San Fernando--House of Perez de Galvez--A Removal--Size of the Houses--Old
Monastery--View by Sunset--Evening Visits--Mexican Etiquette--A Night-view
from the Azotea--Tacubaya--Magueys--Making of Pulque--Organos and
Nopal--Environs of Mexico--Miracle--Hacienda--View from the Countess
C---a's House--Arzobispado--Anecdote--Comparative View of Beauty--Indians
Rancheritas--Mexican Cordiality--Masses for the Dead--San Augustin--Form of
Invitation--Death of a Senator--A Mistake.
SAN FERNANDO, 25th February.
We have been engaged for some time past in the disagreeable occupations,
first of finding, then of furnishing, and lastly of entering into a new
house. We were very anxious to hire that of the Marquesa de Juluapa, which
is pretty, well situated, and has a garden; but the agent, after making us
wait for his decision more than a fortnight, informed us that he had
determined to sell it. House-rent is extremely high; nothing tolerable to
be had under two thousand five hundred dollars per annum, unfurnished.
There is also an extraordinary custom of paying a sum called _traspaso_,
sometimes to the amount of fourteen thousand dollars, taking your chance of
having the money repaid you by the next person who takes the house. We next
endeavoured to procure a house not far from our present residence,--a
palace in fact, which I mentioned to you before as having been occupied at
one time by Santa Anna, and at another by the English Legation, but the
present proprietor cannot be prevailed upon to let it. It has a beautiful
garden and olive-ground, but is not a very secure abode, except with a
guard of soldiers. We at length came to the determination of taking up our
quarters here. It is a handsome new house, built by General G----, and has
the fault of being only too large. Built in a square, like all Mexican
houses, the ground-floor, which has a stone-paved court with a fountain in
the middle, contains about twenty rooms, besides outhouses, coach-house,
stables, pigeon-house, garden-house, etc. The second storey where the
principal apartments are, the first-floor being chiefly occupied by
servants, has the same number of rooms, with coal-room, wood-room, bath-
room, and water everywhere, in the court below, in the garden, and on the
azotea, which is very spacious, and where, were the house our own, we might
build a _mirador,_ and otherwise ornament it; but to build for another is
too heroic. The great defect in all these houses is their want of finish;
the great doors that will not shut properly, and the great windows down to
the ground, which in the rainy season will certainly admit water, making
these residences appear something like a cross-breed between a palace and a
barn; the splendour of the one, the discomfort of the other. I will not
inflict upon you the details of all our petty annoyances caused by
procrastinating tradesmen. Suffice it to say, that the Mexican _manana_
(to-morrow), if properly translated, means _never_. As to prices, I
conclude we pay for being foreigners and diplomates, and will not believe
in a first experience. However, we are settled at last, and find the air
here much purer than in the heart of the city, while the maladies and
epidemics so common there, are here almost unknown. Behind this house is a
very small garden, bounded on one side by the great wall which encloses the
orchard of the old monastery of San Fernando, within whose vast precincts
only seven or eight monks now linger. It is an immense building, old and
gray, and time-worn, with church adjoining, and spacious lands appertaining
to it. At all times it is picturesque, but by moonlight or sunset it forms
a most olden-time vision.
At that hour, standing alone in the high-walled garden when the convent
bells are tolling, and the convent itself, with its iron-barred, Gothic
windows, and its gray-green olive-trees that look so unreal and lifeless,
is tinged by the last rays of the sun, the whole seems like a vision, or a
half-remembered sketch, or a memory of romance.
Then the sun sets behind the snow-crowned mountains with a bright fiery
red, covering their majestic sides with a rosy glow, while great black
clouds come sailing along like the wings of night; and then is the hour for
remembering that this is Mexico, and in spite of all the evils that have
fallen over it, the memory of the romantic past hovers there still. But the
dark clouds sail on, and envelop the crimson tints yet lingering and
blushing on the lofty mountains, and like monstrous night-birds brood there
in silent watch; and gradually the whole landscape--mountains and sky,
convent and olive-trees, look gray and sad, and seem to melt away in the
dim twilight.
Then the bright moon rises and flings her silver veil over the mountains,
and lights up the plains, glittering and quivering upon the old gray
stones, and a sound of military music is heard in the distance far and
faint. And all the bells are tolling; from old San Fernando that repeats
himself like a sexagenarian; from the towers of the cathedral, from many a
distant church and convent; and above the rumbling of carriages and the hum
of the city, are heard the notes of a hymn, now rising, now falling on the
ear, as a religious procession passes along to some neighbouring temple.
But it grows late--a carriage enters the courtyard--a visit. There is no
romance here. Men and women are the same everywhere, whether enveloped in
the graceful mantilla, or wearing _Herbault's last_, whether wrapped in
Spanish cloak, or Mexican sarape, or Scottish plaid. The manners of the
ladies here are extremely kind, but Spanish etiquette and compliments are
beyond measure tiresome. After having embraced each lady who enters,
according to the fashion, which after all seems cordial, to say the least
of it, and seated the lady of most consequence on the right side of the
sofa, a point of great importance, the following dialogue is _de rigueur_.
"How are you? Are you well?" "At your service, and you?" "Without novelty
(_sin novedad_) at your service." "I am rejoiced, and how are you, Señora?"
"At your disposal, and you?" "A thousand thanks, and the Señor?" "At your
service, without novelty," etc., etc., etc. Besides, before sitting down,
there is, "Pray be seated." "Pass first, Señorita." "No, madam, pray pass
first." "_Vaya_, well, to oblige you, without further ceremony; I dislike
compliments and etiquette." And it is a fact that there is no real
etiquette but the most perfect _laíssez aller_ in the world. All these are
mere words, tokens of good will. If it is in the morning, there is the
additional question of "How have you passed the night?" And the answer, "In
your service." Even in Mexico the weather affords a legitimate opening for
a conversation battery, but this chiefly when it rains or looks dull,
which, occasioning surprise, gives rise to observation. Besides a slight
change in the degree of heat or cold which we should not observe, they
comment upon.
