grounds. The public buildings are new and imposing; the Alameda Park,
with its groves and gardens and multitudes of birds, is as beautiful
as Chapultepec.
There is also great business activity in Toluca and a number of
successful manufactures.
The morning of my visit, I noticed an unusual crowd upon the streets.
It surged toward me. It was respectful and quiet. The swarthy company
were pressing to look wonderingly upon two little Swedish girls, with
the bluest eyes and pinkest cheeks, and braids of the most golden
hair--perfect types of the Scandinavian North. They were the children
of workmen imported from Sweden and now teaching Tolucans the skilled
manufacture of iron.
The rich valley, with its climate of perpetual spring, is the home of
a large Aztec and Otomy Indian population. These live in many towns
built of stone and adoby, containing two and three thousand souls,
even yet speaking their ancient Aztec tongue, knowing only Spanish
enough to trade. They are mostly agriculturists, and raise large crops
of wheat and corn, which are borne to market upon the backs of men and
mules and _burros_. We met many such burden-bearing cavalcades
entering the city, and generally driven by Indians of the wildest
types we yet have seen. The sturdy and rugged men are of a stronger
race than the inhabitants of the _Tierra Caliente_ along the valley of
the Balsas. These Indians run, not a man of them walks. They take a
quick, short step, a sort of jog-trot, which carries them forward a
great many miles a day.
The climate of Toluca is colder and drier than that of Mexico City,
the town being so much higher above the sea. The temperature at night,
all the year round, is said to be nearly at frost, falling as low as
thirty-nine degrees (Fahrenheit). In the markets to-day I have seen
oranges, limes, tamarinds, apples, guavas, hawberries, three sorts of
bananas, strawberries, and several other fruits I did not know, as
well as fresh peas, beans, lettuce, turnips, beets, potatoes, sweet
potatoes, yams, and several other edible tubers. I have also just
purchased some of the celebrated Toluca lace, made by the Indians,
and some pretty head shawls, (_tapalos_), of native make. An Indian
pottery, made here, is also attractive--a brown and yellow ware, made
into jars and water jugs, some of which I am sending to Kanawha.
What a land this country of temperate highlands would have become if
only our Puritan and Cavalier ancestors had discovered and taken it!
But the descendants of Puritan and Cavalier have at last found out the
charm and richness of this great country and, little by little, are
beginning to come into it, sympathetically collaborating with its
people. Mexico will yet become a most potent factor in the world’s
affairs. Progressive Mexicans hope for the day when Mexico will become
even more closely knit to the great Republic of the North. Reactionary
Mexicans, the conservatives of the Roman Church, dread and deprecate
the impending change. El Mundo, chief newspaper of the ecclesiastical
party, continually declaims against what it denounces as the “Peaceful
Conquest,” of _Los Americanos_.
In Toluca there was no extensive celebration of the twelfth of
December, “The Coronation day of the Virgin of Guadalupe, the Indian
Madonna,” to every Indian the greatest festival of the year. In
Morelia, on the contrary, just as in Patzcuaro, the town was lit up
from one end to the other with electricity, with gas jets, with
lanterns, with multitudes of candles, with torches. The cathedral and
the many churches were trimmed with bands of fire along each cornice,
up and down each belfry and tower, and all the hundreds of bells were
clanged discordantly. The bells of the churches of Mexico are not
swung and rung, nor have they any clappers hanging in their throats.
The bells are made fast in one position, are struck with a ponderous
hammer, and distract the stranger with their incessant dissonance.
The illumination of Morelia is said to be paid for from the
Archbishop’s chest, although each layman is expected to set out his
own candles before his door. In front of the cathedral a company of
priests touched off elaborate fireworks. During the day, hundreds of
Indians came into the city, even as I saw them entering Patzcuaro.
They camped along the streets, cooked at little fires along the curbs,
and slept wherever they happened to be. These Indians were chiefly
afoot, the women brought their babies upon their backs, even the old
folks were sometimes being carried along upon the shoulders of the
younger men. The thronged and excited city was early awake. In fact,
it never slept. And there were not only the swarms of Indians, but
also groups of dashing _haciendados_ in their high _sombreros_, short
velvet jackets, and tight-fitting, silver-laced and buttoned
_pantaloones_, all mingling and promenading and celebrating the
_fiesta_ of Mexico’s patron saint.
