collectorship--just as the King meant that they should stick, in
reward for his good fighting--that Don Rodrigo built for himself his
fine house in the street that is now called, because of the bridge
that once was a part of it, and because of the raven's doings, the
Puente del Cuervo. If that street had another name, earlier, Señor, I
do not know what it was.
This Don Rodrigo, as was generally known, was a very wicked person;
and therefore he lived in his fine house, along with his raven, in
great magnificence--eating always from dishes of solid silver, and
being served by pages wearing clothes embroidered with gold. But, for
all his riches, he himself was clad as though he were a beggar--and a
very dirty beggar at that. Over his jerkin and breeches he wore a long
capellar that wrapped him from his neck to his heels loosely; and this
capellar had been worn by him through so many years that it was shabby
beyond all respectability, and stained with stains of all colors, and
everywhere greasy and soiled. Yet on the front of it, upon his breast,
he wore the Cross of Santiago that the King had given him; and wearing
that cross, as you know, Señor, made him as much of a caballero as the
very best. In various other ways the evil that was in him showed
itself. He never went to mass, and he made fun openly of all holy
things. The suspicion was entertained by many people that he had
intimacies with heretics. Such conduct gives a man a very bad name
now; but it gave a man a worse name then--and so he was known
generally as the Excommunicate, which was the very worst name that
anybody could have.
As to the raven, Señor, Don Rodrigo himself named it El Diablo; and
that it truly was the devil--or, at least, that it was a devil--no one
ever doubted at all. The conduct of that reprobate bird was most
offensive. It would soil the rich furnishings of the house; it would
tear with its beak the embroidered coverings of the chairs and the
silken tapestries; it would throw down and shatter valuable pieces of
glass and porcelain; there was no end to its misdeeds. But when Don
Rodrigo stormed at his servants about these wreckings--and he was a
most violent man, Señor, and used tempestuous language--the servants
had only to tell him that the raven was the guilty one to pacify him
instantly. "If it is the work of the Devil," he would say without
anger, "it is well done!"--and so the matter would pass.
Suddenly, on a day, both Don Rodrigo and the raven disappeared. Their
going, in that strange and sudden way, made a great commotion; but
there was a greater commotion when the Alcalde--being called to look
into the matter--entered the house to search it and found a very
horrible thing. In the room that had been Don Rodrigo's bedroom, lying
dishonored upon the floor, broken and blood-spattered, was the most
holy image; and all about it were lying raven feathers, and they also
were spattered with blood. Therefore it was known that the raven-devil
and Don Rodrigo had beaten the holy image and had drawn blood from it;
and that the great devil, the master of both of them, in penalty for
their dreadful act of sacrilege, had snatched them suddenly home to
him to burn forever in hell. That was the very proper end of them.
Never were they seen again either on sea or land.
Naturally, Señor, respectable people declined to live in a house where
there had been such shocking doings. Even the people living in the
adjoining houses, feeling the disgrace that was on the neighborhood,
moved away from them. And so, slowly, as the years went on, all of
those houses crumbled to pieces and fell into ruins which were carted
away--and that is why they no longer are there. But it is generally
known, Señor, that until Don Rodrigo's house did in that way go out of
existence, Don Rodrigo continued to inhabit it; and that the raven
continued to bear him company.
Just a year from the time that the devil had snatched away to hell the
two of them--and it was at midnight, and a storm was upon the
City--the neighbors heard between the thunder-claps the clock on the
Palace striking its twelve strokes; and then, between the next
thunder-claps, they heard the raven caw twelve times. Then it became
known that the raven nightly took up its post on the parapet of the
bridge that was in that street; and that, when his cawing for midnight
was ended, he habitually flew up into the balcony of Don Rodrigo's
house; and that on the balcony he found Don Rodrigo--a yellow
skeleton, and over the bones of it the dirty old capellar--ready and
waiting for him. Don Rodrigo's skeleton would be sitting quite at its
ease on the balcony; on the railing of the balcony would be perched
the raven; and with his dry-bone fingers--making a little clicking
sound, like that of castanets--Don Rodrigo would stroke gently the
back of that intensely wicked bird. All this would show for a moment
while the lightning was flashing; then darkness would come, and a
crash of thunder; and after the thunder, in the black silence, the
little clicking sound of Don Rodrigo's dry-bone fingers stroking the
raven's back gently again would be heard.
