have been overpersuaded, into the belief that a bonnet is the highest
point of perfection in their dress? It has all been done by a foolish
imitation of the caprices of French milliners, themselves actuated by
millions of caprices and fancies--but at the same time by one
steadily-enduring principle, that novelty and change, no matter how
useless, how extravagant, form the soul of their peculiar trade. For,
note it down--the bonnet mania has not mounted upwards from the lower to
the higher ranks of society; on the contrary, it has been a regular
plant, sown as a trifling casual seed in the hotbed of some silly
creature's brain, and then sending down its roots into many an inferior
class. Any one who has crossed the British Channel, knows that the
bonnet--as we understand the word in England--is not an article of
national costume in any portion of the world except our own
island--America and Australia we place, of course, out of the pale of
taste. In France itself, the peasantry, and all classes of women
immediately under the conventional denomination of ladies, wear
_bonnets_. This word does not signify the same thing as with us, gentle
reader. The French word _bonnet_ means a snow-white cap, whether rising
into an enormous cone, like those of the Norman beauties, or limited to
a jaunting frill and lappels, like those of the Parisian grisettes. The
real bonnets, the French female _chapeau_, is worn only by those who
call themselves ladies; and this difference of costume marks a most
decided difference of rank and self-esteem in the various grades of
Gallic society. In the Bourbonnois, it is true, and in some parts of
Switzerland and Germany, straw-hats of various sizes are worn by the
peasantry; but these do not resemble the actual bonnet of the nineteenth
century. Who does not know the exquisite national head-dresses of the
Italian and Spanish women, from pictorial representation, if not from
actual inspection? Who has not read of the Greek cap and veil? Who has
not heard of the national caps of Poland, Hungary, and Russia? Not the
slightest approximation to the eccentricity of the bonnet is to be found
in any of these. In all of them, not caprice, but the more rational
qualities of use and ornament, have been studiously regarded. It is in
England only that our lower classes of women have abandoned their
national costume, and are content to suffer the inconvenient
consequences of imitating their superiors. Let any one who has traversed
Europe only recall to his mind the appearances of the female peasants as
to their head-dress, whether in their houses or in the fields, and
comparing them with the tattered, dirty things worn by the labourers'
wives and daughters of England, say which are to be preferred in point
of taste--which are the cleanest--which are the most becoming.
Not to go too far back into the mist of antiquity, the earliest traces
that we can find of hats being commonly worn in England, are to be met
with somewhere in the first half of the last century. Previous to that
time ladies wore hoods and caps; and in the Middle Ages muffled their
heads in wimples and veils; but some time or other--in the reign of the
second George, we believe--some lady or other stuck on her head a round
silk hat with a low crown and a broad brim, perfectly circular, and the
brim or ledge at right angles to the crown or head-piece. This she
subsequently changed into a straw one, and this was the root of the
evil--_hinc illae lachrymae!_ We are aware that, at the gay court of Louis
XIV., and even before he had a court, Mademoiselle de Montpensier, when
she went to battle or to hunt, wore a gold-laced semi-cocked hat: so did
Madame de Montespan when she accompanied the king to one of his grand
_parties de chasse_. But then, at the same time, these illustrious
"leaders of _ton_" put on gold-embroidered male coats, and evidently
endeavoured to transform themselves into men while partaking in manly
sports and dangers. Their hunting-hats bore no more relation to the
bonnets of their descendants, than do the black beaver hats of the
latter, when they mount their horses in Hyde Park or the Bois de
Boulogne. Indeed this very custom of wearing the male hat, is derived by
our modern belles from the times we are speaking of. Plain beaver or
felt hats were worn by some of our farmers' wives as early as the reign
of Charles I.; but, to judge from the prints of that date, they borrowed
them from their husbands. And to a period like this is to be traced the
custom, still extant throughout most parts of Wales, for the women to
wear the same head-costume as the men. The round ladies' hat, however,
of the middle and end of the last century, may be seen in its primitive
state in those enormous circles of straw, brought from Tuscany, and sold
in our milliners' shops, fit to be pinched and cut into the prevailing
fashion. The hats, both of men and women--when once they had quitted the
becoming costume of the Middle Ages--arose out of one and the same type;
a large circle of stuff with a projecting central cap for the skull.
Human invention, in the matter of hats, seems for several centuries to
have rested in this solitary idea. When this circular adumbral and
pluvial roofing had to be adapted to the female head, it was found
advisable to fasten it down to the cranium--not, indeed, by any screw
driven therein, nor by any intriguing with the locks of woman's hair,
but by the simple expedient of ribands passing under the chin. The
difficulty consisted in attaching the upper ends of these ribands; for
if they were sewn on under the overlapping brim, the same brim would
take liberties on a windy day, and would flap up and down like an Indian
punka. If they were sewn outside, they acted like the sheets of a ship's
sail, and pulled down the struggling circumference into two ugly
projections, bellying out before and behind. However, women, for
comfort's sake, having got an awkward article to deal with, preferred
the latter alternative--tied down their hats with ribands, (men, be it
remembered, at the same time, tied _up_ their brims into the prim, high,
cocked shape,) and called these ugly coverings "gipsy hats." We remember
something like them, dear reader,
"When first we went a-gipsying, long long ago."
Before matters had arrived at this pitch of ugliness, the ladies of the
court of George III.--the very antipodes of that of Louis XIV.--had
essayed, under the auspices of good Queen Charlotte, to render the round
hat, with the straight-projecting brim, less ugly; but their invention
carried them no further than to surround it, at one time, with a deep
ruff of ribands, or they crushed it into an untidy rumble-tumble shape;
at another, they let copious streamers float from the crown down their
backs; or again, they gave it a monstrous pitch up behind. There is this
to be said in their excuse--they hardly knew what parasols and umbrellas
were. They wielded enormous fans, nearly two feet long; they had
capuchins to their cloaks; and they delighted in the rotundity of hoops.
Peace be with the souls of our grandmothers! Good old creatures! they
were not very tasty, to be sure; but they wore glorious stiff taffety
fardingales, and they have left us many an ample commode full of real
china. As times wore on, and as the free-and-easy revolutionary school
came to inculcate their loose doctrines on women as well as men, the
ladies began to find the hinder pokes of their hats uncommon nuisances;
and so, in a fit of spleen, one day the Duchess of G----, or some other
woman of fashion, cut off this hinder protuberance, and appeared, to the
scandal of her neighbours, _plus_ the front poke, _minus_ the back one.
This was a daring, free-thinking, revolutionary innovation. Somebody had
probably done it at Paris before her; but the startling idea had gone
forth--women began to see daylight through their hats--the dawn of
emancipation appeared--clip, clip, went the scissors, and, for the time
being, the dynasty of gipsy hats had ceased to reign. Hereupon--the
consequence of all changes of dynasties--whether of bonnets or Bourbons,
'tis much the same--a fearful period of anarchy ensued: every milliner's
shop in Paris and London was pregnant with new shapes--bonnets
periodically overturned bonnets, numbers were devoted to the block every
week, and each succeeding month saw fresh competitors for public favour
coming to the giddy vortex of fashion. Husbands suffered dreadfully
during those troublous times: many a man's temper and purse were then
irremediably damaged; and there seemed to be no means of escaping from
this reign of female terror, this bonnetian chaos, until the great peace
of 1814 brought about a prompt solution. Here, to be classical in so
grave a matter, we may observe, that, just as Virgil in his Georgics
represents a civil tumult, even in its loudest hubbub, to be suddenly
calmed by the appearance of some man of known virtue and authority, so
in London--and therefore in England--the visit of an illustrious lady,
and the cut of her bonnet, appeased the agitated breasts of our fair
countrywomen, and reduced their fancy to a fixed idea. The Grand-duchess
of Oldenburg came over with her brother, the Emperor of all the Russias,
and wore on her head, not a coronet--but such a bonnet!
"Ye powers who dress the head, if such there are,
And make the change of woman's taste your care!"
--so Cowper might well have exclaimed, had he been then living. Tell us,
ye gods, whence did her imperial highness derive the idea of her bonnet?
Truly, we can conjecture no other source, than these very words
designating her rank, for the bonnet was imperial--none but such a lady
would have dared to originate it; and it was also high--high indeed! The
crown rose eighteen inches in perpendicular altitude from the nape of
the neck, while the front poke retained the modest dimensions of the
original gipsy hat. We recollect the duchess in Hyde Park with this
monstrous headgear, and the women all in ecstacy at the delightful
novelty. The success of this bonnet was universal--it was a "tremendous
hit," as they say in the play-bills; every woman that could afford it
raised her crown, and Oldenburgized her head. Well, this fashion lasted
tolerably long; it had the great value of rendering public opinion
nearly uniform; but it got old, as all fashions must do, and died a
natural death--not without an heir, a worthy heir. The new idea, you
will perceive, was that of inordinate length, in one way or the other.
The duchess had got it all up aloft--up in her top-royals--the new
bonnet (we really do not know who invented it, but some wicked little
hussy at Paris, no doubt) had it all down below, in the main-sail; the
crown dwindled to nothing, and out went the front poke to exactly the
same length, eighteen inches. This was truly exquisite--every body was
in raptures. The bonnet was tied tight under the chin, and to see a
woman's face you had to look down a sort of semi-funnelled hollow, where
the ambiguous shade of her countenance was illuminated only by the
radiance of her eyes. Here, too, the success was immense; the mothers of
us, the young bloods, the choice spirits of the present day, all wore
bonnets of this kind, when our governors went wooing them in
narrow-brimmed overtopping hats. The next change of any note worth
mentioning, was one of comparatively recent times, such as some of us
may remember their first loves in; it was derived from a partial return
to the primitive round expanded hat, and was in its chief glory, when
that last great piece of French dirty work, the Revolution of 1830, was
perpetrated. Women had retrograded to the old circular idea; they had
given up their pokes. It was too much--female folly had, it was
supposed, worn itself out--a revolution was wanted, and it came. To wear
the hat, however, in its primitive rotundity was impossible--it would
have suited a lady in the West Indies, but not in Europe; to tie down
the brim would not do, it would have been re-adopting the worn-out
fashions; so, just as was done in the Parisian political revolution, a
compromise of principles was resorted to--women cut off part of their
brims, turned the circle into a sort of eccentric oval, and rejoiced in
the redundant curve projecting now from the left, now on the right side
of their heads. Ribands, stiffened out into gigantic bows, set forth the
ample _chapeau_ right gaily; the brim stretched itself out with all the
insolence of a public favourite; and at length Tom Hood showed us how a
lady might go to church on a rainy day, and shelter the whole family
beneath her maternal hat. The present queen of the French wore an
enormous chapeau of this kind at the audience which Louis Philippe gave
to the peers and deputies that came to offer him the throne; every lady
in England, of a certain age, has worn a hat of the same sort.
