Six Months in Mexico

The silvery lake, alive with geese and ducks, and bordered with lilies of the Nile and other beautiful flowers, nestles like a birdling in the heart of the greensward. The fountains play and sing their everlasting song, while birds of exquisite colors mingle their sweet melodies with the tinkle of the falling waters. Plots of flowers vie with each other to put forth the most beautiful colors; all nature seems to be doing its utmost to show its gratitude for being assigned to this beautiful spot. Far back in the forest, is a smooth, level place, where moonlight picnics are often held. The soft drapery of Spanish moss hangs low, yet high enough not to interfere with the headgear. Beneath its shadows one would fain forget the world. We no longer wonder at the "mauana" of the natives, and can clearly see why they wish to live as slow and as long as possible.

When Montezuma reigned supreme he was accustomed to gather together his wise men, and while sitting beneath the shade of a monstrous cypress they would discuss the topics of the day. For this reason the tree is named "The Tree of Montezuma." It is said to be two hundred feet high and sixty feet in circumference. It is heavily draped with moss, and is the most magnificent monument any king could have.

Half way up the hill is an entrance, almost hidden by moss and other creeping foliage, which leads into a cave. The first chamber is a very large room hewn out of the solid rock. At the opposite side is an iron door, barring the way to the cave proper. Many different stories are told of it. One is that the cave was here before the time of Montezuma, and that untold wealth has been hidden in its unexplored recesses when different tribes went to war. Another says that when Cortes was forced to leave he buried his ill-gotten wealth in its darkened depths. The less romantic story is that the subterranean sally-port, which leads down from the garden on the roof of the castle, opens into the cave; they once tried to explore it, and found within a mammoth hole. A rock thrown in was not heard to strike the bottom, and even the bravest feared to go further. The rocks on the hill are covered with hieroglyphics, which archaeologists have not succeeded in translating; the brick fence around the winding drive has passed its day of beauty, and the posts alone remain of the lamps which once lighted Maximilian's pathway.

Having obtained a ticket of admission to the castle from the governor of the National Palace, we took a party of tourists with us and proceeded to investigate.

When we had mounted the hill and walked through the iron gate into the yard, the uniformed sentinel called out something in Spanish, loud and long, and a drummer boy quite near beat a hasty roll. "They must think we intend to storm the castle," said one of the ladies in evident alarm, but her fears were quieted when a young cadet came from the building and offered to show us around. "Can you speak English?" I inquired. "No, I will find some one," he answered in Spanish, and off he went. However, we lost no time waiting for his return, but went to the door of the castle and handed our pass to the guard. "Momento," he said, and he also disappeared, but only to come back accompanied by a handsome, middle-aged officer, who told us, in broken English, our pass was good, and while the guard would take us through the castle he would get us another escort for the rest.

The castle is being renovated for a Mexican White House. A New York firm is to finish it at a cost of one hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars. Our disappointment increased as we roamed through room after room to find all mementos of Maximilian and Carlotta destroyed. Even what had been their bedchamber was a total ruin. The only things that remain are three poor pictures on the wall facing the garden. They had been spoiled, and before many hours the last thing to recall the murdered emperor and the blighted empress would be totally effaced. President Diaz is to move here when the repairs are finished; but if they are no faster with the work in the future than they have been in the past, what they have begun will be old-fashioned before the rest is completed, and Mexico will have added two or three more names to its list of presidents.

On top of the castle is a beautiful garden, full of rare plants and handsome trees and shrubbery. Fountains are plenty, and statues of bronze and marble are strewn around in profusion. The stairway is made of imported Italian marble, and the balconies of alternate blocks of Italian and Puebla marble. The effect, is superb. The famous sally-port leads down through the castle from the center of the garden. It is fenced in around the month with a brass railing and covered with green vines. Magnificent aquariums divide the flowers at intervals, and the little gold and silver fish play about in the water as if life was all joy. When one looks around the beautiful landscape, the romance of the historic past fades before the grand reality of the present. From this majestic spot one commands a view of the entire valley – the soft, green meadows, the avenues of proud trees which outline the gray roads that always fade away at the foot of the chain of mountains which encircle the valley like a monstrous wall. The faint blue and purple lines of the mountains appear small and insignificant when the gaze wanders to those two incomparable beauties, Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihnatl. All nature seems a prayer. Grand old Popocatapetl stands with its white, snowy head at the feet of the White Lady. Perhaps nature has assumed this tranquilness while awaiting the old, white-headed man to say the last sad words over that beautiful still form.