And so it all went on, Señor, my grandfather told me, until the house
tumbled down with age, and these disagreeable horrors no longer were
possible; and it is most reasonably evident--since the street got its
name because of them--that they really must have happened, and that
they must have continued for a very long time.
As I have mentioned, Señor, my friend the cargador--who is a most
respectable and truthful person--declares that sometimes on stormy
nights he himself has heard the raven's cawings when the Palace clock
has finished its twelve strokes; and from that it would appear that
the raven is to be met with in the Puente del Cuervo even now.
LEGEND OF LA LLORONA[9]
As is generally known, Señor, many bad things are met with by night in
the streets of the City; but this Wailing Woman, La Llorona, is the
very worst of them all. She is worse by far than the vaca de
lumbre--that at midnight comes forth from the potrero of San Pablo and
goes galloping through the streets like a blazing whirlwind, breathing
forth from her nostrils smoke and sparks and flames: because the Fiery
Cow, Señor, while a dangerous animal to look at, really does no harm
whatever--and La Llorona is as harmful as she can be!
Seeing her walking quietly along the quiet street--at the times when
she is not running, and shrieking for her lost children--she seems a
respectable person, only odd looking because of her white petticoat
and the white reboso with which her head is covered, and anybody might
speak to her. But whoever does speak to her, in that very same moment
dies!
The beginning of her was so long ago that no one knows when was the
beginning of her; nor does any one know anything about her at all. But
it is known certainly that at the beginning of her, when she was a
living woman, she committed bad sins. As soon as ever a child was born
to her she would throw it into one of the canals which surround the
City, and so would drown it; and she had a great many children, and
this practice in regard to them she continued for a long time. At last
her conscience began to prick her about what she did with her
children; but whether it was that the priest spoke to her, or that
some of the saints cautioned her in the matter, no one knows. But it
is certain that because of her sinnings she began to go through the
streets in the darkness weeping and wailing. And presently it was said
that from night till morning there was a wailing woman in the streets;
and to see her, being in terror of her, many people went forth at
midnight; but none did see her, because she could be seen only when
the street was deserted and she was alone.
Sometimes she would come to a sleeping watchman, and would waken him
by asking: "What time is it?" And he would see a woman clad in white
standing beside him with her reboso drawn over her face. And he would
answer: "It is twelve hours of the night." And she would say: "At
twelve hours of this day I must be in Guadalajara!"--or it might be in
San Luis Potosí, or in some other far-distant city--and, so speaking,
she would shriek bitterly: "Where shall I find my children?"--and
would vanish instantly and utterly away. And the watchman would feel
as though all his senses had gone from him, and would become as a dead
man. This happened many times to many watchmen, who made report of it
to their officers; but their officers would not believe what they
told. But it happened, on a night, that an officer of the watch was
passing by the lonely street beside the church of Santa Anita. And
there he met with a woman wearing a white reboso and a white
petticoat; and to her he began to make love. He urged her, saying:
"Throw off your reboso that I may see your pretty face!" And suddenly
she uncovered her face--and what he beheld was a bare grinning skull
set fast to the bare bones of a skeleton! And while he looked at her,
being in horror, there came from her fleshless jaws an icy breath; and
the iciness of it froze the very heart's blood in him, and he fell to
the earth heavily in a deathly swoon. When his senses came back to him
he was greatly troubled. In fear he returned to the Diputacion, and
there told what had befallen him. And in a little while his life
forsook him and he died.
What is most wonderful about this Wailing Woman, Señor, is that she is
seen in the same moment by different people in places widely apart:
one seeing her hurrying across the atrium of the Cathedral; another
beside the Arcos de San Cosme; and yet another near the Salto del
Agua, over by the prison of Belen. More than that, in one single night
she will be seen in Monterey and in Oaxaca and in Acapulco--the whole
width and length of the land apart--and whoever speaks with her in
those far cities, as here in Mexico, immediately dies in fright. Also,
she is seen at times in the country. Once some travellers coming along
a lonely road met with her, and asked: "Where go you on this lonely
road?" And for answer she cried: "Where shall I find my children?"
and, shrieking, disappeared. And one of the travellers went mad.
