Jalapa.--The extraordinary Beauty and Fertility of this Spot.--Jalap,
Sarsaparilla, Myrtle, Vanilla, Cochineal, and Wood of Tobasco.--The
charming Situation of Jalapa.--Its Flowers and its Fruits.--Magnificent
Views.--The tradition that Jalapa was Paradise.--A speck of War.--The
Marriage of a Heretic.--A gambling Scene in a Convent.
Byron's lines, in the opening of "The Bride of Abydos" are gorgeous
enough:
"Know ye the land of the cedar and vine,
Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine;
Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress'd with perfume,
Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gull in their bloom;
Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit,
And the voice of the nightingale never is mute."
But the poet would have given them a still more luxuriant coloring had
he ever ascended the table-land of the tropics, and visited Jalapa, the
spot which the natives insist was the site of the original Paradise.
Paradise, jalapa, and myrtle, sound well enough together, and do not
clash with the native tradition in relation to this delightful spot.
PRODUCTIONS OF THE VALLEYS.
We were now more than four thousand feet above the sea, on an extensive
plateau, half-way up the mountain. The beautiful _convolvulus jalapa_
does not flourish here, but is brought from the Indian villages of
Colipa and Maqautla, situated in the valleys that run among the hills.
The _myrtle_, whose grain is the spice of Tobasco, is produced in the
forests by the river Boriderus; the _smilax_, whose root is the true
sarsaparilla, grows deep down in the humid and umbrageous ravines of
the Cordilleras; and cocoa comes from Acayucan. From the ever-green
forests of Papantla and Nautla comes the _epidendrum vanilla_, whose
odoriferous fruit is used as a perfume. Thus these characteristic
productions of the country come from the mysterious valleys of the
neighboring mountain, where, nearly a thousand years before any of the
present generation was born, flourished an unknown race of men as
civilized as were the people of Palmyra or of Egypt, as vast ruins in
the forests of Misantla and Papantla clearly indicate: a race unknown
to the degenerate Indians, who now wander about the ruined edifices and
isolated pyramids of these cities, lost in the forest, as they are to
us. A thousand years have passed away--their history has perished
forever. The old books say that the delicate little scarlet insect,
cochineal, was once a product of this district, and Jalapa was its
proper market, and the mart of all the other peculiar productions of
the neighboring region, because it was the town on the high land
nearest to the sea-port.
[Illustration: JALAPA.]
Jalapa early became an important position to which foreign goods were
brought to be exchanged for silver and gold, jalap, sarsaparilla,
vanilla, spice of Tobasco, cocoa, cochineal, and woods of various
colors.
It is the beauty of the place itself, and the unsurpassed magnificence
of its mountain-scenery, that throws such a charm around Jalapa. The
transparency of its atmosphere makes the snow-crowned Orizaba and
Perote, in the coast range of mountains, appear close at hand, with
their dense forests of perpetual foliage, moistened incessantly by the
clouds driven upon them from the ocean. High up in the region of
perpetual moisture, Jalapa has a soil intensely luxuriant, and is
beyond the reach of those parasitic plants of the low lands, that fix
themselves upon other plants and trees, and eat out their very life, as
the malarias do that of the human being. Roses of the most choice
varieties grow spontaneously by the roadside, or creep over the walls.
Nature, the parent of architects, has here shaped all her trees upon
the most exquisite models. The very twig planted in a hedge, if left to
itself, grows up into a tree which gracefully inclines its head like a
weeping willow; while a mammoth white bell, or trumpet flower, hangs
pendent from the extremity of every limb, each flower larger and more
beautiful than our favorite house lily, and giving forth a richer odor
than the rose. From the exquisite delicacy and richness of the fruit
which this plant (the chirimoya) bears, and the danger arising from
eating of it too freely, it is not unfrequently called the tree of the
forbidden fruit; sometimes also it is called the custard plant.
THE PARADISE OF JALAPA.