We are bound to allow that this hat had something of the useful in it:
the ample size of the brim effectually warded off both sun and rain; and
we much question whether the parasol trade did not rather languish under
its influence. But then it had corresponding disadvantages; it was
unbearable in a windy day, and rendered any thing like close contact
with a friend impossible. To get a kiss from your pretty cousin, or your
maiden aunt, if you met them in the street, was quite out of the
question, unless you previously doffed your hat; and, as for two young
ladies laying their heads together and whispering soft secrets, no such
thing was practicable. The downfall, therefore, of such stiff and
unwieldy hats might have been foretold from an early period of their
existence; it came, and with it a counter-revolution--a restoration of
the legitimist bonnet. But, mark the malignity of a certain elderly
personage, whose name and residence we never mention in ears polite; a
change, a final change, came, and it came from the source of all
abominations--Paris! Yes! 'twas a pure and genuine invention of the
fickle people--of _la jeune France_! We gave up the restored bonnet, and
we adopted the little, reduced, cut-away, impudent bonnet of the present
moment. Now, with regard to the actual origin of this same form of
bonnet, which has met with universal approbation, but which has no
really good qualities to recommend it, except those of portability and
warmth to the ears of the wearer--we make, with some regret, the
following assertion, upon the accuracy of which we stake our aesthetic
reputation. We were witnesses of the fact; any man in Paris, who had his
eyes about him, must have witnessed the same thing; we appeal to all the
_lions_ of the Bois, or the Boulevard des Italiens: these small bonnets,
and the peculiar mode of wearing them at the back of the head were first
introduced in Paris by a class of persons, to whom we cannot make any
more definite allusion than to say that their names must not be
mentioned. These people invented these bonnets, and wore them for nearly
six months before they were imitated; and then, the fashion being taken
up by the milliners, became general both in France and England. A
corresponding change in the cut of the upper portions of ladies' gowns,
and in the manner of putting on the shawl--that very cut and manner now
universally adopted--came from the same source, and at the same time.
These changes added greatly to female comfort, we admit; and they were
founded, mainly, on principles of good taste; but they had also other
causes, obvious to the aesthetician and the ethnologist, which we abstain
from noticing. Once more, having been eye-witnesses to the change, and
having at the time maliciously speculated within our own breasts as to
how long it would take for such a _mode_ to run the round of women's
heads--our anticipations having been fully realized--we pledge ourselves
to the accuracy of this statement.
Well, then, having thus run a-muck against bonnets, what reparation are
we to make to the fair sex, for abusing their taste and condemning their
practice? We will try to point out to them certain leading ideas, which
may bring them back to sounder principles, and make the covering of
their heads worthy of the beauty of their faces. And here, as in the
case of hats, the first thing to be aimed at must be, utility--the
second, ornament. Be it observed, too, that we are writing for the
latitude of England; because in this respect, as in most others, the
climate ought to decide upon the basis of national costume. Now an
Englishwoman, of whatever grade she may be, requires, when she goes out
of doors, protection principally from wet, next from cold, and lastly
from heat. Her head-dress, to be really useful, ought to comprise
qualities that will effect these three objects. The substance,
therefore, of the covering cannot consist of cotton, linen, or silk, at
_all_ times of the year; these substances will do for the more
temperate or the hotter seasons, but not in winter--that is to say, they
will not be serviceable during five months out of the twelve. In this
inclement season nothing but woollen cloth or fur ought to be the
principal article of female head-dress; only these two substances will
effectually keep off wet and cold. They may be lined with silk or any
other soft substance, but the foundation, we repeat, ought to be fur or
woollen cloth; both of them articles of English manufacture or
preparation--one varying through all degrees of price; the other within
the reach of most persons, even in the middling classes of society. In
the summer, silk, linen, cotton, or any other light fabric, will effect
the purpose proposed--protection from the rays of the sun, and from the
casual wet that may occur--though from the last, less than from the
first inconvenience. So much for the common _substance_ of an
Englishwoman's out-of-door head-dress--for the _material_, that is to
say: its use should always be modified by the rank and occupation of the
wearer. The _form_ must be ascertained from a reference to the
principles laid down above, as to the combining a proper degree of
concealment, with the due exhibiting of the beautiful features of the
female face; the covering should afford ample concealment when wanted,
but should also admit of the head being completely exposed when
required. Now, the veil gives abundant concealment, but does not admit
of total removal, and is rather inconvenient to the wearer; it is apt to
get in the way, and is in danger of causing a slovenly, or even a dirty,
appearance; it is more suited for in-door, than for out-of-door
use--more for a warm than a cold climate. The _hood_ is the best thing
we know of, for combining the two requisites of complete concealment and
complete exposure. It unites by its shape all the purposes of form, to
the applicability of any kind of soft material; and it is suitable to
the climate of this country at any period of the year. But, "how ugly!"
the ladies will exclaim--"who could bear to tie her head up in a
pudding-bag?--Does not the very form of the hood approach too nearly to
that of the head, and thus violate a fundamental principle of
aesthetics?" Our reply must be, that there are various kinds of hoods,
and that, if they be considered ugly, it is more from their strangeness,
through long disuse, than from any fault in their natural form. Besides,
the very principle of concealment, so essential to a woman's modesty,
militates rather against the principle of beauty; we admit it to be a
difficulty--we would even say that the head of the female while
out-of-doors, amid the busy throng, does not admit of the same degree of
ornament as the head of the male. If we can make woman's covering
graceful, it is enough; the beauty of it should be reserved for the
drawing-room and the boudoir--it should not be exhibited in the street.
And after all, beauty for beauty, we will back a hood against a bonnet
any day in the week.
Bear with us, however, gentle ladies, while we explain to you how we
would have you make and wear your hoods; and, to do so the better,
examine with us some of those delightful portraits of the time of Rubens
and Vandyke, when, among the nobler classes of females, dress had
certainly attained a high, if not its highest point of picturesque and
elegant effect. Look at some of those admirable Flemish pictures, where
you will see many a pretty face enveloped in a fur-trimmed hood, and
observe how much grace and modest dignity is given by that simple
habiliment. It is something of this kind which we would recommend. For
example--if a hood, so cut as not to admit of too close a conformation
to the shape of the head, were attached to a tippet which might descend
and protect the shoulders, or come even lower, at the fancy of the
wearer, and were fastened round the neck, the hood itself might be
elevated so as to cover the head, and might be drawn even over the face;
or it might be instantly thrown back, and would lie on the upper part of
the neck in picturesque and graceful folds. The lines of such a
covering, not so flowing, indeed, as those of a veil, would yet be not
inelegant; and they would afford sufficient contrast to the features of
the face, while they would be far superior to the unmeaning rigidity of
the bonnet. Hoods, such as those, are even now worn by some ladies for
carriage purposes, or while going to evening parties; and they would
look just as well in the bright light of the sun, as by the pale rays of
the moon. Consider for a moment the comfort and the utility of such a
dress; what a complete protection from cold, and, if necessary, from
wet! Even in summer, the hood would keep off the sun's beams much more
effectually than any bonnet; it would be light, warm, portable--useable
at pleasure, always ornamental, always becoming. These hoods would be of
service, whether for a walk or for a journey in a carriage; they would
not need to be disentangled from the person like bonnets; they would
merely have to be thrown back; they never could get spoiled by crushing;
they never would need cumbrous boxes to be carried in; and, what is
worthy of consideration, their cost might always be suited to the means
of the wearer. They would admit of any kind of ornament that would not
destroy their principle of utility;--for ornament ceases to be ornament
when it negatives the purpose of the object to which it is applied--it
becomes in such a case a mere excrescence: they might be edged and lined
with any, the most sumptuous or the plainest materials: they might be
attached round the neck by rich cords of gold and jewelled clasps; or
they might be fastened with simple ribands. Thus, in spring time, a
young and high-born damsel might wear her hood and tippet of
light-coloured silk or brocade, edged with ermine or swan's-down, and
attached with silver cords and clasps of pearl--while the noble matron
might wear the same of crimson or purple velvet, edged with sable, and
attached with golden cords and diamonds. The peasant's wife and daughter
might use hoods of black, blue, or grey woollen cloth, lined with grey
linen, edged with plain riband, and fastened with a simple button. How
much better, how much more rational, how much more becoming, such
head-dresses as these, than the gay but useless ribands, feathers, and
chapeaux of the one class, or the misshapen, uncomfortable,
untidy-looking bonnets of the other! According to the present system, it
is almost impossible to infer the rank of a lady from her external
costume--many a milliner's girl has passed for a duchess before
now--whereas by the adoption of articles of dress, founded on principles
like those of the hood, some decisive marks of distinction might be
obtained. Thus the rich furs and the jewels, or the gold brocade of the
princess, might indeed be imitated by the merchant's wife--who at the
present day is nearly her equal in wealth--the representative of
political power in, what is called, a constitutional government; but the
shop-girl and the dancing-mistress might break their hearts with spite,
ere they could set up a system of dress in keeping with hoods of the
kind alluded to. We do not recommend, that distinction of dress
according to difference of rank should be carried to an undue limit; for
in the present age of the world, and especially in our country, where
the basis of society is shifting, and where the pivots of the commonweal
are loose, too little distinction of rank is allowed; rank is not
respected as it ought to be; but, nevertheless, the promiscuous jumbling
together and confounding of all men is carried too far; it is one of the
elements of republicanism and anarchy that we should do well to
discourage. To ladies, more than to men, would distinctions of dress be
useful, and with them they would be more practicable of reintroduction;
any thing that would tend to augment the outward respect of men for
women, and of women for each other, would be so much gained toward a
revival of some of the soundest maxims of former days.