At the back of the castle is the Military Academy, or West Point of Mexico. Three hundred cadets, with their officers, are housed here. The school is kept in the best of order, and when the cadets finish their seven years' course they are well prepared for future duties. The cadets belong to the best families and number a lot of handsome men. The stairway which divides, or rather connects, the two buildings is an odd yet pretty structure. It is built in an arch to the height of ten feet. Then starting out in opposite directions are two other arches, which connect the buildings. These arches – the stairway, of course – have no supports whatever, and one is almost afraid they may cave in with their weight. When they were finished some one remarked to the builder, "They will fall down if one man mounts them." "Bring a regiment and put on them, and I guarantee they stand," replied the builder. This was done, and they were found to be as firm as a mountain. They are certainly one of the prettiest pieces of architectural work ever executed.

In the library of the academy are oil paintings of the cadets who fell in defense of Chapultepec. They were handsome young boys, and a fine marble shaft, inclosed with an iron fence at the foot of the hill, is erected in commemoration of their heroic deed. The prettiest boy of the lot, with sunny locks and blue eyes, folded the flag, for which he was fighting, to his breast, and stood with a smile on his face while his enemies cut him into pieces. He was but thirteen years old. His picture occupies a prominent place, and beneath it stands the flag, dyed a dark crimson with his heart's blood. The cadets keep those little heroes' memories green. Every morning they place wreaths of flowers on the monument as they march on their way to the meadows below to drill.

The cadets have two queer pets, a wild pig and a monkey. The latter is their companion. He performs in the gymnasium with them, and does some wonderful feats. He is truly a smart, cunning little fellow, and exhibits much intelligence. He is fond of the boys, and the boys return his affection. When they come to town on Sundays they never forget to take some sweetmeats back for him; and he never forgets to expect the treat, and he gets very loving and confidential about that time. He hugs the returned youth, and pries into his pockets with as much enthusiasm as though he had been absent for months. Every cadet has a bed with his name, number, etc., on it. A combination desk and wardrobe stands by the side, and in the bottom is a tin pan. At 5.30 they arise, and when the order is given they take up their tin pans and march out to the side of the building. From a large basin they take the water, and placing their pans on a stone bench many yards long they wash themselves. On Sundays they can go to bull-fights, to town to see their relatives, or do anything they wish, unless they have neglected their studies the week before, when they are kept at school for punishment. They are taught French, Spanish, Greek, and English. They are extremely polite, and have not the least objection to flirting. Though they are short in stature they have good forms and are splendid horsemen. In fact, they are the beau ideal of any girl who likes embroidered uniforms and brass buttons, topped off with that cavalier style no female can resist.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE FEASTS OF THE GAMBLERS

The Mexicans, as a people, have an inordinate passion for gambling. They gamble on everything. Poor peons have been known, when their money was gone, to take the rags off their backs and pawn them in order to get a few cents to lose. Men possessing thousands have gone into houses at night to be hauled away in the morning a corpse, without a dollar to pay funeral expenses. Gambling reached such a stage that the government saw it must interfere. Consequently they prohibited all street gambling and started lotteries, in which prizes are drawn every other day. The main prizes range from $500 to $5,000. Crippled, blind, aged, poverty-stricken men and women are on the streets at all hours selling numbered strips of tissue paper marked "Lottery." The seller wears a brass badge in the shape of a half-moon as proof that he or she is employed by the government. No trouble is experienced in selling the tickets, as everybody buys, foreigners as well as Mexicans. The tickets range from twelve cents to twenty-five dollars. When the drawing is held a printed list showing the fortunate numbers is posted in the court. People of all nationalities and in all stages of dress crowd around the notice. Many turn away unhappy, while some few smile over their gains. It is said the proceeds are devoted to useful and charitable works. The income, at any rate, must be a princely one.

