In all cities there is a street favoured by fashion. This in Mexico is
the Calle de Plateros (street of the silversmiths), so called because
there the workers in precious metals and dealers in bijouterie "most do
congregate."
In this street the _jovenes dorados_ (gilded youth) of modern
Tenochtitlan strolled in tight-fitting patent leather boots,
canary-coloured kid gloves, cane in hand, and quizzing-glass to the eye.
There, too, the senoras and senoritas go shopping bareheaded, with but
the shawl thrown over the crown hood-fashion.
When out only for promenade, none of these linger long in the street of
the silversmiths. They but pass through it on their way to the
_Alameda_, a sort of half-park, half-garden, devoted to the public use,
and tastefully laid out in walks, terraces, and parterres with flowers,
and fountains; grand old evergreen trees overshadowing all. For in that
summery clime shade, not sun, is the desideratum. Here the _jovenes
dorados_ spent part of the afternoons sauntering along the arcaded
walks, or seated around the great fountain watching the play of its
crystal waters. But with an eye to something besides--the senoritas,
who are there, too, flirting the fans with a dexterity which speaks of
much practice--speaks of something more. Not every movement made by
these rustling segments of circles is intended to create currents of air
and cool the heated skin. Many a twist and turn, watched with anxious
eyes, conveys intelligence interesting as words never spoken. In Mexico
many a love tale is told, passion declared, jealous pang caused or
alleviated, by the mute languages of fans and fingers.
Though the Calle de Plateros terminates at the gate of the Alameda, the
same line of street is continued half a mile further on, to the
fashionable drive of the _Pasco Nuevo_, sometimes called Pasco de
Buccareli, from the Viceroy who ruled New Spain when it was laid out.
It is the Rotten Row of Mexico, for it is a ride as well as a drive; and
at a certain hour of the afternoon a stream of carriages, with strings
of horsemen, may be seen tending towards it, the carriages drawn, some
of them by mules, others by the small native horses, and a distinguished
few by large English or American animals, there known as _frisones_. It
is the top thing to have a pair of "_frisones_."
In the carriages, the senoras and senoritas are seen attired in their
richest robes--full evening dress--bare-armed and bareheaded, their
hair, usually black, ablaze with jewels or entwined with flowers fresh
picked--the sweet-scented suchil, the white star-like jasmine, and
crimson grenadine. Alongside ride the cavaliers, in high-peaked,
stump-leather saddles, their steeds capering and prancing; each rider,
to all appearance, requiring the full strength of his arms to control
his mount, while insidiously using his spurs to render the animal
uncontrollable. The more it pitches and plunges the better he is
pleased, provided the occupants of the carriages have their eyes on him.
Every day in the year--except during the week of _Guaresma_ (Lent), when
capricious fashion takes him to the Paseo Viejo, or _Lav Vigas_, on the
opposite side of the city--can this brilliant procession be seen moving
along the Calle de Plateros, and its continuation, the Calle de San
Francisco.
But in this same thoroughfare one may often witness a spectacle less
resplendent, with groups aught but gay. Midway along the street runs a
deep drain or sewer, not as in European cities permanently covered up,
but loosely flagged over, the flags removable at will. This, the
_zanca_, is more of a stagnant sink than a drainage sewer; since from
the city to the outside country there is scarce an inch of fall to carry
off the sewage. As a consequence it accumulates in the zancas till they
are brimming full, and with a stuff indescribable. Every garbage goes
there--all the refuse of household product is shot into them. At
periodical intervals they are cleared out, else the city would soon be
a-flood in its own filth. It is often very near it, the blue black
liquid seen oozing up between the flagstones that bridge over the
zancas, filling the air with a stench intolerable. Every recurring
revolution make the municipal authorities of Mexico careless about their
charge and neglectful of their duties. But when the scouring-out
process is going on, the sights are still more offensive, and the smells
too. Then the flags are lifted and laid on one side--exposing all the
impurity--while the stuff is tossed to the other, there to lie festering
for days, or until dry enough to be more easily removed. For all it
does not stop the circulation of the carriages. The grand dames seated
in them pass on, now and then showing a slight contortion in their
pretty noses. But they would not miss their airing in the Paseo were it
twenty times worse--that they wouldn't. To them, as to many of their
English sisterhood in Hyde Park, the afternoon drive is everything--to
some, as report says, even more than meat or drink; since they deny
themselves these for the keeping of the carriage.
It may be imagined that the scouring-out of the zancas is a job for
which labourers are not readily obtained.
Even the _pelado_ turns up his nose at it, and the poorest proletarian
will only undertake the task when starvation is staring him in the face.