Bonnets, then, to Orcus! Hoods to the seventh heaven!
H. L. J.
GERMAN-AMERICAN ROMANCES.
THE VICEROY AND THE ARISTOCRACY, OR MEXICO IN 1812.
PART THE FIRST.
The most obvious defect of the German school of romance is the universal
tendency of its writers to the indefinite and periphrastic, and the
consequent absence of the characteristic and the true in their
descriptions both of human and of external nature. Much of this
prevailing habit may perhaps be attributed to the example of Goethe,
who, in his works of fiction, narrates the adventures of A and B,
residing in the town of C, situate in some nameless and inscrutable
section of Germany. And when, to all this mystery, is superadded the
ponderous and ungraceful style of most German writers, and the Latin
construction of their interminable sentences, for the solution of which
the reader must wade to the final word, the lack of good original
novels, and the universal preference, in Germany, of translations from
French and English authors, will be readily accounted for. The main
source of these defects in the German writers may be found in their
retired and bookish habits. Shut up in their studies, with no companions
but their books and their meerschaums, and viewing the eternal world
through the loopholes of retreat, often anxious, too, to advance and
illustrate some pet theory of their own, their writings smell horribly
of the lamp, and are long-winded, tedious, and unnatural. Another cause
of the deficiencies above-named, may perhaps be discovered in the
severity of German censorship, and the apprehension that more clearness
and identity in their descriptions of persons and places might be
twisted into political and personal allusions.
The admitted superiority of French and English works of fiction, may be
attributed to the widely different habits of the writers. Nearly all the
French, and many of the English writers of the present day, are men of
the world, eschewing solitude, and mixing largely in society. The good
effects of this frequent collision with their fellow-men are visible in
their works, many of which display a deep knowledge of human nature, a
vivid power of description, and a command of dialogue, not only spirited
and natural, but often rising with the occasion into dramatic point and
brilliancy.
At length, however, a new and radiant star has arisen in the cloudy
firmament of German fiction--a novel-writer whose works exhibit a
striking example of entire exemption from the defects so evident in the
great majority of his brethren. This is a nameless personage, known
among German reviewers as Der Unbekannte, or the Unknown, and who has
broken ground that no German writer had hitherto ventured upon. Some
have supposed him to be a Pennsylvanian, a considerable part of which
state was originally colonized by Germans, whose descendants still, to a
large extent, preserve the language and habits of the mother country.
Another report stated him to be a native German, who had emigrated to
Louisiana, and established himself there as a planter. Nothing definite,
in short, is known; but what is certain is, that he has been long
resident in the United States and in Mexico, and has made excellent use
of his opportunities for becoming acquainted with those countries and
their inhabitants. His subjects are, with slight exceptions,
Transatlantic, his materials original, his style singularly natural and
forcible; proving that however rugged the German language may appear in
the works of others, it will yield to the hand of a master, and readily
adapt itself to every subject.
Our readers will probably not have forgotten a series of American,
Texian, and Mexican tales and sketches, which have appeared during the
last few months in the pages of this magazine. With some alterations and
adaptations, intended to render them more acceptable to English tastes,
they are selections from the works of the writer above described. These
works being published, as already mentioned, anonymously, and at prices
beyond the means of most German readers, are but partially known and
read even in Germany; and in this country they are entirely unknown,
such portions excepted as have appeared without a name in our recent
numbers. Having there presented our readers with specimens only, and for
the most part of his latest works, we will now proceed to give them some
account of one of his earliest and most important productions--a Mexican
historical romance of striking interest, dated two years subsequently to
the first revolutionary outbreak in Mexico, and exhibiting a degree of
descriptive and dramatic power unparalleled in the whole range of German
fiction.
When, in the year 1776, the British colonies, now known as the United
States of America, made their declaration of independence, the struggle
that ensued was unmarked by any circumstances of particular atrocity or
blood-thirstiness, except perhaps, occasionally, on the part of the
Indian allies of either party. The fight was between men of the same
race, who had been accustomed to look upon each other as countrymen and
brothers, and whose sympathies and feelings were in many respects in
unison; it was fought manfully and fairly, as beseemed civilized men in
the eighteenth century of the Christian era. Whatever wrongs, real or
imaginary, the British Americans had to complain of, they had none that
sufficed, even in their own eyes, to justify reprisals or cruelties
beyond those which the most humanely conducted and least envenomed wars
inevitably entail. But it was under strikingly different circumstances
that the second of the two great republics which, with the exception of
British possessions, now comprise the whole civilized portion of the
North American continent, started into existence. In the former instance
was seen the young and vigorous country which, having attained its
majority, and feeling itself able to dispense with parental
guardianship, asserted its independence, and vindicated it, with a
strong hand, it is true, but yet with a warm heart and a cool judgment.
In the latter case it was the spring of the caged tiger, that for years
had pined in narrow prison beneath the scourge of its keeper, whom it at
last turned upon and rent in its fury.
Subdued by the fierce assault of a handful of desperate adventurers, the
history of Mexico, from the earliest period of its conquest, is one
continuous record of oppression and cruelty on the one hand, of long and
bitter suffering on the other. Deprived of its religious and customs,
its priesthood and legitimate sovereigns mercilessly tortured and slain,
its temples and institutions annihilated, its very history and
traditions blotted out, Mexico, in the hands of the Spaniards, was
rapidly transformed from a flourishing and independent empire into a
huge province; while its inhabitants became a disposable horde, on whom
the conquerors seemed to think they were conferring a benefit, when they
made gift of them by hundreds and thousands, like sheep or oxen, to a
lawless and reckless soldiery. Their houses and lands, sometimes even
their wives and children, were snatched from them, and they were driven
in herds to labour in the mines, or condemned to carry burdens over
pathless and precipitous mountains; like the Gibeonites of old, they
were made hewers of wood and drawers of water to all the congregation.
Expelled from the towns, and confined to hamlets and villages, whence
they were only summoned to toil in the service of their oppressors, they
became in time entirely brutalized, losing the finer and more noble
qualities that distinguish man from the beast of the forest, and
retaining only a bitter sense of their degradation, a vivid impression
of the sufferings they daily endured, and a gloomy instinctive longing
after a bloody revenge.
With these Indians, who, at the commencement of the present century,
composed two-fifths of the population of Mexico, may be classed a race
of beings equally numerous, equally unfortunate and destitute, and still
wilder and more despised--namely, the various castes sprung from the
intercourse of the conquerors of the country, of their successors and
slaves, with the aborigines. These half-bloods, who united the apparent
stupidity and real apathy of the Indian with the lawlessness and
impatience of restraint of their white fathers, found themselves driven
out into a world that branded them for the accident of their birth;
deprived of all property, and reduced to the most ignoble employments;
continual objects of fear and detestation to the better classes, because
they had nothing to risk, and every thing to gain, by a political
convulsion. Such were the principal elements of a population which,
after centuries of patient endurance, was at last roused to enter the
lists and struggle for its independence, with all the fury of the
captive who breaks the long-worn fetters from his chafed and bleeding
limbs, and seeks his deliverance in the utter extermination of his
jailers.
For three hundred years had the Mexicans groaned under the lash of their
taskmasters, ruled by monarchs whom they never beheld, and enduring
innumerable evils, without nourishing a single rebellious or
revolutionary thought. If the breeze of liberty that blew over from the
north, occasionally awakened in their minds the idea of an improved
state of things, the hope, or rather wish, speedily died away, crushed
and annihilated under the well-combined system of oppression employed by
the Spaniards. The nobles had ranged themselves entirely on the side of
the government, the middle classes had followed their example, and the
people were compelled to obey. All was quiet in Mexico, long after
insurrections had broken out in Spanish colonies further south; and this
state of tranquillity was not even disturbed, when news were brought of
the invasion of Spain by its hereditary foe, of the occupation of Madrid
by French armies, and of the scenes of butchery that took place in that
capital on the second day of May 1808. The Mexicans, far from availing
themselves of this favourable opportunity to proclaim their own
independence, hastened to give proofs of their sympathy with the
aggrieved honour of the mother country; and on all sides resounded
curses upon the head of the powerful usurper who had ousted their
legitimate but unknown monarch from his throne, and now detained him in
captivity. Intelligence of the Junta's declaration of war against
Napoleon was received with unbounded applause, and all were striving to
demonstrate their enthusiasm in the most efficient manner, when a royal
decree arrived, issued by the very prince whose misfortunes they were
deploring, and by which Mexico was ordered to recognise as its sovereign
the brother of that usurper who had dispossessed its rightful king.
A stronger proof of Ferdinand's unworthiness to rule, could hardly have
been given to the Mexicans than the decree in question. Loyalty had long
been an article of faith with the whole nation; but even as the blindest
superstition is sometimes metamorphosed on a sudden into total
infidelity, passing from one extreme to the other, so was all feeling of
loyalty utterly extinguished in the breast of the Mexican people by this
instance of regal abjectness. It would have been long before they
revolted against their hereditary Spanish ruler; but to find themselves
given away by him in so ignominious a manner, was a degradation which
they felt the more deeply from its being almost the only one that had
been hitherto spared them. Discontent was universal; and by a unanimous
and popular movement, the decree was publicly burned.
With just indignation did the Mexicans now discover that those persons
who had hitherto most prided themselves on their loyalty and fidelity to
the king and the reigning dynasty, were precisely the first to transfer
their allegiance to the new sovereign. The whole of the government
officers, Spaniards nearly to a man, hastened to take measures for the
surrender of the nation to its new ruler, without even enquiring whether
it approved of the change. One man only was in favour of a more
honourable expedient, and that man was Iturrigaray, the viceroy. Well
acquainted with the cowardice and cunning of his captive sovereign, the
former of which qualities had dictated the decree, he had nevertheless
formed a plan to preserve Mexico for him, in accordance with the wish of
its population. A junta, composed of Spaniards and of the most
distinguished Mexicans, was to represent the nation till the arrival of
further news or orders from Europe. This plan was generally approved of
by the Mexicans, who looked forward with unbounded delight to the moment
when they should have a voice in the public affairs of their country.