Gambling houses are also run on a large scale. They are licensed by the government. Once every year, in the month of February, gamblers procure a license and open houses at Tacubaya. During these four weeks all are allowed to gamble here in any style they wish. This chance picnic is called "the feast of the gamblers." At three o'clock every afternoon ladies in carriages, men on horseback, the poor in the street cars, all bound for the one destination – Tacubaya – present a beautiful sight. From the energy displayed, the hurry to pass one another, the evident desire to get there first, one would think it the first holiday they had had for years, and all were determined to get the most out of it!

To reach the scene the tourist must take a two-mile drive along a wide road, bordered on either side with trees of luxurious growth and shade, beneath which beautiful, pure-white calla lilies and scarlet-red geraniums lift their pretty heads in the perfect abandon of naturalness and liberty. Dotted here and there over the lovely valley are green fields, adobe huts, and whitewashed churches, with superb Chapultepec ever in view, as a crown or guard to the vast valley beneath. The gates of Chapultepec, with its sentinels and mounted guards, are passed, and in a few minutes more we are in Tacubaya.

"We will have to alight here," said our guide. "The streets are so full it is impossible to drive through."

Impossible to drive; it was almost impossible to walk. As we stepped from the carriage several peons, who had come to meet us, knelt on the ground and spread out their serapes before them, displaying a few silver dollars, big copper one and two cent pieces and three cards; the cards were deftly crossed, face downward, one after another, with astonishing rapidity, while the "tosser" kept singing out some unintelligible stuff, apparently, "Which will you bet on?" Quickly a peon steps forward and lays a $10 bill on one card. The "tosser" shuffles again, the man wins and puts many silver dollars in his pocket. This excites the watching crowd, which presses forward, and many women and men lay down their money on certain cards, only to see it go into the pile of the "tosser." One failure does not discourage them, but they try as long as their money lasts, for it is impossible to win. The "tosser" has one or two accomplices who win the first money to excite the crowd or again to increase their waning energy.

The "tosser" and his accomplices will follow Americans, or "greenoes," as they call us, for squares. When you pause they prostrate themselves before you; the stool-pigeon always wins and tries to induce the stranger to play – even pinches off the corner of the card, saying "It will win; bet on it;" "Senor, try your hand." "Senorita, you will be lucky," whispers the accomplice as he gazes at you in the most solemn manner. Wild-eyed women, who smell strongly of pulque, with disheveled hair and dirty clothes, beg for money to try their luck.

Each side of the street is filled with tents. In the center and along the houses are women squatted on the ground nursing their babies and selling their wares, which consist of everything ugly. Some build little charcoal fires, above it suspend a flat pan, and on it fry some sort of horrible cakes and red pepper, which are sold to the gamblers. At the foot of a large tree sat an ugly, dirty woman. From a big earthen jar by her side she dealt out pulque to the thirsty people; the jar was replenished repeatedly from filled pig skins. At another place tomatoes and salad were laid out in little piles on the ground. A little naked babe lay asleep on a piece of matting, and a woman was busy at the head of another – not reading her bumps, but taking the living off the living – and she did not have to hunt hard either. Similar scenes repeated themselves until one longed for something new.

The restaurants were numerous. A piece of matting spread on the ground constituted the tables, with the exception of three old wrecks that could hardly stand. Cups of all shapes, but none whole, lay claim to being the only dishes in sight. Large clay jars, tin boilers, etc., were the coffee urns.

Among all the mob that gathers here, a fight is an unheard-of thing. "It is old California repeated," said Joaquin Miller, "with the rough people left out." Rough, in a certain sense, they are, and ignorant, yet far surpassing the same class of people in the States; they possess a never-failing kindness and gentleness for one another; the police carried one woman who was paralyzed from pulque as tenderly as if she were their mother, while a sympathizing crowd followed; two peons supported between them a pulque victim, who was so happy that his spirits found vent in trying to sing a hiccough song. Another peon, only half sober, got his drunken companion on his back and trudged off, in a wavering manner, for his home.