Among the pleasing sights which we beheld was an orange orchard, in
which I did not see a single tree that was not delicately and
gracefully formed. In this profusion of nature I saw our own favorite
flowers. A tiny crimson rose was creeping about in every place, while
the large pink rose, which grew so rank, was clinging to an old wall
and in full blossom; and many other varieties of crimson, white,
yellow, and scarlet roses grow here without care; the morning-glory and
honey-suckle are wild flowers here; the sweet-william, the
lady-slipper, and all the flowers that we cultivate in summer, appear
here to be spontaneous productions of nature. Even that sweetest and
most beautiful of flowers, the passion-flower, with its mystical cross
and five protruding seeds, was running over a frame, and yielding a
profusion of blossoms, and a fruit--the granada--which almost equals in
richness and delicacy the fruit of the chirimoya. But all the natural
wonders of this town are not yet enumerated; for the fruits as well as
the flowers of every climate flourish in Jalapa. There are
strawberries, of the largest size, growing beside a coffee-tree the
tree being filled with coffee-berries. Peach-trees were in full blossom
in November, beside apricots and chirimoyas, while potatoes flourish
among the bulbous productions of a tropical climate. The people of the
town take a pride in its natural beauty; and there are no filthy
alleys, no squalid poverty, or uncleanly hovels. Every house appears to
be of stone; the walls neatly whitewashed, and bordered with pink, red,
blue, green, or yellow; and the streets are fashioned to suit the
grounds, without regard to checker-board regularity.
I stood in an upper story of the house of a Mr. Todd, on the opposite
side of the little stream that runs in front of the town, and looked
out from that favored position. The sun had just escaped from the folds
of an imprisoning cloud, and was shining full upon the beautiful town
and hill. The unabsorbed moisture on the leaves gave them an additional
lustre. The green peering up every where amidst the whitened walls; the
graceful form of the trees, where their outline could be traced; the
curiously shaped roofs of the old stone churches, with buttresses and
towers; the college of San Francisco, a curiously fashioned pile of
buildings, standing out above all others; the hill behind the town, the
lofty mountain of Perote, on its left flank, on whose top the sky
seemed to rest--all combined to give credibility to that which has been
said of the beauty of Jalapa by an old Spanish author--that Jalapa was
"a piece of heaven let down to earth." This figure was afterward
applied to Naples, and the remark was added--"See Naples, and die." But
the Jalapanos say, "See Jalapa, and pray for immortality, that you may
enjoy it forever." It is the boast of the Indian, that "Jalapa is
Paradise."
One is almost tempted to agree with them; for here grow all plants that
are pleasant to the eye, or good for food. Adam and Eve were not placed
in the garden to plant and to sow, but to prune and dress the plants
that grew of themselves. Here grow an abundance of broad-leaved plants,
and for thread there is the fibre of the _maguey_, or century plant;
while the thorns of the cactus are the needles used among the natives;
so that all the materials were at ready hand for making their garments,
as soon as our first parents had their eyes opened--by taking Jalap, I
suppose--and so discovering that they were naked. It is a curious
conceit, that the sin of Adam, in introducing a parasite into Eden,
entailed a curse on this medicinal plant, which from that day, the
story goes, has for very shame hid its face by day, and only by night
opened its pretty scarlet flowers, which close again as the morning
light appears.
In favor of the notion that Jalapa was the ancient Paradise, the
argument is, that Paradise must have been in the tropics, in a region
elevated far above the baleful heat and malaria of the low lands, in a
climate where plants could grow to the utmost perfection. And there is
no such place in the world except Jalapa. Here, too, when the daily
shower, which is requisite to bring all vegetable nature to perfection,
rendered garments of wool necessary to protect humanity from
rheumatism, nature had provided the needles and thread needed to
fashion them. So that, taken all together, this Indian theory is more
probable than many of the unnumbered traditions of this country, where
traditions and miracles appear to grow as spontaneously as wild
flowers.
In such a spot as this, where all the powers of nature seem to have
combined to form an earthly Paradise, and where the surrounding
mountain-scenery is unsurpassed on the earth's surface, we might look
for enlarged notions of the power, the majesty, and wisdom of that God
who created it all. But images, like dolls, tricked out in the tawdry
finery, are the objects which this people adore, and to whom they
attribute more miraculous powers than were ever ascribed to the gods of
their heathen ancestors. Humboldt says, "This people have changed their
ceremonies, but not their religious dogmas."[6]
A REVOLUTION.
