Aztec Land - Maturin Murray Ballou (universal ebook reader .txt) 📗

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 senoritas, 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 Jose 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 Jose 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