[Illustration: A SNAP-SHOT THROUGH A DOORWAY--TOLUCA]
In Morelia no one has yet dared to sell a foot of ground to the
Protestant missionaries. To do so would mean the seller’s ruin.
In Toluca the Protestant Church (the Baptists) have purchased
buildings and opened a fine school for boys and girls, which is become
the pride and life work of El Padre.
So many smooth and cunning scoundrels have fled to Mexico, there to
hide from American justice, that the Mexican has begun to doubt us
all. Hence it is doubly gratifying when one finds here honored and
esteemed the better type of our enlightened citizenship like El Padre,
and some others whom I have met.
XVII
Cuernavaca--The County Seat of Montezuma, of Cortez and Spanish
Viceroys, of Maximilian--A Pleasant Watering Place of Modern Mexico
HOTEL ITURBIDE, MEXICO CITY,
_December 17th_.
This is my last night in Mexico City. I shall leave here to-morrow,
Wednesday, at 9.30 P. M., by the Mexican Railway for Vera Cruz. I will
reach there in time for breakfast, board the Ward Line’s steamer,
_Monterey_, and sail about noon for Havana, via Progresso, Yucatan.
I delayed my departure until the evening, in order that I might visit
Cuernavaca and have a glimpse of that famous watering place and the
rich valley wherein it lies--where Montezuma and his nobles held
luxurious court, where Cortez made his winter residence, and
Maximilian erected a lovely villa for his Empress Carlotta; and which
is, to-day, the favorite resort of fashionable Mexico. My passes would
have taken me a hundred and fifty miles further along the river
Balsas--two hundred miles above where I saw it at Churumuco--but
limited time prevented my going so far, and I contented myself with
the lesser journey.
[Illustration: SUSPICIOUS OF MY CAMERA]
I took the train this morning for Cuernavaca, at the large station of
the Mexican Central Railway. I sat in a drawing-room car, as new and
comfortable as though just leaving Chicago or New York. Quite a party
of the ladies of the American Colony went down with me; along with
them were several gentlemen, who seemed to belong to the diplomatic
corps, and among these was the Swedish Consul, with whom I made
conversation in German and French.
The railway leaves the city on the east side, curves to the north, and
circles around the northern suburbs, until it begins to climb toward
the southwest.
As we rise--a four per cent. grade--the fertile and beautiful valley
of Anahuac, in which Mexico City is situated, spreads out before me.
The big white city, its red and black-tiled roofs, its many domed and
towered churches; the numerous lesser towns and villages scattering
out into the bowl-like valley; the shimmering surfaces of lakes
Tezcoco, Xochimilco, and Chalco, and bordering ponds; the plantations
of dark maguey; the orchards of citrous fruits; the innumerable
gardens, floating gardens some of them, from which are gathered the
fresh vegetables daily displayed in the city’s several markets; the
dark green groves of the splendid cypress of the Alameda and of
Chapultepec, as well as the palace itself, perched high upon its rocky
base; the circling ranges of lofty mountains, and, in the far southern
distance, the mighty volcanoes of Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl,
snow-crowned and glittering with dazzling refulgence in the light of
the morning sun,--all these made a picture as grand and imposing as
any landscape I have seen or may ever see, and as astonishing in its
contrasts of light and shadow, of green semitropical valley and
icebound heights.
For several hours we crept slowly upward,--the views and vistas ever
changing. Everywhere there were plantations of maguey, and everywhere
at the stations Indian women were selling fresh _pulque_ to the
thirsty travelers of the train. Then, little by little, as we were
lifted above the warmer airs, we came into the altitude of the oaks,
extensive forests of well-grown oaks, and then yet higher we came into
splendid forests of pine. The mountains now lost the smoothness of
surface, which marked the lower slopes. We came into wide reaches of
volcanic ash, tufa, beds of lava, all rough and sharp pointed, with
deep cavernous clefts between, apparently lying just as they fell and
flowed and hardened uncounted centuries ago.