The joy was universal; but in the very midst of this joy, and of the
preliminaries to the carrying out of this project, the author of it, the
viceroy himself, was seized in his palace by his own countrymen,
conducted with his family to Vera Cruz, and slipped off to Spain as a
state prisoner.
By this lawless proceeding, it was made evident to the weakest
comprehension, that so long as the Spaniard ruled, the Mexican must
remain in a state of unconditional slavery; that he could never hope to
obtain a share in the management of his country; and that the act of
violence of which Iturrigaray had been the victim, had been solely
caused by the disposition he had shown to pave the way for the gradual
emancipation of the Creoles. From this moment may be dated the decision
of the Mexicans to get rid of the Spaniards at any price; and a
conspiracy was immediately organized, which was joined by at least a
hundred of the principal Creoles, and by a far larger number of the
middle classes, and of the military--the object being to shake off the
ignominious yoke that pressed so heavily upon them. The treason of one
of the conspirators, who on his death-bed, in confession, betrayed his
confederates, accelerated the outbreak of the plot.
It was at nine o'clock on the evening of the 15th September 1810, that
Don Ignacio Allende y Unzaga, captain in the royal regiment _de la
Reyna_, came in all haste from Gueretaro to Dolores, and burst into the
dwelling of Padre Hidalgo, the parish priest of the latter place, with
news that the conspiracy had been discovered, and an order issued to
take prisoners, dead or alive, all those concerned in it. With the
prospect of certain death before their eyes, the two conspirators held a
short consultation, and then hastened to announce to their friends their
firm decision to stake their lives upon the freedom of their country.
Two officers, the lieutenants Abasalo and Aldama, and several musicians,
friends and companions of the cura, joined them, and by these men,
thirteen in number, was the great Mexican revolution begun.
Whilst Hidalgo, a crucifix in his left hand, a pistol in his right,
hurried to the prison and set at liberty the criminals confined there,
Allende proceeded to the houses of the Spanish inhabitants, and
compelled them to deliver up their plate and ready money. Then, with the
cry of "_Viva la Independencia, y muera el mal gobierno!_" the
insurgents paraded the streets of Dolores. The whole of the Indian
population ranged themselves under the banner of their beloved curate,
who, in a few hours, found himself at the head of some thousand men.
They took the road to Miguel el Grande, and, before reaching that place,
were joined by eight hundred recruits from Allende's regiment. Shouting
their war-cry of "Death to the Gachupins!"[5] the rebels reached San
Felipe; in three days their numbers amounted to twenty thousand; at
Zelaya, a whole regiment of Mexican infantry, and a portion of the
cavalry regiment of the Principe, came over to them. On they went,
"Mueran los Gachupinos!" still their cry, to Guanaxato, the richest city
in Mexico, where they were joined by some more troops. Indians kept
flowing in from all sides, and the mob, for it was little more, soon
reached fifty thousand men. The fortified alhondega, or granary, at
Guanaxato, was taken by storm; the Spaniards and Creoles who had shut
themselves up there with their treasures, were massacred; upwards of
five millions of hard dollars fell into the hands of the insurgents.
This success brought more Indians from all parts of the country. There
were soon eighty thousand men collected together, but amongst them were
hardly four thousand muskets. Pressing forward, by way of Valladolid,
towards Mexico, they totally defeated Colonel Truxillo at Las Cruces,
and, on the 31st October, looked down from the rising ground of Santa Fe
upon the capital city, within the walls of which were thirty thousand
Leperos,[6] who awaited but the signal to break into open insurrection.
Only two thousand troops of the line garrisoned Mexico; Calleja, the
commander-in-chief, was a hundred leagues off; another general, the
Count of Cadena, sixty; in the mountains the people were rising in
favour of the revolution; another patriot chief was marching from
Tlalnepatla to support Hidalgo, while the viceroy was preparing to
retire to Vera Cruz. The fate of Mexico was, according to all
appearance, about to be decided; one bold assault, and the Indians would
again be the rulers of the country. But on the very day after their
arrival within sight of Mexico, Hidalgo, with his hundred and ten
thousand men, commenced a retreat. The capital was saved; and from that
day may be dated the sufferings and reverses of the patriots.
Or the 7th November, at Aculco, Hidalgo met the united Spanish and
Creole army, and was defeated in the combat that ensued. Soon
afterwards, Allende experienced a like misfortune at Marfil; and a third
action, near Calderon, decided the fate of the campaign. Hidalgo himself
was betrayed at Acalito, with fifty of his companions, and put to death.
The first act of the revolutionary drama was over, within six months
after the bloody curtain had been raised; but the torch of insurrection,
far from being extinguished by the fall of its bearer, had divided and
multiplied itself, as if to spread the conflagration with more
certainty. Thousands of those who had escaped from the battle-fields of
Aculco, Marfil, and Calderon, now spread themselves through the
different provinces, and commenced a war of extermination that was
destined, slowly but surely, to sweep away their unappeasable tyrants.
Most of these bands were commanded by priests, lawyers, or adventurers,
who acted without plan or concert, and possessed little or no
qualification for their post as leaders, save their hatred of the
Gachupins. But few of the better class of Creoles were to be found
amongst the insurgents; and the strife was to all appearance between the
Indians and half-bloods, on the one hand, and the property and
intelligence of the country, represented by the Spaniards and Creoles,
on the other.
The Creoles, although considerably less oppressed than the coloured
races, had felt themselves more so; because, being more enlightened and
civilized, they had a livelier feeling and perception of the yoke than
the Indians and half-castes. Children and descendants of the Spaniards,
who looked with sovereign contempt upon every thing Creole, even to
their own offspring, the white Mexicans imbibed hatred of Spain almost
with their mothers' milk. Far from enjoying what the letter of the law
gave them, the same rights as their European fathers, they found
themselves driven back among the people; while all offices and posts
were filled by Spaniards, who, for the most part, came to Mexico in
rags, and left it possessed of immense wealth. Even the possession of
magnificent estates, with their incalculable subterranean treasures, was
of precarious benefit to the Creoles; for the Spaniards paid small
respect to the laws of property, and, in the name of their royal master,
assumed unlimited power over the land.
The bitterness of feeling consequent on this state of things, at length
roused into activity the latent desire of freedom from the Spanish rule,
a freedom which was to have been obtained by the conspiracy already
referred to. On a given day, there was to have been a general rising
throughout Mexico; all the Spanish officers and _employes_ were to have
been arrested, and their places filled by Creoles; the seaports were to
have been seized and garrisoned, so as to prevent succours coming to the
Spaniards from the neighbouring island of Cuba. The discovery and
premature outbreak of the plot, as already mentioned, were the causes of
its failure. Hidalgo, who was too deeply compromised to recede, had put
himself at the head of the revolution, and enraged against the Creoles,
who had, for the most part, managed to draw their heads out of the
noose, commenced with his Indians a war of extermination that spared
neither Spaniards nor Creoles. This terrible blunder on the part of the
soldier-priest, of itself decided the fate of the outbreak. The Creoles
were compelled to unite with the very Spaniards whose downfall they had
been plotting; and it was mainly through their co-operation that the
three battles with the rebels had been won. The Spaniards, however,
instead of being grateful for the assistance they had received from the
Creoles, persisted in looking upon the latter as a pack of unlucky
rebels, whose treason had not even been rendered respectable by success.
Enraged at the revolt that had threatened to deprive their king of his
supremacy, and themselves of the plunder of the richest country in the
world, the Spaniards applied themselves to obviate the possibility of
any future rebellion, by pretty much the same measures that a bee-hunter
takes to secure himself against the stings of the bees before seizing
their honey, namely, by fire and the axe. Twenty-four cities, both large
and small, and innumerable villages, were razed to the ground during the
first eighteen months of the revolution, and their inhabitants utterly
exterminated, as a punishment for having favoured the insurgents. Even
then, these bigoted and barbarous servants of legitimacy were not
satisfied with this wholesale slaughter. Through the medium of the
church, and in the name of the divine Trinity and of the blessed Virgin,
they proclaimed a solemn amnesty, and those among the credulous and
unfortunate rebels who availed themselves of it were mercilessly
massacred. This infamous and blasphemous piece of bad faith rendered any
pacification of the country impossible, and went far towards uniting the
whole population against its contemptible and blood-thirsty tyrants.
Amongst the adventurers who had joined Hidalgo on his triumphant march
from Guanaxato to Mexico, was his old friend and schoolfellow, Morellos,
rector of Nucupetaro. Hidalgo received him as a brother, and
comnissioned him to raise the standard of revolt in the south-western
provinces of Mexico. Morellos, who was then sixty years of age, repaired
to his appointed post with only five followers. In Petalan he was joined
by twenty negroes, to whom he promised their freedom; and soon
afterwards several Creoles ranged themselves under his banner. Unlike
the unfortunate Hidalgo, he began the war on a small scale, and after
the fashion of those guerillas who in Spain had done so much mischief to
the French armies. Gradually enlarging the sphere of his operations, he
had, during a sixteen months' warfare, gained several not unimportant
advantages over the Spanish generals. Report represented him as a man of
grave and earnest character--quite the converse of the hasty and
unreflecting Hidalgo--of sound judgment, irreproachable morals, and far
more liberal and extended views than could have been expected from the
confined education of a Mexican priest. The influence he possessed over
the Indians was said to be unbounded.
At the time at which the action of the book now before us commences,
namely, upon a carnival day of the year 1812, Morellos had marched into
the vicinity of Mexico at the head of his little army. The principal
leaders of the patriots, Vittoria, Guerero, Bravo, Ossourno, and others,
had placed themselves under his orders; and the moral weight of his name
seemed to be at last producing what had been wanting since the death of
Hidalgo--namely, that unanimity in the operations of the patriots, and
that degree of discipline amongst their troops, which were calculated to
gain them the confidence of the nation.
The first two chapters of the "Viceroy" are of so striking a nature, and
give such strange and startling glimpses of the state of Mexican society
and feeling at that period, that, with some slight abridgement, we shall
here translate them both.
CHAPTER THE FIRST.
"'Tis known, at least it should be, that throughout
All countries of the Catholic persuasion,
Some weeks before Shrove Tuesday comes about,
The people take their fill of recreation,
And buy repentance, ere they grow devout,
However high their rank, or low their station,
With fiddling, feasting, dancing, drinking, masking,
And other things which may be had for asking."