Being come here to the City they told what they had seen; and were
told that this same Wailing Woman had maddened or killed many people
here also.
Because the Wailing Woman is so generally known, Señor, and so greatly
feared, few people now stop her when they meet with her to speak with
her--therefore few now die of her, and that is fortunate. But her loud
keen wailings, and the sound of her running feet, are heard often; and
especially in nights of storm. I myself, Señor, have heard the running
of her feet and her wailings; but I never have seen her. God forbid
that I ever shall!
NOTES
NOTE I
LEGEND OF DON JUAN MANUEL
Don Juan Manuel was a real person: who lived stately in a great house,
still standing, in the street that in his time was called the Calle
Nueva, and that since his time has borne his name; who certainly did
murder one man--in that house, not in the street--at about, probably,
eleven o'clock at night; and who certainly was found hanging dead on
the gallows in front of the Capilla de la Espiración, of an October
morning in the year 1641, without any explanation ever being
forthcoming of how he got there. What survive of the tangled curious
facts on which the fancies of this legend rest have been collected by
Señor Obregón, and here are summarized.
Don Juan Manuel de Solórzano, a native of Burgos, a man of rank and
wealth, in the year 1623 came in the train of the Viceroy the Marqués
de Guadalcázar to Mexico; where for a long while he seems to have led
a life prosperous and respectable. In the year 1636 he increased his
fortune by making an excellent marriage--with Doña Mariana de Laguna,
the daughter of a rich mine-owner of Zacatecas. His troubles had their
beginning in an intimate friendship that he formed with the Viceroy
(1635-1640) the Marqués de Cadereita; a friendship of so practical a
sort on the side of the Viceroy as to cause remonstrance to be made in
Spain against his excessive bestowal of official favors on his
favorite. Moreover, "the evil speaking of the curious" was excited by
the fact that Don Juan and his wife spent a great part of their time
at the Palace in the Viceroy's company.
Matters were brought to a crisis by Don Juan's appointment as
Administrator of the Royal Hacienda; an office that gave him control
of the great revenues derived from the fleets which plied annually
between Mexico and Spain. The conduct of this very lucrative
administration previously had been with the Audiencia; and by the
members of that body vigorous protest was made against the Viceroy's
action in enriching his favorite at their cost. "Odious gossip" was
aroused; threats were made of a popular uprising; an appeal--duly
freighted with bribes to assure its arrival at the throne--was made to
the King. "But the springs put in force by the Viceroy must have been
very powerful--more powerful than the money sent by the
Audiencia--since Philip IV. confirmed Don Juan in the enjoyment of his
concession."
[Illustration: HOUSE OF DON JUAN MANUEL]
While the case thus rested, an incidental scandal was introduced into
it. By the fleet from Spain came one Doña Ana Porcel de Velasco: a
lady of good birth, very beautiful, the widow of a naval officer,
reduced by her widowhood and by other misfortunes to poverty. In her
happier days she had been a beauty at Court, and there the Marqués de
Cadereita had known her and had made suit to her, wherefore she had
come to Mexico to seek his Viceregal protection. Housing her in the
Palace being out of the question, the Viceroy begged that Don Juan
would take her into his own home: and that disposition of her,
accordingly, was made--with the result that more "odious gossip"
was aroused. What became of the beautiful Doña Ana is unrecorded. Her
episodic existence in the story seems to be due to the fact that
because of her the popular ill-will against Don Juan and against the
Viceroy was increased.
A far-reaching ripple from the wave of the Portuguese and Catalonian
revolt of the year 1640, influencing affairs in Mexico, gave
opportunity for this ill-will to crystallize into action of so
effective a sort that the Viceroy was recalled, and his favorite--no
longer under protection--was cast into prison. Don Juan's
commitment--the specific charge against him is not recorded--was
signed by one Don Francisco Vélez de Pereira: who, as Señor Obregón
puts it, "was not only a Judge of the criminal court but a criminal
Judge" (_no era solamente un Alcalde del crímen sino un Alcalde
criminal_) because he made dishonest proposals to Doña Mariana as the
price of her husband's liberation. It would seem that Doña Mariana
accepted the offered terms; and in so grateful a spirit that she was
content to wait upon the Alcalde's pleasure for their complete
ratification by Don Juan's deliverance. Pending such liquidation of
the contract, news was carried to Don Juan in prison of the irregular
negotiations in progress to procure his freedom: whereupon he procured
it for himself, one night, by breaking jail. Going straight to his own
home, he found there the Alcalde--and incontinently killed him.