But let us take a look at the interior of this town. It is a little
disturbed now, as there was a revolution yesterday--a revolution and a
counter-revolution in fact, all in one day.
The Governor and Legislature of the State of Vera Cruz, which meets in
this place, were taken prisoners in the forenoon, for imposing a tax
upon the retail trade; but in the afternoon their friends rallied, and
the Governor and Legislature were released, and the rebels driven from
the town. In this double battle one man, at least, lost his life, for
the funeral took place as we entered. War is a terrible calamity at any
time; but when it is carried to that foolish extent of shedding blood,
it becomes an intolerable evil, and prudent men show their wisdom by
running from it: at least they did so at Jalapa.
Jalapa, it may be here remarked, is built on the site of an old Indian
village, which was one of the first to enter into alliance with Cortez.
For the benefit of the original inhabitants, that Franciscan Convent
was built by the conqueror. It is now converted into a college. Its
steeple is worth a visit, and well rewards the labor of climbing; for
from it another view, even more splendid than that I have described, is
to be obtained. From this point the snow-covered Orizaba is added to
the already imposing prospect; both it and Perote, with the intervening
mountain and valleys, can all be embraced at a single glance. The
position of the valleys, which produce the different plants that have
been enumerated, are here pointed out; and from this spot, they show
the place where the mountain has been pierced in search of the precious
metals, while a little way off is the road to the extensive
copper-mines.
THE HERETIC AND THE JALAPINA.
There is a curious story about the first marriage that took place
between a heretic and a Jalapina. The hero held the important position
of agent of the English _Real del Monte_ Company at Jalapa. In one
of the families that had been greatly reduced in their worldly
circumstances by the ruin of the _Consulado_ of Vera Cruz, was a
dark beauty with whom he became deeply enamored. But how to make her
his wife was the difficulty. The lady was willing--was more than
willing; "for when the fires of Spanish love are kindled, they burn
unextinguishably," says the proverb. Or, in the poetical language of
the Indians, "it burns as did the fires of Mount Orizaba in its
youth--fires that only went out when its head was coated with silver
gray." The mother was willing; and no one but the Church had aught to
say why they should not be united. How could the holy sacrament of
matrimony be profaned by administering it to a heretic? It never had
been, it never must be, in the Republic. He might take the woman if he
chose, and live with her; but to marry them would be a sin. So said the
Padre of the parish, and so said every dignitary of the Church up to
the Bishop of Puebla, then the only remaining bishop in the Republic.
The intercession of political authorities was invoked. The matter
became serious, and a council was held at Puebla to dispose of the
case. From this holy council came the intimation to the lover that a
bribe of $2000 might be of service. But John Bull by this time had
become stubborn. He had spent money enough; he would spend no more; he
would get a chaplain from a man-of-war then at Vera Cruz; or better
still, he would take his intended bride to New Orleans; for he would be
married and not mated, as is the case of those who can not raise the
fee claimed by the priest. He would not be ranked with that
poverty-stricken set that are unmarried, or, as the phrase is, are
"married behind the Church." He was no _peon_. It was contrary to an
Englishman's ideas to have a wife unmarried; and as no English chaplain
came along, he wrote to the Roman Catholic Bishop of New Orleans,
giving an account of his difficulties, and inquired if he would marry
him under the circumstances. With a liberality that ever distinguishes
Catholic functionaries in Protestant countries, he promptly replied
that he would marry them personally, if the parties would come to New
Orleans, or, if he should chance to be unavoidably engaged, then his
chaplain should perform the ceremony. Whereupon our hero and his
lady-love started for New Orleans; and being there united in holy
matrimony by the bishop, spent the happy month, so long deferred, in
festivities, and then returned home, supposing that their troubles were
now all at an end.
But this foreign marriage proved to be only the beginning of evil to
them. They had committed an unpardonable sin; they had defrauded the
priest of his fee, and had set a bad example, which others might follow
for the very economy of the thing.