Upon reaching the summit, attaining an altitude of over ten thousand
feet above the level of the sea, we traversed for many miles a grassy
tableland, where were herds of the long-horned cattle, and flocks of
the thin-wooled sheep with their keepers. Running parallel to our
track extended the ancient Royal Turnpike, built long ago by Montezuma
and maintained by Cortez with the labor of his conquered Aztec slaves,
and still called “El Camino Real del Rey.” On the very summit of the
height of land stood the ruins of an old roadhouse and towered
fortress. Here Cortez placed his soldiers, and here garrisons of
troops have ever since remained to guard the public, to protect the
royal mails, to preserve the dignity of the Republic, and even to-day
to save the railroad trains from being held up by modern bandits as
bold and merciless as their predecessors of bygone centuries. It is
the tradition concerning these heights that they have always been the
rendezvous of tribes and bands, whose immemorial privilege and
occupation it has been to kill and rob. Gruesome are the tales to-day
related of the murders and plunderings which once were of almost daily
occurrence, and sometimes do yet occur along this famous road. Even
now, I notice the camp of soldiers in permanent quarters beneath the
shadow of the crumbling tower. Diaz, of the iron hand, takes no
chances with the turbulent residents of these mountain solitudes! All
along we are among the ancient lava beds, while always lifting into
the deep azure sky far out to the left, glitter the snow-clad summits
of Iztaccihuatl (_Ista-se-wahtl_) and Popocatepetl. They appeared to
be close to us, and yet we never came any nearer to them,--although we
steamed toward them almost half a day.
The descent was rapid--we came down nearly five thousand feet in an
hour and a half--into a most lovely verdant valley, two thousand feet
lower than Lake Tezcoco. Here grew great crops of sugar cane, bananas,
coffee, and oranges, limes and pomegranates--a profuse verdure. The
valley, from ten to twenty miles in width, stretched away in broad
sweeping curves both east and west, while through it flowed the upper
waters of the River Balsas. Here the river takes its rise from the
fountains of the melting snowfields upon the volcano’s distant flanks.
The valley is one of the most fertile and salubrious in all Mexico.
Cortez seized upon it almost as soon as he had wrested _Tenochtitlan_
from Montezuma’s grasp. What he did not take for himself, he divided
out in liberal gifts among the great captains in his train, granting
to them immense _haciendas_, farms fifty miles across, embracing lands
of unbounded fertility, even then smiling beneath the care of skillful
tillers of the soil. The best of these monstrous estates are still
owned by families descended from the _Conquestadores_. The lands
originally were all subject to the law of entail, and the laws are
still upon the statute books. Here are famous prehistoric ruins, among
them those of the ancient pyramid and temple of Xochicalco and many
hieroglyphics dating back to an antiquity more remote than the memory
of even the Aztec people. Here also are the caves of Cacahuamilpa,
equally famous. The great ruins, lying a day’s journey from the city,
I did not have a chance to see.
[Illustration: MY COCHA--CUERNAVACA]
My glimpses of the town of Cuernavaca were but flashlight peeps. The
station, where we finally arrived, after descending by a long series
of zig-zags and sweeping curves, lies a good mile outside the city.
Here a motley assemblage were gathered to greet our advent, an array
of _cochas_, _voitures_, and _cabriolets_, drawn by dusty, uncurried
mules and horses. Remembering my experience, when last arriving in
Mexico City, I hurried to an antique vehicle, drawn by a pair of
mules, and bargained with the young _cochero_ that he should drive me
to and about the city of Cuernavaca and bring me back to the station.
This after some haggling, he agreed to do, all for one _peso_ (Mexican
silver dollar). I climbed into the dusty equipage. The _cochero_ swore
at his mules in sonorous Spanish, and cracking his long-lashed whip,
started them on a full run down the wide _camino_, amidst a cloud of
white dust. Thus we entered the city and thus we proceeded through
streets narrow and broad, until we had traversed and circled and
driven through the chiefer part of it. He never stopped his swearing,
he continually cracked his whip, and the mules never slackened in
their wild gallop throughout the happy hour he was in my employ. There
are no sidewalks in these Spanish towns. Men and women bolted from our
onward coming, children fled into open doorways, and dogs and chickens
and lank hogs scattered before us as chaff before the wind. We rattled
past the one-time palace of Cortez, afterward of Carlotta,
Maximilian’s ill-fated mate, and now used as the State Capitol. We
circled the pretty _plaza_ with its flowers and palms and tropical
gardens and splashing fountains. We viewed the monstrous cathedral,
all dilapidated. We drew rein a moment before the shrine of the Virgin
of Guadeloupe, kodaked it, and swung along in front of the old church
of the Franciscans.