For it is not only dirty, but deemed degrading. It is, therefore, one
of the travaux-forces which, as a matter of necessity, falls to the lot
of the "gaol-bird." Convicts are the scavengers; criminals sentenced to
long periods of imprisonment, of whom there are often enough in the
_carceles_ of Mexico to clean out all the sewers in the country. Even
by these it is a task looked upon with repugnance, and usually assigned
to them as a punishment for prison derelictions. Not that they so much
regard the dirt or the smells; it is the toil which offends them--the
labour being hard, and often requiring to be done under a hot, broiling
sun.
To see them is a spectacle of a rather curious kind, though repulsive.
Coupled two and two--for the precaution is taken, and not unfrequently
needed--to keep their leg-chains on; up in mud to the middle of their
bodies, and above bespattered with it--such mud too! many of them with
faces that, even when clean, are aught but nice to look at; their eyes
now flashing fierce defiance, now bent down and sullen, they seem either
at enmity or out of sorts with all mankind. Some among them, however,
make light of it, bandy words with the passers-by, jest, laugh, sing,
shout, and swear, which to a sensitive mind but makes the spectacle more
sad.
All this understood, it may well be conceived with what anxiety Florence
Kearney listened to that snatch of dialogue between Santander and the
gaol-governor outside the cell. He did not even then quite comprehend
the nature of what was intended for them. But the sharer of his chain
did, who soon after made it all known to him, he passing the knowledge
on to Cris Rock. So when, on the next morning, the governor again
presented himself at the door of their cell, saying:
"Now, gentlemen, get ready to take a little exercise,"--they knew what
sort of exercise was meant.
He, however, believing them ignorant of it--for he was not aware they
had overheard his out-door speech with Santander, added ironically:
"It's a special favour I'm going to give you--at the request of Senor
Colonel Santander, who, as I've seen, takes a friendly interest in some
of you. For your health's sake, he has asked me to give you a turn upon
the streets, which I trust you will enjoy and get benefit by."
Don Pedro was a born joker, and felt conceit in his powers as a
satirist. In the present instance his irony was shaftless, being
understood.
The dwarf was the only one who deigned rejoinder.
"Ha, ha, ha!" he yelled in his wild unearthly way. "Turn _upon_ the
streets! That's fine for you, Don Pedro. A turn _under_ the streets--
that's what you mean, isn't it?"
He had been long enough in the gaol-governor's charge to know the
latter's name, and was accustomed to address him thus familiarly. The
deformed creature was fearless from his very deformity, which in a way
gave him protection.
"_Vayate Zorillo_," returned the Governor, slightly put out and
evidently a little nettled, "you're too fond of jesting--or trying.
I'll take that out of you, and I mean to give you a lesson in good
manners this very day." Then fixing his eyes upon Rivas, he added:
"Senor Don Ruperto, I should be only too happy to let you off from the
little excursion your prison companions are about to make and save you
the fatigue. But my orders are rigorous. They come from the highest
quarter, and I dare not disobey them."
This was all pure irony, intended but to torment him; at least so the
robber seemed to understand it. For, instead of accepting it in a
friendly sense, he turned savagely on his tormentor, hissing out:
"I know you daren't disobey them, dog that you are! Only such as you
would be governor of a gaol like this: you, who turned coat and
disgraced the sword you wore at Zacatecas. Do your worst, Don Pedro
Arias! I defy you."
"_Cascaras_! how swelling big you talk, Senor Captain Rivas! Ah! well.
I'll let a little of the wind out of you too, before you bid good-bye to
the Acordada. Even the Condesa, grand dame though she is, won't be able
to get you clear of my clutches so easy as you may be thinking. La
Garrota is the lady likeliest to do that."
After thus spitefully delivering himself, he called to some prison
warders in waiting in the court outside, and commanded them to come up
to him.
"Here," he directed, "take these two pairs and hand them over to the
guard at the gate. You know what for, Dominguez?" The half
interrogatory was addressed to a big, hulking fellow, chief of the
turnkeys, who looked all Acordada.
"_Por cierto, Senor Gobernador_," he rejoined with a significant look,
after giving the prison salute to his superior. "I know all about it."
"See, moreover, that they be kept all day at it; that's my orders."
"Sure will I, Senor," was the compliant rejoinder.
After which the man twitted with turning his coat, turned his back upon
the place where he had been so ungraciously received, going off to more
agreeable quarters.
"Now, gentlemen!" said the gaoler, stepping up to the door of the cell,
"_Por las zancas_!"