That one killing that Don Juan Manuel certainly did commit--out of
which, probably, has come the legend of his many murders--created,
because of the high estate of all concerned in it, a deplorable
scandal: that the Audiencia--while resolved to bring Don Juan to
justice--sought to allay by hushing up, so far as was possible, the
whole affair. The Duque de Escalona, the new Viceroy (1640-1642), was
at one with the Audiencia in its hushing-up policy; but was
determined--for reasons of his own which are unrecorded--that Don Juan
should not be executed. So, for a considerable period of time, during
which Don Juan remained in prison, the matter rested. The event seems
to imply that the Audiencia accomplished its stern purpose, as opposed
to the lenient purpose of the Viceroy, by means as informal as they
were effective. Certainly, on a morning in October, 1641, precisely as
described in the legend, Don Juan Manuel was found hanging dead on the
gallows in front of the Capilla de la Espiración. Señor Obregón
concludes the historical portion of his narrative in these words: "The
Oidores, whose orders it is reasonable to suppose brought about that
dark deed, attributed it to the angels--but there history ends and
legend begins."
[Illustration: DOORWAY, HOUSE OF DON JUAN MANUEL]
Somewhere in the course of my readings--I cannot remember where--I
have come upon the seriously made suggestion that Don Juan Manuel
practically was a bravo: that the favors which he received from the
Viceroy were his payment for putting politically obnoxious persons out
of the way. This specious explanation does account for his traditional
many murders, but is not in accord with probability. Aside from the
fact that bravos rarely are men of rank and wealth, a series of
murders traceable to political motives during the Viceregal term of
the Marqués de Cadereita--whose many enemies keenly were alive to his
misdoings--almost certainly would be found, but is not found,
recorded in the chronicles of his time. Such omission effectively puts
this picturesque explanation of Don Juan's doings out of court.
NOTE II
LEGEND OF THE ALTAR DEL PERDON
Simon Peyrens, a Flemish painter, came to Mexico in the suite of the
third Viceroy (1566-1568) Don Gastón de Peralta, Marqués de Falces. If
he painted--and, presumably, he did paint--a Virgin of Mercy for the
Altar del Perdon, his picture has disappeared: doubtless having been
removed from the altar when the present Cathedral (begun, 1573;
dedicated, though then incomplete, 1656) replaced the primitive
structure erected a few years after the Conquest. The Virgin of the
Candelaria on the existing Altar del Perdon was painted by Baltasar de
Echave, the Elder; a Spanish artist of eminence who came to Mexico
about the end of the sixteenth century. Peyrens certainly had the
opportunity to do his work under conditions akin to, but decidedly
more unpleasant than, those set forth in the legend: as Señor Obregón
has made clear by producing facts which exhibit the afflictions of
that unfortunate artist; and which also, incidentally, account for the
appearance in Mexico of a miracle-story that in varying forms is found
in the saintly chronicles of many lands.
Señor Obregón's source is an original document of the time of Fray
Alonso de Montúfar; a Dominican brother who was the second Archbishop
of Mexico (1554-1572), and who also held the office of Inquisitor--in
accordance with the custom that obtained until the formal
establishment (1571) of the Inquisition in Mexico. It was before him,
therefore, as represented by his Provisor, that the case of Peyrens
was brought.
As stated in this document, Peyrens had declared in familiar talk with
friends that simple incontinence was not a sin; and he farther had
declared that he liked to paint portraits, and that he did not like
to, and would not, paint saints nor pictures of a devotional sort. His
friends admonished him that his views in regard to incontinence made
him liable to arraignment before the ecclesiastical authorities;
whereupon--seemingly seeking, as a measure of prudence, to forestall
by his own confession any charge that might be brought against him--he
"denounced himself," on September 10, 1568, to Fray Bartolomé de Ledesma,
Gobernador de la Mitra. As the result of his confession--instead
of being granted the absolution that he obviously expected to
receive--he was arrested and cast into prison.