BYRON.
The siesta was over; and the profound stillness in which the capital of
New Spain had been buried during the preceding two hours, was suddenly
broken by the hum of innumerable voices. The noise, which commenced in
the suburbs, extended itself rapidly, and increased almost to a roar,
scaring away the gallinazos and other birds of prey, that were as usual
seeking food in the streets and squares of the city of Mexico. Thousands
of the inhabitants arose from their resting-places under the porticoes
of houses, churches, and palaces, or hurried forth from the great bazar,
eager to celebrate the carnival with that boundless mirth and license by
which Roman Catholic nations seem to console themselves for the fasts
and privations that are to succeed it.
The variety of the costumes in which the maskers had arrayed themselves
was endless, while the profanity of some of them was no less remarkable.
Here might be seen a gigantic _tenatero_, or porter, in a sergeant's
jacket, and with the enormous cocked hat of a Spanish general upon his
head, a globe and sceptre in one hand, in the other a pasteboard cross,
strutting proudly about in the character of the Redeemer of Atolnico;[7]
while around him a party of Indians, Zambos, and Metises, metamorphosed
into Apostles, Pharisees, and Jewish women, performed dances of very
questionable propriety in honour of their divine master. In another
place, Adam and Eve were incessantly driven out of Paradise by an angel
with a flaming sword--the three figures resembling very much the same
persons, as they used to be represented in the halfpenny woodcuts of the
past century. Beside them, _Dios el Padre_ led off a dance to the sound
of a cracked guitar, which St Cecilia was twanging as an accompaniment
to the nasal melody of the gangaso;[8] and a little further on, the
child Jesus, mounted on a jackass, was flying into Egypt, and squirting,
as he went, streams of water into the open windows of houses, and into
the faces of the passers-by. Mingled with the mummers were crowds of
loathsome _leperos_; and again, amongst these might be seen numerous
groups of perfumed dandies and elegantly dressed ladies, who contrasted
with the throng of Indians as swamp-lilies do with the filth and
corruption of a pestilential marsh. In spite of the broad sunlight,
rockets were going off on all sides, to the great amusement of the
Indians, who burst out into screams of wild delight each time that one
of the fiery missiles caused alarm and confusion amongst the gaily
attired dames who thronged the balconies, and gazed down from their
windows upon the motley scene. The contrast of all this movement and
uproar with the silence and solitude that had reigned so few moments
before, was startling. It was as if the earth had suddenly opened and
vomited forth the thousands of Mulattoes and Zambos, Indians, Metises,
and Creoles,[9] that now sang, danced, chattered, screamed, and
shouted--doing their utmost worthily to play their part in the
time-honored saturnalia of the Romish church.
Differing from the custom of more refiled, although perhaps not more
enlightened, countries, only a very few of the numerous parties of
maskers seemed to aim, by their costume or action, at a satire on the
follies, foibles, or occurrences of the times. Now and then, however, an
exception was to be met with; and this was especially remarkable in a
group which it becomes necessary here to describe.
It consisted of twelve persons, the majority of whom were fantastically
attired in the national costumes of the various Indian tribes. These
were grouped round a _carro_, or two-wheeled cart in so picturesque a
manner, that it was easy to see that their performance had been
preconcerted and rehearsed. They wore symbols of mourning, and seemed
acting as pall-bearers and followers of a funeral; while upon the cart
itself were two figures, in which the horrible and the comic were
blended after a most extraordinary fashion. One of them was a Torso,
from whose breast and headless neck, and on the stumps of his arms and
legs, blood was incessantly dropping, and as fast as it dropped, it was
greedily licked up by several persons in Spanish masks and dresses. The
mutilated form seemed still to have life in it, for it groaned and gave
out hollow sounds of agony and complaint; at the same time struggling,
but in vain, to shake off a monster that sat vampire-like upon its body,
and dug its tiger claws into the breast of the sufferer. The aspect of
this monster was as strange as that of its victim. It had the cowl, and
the sleek but sinister countenance of well-fed Dominican friar; on its
right hand was fixed a blazing torch, on its left stood a dog that
barked continually; its head was covered with a brass basin, apparently
meant to represent the barber helmet of the knight of La Mancha. From
the shoulders of the figure protruded a pair of dusky wings, not unlike
those with which griffins and other fabulous monsters are represented in
old books of heraldry; its back was terminated by the tail of the
coyote, or Mexican wolf; while the claws with which it seemed digging
into the very bowels of the Torso, were those of caguar or tiger.
This singular pageant passed through the Tacuba street into that of San
Agustin, thence through the Plateria and the Calle Aguila into the
quarter of the city known as the Trespana, where it came to a halt
before the hotel of the same name. During this progress, the crowd of
Indians, Metises, and other coloured races, had been augmented by
numerous parties of Creoles; while the Spaniards contented themselves
with gazing distrustfully at the procession from the windows of their
houses. The strange group was now surrounded by thousands of Zambos,
Creoles, Metises, and Indians, presenting a variety and originality of
costume, physiognomy, and colour--a contact and contrast of the most
costly and sumptuous habiliments with the meanest and most disgusting
rags, such as it would be in vain to seek in any other country than
Mexico.
Amongst the most elegantly dressed of those whom the enigmatical
masquerade attracted, was a young man, of whom it would have bee
difficult to say to what race he belonged. His face was covered by a
closely-fitting silken mask, in which every hue of the rainbow was
blended, but which, nevertheless, was adapted so admirably to his
features, as at first to leave the spectators in doubt whether it were
not the real colour of his skin. He skipped airily out of the fonda of
Trespana into the street, cast a keen but hasty glance around him, and
then began to make his way through the mob that surrounded the pageant.
There was a nameless something in his manner and appearance that caused
the throng to open him a willing passage towards the object of general
curiosity.
"Foolish mob! brainless mob! swinish mob!" cried the stranger, when he
at length stood beside the cart upon which the monster was still rending
its hapless victim; "whither are ye running, and pressing, and crowding,
and what are ye come to see? Know ye not that in Mexico it is forbidden
to see, especially to see clearly?"
The tone of the speaker, his sudden appearance, and the bold originality
of his manner, contrasted strongly with the timidity of the other
Creoles, who had all in their turn approached the cart cautiously,
viewed it for a few moments with an air of mistrust, and then withdrawn
themselves to a distance, in order to await in safety what might next
ensue. The daring address of the new-comer, so different from this
prudent behaviour, did not fail to attract universal attention.
"What now, men of Mexico, or of Anahuac, if you prefer that name, Aztecs
and Tenochtitlans and Othomites, and Metises and Zambos and Salta-atras,
and whites, whom the devil fly away with," added he in a lower tone, "or
at least with one-twentieth of them?"[10]
"Bravo!" vociferated hundreds of Metises and Zambos, whom the last few
words had suddenly enlightened as to the political opinions of the
speaker. "Bravo! _Escuchad!_ Hear him!"
The object of this applause was apparently busied examining the
composition of the pageant. When silence was restored, he again turned
to the crowd.
"And so you would like to know what it means?" said he. "Fools! know ye
not that knowledge is forbidden? And yet, if you are any better than a
parcel of mules, you may see and understand."
"And if we _are_ no better than mules?" cried a voice.
"Then will I be your _arriero_, and drive you," replied the stranger
laughing, and tripping round the cart. "Mules! ay, _Madre de Dios!_ that
are ye, and have been all the days of your lives, ever since the gloomy
Gachupin yonder"--and he pointed to the monster, half monk, half
beast--"has chosen for his resting-place the body of the poor unhappy
creature, whom some call Anahuac, some Mexitli, and some Guatemozin.[11]
Mules, ay, threefold mules! Poor mules!" added he, in a tone of mingled
compassion and contempt.
"Poor mules!" sighed the surrounding spectators, gazing alternately at
the speaker and at the bleeding Torso.
On a sudden, the masked cavalier raised the cowl of the monster-monk,
and the severed head of the Torso rolled out from it. The features were
Indian, modelled and coloured in so masterly a manner, that the
resemblance they were intended to convey struck every body, and hundreds
of voices simultaneously exclaimed--
"Guatemozin!"
"Guatemozin!" was repeated from mouth to mouth, while the _pregonero_ or
crier, as the crowd had already christened the speaker, continued to
lift the veil from the significant allegory before him.
"See!" cried he, "here have his claws struck deepest. 'Tis in Guanaxato
and Guadalajara."
A shudder seemed to run through the crowd.
"'Tis Tio Gachupin," continued the pregonero with a strange laugh, "who
would fain play with you the same game that he did three centuries since
with poor Guatemozin. And see! 'tis Guatemozin's ghost that appears
bleeding before ye, and claims vengeance at your hands!"
It had now become evident to the surrounding crowd, that the pageant had
a deep and dangerous political meaning. The spectators had greatly
increased, and were each moment increasing, in number; the flat roofs
and the _miradores_, or latticed balconies, of the surrounding houses,
were crowded with gazers, while the street presented the appearance of a
sea of heads. A deep silence reigned, broken only by an occasional
whisper, or by the peculiar kind of low shuddering murmur that the
Indian is apt to utter when reminded of the power and prosperity of his
forefathers. Suddenly there was a loud cry.
"Vigilancia! Vigilancia!" was shouted from a distant balcony. The word
passed from mouth to mouth.
"Vigilancia!" repeated the pregonero; "_gracias_, thanks, Senoras y
Senores," added he, with a laugh and a slight bow, and then was lost in
the crowd. There was a movement round the ghastly group upon the cart,
which the next instant disappeared; and when the alguazils, by the aid
of their staves, had forced themselves a passage to the spot where the
pageant had been, no trace of it remained save fragments of wood and
pasteboard, that were showered from all sides upon their detested heads.
The crowd itself separated and dispersed in different directions; no
inconsiderable portion of it entering the hotel, in front of which the
scene had passed.
This hotel or _fonda_, the first in Mexico at that time, was then, as
now, a great resort of the highest and lowest classes of the
population--that is to say, of the greatest luxury and most squalid
misery that the world can show. The ground floor was used as a sort of
bazar, in which various articles of Mexican manufacture were exposed for
sale; while the rooms on the upper story were appropriated to the
reception of guests, and furnished with a sumptuousness that contrasted
strangely with the appearance of the majority of those who frequented
them.