Hardly had our newly-wedded pair found themselves located in their own
house, and finished receiving the usual round of congratulations, when
the wife was summoned to appear before the priest. She at once
complied, accompanied by her husband. The priest inquired why the
husband came, as he had not been sent for; he had only sent for the
wife. The husband gave him an Englishman's answer--that she was his
wife, and where she went, there it was his place to go. The priest's
reply to this opened the cause. The marriage was not lawful, and he
must detain her, and send her on to Puebla, and have her placed in a
convent. Such was the order he had received, and which he exhibited;
and the two soldiers at the door were stationed there to carry the
order into execution.
At this point in the affair the Englishman drew two arguments from
under his coat, and leveling one of them at the head of the padre,
suggested to him the propriety of not interposing any obstacle to the
return of himself and wife to their home. This was a poser; an act of
open impiety; a Kentucky argument. But there was no remedy. The
Inquisition was not now in authority; its instruments of torture had
been destroyed; its fires had been extinguished; and so the Englishman
got the best of the argument, and retired peaceably to his own home.
At his house the Englishman was waited upon by the Alcalde, who
informed him that he had been ordered to take the wife, and that he
dared not disobey. But he suggested a method by which the order might
be evaded. This was to send the wife every day, at a certain hour, into
a neighbor's house, and at that hour the officers would come and search
his dwelling, and would accordingly report "Not found." This farce
continued to be enacted daily for nearly three months, when the
husband, becoming tired of it, wrote to the Bishop of New Orleans an
account of the manner in which his house had been besieged, and in due
time received a reply from that excellent ecclesiastic, stating that he
would satisfactorily arrange the business; at the same time expressing
his regrets that he had not before been informed of the condition of
affairs.
In the mean time, another priest in the town chanced to be discussing
the all-absorbing question of the day, the heretic marriage, and
unfortunately happened to remark that a marriage by an American priest
was not a lawful marriage. This was too much for our Englishman, and he
answered it--as an Englishman is accustomed to answer insulting remarks
in relation to the affairs of his household--not by a single blow, but
by such a pommeling as never a priest had sustained since the Conquest.
Yet there was no earthquake on the occasion, and Orizaba was not
discomposed at witnessing such a shocking act of impiety.
Time moved on, and with it came the parish priest to validate the
marriage. But our Englishman would not be _validated_. No, not he; and
when the priest began to mutter and to move his hands, the Englishman's
blood was up, and so was his foot, and this ceremony was terminated
according to a formula not laid down in any prayer-book now extant.
This was the end of the war. The pair had passed through many
tribulations in order to consummate their union; yet both declare that
the prize was worth the contest.
THE MONK AT JALAPA.
Our good monk, with whom we parted at Vera Cruz, visited the convent at
Jalapa, on his journey, and thus records what he saw:
"The night of our arrival at Jalapa we were entertained at the convent
of San Francisco, where we passed the day following, as it was Sunday.
The income of this convent is great, notwithstanding the community is
composed of only six _religios_, though it might well maintain more
than a score of them. The guardian of Jalapa is no less vain than the
prior of Vera Cruz; but he received us with much kindness, and treated
us magnificently, although we were of another order.
"In this town, as in all others, we observed that the lives and customs
of the clergy, both seculars and regulars (monks), were greatly
relaxed, and that their conduct completely gave the lie to their vows
and their professions. The order of San Francisco, besides the vows
common to the other orders; that is to say, chastity and obedience,
exacts that the vow of poverty shall be observed more scrupulously than
the other mendicants enforce it. Their dress should be of coarse cloth,
and of a color to which they have given a name [monk's gray]; their
girdles, or cordons, of rope, and their shirts of wool, if they can
bear them. They are to go without stockings; and, finally, it is not
lawful for them to use shoes, but to wear sandals. Not only are they
prohibited having money, but they ought not even to touch it; neither
to possess any thing as their own. In their journeys it is forbidden
them to mount a horse, although they should fall by the way from
fatigue. It is necessary that they should go afoot with sorrow and
fatigue; esteeming the infraction of any of these precepts a mortal
sin, which merits excommunication and hell. But they neglect all the
obligations which the rigorous observance of these rules imposes upon
them--to the neglect of all discipline, and to the disregard of the
penalties. Those that have been transported to this country live in a
manner which does not in any thing show that they have made a vow to
God of even trifling privations. Their lives are so free and immodest
that it might be suspected, with reason, that they had renounced only
that which they could not, or were unable to attain.