Four days later, September 14th, he was examined formally. To the
questions propounded to him, he replied, in substance: That he had
been born in Antwerp, the son of Fero Peyrens and of Constanza Lira
his wife; that he was not of Jewish descent; that none of his family
had been dealt with by the Inquisition; that in his early manhood he
had gone to Lisbon and later to Toledo, where the Court then was
seated, to practice his profession as a painter; that he had come to
New Spain, in the suite of the Viceroy, in the hope of bettering his
fortunes. In regard to the charges against him, he explained: That
what he had said about the sinlessness of simple incontinence had been
spoken lightly in friendly talk, and, moreover, very well might have
been misunderstood because of his imperfect knowledge of the Spanish
tongue; and that what he had said about liking to paint portraits and
not being willing to paint saints had been said only because
portrait-painting was the better paid. His trial followed: at which
nothing more was produced against him--although a number of witnesses,
including "many painters," were interrogated--than the facts brought
out in his own examination.
In order to force from Peyrens himself a fuller and more incriminating
confession, the Provisor, Don Estéban de Portillo, ordered that he
should be "submitted to the test of torture." This test was applied on
December 1st--when Peyrens "supported three turns of the rack and
swallowed three jars of water dripped into his mouth by a linen rag,"
without modifying or enlarging his previous declarations. By the rules
of the game--he having, in the jargon of the Inquisition, "conquered
his torment"--the proceedings against him then should have ended. Mr.
Lea, commenting on his case ("The Inquisition in the Spanish
Dependencies," p. 198), writes: "This ought to have earned his
dismissal, but on December 4th he was condemned to pay the costs of
his trial and to give security that he would not leave the City until
he should have painted a picture of Our Lady of Merced, as an
altar-piece for the church. He complied, and it was duly hung in the
Cathedral."
I have not found--seemingly, Mr. Lea did find--a record of the actual
painting of the picture. The sentence passed on Peyrens is given in
full by Señor Obregón--in archaic Spanish, whereof much of the queer
flavor evaporates in translation--and is as follows:
"In the criminal plea now pending before me, preferred by the
Holy Office against simon peireins fleming held in the prison
of this Arcobispado in regard to the words which the said simon
peireins spoke and on which he has been prosecuted, on the acts
and merits of this case it is found that for the crime
committed by simon peyrens using him with equity and mercy I
condemn him to paint at his own cost an altar-piece (retablo)
of our lady of mercy for this holy church [the Cathedral] very
devout and to me pleasing, and that in the interim while he is
painting this altar-piece he shall not leave this city under
penalty of being punished with all rigor as one disobedient to
the mandates of the holy office, and I admonish and command the
said simon peireins that from this time forth he shall not
speak such words as those for the speaking of which he has been
arrested nor shall he question any matters touching our holy
catholic faith under penalty of being rigorously punished and
in addition I condemn him to pay the costs of this trial, and
this is my definitive sentence so judging and I pronounce and
order it in and by this writing
El D^{or} Estevan de Portillo
* * * * *
"In Mexico the fourth of december of the year one thousand
five hundred and sixty eight was given and pronounced this
definitive sentence of the above tenor by the aforesaid sor
doctor barbosa (_sic_) provisor and vicar general of this
Archbishopric of Mexico in the presence of me joan de avendaño
apostolic notary public and of the audiencia of this
Archbishopric of mexico witnesses el bachiller villagomez and
juan vergara
johan de avendaño"
The ancient record ends with the statement that this sentence was
communicated to Peyrens on the day that it was pronounced, and that he
"consented and did consent" with it--_y dixo que consentía y
consentió_.
NOTE III
LEGEND OF THE ADUANA DE STO. DOMINGO
Carved over an arch half-way up the main stairway of the
ex-Aduana--the building no longer is used as a custom-house--still may
be read Don Juan's acrostic inscription that sets forth the initials
of Doña Sara de García Somera y Acuña, the lady for whom he so
furiously toiled: