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 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. Senoritas 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 Pere 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-arez. 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.
Juarez was a Zapotec Indian, a hill tribe which had never been fully
under Spanish control. He was thoroughly educated, and followed the law
as a profession. Being fully alive to its character, he always opposed
the machinations of the Catholic Church. His dream and ambition was to
establish a Mexican republic, and the present constitution, which bears
date of 1857, was virtually his gift to the people. He has been very
properly called the prophet and architect of the republic.
In the cemetery of San Fernando were also seen the tombs of Mejia and
Miramon, the two generals who, together with Maximilian, were shot at
Queretaro. Here also are the tombs of Guerrero, Zaragoza, Comonfort, and
others of note in Mexican history. The cemetery as a whole is very
poorly arranged and quite unworthy of such a capital. The bodies of most
persons buried here are placed in coffins which are deposited in the
walls, and even graves are built upon the surface of the ground, because
of the fact that at a few feet below one comes to the great swamp or
lake which underlies all this part of the valley. There is another
Mexican cemetery worthy of mention, which is beautifully laid out and
arranged. It is that of Dolores, on the hillside southwest of Tacubaya,
just beyond Chapultepec. In the American cemetery are buried some four
hundred of our countrymen, soldiers, who died here in 1847. The English
and American cemeteries lie together. The poor people of the city, when
a death occurs in the family, hire a coffin of the dealers for the
purpose of carrying their dead to the burial-place, after which it is
returned to the owner, to be again leased for a similar object by some
other party. The dead bodies of this class are buried in the open earth,
a trench only being dug in the ground. Suitable wood is so scarce and so
valuable in the capital that coffins are very expensive. Those designed
for young children are seen exposed for sale decorated in the most
fantastic manner. One narrow street near the general market and close to
the plaza is almost wholly appropriated, on the street floor, to
coffin-makers' shops. We counted eleven of these doleful establishments
within as many rods of each other. The coffins designed for adults are
universally colored jet black; but those for children are elaborately
ornamented with scroll work of white upon a black ground. One of these
last is hung up as a sign at the entrance of each shop devoted to this
business. When a funeral cortege appears on the street, be it never so
humble, every one faces the same with uncovered head until it has
passed. An episode of this melancholy character is recalled which
occurred on San Francisco Street one morning. A very humble peon was
seen bearing his child's coffin upon his back, followed by the mother,
grandmother, and two children, with downcast eyes, five persons in all
forming the sad procession, if it may be so called. It was observed that
the gayly-dressed and elegantly mounted caballero promptly backed his
horse to the curbstone and raised his sombrero while the mourners moved
by, that other peons bowed their bare heads, and that every hat, either
silk or straw, was respectfully doffed along the street, as the solemn
little cortege wound its way to the last resting-place of humanity.