In the first of these rooms stood a long and broad table, somewhat
resembling a billiard-table, but upon which, instead of balls and cues,
were piles of silver and gold, amounting to thousands of dollars; while
the wardrobe of the players, who sat and stood around, did not appear to
be worth as many farthings. Excepting the jingle of the money, and the
words _Senor_ and _Senoria_, occasionally uttered, scarcely a sound was
heard; but upon the excited and eager countenances of the gamblers,
which varied with every change in their luck, might be read the flushed
exultation of the winners, and the suppressed fury of the less
fortunate--a fury that, to judge from their fiery glances and set teeth,
might momentarily be expected to break out into fierce and deadly
strife.
The occupants of the second saloon were, if possible, still more
repulsive than those of the first. Men, women, and children--some half
naked--some with the most loathsome rags for a covering--were lying,
sitting, squatting, and crouching in every part of the room--some sunk
into a kind of doze--others, on the contrary, actively engaged in
ridding their own and their children's heads of those inhabitants that
seemed to constitute the sole wealth of this class of people--an
occupation which they pursued with as great zeal and apparent interest,
as if it had been absolutely essential to the proper celebration of the
festival-day. A third room was devoted to the chocolate and sangaree
drinkers, who might be seen emptying their cups and glasses with as much
satisfaction and relish, as if the sight of the poverty and squalor that
surrounded them gave additional zest to the draught; while, all about
them, between and under chairs, tables, and benches, the wretched
Leperos lay grovelling. Parties of richly-dressed Spaniards and Creoles,
both men and women, their eyes still heavy from the siesta, were each
moment entering, preceded by negro or mulatto girls carrying cigars and
sweetmeats, and screaming out, "_Plaza, plaza, por nuestras
senoras!_--Make way for our ladies!" A summons, or rather command, which
the _cortejos_, with their sticks and sabres, were ever ready to
enforce.
"_Caramba! Que bella y querida compania!_" exclaimed, on a sudden, the
same voice that a short time previously had explained the dangerous
allegory in the street below. The owner of the voice, however, wore
another mask and dress, although his present costume, like his previous
one, was that of a _caballero_ or gentleman. He glanced round the room
with that supercilious air which young men of fashion and quality are
apt to assume when amongst persons whom they consider immeasurably
inferior to themselves.
"_C--jo a la bonanza!_ Here's to try my luck!" cried he, stepping up to
the gambling table, and placing a rouleau of dollars on a card, which
the next moment won. "Bravo, bravissimo! Doble!"
He won a second time, and placed the stake, which was now a heavy one,
upon a fresh card.
"Triplo!" cried he. Fortune again favoured him. His luck still holding
good, he won a fourth time; and the banker, rising from his seat with a
savage curse upon his lips, pushed over the whole of his bank to the
fortunate player, and left the table with a look of hate and rage that
one would have thought must be the prelude to a stab. Nothing of the
sort, however, ensued. The man removed from his ears the two reals
which, according to Mexican usage, he had stuck there for luck; called
to the waiter, and uttered the word "_cigarros!_" as he showed one coin,
and "_aguardiente de cana!_" as he exhibited the other. Having thus
disposed of his last real, he draped his cloak over his shoulder with
such skill, that the end of it hung down to his heels, concealing the
tattered condition of that very essential part of his dress called
trousers. He then awaited, with perfect composure, the refreshment he
had ordered. Meanwhile, the fortunate winner took a couple of reals from
a small purse, stuck one in each ear, accompanying the action with the
sign of the cross, and prepared in his turn to hold the bank.
"_Plaza, gavillas!_" cried several voices just at this moment. "Make
room, knaves, for the senoras!" and in came a party of Spanish soldiers,
accompanied by their mistresses--the latter dressed out in a style that
many European ladies of the highest rank might well have envied. Before
each of them walked three mulatto girls, whose sole dress consisted of a
short and loosely-fitting silk petticoat, reaching to the knees; their
hair being confined in nets of gold thread, and their arms encircled
with bracelets of the same metal. One of these hand-maidens bore an open
box of cigars, out of which the lady and her cortejo from time to time
helped themselves; another had a basket with various comfits, which was
also frequently put in requisition, and the third carried the purse.
"Plaza!" was again the cry; and at the same time, the companions of the
ladies, well-conditioned sub-officers of the Spanish troops, swung their
canes and sabres, and the terrified Indians, and Metises, and Zambos
tumbled and rolled off their benches and chairs as if they had been
mowed down.
"_Demonio!_ What is all this?" exclaimed the new banker, who had already
taken his seat at the table, but now sprang suddenly up. "_Por todos
bastos et bastas de todo el mundo_--By every card in the pack!"----
He spoke in so threatening a tone, and his gesticulation was so
thoroughly Mexican in its vehemence, that three of the sergeants sprang
upon him at once.
"_Gojo, que quieres?_ Dog! what do you mean?"
"Dog!" repeated the Mexican, and his right hand disappeared under his
cloak--a movement which was immediately imitated by the owners of the
white, black, brown, and greenish physiognomies by which he was
surrounded. The three Spaniards stepped back as precipitately as they
had advanced. Meanwhile, the fourth sergeant approached the table, and,
seizing upon the cards, invited the company to stake their money against
a bank which he put down. The effect of this invitation was no less
extraordinary than rapid. The same men who, an instant before, had been
ready to espouse their countryman's quarrel to the death--for such had
been the meaning of the mysterious fumbling under the cloaks--no sooner
perceived that the cards had changed masters, than they called to the
Mexican with one voice--
"_Por el amor de Dios, senor_--leave us in peace, and God be with your
senoria!"
"Ay, go, and the devil take you!" growled the Spaniards.
The young man gazed in turn at his countrymen and at the sergeants; and
then, as if struck by the curious contrast between the courtesy of the
former and the rudeness of the latter, he laughed right out, swept
together his winnings, and walked away from the table, whistling a
bolero.
The sort of ramble which the masked cavalier now commenced through the
adjoining saloons, seemed for some time to have no particular object. He
strutted across one, paused for a moment in the next to take a sip out
of a friend's liqueur glass, dipped a biscuit into the chocolate of one
acquaintance, and helped another to finish his sangaree; and so lounged
and loitered about, till he found himself in the last of the suite of
rooms, which was then unoccupied. Stepping up to a door at the further
end of the apartment, he knocked at it, at the same time uttering the
words, "_Ave Maria purissima!_"
The door was opened.
"_Sin peccado concebida!_" added the Mexican, when he saw that the
occupants of the room did not make the usual reply to his pious but
customary salutation. "For God's sake, senores, is there neither piety
nor politeness among ye? Could you not say, '_Sin peccado concebida?_'"
CHAPTER THE SECOND.
"Verdades dire en camisa,
Poco menos que desnuda."
QUEVEDO.
The company assembled in the room which the masked cavalier entered
consisted of some five-and-twenty young men, in whose picturesque
Spanish-Mexican costume, velvets, silk, and gold embroidery had been
employed with lavish profusion. The air of scornful superciliousness
with which they glanced at the intruder, and the indifference with which
they seemed to regard the heaps of gold that lay glittering on the
table, denoted them to be practised gamblers, or, which in Mexico is the
same thing, noblemen of the highest rank. The saloon was richly
furnished; chairs, sofas, and tables of the most costly woods, and
splendidly gilt, cushions, drapery, and chandeliers, after the newest
fashion.
"Sixteen to the doubloon!" cried the new-comer, apparently noways
abashed by the contemptuous manner of his reception, as he stepped up to
the table, and placed a roll of dollars upon a card.
"_No pueden._ It cannot be," replied the banker, pushing back the silver
with his wooden rake.
"It cannot be," echoed several of the players in the same short
contemptuous tone. "_Una sociedad con fuero._ A private and privileged
society."
"_Una sociedad con fuero!_" repeated the stranger, shaking his head.
"All due respect for _fueros_, so long as they are respected and
respectable. But know you not, Senores, that _our_ fuero is the older
one?"
"Thy fuero older, _gato_?" drawled one of the noblemen.
"Ay, truly is it. 'Tis the fuero of the carnival, and dates from the
time that Mother Church first fell into her dotage."
"Mother Church in her dotage! Knave, what mean ye?"
"Your Senorias need only look into the street to see what I mean. She
has practised folly till she has become a fool. 'Tis just like the
mother country, who has drunk Mexican blood till she has grown
bloodthirsty."
The young cavaliers became suddenly attentive.
"_Paz! Senor_;" said the banker, "such words are dangerous. Begone, in
God's name, and beware of the alguazils and the Cordelada."[12]
"_Paz!_" replied the stranger; "peace, do you say? Would you have peace
and quiet? They are no more to be found in Mexico. Quiet!" repeated he,
with a fiery enthusiasm in his voice and gesture, "you will have as
little of it as Pedrillo had--
"No rest by day
No sleep by night,
For poor Pedrillo,
The luckless wight."
And he broke, on a sudden, into the beautiful and piquant air of
Pedrillo, which he sang with a taste and spirit that made the assembled
cavaliers gaze at him open-mouthed. At the same moment, a guitar and
castanets were heard in the adjoining room, accompanying the song.
Either the charm of the surprise, or the originality of the individual
who thus appositely introduced this popular fragment from the
masterpiece of a favourite composer, produced an electrifying effect
upon the young noblemen. They sprang from their chairs, and, at the
conclusion of the song, a score of doubloons fell ringing at the feet of
the singer.
"_Otra vez!_ Encore, encore!" was the universal cry.
"Senorias," said the banker, who alone appeared dissatisfied at this
interruption, and now approached the stranger; "I warn you, Senorias! I
recognise in this _caballero_"--he spoke the word in an ironical and
depreciating tone--"the same _gentilhombre_ whom the alguazils were so
lately seeking. Beware! his presence may get us into trouble."
"Ha! are you the fellow who played the alguazils such a trick?" cried
several of the young men.
Instead of replying, the stranger stamped with his foot; and, as if the
stamp had been the blow of an enchanter's wand, two folding-doors,
opposite to those by which he had entered the apartment, suddenly
opened, and four dancing figures, with flesh-coloured silk masks upon
their faces, and clothed in tightly-fitting dresses of the same
material, bounded into the room.