In the tents along the street a second class of people gamble. Some tables have painted on them three faces – a red one, with a white and green one on either side – on which the men gamble. Musicians with string instruments furnish pleasing airs, and women in picturesque costumes do the singing and dancing. The most popular song is "I am a pure Mexican, no Spanish blood in me." The people scorn the idea of Spanish blood, and boast of being of pure Indian descent.

Over the top of high walls peep the green trees, and the vines crawl over, hanging low down on the outside. Enter the vine-draped gateway and you will see a garden as fine as any city park. A smooth walk leads to all sorts of cunning little nooks; large trees spread out their heavy arms; the perfume of thousands of beautiful flowers scents the air; playing fountains mingle their music with the exquisite melody of the string bands placed at intervals throughout the grounds; statues glisten against the green foliage; well-dressed men and finely clad women are visible on every spot – everything animate and inanimate adds to the picturesqueness of the beautiful scene.

In the buildings, which are decorated outside with pictures from happy scones in life, are tables and chairs, the walls being hung with fine paintings and expensive mirrors. On the green table-cloth is placed $10,000 and $20,000 – the former sum on the roulette table, the latter on the card board. The money is half gold and half silver. Before the hour of playing these tables are left unguarded; people go in and out at pleasure, but all are too honorable to take one piece. Ladies and gentlemen sit or stand around, smoking their cigarettes and betting. One woman lost $500 in a few moments, but her face never changed. A man stood at a roulette table, and, commencing with $10, was in a short time the possessor of $750. He never changed countenance, and after getting the "pot" together he exchanged it for greenbacks and walked off. Any one playing can order what they wish to drink at the expense of the proprietor. Fine restaurants are also run in connection with the establishment.

One gambling hall is hung with Spanish moss in the shape of a tent, which reflects in the mirrors forming the walls. It is beautiful and reminds one forcibly of what fairyland is supposed to be. Every large house has a notice posted informing patrons that they furnish, free of charge, conveyances for the city at late hours. One man almost broke the bank and had to get a wagon to haul his money to Mexico. Others won $5000, $10,000 and $20,000, but notwithstanding this one house made $200,000 the first ten days. Electric lights enable the players to keep the game up all night, and unique torches furnish just enough light in the gardens to show the way and fascinate the sentimental.

Tired at last, we wandered forth and visited the beautiful old cathedral which all Mexican towns possess, walked through several plazas and examined the fine fountains, flowers and monuments, and at last traveled to the top of the hill in order to view the country around about. Seated on the eight-foot bank of the military road, we watched the Indians going to and from the city. First came a drove of burros walking quite briskly, as if they feared the load left behind might catch up and insist again on being carried. A number of women wrapped up in a straight piece of flannel and a piece on their heads in the style of the peasant girl in the "Mascot," passed by. On their back were huge bundles of wood and scrubbing-brushes. "Buenas noches, senora; buenas noches, senorita; buenas noches, senors," they cried out pleasantly as their bare feet raised enough dust to encircle them. Their black eyes gazed on us in a friendly manner and their lovely white teeth glistened in a cordial smile. "Poor human beasts of burden! Give the little one some money," we whispered. "Here, this is yours," he called, in Spanish, holding forth a silver dollar. The smile faded from her face. "Gracias, no, senor!" and she quickly passed on, too proud to accept what in all probability was more than she ever owned.

The sun had long gone down; dark clouds draped the "White Lady;" Chapultepec looked dim and hazy. With regret we left our prominent position, passed the handsome palaces of Escandon, Mier y Celis and Barron, walked through one of the handsomest villages in Mexico – Tacubaya – and in a few moments reached our carriage, homeward bound, leaving the "Feast of the Gamblers," just in the height of its glory.

CHAPTER XVII.