My _cochero_ seemed to gain enthusiasm with each bounce of the
_cocha_. He clamored continually in voluble and quite incomprehensible
Indian-Spanish. The narrower and more ill-paved the street the more
violently did he lash the mules like one possessed. A pair of
pretty _señoritas_, on their balcony smiled upon me as we passed, and
I kodaked them in courteous acknowledgment of their good will; we
beheld where the famous baths of Cuernavaca have for centuries been
taken, and I had pointed out to me the magnificent and extensive Borda
Gardens, where flowers and fruits, fountains and cascades, marble
basins and miniature lakes express in utter riot the prodigal and
exuberant fancies of an ancient half-mad millionaire; and still
proceeding, never stopping, we at last whirled back amidst even
greater clouds of dust to the railway station, just in time to catch
the train. Another motley throng was gathered there. Half of the town
seemed to have turned out to see the other half depart. Along the
platform were many Indians selling fruit and compounding those curious
peppered sandwiches, which so delight the seasoned palate of the
Mexican. By this time the lining of my own mouth having become
somewhat inured to these fierce foods, I let an old Indian crone make
for me a particular combination of bread and oil and pepper and
cucumbers and highly-seasoned and minced meat, only daring to eat it,
however, when I had entered my car again, so that I might be in close
neighborhood to copious supplies of water. The Mexican delights in
this sort of burning sustenance, and for him it can never be made too
spiced and too hot. On the platform of the station there were also
many Mexican ladies of quality, come to say good-bye to husbands and
brothers, who were returning to the capital. None of them wore hats,
but the graceful _mantillas_ were universally in use, and, generally,
the gowns were black.
[Illustration: SHRINE OF THE VIRGIN OF GUADELOUPE--CUERNAVACA]
Cuernavaca with its baths and mineral waters is the favorite of all
the resorts, easily accessible to the fashionable Mexican. Here also
almost continually resides a large colony of the European ladies whose
husbands do business in Mexico City, the high altitude, thin air, and
chilly temperature of which rarely agree with the health of the women
who come there from the lower sea levels. The men can stand it from
the first, if their hearts and lungs are sound, but the women are
often sent to Cuernavaca, there to sojourn until they become
acclimated to the conditions of these highland plateaus. The harsh
climate of Mexico City is particularly cruel to all convalescents;
hence invalids also come here to regain their strength. Thus, there is
much travel upon the railway between the capital of the republic and
its most salubrious, nearby resort.
It was afternoon when we drew out of Cuernavaca for the long climb to
the height of land. As we ascended, the evening shadows were
lengthening and creeping out from every cleft and hollow along the
mountain sides; and toward the east, splitting the blue sky, towered
Popocatepetl. The most profound impression of my sojourn in Mexico, a
memory which will follow me through life, is that of the mighty,
glittering, distant, yet ever-present, snow-bound cone of
Popocatepetl.
[Illustration: THE BORDA GARDENS--CUERNAVACA]
As we crossed the height of land and began our descent, the long
evening shadows filled the great valley of Anahuac, while forth from
every vale and hollow crept little bunches of cloudlike mist, until at
last, with strange and weird effect, the assembled vapors shut from my
vision the whole extent of the valley beneath, and made it seem as
though we were plunging into the unfathomable depths of a white sea.
The land, the lakes, the towns, the villages, and the city were hid
beneath the impenetrable, fleecy cloud-billows.
It was dark when we entered the city. I took a _cocha_, and I am here
again in my stone-walled chamber of the hotel. I entered the city from
the north, I now leave it by the east, along the route which was
traversed by the invading conquerors from old Spain, when four hundred
years ago they came up from the placid waters of the sea, a dreadful
apparition, bringing death in their mailed fists, and pestilence and
cruel enslavement to a proud and ruling race.