"Senorias! _Por el amor de Dios!_" cried the banker, imploringly.
As he spoke, two guitar-players, who accompanied the dancers, began
twanging their instruments; and the young men, absorbed in contemplation
of the graceful and luxuriant forms of the two female dancers, paid no
attention to his entreaties and warnings. Hastily gathering up his bank,
he packed it into a box, and left the saloon with all possible despatch.
And now, to the music of the guitars and the clatter of the castanets,
the two couples of dancers began a performance, of which the most vivid
pen would fail to portray the graceful and fascinating voluptuousness.
They commenced with the bolero, and thence glided, with a stamping of
the feet and whirling of the arms, into the more licentious fandango.
But the sensual character of the latter dance was so far veiled and
refined by the grace and elegance of the dancers, that what is usually
a mere appeal to the senses, became in their performances the very
poetry of motion. The young noblemen remained as though entranced, their
eyes fixed upon the dancers, and totally unable to give utterance to
their delight. While thus absorbed, they were suddenly startled by a
hoarse inarticulate sound, proceeding from the further corner of the
room. At the same moment the dance ceased; dancers and musicians retired
through the door by which they had entered, and a figure became visible
that will probably excite the astonishment of the reader as much as it
did that of the young cavaliers who now first perceived it.
Upon an ottoman extending along one side of the apartment, there
reclined, in a half-lying, half-sitting posture, a person whose dress
was that of a Moslem of the highest rank. His robe and turban were both
green, and in the folds of the latter was interwoven a chain, or wreath,
of precious stones, of extraordinary beauty and apparent value. In
striking contrast with this rich attire were the features of the Turk,
which were singularly repulsive. A low forehead receded from above a
pair of bluish-grey eyes, in the glazed, hard look of which, perfidy,
cruelty, and pride seemed to have taken up their abode. From between the
eyes protruded a long nose, curved like that of a bird of prey, over an
upper lip indicative of gluttony and the coarsest animal propensities;
the mouth was large, the lower lip hung relaxed and slavering over a
long square chin. The complexion was in good keeping with the false and
malignant expression of the countenance, being of an indefinite tint,
that could be classed under no particular colour.
"_Por el amor de Dios!_" cried the young noblemen, now really alarmed.
"What is this? What does it mean?" And they hesitatingly approached the
ottoman, and then again shrunk back, as if scared by some loathsome and
unnatural object.
Beside the figure two other Moslems were kneeling, one in a green, the
other in a snow-white turban. Their hands were folded upon their
breasts, and their faces bowed till they almost touched the carpet.
"Brr!" growled the Moslem in a tone more like the grunt of a wild boar
than the voice of a human being, and stretching himself peevishly out
upon the ottoman. His kneeling attendants started, rose respectfully to
their feet, and taking a step backwards, began conversing in a subdued
tone, and without appearing aware of the presence of the Mexicans, who
on their part were so bewildered by this strange scene that they seemed
to have lost the power of speech and movement.
"Zil ullah!" exclaimed he of the white turban. "Allah be with us! His
sublimity has again spoken! Spoken, but how little!" added he in a
disconsolate tone. "Right willingly would Ben Haddi commence this very
day a barefooted pilgrimage"----
"And Bultshere," interrupted the other, "would kiss the black stone of
Ararat"----
"If," resumed the first speaker, "his sublimity might be thereby healed
of his malady. Zil ullah! 'Tis three days since his highness tasted of
the bean of Mocha, or of the glorious juice that transports the true
believer, while yet living, into the realms of Paradise."
"Three days," continued his companion, "since he deigned to permit the
soft caresses of the beauteous Zuleima, or the ardent embraces of the
dark-eyed Fatima. What can be the cause?"
"Indigestion," quoth Green-turban.
"Cares of state," rejoined White-turban. "We must amuse his highness.
There are new Almas and Odalisques arrived. He will perhaps deign to
witness their performance."
And so saying, he approached the Caliph, for such was the high rank of
the personage whom the sitting Moslem was intended to represent, and
throwing himself prostrate on the ground, preferred his request.
A reply was returned in a sort of affirmative grunt, whereupon the
vizier arose in great joy, stepped back to his former place, and after
giving three distinct but not loud stamps upon the floor, retreated with
his companion into a corner of the room. Scarcely had he done so, when,
to the redoubled astonishment of the Mexican cavaliers, the
folding-doors again flew open, and four couples of dancers tripped in,
attired in costumes so rich and magnificent as to eclipse even that of
the Caliph. They were followed by four negroes, two of whom bore guitars
of Moorish make and appearance, the third the East Indian _tomtom_ or
drum, and the fourth the Persian flute.
For a brief space the eight dancers stood in mute expectation, awaiting
a signal to begin. This was given by a Brr! from the Sultan, who at the
same time vouchsafed to raise his head, and manifest an intention of
witnessing the entertainment offered him.
An adagio on the guitars, gradually increasing in volume, and in which
the tap of the tomtom mingled like the rolling of distant thunder,
opened the dance. Then came the sharp and yet mellow clack of the
dancers' castanets, and finally the soft tones of the flute, blending
the whole into harmony. The dancers seemed to follow and imitate by
their action each change of the music: at first, and with wonderful
grace and elegance, they fell into a group or _tableau_, their silken
scarfs, of transparent texture and bright and varied colours, floating
in the air like rainbows, behind which glanced the houri-like forms of
the women. Presently the music glided from the adagio into the allegro;
the steps of the dancers became quicker, their gestures more animated,
the play of their limbs more voluptuous. With the exception of one
couple, every glance and movement of the performers seemed directed or
aimed at the Caliph. This couple consisted of the most sylph-like and
exquisitely formed of the four female dancers, and of a Persian warrior,
who was pursuing her, and from whom she strove coyly to escape. With
admirable grace and skill did these two figures detach themselves from
their companions, in order to continue a while their simulated flight
and pursuit. The fairy feet of the fugitive scarcely touched the ground,
and such charm and fascination were in her movements that the Caliph
several times raised his eyelids and gave a grunt of approval. At each
of these indications on the part of the despot, the anxiety of the poor
Persian seemed to increase till it bordered on despair, and so naturally
was this despair portrayed as to draw a loud bravo from the spectators:
only the Caliph appeared insensible to the refined play of these elegant
dancers. Once or twice, indeed, his dull eyes seemed to emit a ray of
animal delight, but this quickly faded away; and even the triumph of the
Persian, when his mistress finally fell panting and yielding into his
arms, was insufficient to rekindle it.
"Brr!" cried the Commander of the Faithful, in the same harsh grunting
voice as before; "and you call that pastime, that which we have seen a
thousand and one times? By the beard of the Prophet, vizier," he
continued in a louder tone, "if I have no sleep to-day, nor appetite
to-morrow, there is the bowstring for you, and the stake for your
Almas!"
At this terrible threat the vizier stood speechless with horror, while
the mouth of the alarmed emir gaped to an unnatural extent: the dancers
paused, as though suddenly turned to stone, in the very same posture in
which the menace of the Caliph had surprised them. One of the
_bayaderes_ remained with her leg in a horizontal position, the point of
her toe almost in her partner's open mouth; another, in the terror of
the moment, had entangled her foot in the ample robe of the emir, who
now began to run up and down in his extremity of consternation,
compelling her to dance after him on one leg; in short, all the actors
in this strange scene expressed so naturally, by dumb show, their
amazement and alarm, that the Caliph burst into a loud fit of laughter.
"Allah Akbar!" cried vizier and emir and dancers, with one voice, and
then all burst forth in loud praises of the goodness of Allah, who,
through the agency of his slaves, had done so great a wonder, and
extracted a refreshing laugh from his highness. This unanimous
demonstration of affection on the part of his loving subjects, seemed
pleasing to the potentate. He nodded, and the emir, encouraged by this
sign of approbation, ventured to draw nearer.
"With all submission"--he began.
"By the Prophet's beard!" interrupted the Caliph, "we know what thou
wouldst say before it is spoken. We require not a vizier to talk, but to
act as a leech, and draw blood where it is too rich or corrupt. How
thinkest thou? If I were to impale one of these lazy dancers, would
terror make the others dance better?"
"On the contrary, please your highness, it would lame them. 'Twere
better to impale a swine from the herd called the people--one who
possesses zechins. Your highness's treasury is empty, and these Almas
are as poor as the mice in the churches of the Giaours, and withal right
useful servants of the state."
"Thou sayest well; by the Prophet, they _are_ useful servants of the
state," cried the Caliph, stroking his belly as he spoke, "and they may
be assured of our grace and favour. Strike off the heads of some dozen
or two knaves in the quarter of the Bezestein, and let the half of their
zechins be given to these poor devils."
There was a gentle tapping at the door, which the vizier hastened to
open, and returned with the news that the chief of the mollahs humbly
solicited the favour of an audience.
"Again cares of state, and nothing but cares of state!" groaned the
Caliph, allowing his head to fall on his breast as if in reflection.
"'Tis well," he said at last in a peevish tone. "We will receive the
spiritual shepherd of our kingdom. Away with these mummers! 'tis not
fitting that the expounder of the Koran should find us in such carnal
company."
Dancers and musicians now stepped into the background, and the doors
opened to admit the tall figure of the head mollah, who entered with
eyes fixed upon the floor; and, on finding himself in presence of the
Caliph, knelt down and touched the carpet with his forehead.
"Speak thy business," said the Sultan, "and quickly. We have been
already much engrossed with affairs of government, more, perhaps, than
is good for the feeble state of our bodily health."
"Bismillah!" quoth the high priest gravely, "we have caused prayers to
be offered up from each minaret of the mosques, and have commanded that
all true believers should bestrew themselves with dust and ashes. We
have sent men upon the holy pilgrimage, and to kiss the black stone of
Ararat in order that the sufferings of your sublimity may be
alleviated."
"Thou hast done well, oh mollah!" replied the Sultan.
"Luminary of the World, whose light is brighter than the sun," continued
the head mollah; "we have also, with regard to this malady of your
highness, consulted the book that serves us instead of all the wisdom of
the Giaour, and therein have we found that Haroun al Raschid was
afflicted with a like evil, which he unquestionably brought on himself
through too great attention to the duties of his government."
