esteem by the general public than that of Benito Juarez, who died July 18, 1872, after being elected to fill the presidential chair for a third term.

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