FEAST OF FLOWERS AND LENTEN CELEBRATIONS

If they had put both in a kettle and, after constant stirring, poured the contents out, there would not have been more of a mixture of religion and amusement than there was during Lent; to a sight-seer it looked as if the two forces were waging a battle to see which would predominate. It was very interesting, more so from the fact that in no other place on earth is Lent celebrated like it is in the City of Mexico. I think I told you how the carnival season opened, with balls, picnics, and driving in full dress on the paseo; then suddenly everything collapsed, and the city put on somber robes. Bells tolled forth from morning until night, and every other day was a saint's day, when, Catholic or otherwise, we were compelled to fast; the stores closed, and everything came to a standstill. All the night previous fireworks were set off, and revolvers cracked until one's wildest wish was that their inventors had never been born.

One morning I was surprised to learn I could not have any coffee – the solitary cup which constitutes our dainty, delicious breakfast here. My limited Spanish prevented my giving vent to my feelings, and so I nursed my righteous wrath while I took observations. The whole house was closed and darkened, the mirrors were covered with purple cloths, and every little ornament, which had hitherto decorated the house, was missing. All the people of the household were dressed in black, talked in whispers, and walked around on their tiptoes. Dinner-time came and we sat down to a bit of dry toast (butter is an unheard-of thing), black coffee, chile, or red pepper, and beans. By this time I began to get "shaky," especially as they did not talk and pulque was dispensed with. After saying: "Some one must be dead;" "They must have gotten into some kind of trouble, and are trying to make believe they are away," I decided to quit "guessing," and try to find out the true cause of these strange doings. Finally, I decided to see if any of my Mexican "bears" wore visible; and, going through the parlor, I opened the window leading to the balcony. Just as I had removed all the monstrous bars, my landlady came rushing to me, with a burning candle in one hand and beads in another, and in louder tones than she had spoken before she besought me not to open the window. Completely mystified and feeling sure they had done some terrible deed, I closed the bars, with one longing sigh to my "bears," and then catching her by the shoulder, asked, in trembling tones: "Tell me, what have you done?"

"No comprehende," she ejaculated, looking at me as if I had lost my senses.

"Porque?" I asked, pulling her around, and pointing to the bare tables and cabinets, the draped mirrors, the barred shutters.

"I am sad because it is my saint's day and my mother's day," she explained, and she took me into her room, where everything was draped in somber colors. Below the picture of her mother were a number of burning candles placed around a large cross. Before this cross the rest of the family were on their knees, and as I slipped out and closed the door I saw her sink down beside them, with a look of submission on her face. I have nothing more to say, except that I am glad that before a similar day rolls around I shall be over the Rio Grande and doubtless at home.

Holy week began on Piernes de Dolores (Friday of Sorrow), April 16. As early as 3.30 in the morning the bells began to toll, and people flocked to the churches. At five o'clock we started for La Viga, where this day is celebrated by the Feast of the Flowers, or Paseo de las Flores (Flower Promenade). Even at that hour the way was crowded with people laden with flowers. When we reached La Viga we found it filled with canoes and boats burdened with beautiful flowers of every description. As far as we could see up La Viga it was the same – picturesque people paddling their equally picturesque boats in and out and around the crowd. Some of the boats were ready for hire. They had awnings made of cane covered with ferns and flowers. Very few could resist their inviting appearance, and by nine o'clock there was not an empty boat to be found.

Along the fragrant, grassy banks sat flower girls surrounded by heaps of ferns, creamy lilies, delicious pinks of hundreds of shades, geraniums and fuchsias of wonderful size and color, and roses whose colors, sizes and perfumes bewildered me. Honeysuckles, roses, lilies and poppies were woven into wreaths, which people bought and wore on their heads and around their shoulders. Eating-stands were about as plentiful as the flowers, and everything that was ever made in Mexico was here for sale. They did a big business, too. Gay crowds would sit down on the grass and take breakfast off of a straw petate as merrily as if in the finest dining-room. Some of these booths were fixed up with canvas covers and flower sides; other long booths were fitted up in the same manner, hung with the Mexican colors and filled with chairs, where the tired could pay a medio (six and one quarter cents) and sit down. Three bands in holiday attire sent forth lovely strains, alternately, from similar booths; the trees on either side kept the paseo shady. It was filled with people riding and driving; the riders, who numbered many ladies, formed a line in the center and the carriages drove around and around, down one way and up the other. Most of those out driving alighted and mingled with the masses, it was certainly a most enjoyable scene.