MONKISH GAMBLING.
"We were surprised and even scandalized at the extraordinary sight of a
San Franciscan of Jalapa, riding most beautiful mule, with a groom, or
rather lackey, behind him, while only going to the end of the village
to confess a sick man. His reverence, as he went along, had his
garments tucked up from beneath, which exhibited a stocking of
orange-color; a shoe of the most exquisite morocco; small clothes of
Holland linen; with knots and braids of four fingers in width. Such a
spectacle made us observe with more attention the conduct of that
friar, and that of others beneath whose broad sleeves were exhibited a
jacket embroidered with silk. They also wore shirts of Holland; and
hand-ruffs inclosed their hands. But we did not discover, either in
their garments or in their table, any thing that indicated
mortification; on the contrary, every thing exhibited the same vanity
which was noted in the people of the world.
[Illustration: GAMBLING IN A CONVENT.]
"After supper some of them began to speak of cards and dice, and they
invited us to play, in order to contribute to the entertainment of
their guests, one hand at a rubber. Almost all of our party excused
themselves; some for want of money, others from not knowing the play.
At length they found two of our _religious_ that would place themselves
hand to hand with other two Franciscans. The party being arranged, they
commenced playing with admirable dexterity. A little was put down at
first; it was doubled. The loss vexed the one, the gain stimulated the
other. At the end of a quarter of an hour the convent of the Angelic
Order[7] of our father of San Francisco had converted itself into a
gaming house, and the poor _religious_ (friars) into profane
worldlings. We, who were simply spectators, had occasion to observe
what passed in the play, and to acquire matter for reflection upon such
a life. As the game went on engrossing in interest, the scandal
continued to increase. The draughts of liquor were repeated with much
frequency; the tongue unloosed itself; oaths mingled themselves with
jests, while loud laughter made the edifice to tremble. The vow of
poverty did not escape from the sacrilegious mirth. One of the San
Franciscans, who had often touched money with his fingers and placed it
on the table, when he gained any considerable sum, in order to divert
the company, opened his broad sleeve, and with the hem he swept the
table of all the stakes, amounting sometimes to more than twenty gold
ounces, into his other sleeve; saying, at the same time, "Take care of
it thou that canst, I have made a vow not to touch it." It was
impossible for me to listen to such imprecations, and to witness such
scandalous lives, without being moved; more than once I was on the
point of reproving them, but I considered that I was a stranger, a
passing guest, and besides, what I should say to them would be like
preaching to the desert. I therefore rose up without making any noise
and went to my sleeping-place, leaving the profane crowd; who continued
with their diversions until the dawn. The next day the friar who had
laved his part with so much facetiousness, with more of the manner of a
brigand than a _religious_, more suitable for the school of
Sardanapalus or of Epicurus than for the life of a cloister, said that
he had lost more than eighty doubloons, or gold ounces--it appearing
that his sleeve refused to protect that which he had made a vow of
never possessing.
MORALS OF THE MONKS.
"This was the first lesson which the Franciscans gave us of the New
World. It clearly appeared that the cause of so many friars and Jesuits
passing from Spain to regions so distant, was libertinage rather than
love of preaching the gospel, or zeal for the conversion of souls. If
that love, if that zeal, were the motives of their conduct, they might
offer their own depravity as an argument in favor of the truths of the
gospel. Wantonness, licentiousness, avarice, and the other vices which
stained their conduct, discovered their secret intentions. Their
anxiety for enriching themselves, their vanity, the authority which
they exercised over the poor Indians, are the motives which actuate
them, and not the love of God or the propagating of the faith."
[6] Essai Politique.
[7] This is the title of this order of friars.