XVIII
The Journey by Night from Mexico City--Over the Mountains to the Sea
Coast--The Ancient City of Vera Cruz
VERA CRUZ, MEXICO,
_December 19th_.
Last night was to be my final one in Mexico, and as a troupe of
Spanish actors was billed at one of the larger theaters, I went to see
the play. There are a number of playhouses in the city, and paternal
government is laying the foundation for an opera-house which, it is
announced, will be one of the most _“magnifico”_ in the world. The
theater we attended was one of the largest, and the actors, Spaniards
from Barcelona, were filling a season’s engagement. In purchasing
tickets, the first novelty was the separate coupons which are issued
for each act. You buy for one act or another as you prefer. The
Mexicans rarely stay the play out, but linger for an act or two and
then depart. There are tiers of boxes around the sides, in which were
many men and ladies in evening dress, the belles and beaux of the
city. We sat among the occupants of the seats upon the floor, the
greater part of whom were men. The first noticeable difference between
the audience here and that at home is that every man keeps on his hat
except when occupying a box. It is bad enough, we think, for a woman
to retain her hat or bonnet, but imagine how it is when you are
confronted by multitudinous high-peaked broad-brimmed _sombreros_ of
the most obtrusive type. The excuse for the wearing of these great
hats upon all occasions is, that in the chilly air of these high
altitudes, it becomes a necessary protection.
[Illustration: AZTEC INDIANS--MEXICO CITY]
The faces about me were dark; even the men in the boxes were of darker
color than would be those of the pure Spanish blood. The women are
also dark, their color much darker than that of the usual mulatto in
the States. This is due to the large infusion of Indian blood among
the Mexican people, even among the leisure classes.
The actors were of the Spanish swarthy type, but among the actresses,
there were, as always, two or three with conspicuously red heads, the
Venetian red so pronounced and popular among the London shopgirls.
These red headed belles received the entire attention and applause of
the male portion of the audience. The audience also smoked
incessantly, the gentlemen large Mexican cigars, the ladies their
cigarettes. The right to smoke is an inalienable privilege of both
sexes in Mexico, the women using tobacco almost as freely and
constantly as do the men. The acting was good, and some of the
fandango dances brought thunders of _bravos_. The pauses between acts
were long. In one of the intervals we sauntered out upon the streets,
where a mob of ticket brokers so assailed us and bargained so
successfully for our remaining coupons, that we sold them at an
advance over the figure we had paid. The plays begin early, about
seven o’clock, and the doors stay open until midnight, the constantly
changing audiences giving to the actors fresh support.
On a previous night we visited another theater, where a more
fashionable company gathered to see the well-known Frenchman, Frijoli,
in his clever impersonations of character. Here were assembled
Mexico’s most fashionable set, among them a party of distinguished
South Americans attending the Pan-American Congress, the ladies from
Brazil, Argentina, and Chili wearing costly diamonds, and being in
full decollete attire.
Here also the _sombrero_ reigned supreme in dress circle and on
parquet floor, and smoking was everywhere indulged in.
Yesterday was to be my last day in Mexico. I started out in the
morning to lay hold of a good opal and try my luck in buying
_mantillas_. From the young woman in the shop where I had had my kodak
films prepared, I learned the location of an establishment where
_mantillas_ were sold. She could not talk to me in my own tongue. I
was puzzled what to do, then an idea came to me. I took out a pencil
and paper. I handed them to her. I indicated by signs that I would
have her make a picture. Quick as a flash she interpreted my thought.
She laughed, and drew for me a perfect little map, showing the shop
wherein I stood, the street it opened out upon, the streets and blocks
I should follow until I came to the place where the _mantillas_ were,
and she marked my final corner with an “X.” I bowed to her profoundly,
saying, many times, “_Muchas gracias, mil gracias, señorita_,” and,
with paper in hand, started on my quest. I had no trouble in finding
my way. I finally halted before a big French retail dry goods store.
All dry goods establishments here are either French or Spanish, just
as the hardware and drug stores are all German; the native Mexican is
not keen in trade, and but few business houses are his.