"Hold there, mollah!" interrupted the Caliph in a voice of thunder, "and
weigh thy words before thou speakest. Duties of government, sayest thou?
Duties! Who has duties? A worm like myself, that we have been pleased to
exalt out of the dust; but we have nought to do either with such
reptiles or with duty; we, the vicar of the Prophet. Our pleasure is
your duty, and our will your law."
"Doubtless, doubtless, Light of the World," cried the mollah, hastening
to correct his error. "Thy unworthy servant meant to say, pleasures.
When Haroun al Raschid found himself in similar moments of suffering and
despondency, which he unquestionably brought on by too great attention
to his pleasures"--
"Slave!" again interrupted the Caliph, "dost thou mock us, saying that
our glorious ancestor exhausted himself with pleasures, thus striving to
make it appear that we do the same? Do we not each day perform nine
times nine prostrations, our face towards Mecca? Did we not, no longer
back than yesterday, sign our name full twenty times to the
death-warrants of those scurvy and unbelieving hounds who dared to
blaspheme us, the Prophet's vicegerent, and to say in the
Bezestein--What said the dogs? Have we not given orders to hang, impale,
and exterminate like noisome vermin, all those who dare in any way to
think or have an opinion? Have we not made this order public, to the
great glorification of the Prophet and of our own name?"
The Caliph paused for a moment. Then turning suddenly to the
mollah--"You may inform us," said he, "what our ancestor Haroun al
Raschid was wont to do when afflicted like ourselves with heaviness of
spirit."
"Bismillah!" again began the mollah. "When Haroun al Raschid was thus
afflicted, he applied to the book which we have brought with us, and
which your highness, if he so pleases, can see and even read"--
"Miserable wretch!" thundered the Caliph, with a glance of scorn at the
speaker and his book. "Wherefore do we maintain you, and those like you,
if it is not to do for us what we hold it beneath our dignity to do for
ourselves? And is not the reading of books beneath our dignity? Do not
all books contain the ideas and notions of a pack of scoundrels, who
talk about things which they do not understand, and that in no wise
concern them? Have we not decreed that the bowstring should be the
portion of all those who are reported to be either writers or readers of
books? And have we not therefore taken into our service a parcel of
idlers, of whom thou art the chief, and whose duty it is to read and
think for the whole of our people?"
"And why should the Light of the World read?" replied the mollah after a
respectful pause. "He who is already the source of all earthly wisdom,
the joy and admiration of all nations? How shall I express my
wonder--how shall I sufficiently praise his high qualities?"--
"Stop, mollah!" cried the Caliph. "Know that it does not please us to be
praised or wondered at by such as thou. Truly thy praises stink in our
nostrils, and are as discords in our ears. It becometh not worms like
thyself, whom we have raised from the dirt, and can again dash back into
it, to seek to spy out our good qualities, lest at the same time they
should discern"--our bad ones, the Caliph would probably have said, but
he left the sentence unfinished.
"Thou shouldst look up at us," continued he, "as to the sun, in which
neither good nor evil can be seen, but of which the presence is known by
its effects. And now tell us what Haroun al Raschid did, when assailed
by despondency even as we ourselves are."
"Allah Akbar! Haroun al Raschid, when afflicted like your highness, was
wont to disguise himself in various ways, as a merchant, a soldier, or a
sailor"----
"All that is well known to us," interposed the Caliph; "but although we
are disposed to follow the example of our glorious ancestor so far as we
can, without too great exertion of mind or body, yet we doubt whether
just now we---- Thou knowest," he continued, interrupting himself, and
in a lower tone, "that although Haroun al Raschid was certainly our
forefather, yet our blood, improving by descent, is even purer and more
illustrious than his. We cannot, therefore, condescend to imitate him in
the way you speak of. But we will undertake a work that shall be far
more pleasing to the Prophet. With our own hands will we embroider a
twelfth under petticoat for his blessed mother, so that she may have one
for each month in the year."
During the latter part of this dialogue, a whispering had been more than
once audible at the door of the apartment. This circumstance, implying
the presence of listeners, might well endanger the necks of the daring
representatives of the Caliph and his courtiers; but nevertheless,
without allowing themselves to be discomposed by the vicinity of spies,
the Moslems had played out their parts, and the Caliph now rose from his
ottoman with all the dignity of an eastern despot, repeating, as he did
so, to his attendants, what great things he would do, and how he would
stitch with his own hands a twelfth under petticoat for the mother of
the Prophet. The procession had nearly reached the door by which it had
entered, when one of the young Mexicans, recovering apparently from the
state of inaction in which this extraordinary scene had plunged him and
his companions, suddenly sprang forward, gazed earnestly in the face of
the Caliph, and then started back again with a cry of horror.
"_Por el amor de Dios! Fernando el Rey!_ 'Tis his majesty, King
Ferdinand!" cried the young nobleman. "Stop, traitor!" he exclaimed,
again advancing and endeavouring to seize the Caliph. But even in this
moment of peril, the latter did not forget his assumed dignity. With a
look of the most profound contempt he strode out of the apartment, while
the gigantic mollah, seizing the Creole by the collar, raised him from
the ground like a feather, and hurling him back into the room, followed
the Commander of the Faithful, and shut the door.
Before the Mexican cavaliers had recovered from their alarm at the
daring and treasonable dramatic satire of which they had so unwittingly
been made spectators, the other doors were thrown violently open, and
several alguazils burst into the apartment. After a hurried glance round
the room, perceiving that the objects of their search had disappeared,
they darted out again at the opposite door, and hastened through the
adjacent saloons, uttering loud curses and cries of treason. This
furious but fruitless chase led them through the whole suite of
apartments, till they came round again to the room where the young
noblemen were still assembled.
"_Todos diabolos!_" cried one of the police agents, running to the
window, "yonder go the villains, they have escaped us this
time.--Demonio!" vociferated he, with a fury that made the foam fly from
his lips.
"And so, Caballeros!" snarled he to the Creoles, who now stood in
trembling alarm, and fully enlightened by the rage of the alguazils as
to the enormity of the treasonable pasquinade they had witnessed; "so
you have been pleased to take the person of his most sacred majesty for
your sport and laughing-stock?"
"Don Bautista, on our honour, we knew not."
"By _our_ honour," yelled another alguazil, "you shall pay for this with
your heads, Creole hounds that ye are!"
"Don Iago," cried the insulted cavaliers in a threatening tone, "we say
that on our _honour_"----
"Say what you please," interrupted the alguazil, "but I tell you that if
I were viceroy"----
"Your turn may come. You are a born Gachupin," cried one of the
cavaliers with a bitter sneer.
"I am a Spaniard," retorted the other; "and you are nothing but wretched
Creoles; vile, miserable Creoles; _y basta!_"
The very earth-worm will turn when trodden upon, and this last insult
was too much even for Creole endurance. The young men made a furious
rush at the alguazil; but he had foreseen the storm and effected a
timely retreat.
Hundreds of Creoles of the middle classes, Metises, Zambos, and
Spaniards, had assembled in the adjoining apartment, and looked on at
the scene without showing any sympathy either with the police or the
young Mexicans. The latter gazed for a second or two at each other in
perplexity and dismay, and then separating, disappeared through the
different doors.
Some extraordinary scenes and incidents grow out of this masquerade, or
rather out of the punishment to which the young noblemen who witnessed
it are sentenced. But, lest we should exceed our limits, we must reserve
further extracts for a second notice of this very remarkable book.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 5: Gachupin is an untranslatable word of Mexican origin. The
Spaniards asserted it to mean a hero on horseback; the Indians and
coloured races, who applied it as a term of contempt and reproach to the
Spaniards and their dependent Creoles, understood by it a thief.]
[Footnote 6: The word Leperos, which, literally translated, means
lepers, is the term applied to the homeless and houseless wretches who
are to be seen wandering by thousands about the city and suburbs of
Mexico. They consist of beggars, mechanics, writers, and even artists.
The most industrious amongst them work one, or at most two, days in the
week, and the dress of these consists of thin trousers, a sort of cloak,
and a straw hat. Their dwelling is in any hole or corner, under the
arcades of the houses, or in the mud cottages of the suburbs. Some of
the work they produce is wonderful for its beauty and ingenuity. They
manufacture the finest gold chains, surpassing any thing of the kind
that is to be found in Europe. Their statuettes and images of saints are
often masterpieces. During the revolution their character as a class
became materially worse. There are more than ten thousand of them who do
literally nothing, possess nothing, and lie about the streets stark
naked, with the exception of a tattered woollen blanket.]
[Footnote 7: The chapel of the Redeemer of Atolnico is situated on the
summit of a steep and high mountain, two and a half leagues from Miguel
el Grande, and is much resorted to by pilgrims. On the high altar are
statues of the Saviour, the Virgin Mary, and Mary Magdalen, of solid
silver, studded with rubies and emeralds. There are also in the same
church thirty other altars, with statues as large as life, pillars,
crosses, and candlesticks, all of the same metal. The sums that are each
year offered up at this shrine, are said to amount to considerably more
than one hundred thousand dollars.]
[Footnote 8: A monotonous species of dance.]
[Footnote 9: Creoles are born in Mexico of white parents. The Metises
are the descendants of whites and Indians, the Mulattoes of whites and
Negroes, the Zambos, or Chinos, of Negroes and Indians. The unmixed
races are Spaniards, Creoles, Indians, and Negroes. _Salta-atras_,
literally, a spring backwards, is the term applied to those of whom the
mothers were of a whiter race than the fathers.]
[Footnote 10: The Spaniards, at the period here referred to, (1812,) the
rulers and tyrants of Mexico, were estimated at 60,000 souls, or
one-twentieth of the white population of the country.]
[Footnote 11: Anahuac, the ancient name of Mexico. Mexitli, the god of
war of the Mexicans. Guatemozin, the last Mexican emperor. He was
tortured in the time of Cortes, to induce him to reveal the place where
his treasures were concealed; and subsequently hung for conspiracy, by
order of the same Spanish chief.]
[Footnote 12: One of the three principal prisons in Mexico.]
_Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne and Hughes, Paul's Work._