The visit over, the ladies re-embrace, the lady of the house following her
guest to the top of the staircase, and again compliments are given and
received. "Madam, you know that my house is at your disposal." "A thousand
thanks, madam. Mine is at yours, and though useless, know me for your
servant, and command me in everything that you may desire." "Adieu, I hope
you may pass a good night," etc., etc., etc. At the bottom of the first
landing-place the visitors again turn round to catch the eye of the lady of
the house, and the adieus are repeated. All this, which struck me at first,
already appears quite natural, and would scarce be worth mentioning, but as
affording a contrast to our slight and indifferent manner of receiving and
taking leave of our guests. All the ladies address each other, and are
addressed by gentlemen, by their Christian names, and those who have paid
me more than one or two visits, use the same familiar mode of address to
me. Amongst women I rather like this, but it somewhat startles my ideas of
the fitness of things to hear a young man address a married woman as María,
Antonia, Anita, etc. However, things must be taken as they are meant, and
as no familiarity is intended, none should be supposed....
But these visitors are gone, and into the open court the consolatory moon
is shining. All clouds have passed away, and the blue sky is so blue, as to
dazzle the eyes even in the moonlight. Each star shines out bright, golden,
and distinct, and it seems a sin to sleep and to lose so lovely a night....
But for a true night view, mount upon the Azotea, and see all Mexico
sleeping at your feet; the whole valley and the city itself floating in
moonlight; the blue vault above gemmed with stars, and the mountains all
bathed in silver, the white volcanoes seeming to join earth and sky. Here
even Salvator's genius would fail. We must evoke the ghost of Byron. The
pencil can do nothing. Poetry alone might give a faint idea of a scene so
wondrously beautiful.
26th.--We went yesterday with Mr. M----, his wife and daughter and a padre
to visit the archbishop's palace at Tacubaya, a pretty village about four
miles from Mexico, and a favourite ride of ours in the morning. The country
round Mexico, if not always beautiful, has the merit of being original, and
on the road to Tacubaya, which goes by Chapultepec, you pass large tracts
of country, almost entirely uncultivated, though so near the city, or
covered by the mighty maguey plant, the American agave, which will flourish
on the most arid soil, and, like a fountain in a desert place, furnishes
the poorest Indian with the beverage most grateful to his palate. It seems
to be to them what the reindeer is to the Esquimaux, fitted by nature to
supply all his wants. The maguey and its produce, _pulque_, were known to
the Indians in the most ancient times, and the primitive Aztecs may have
become as intoxicated on their favourite _octli_, as they called it, as the
modern Mexicans do on their beloved pulque.
It is not often that we see the superb flower with its colossal stem, for
the plant that is in blossom is a useless beauty. The moment the
experienced Indian becomes aware that his maguey is about to flower, he
cuts out the heart, covers it over with the side leaves of the plant, and
all the juice which should have gone to the great stem of the flower, runs
into the empty basin thus formed, into which the Indian, thrice a day, and
during several months in succession, inserts his _acojote_ or gourd, a kind
of siphon, and applying his mouth to the other end, draws off the liquor by
suction; a curious-looking process. First it is called honey-water, and is
sweet and scentless; but easily ferments when transferred to the skins or
earthen vases where it is kept. To assist in its fermentation, however, a
little old pulque, _Madre pulque_, as it is called, which has fermented for
many days, is added to it, and in twenty-four hours after it leaves the
plant, you may imbibe it in all its perfection. It is said to be the most
wholesome drink in the world, and remarkably agreeable when one has
overcome the first shock occasioned by its rancid odour. At all events, the
maguey is a source of unfailing profit, the consumption of pulque being
enormous, so that many of the richest families in the capital owe their
fortune entirely to the produce of their magueys. When the owners do not
make the pulque themselves, they frequently sell their plants to the
Indians; and a maguey, which costs a real when first planted, will, when
ready to be cut, sell for twelve or eighteen dollars; a tolerable profit,
considering that it grows in almost any soil, requires little manure, and,
unlike the vine, no very special or periodical care. They are planted in
rows like hedges, and though the individual plant is handsome, the general
effect is monotonous. Of the fibres is made an excellent strong thread
called _pita_, of which pita they make a strong brownish paper, and might
make cloth if they pleased.
There is, however, little improvement made by the Mexicans upon the
ingenuity of their Indian ancestors, in respect to the maguey. Upon paper
made of its fibres, the ancient Mexicans painted their hieroglyphical
figures. The strong and pointed thorns which terminate the gigantic leaves,
they used as nails and pins; and amongst the abuses, not the uses of these,
the ancient sanguinary priests were in the habit of piercing their breasts
and tearing their arms with them, in acts of expiation. Besides, there is a
very strong brandy distilled from pulque, which has the advantage of
producing intoxication in an infinitely shorter period.
Together with the maguey, grows another immense production of nature, the
_organos_, which resembles the barrels or pipes of an organ, and being
covered with prickles, the plants growing close together, and about six
feet high, makes the strongest natural fence imaginable, besides being
covered with beautiful flowers. There is also another species of cactus,
the nopal, which bears the tuna, a most refreshing fruit, but not ripe at
this season. The plant looks like a series of flat green pin-cushions
fastened together, and stuck full of diminutive needles.
But though the environs of Mexico are flat, though there are few trees,
little cultivation, and uninhabited haciendas, and ruined churches in all
directions, still, with its beautiful climate and ever-smiling sky, the
profusion of roses and sweet-peas in the deserted gardens, the occasional
clumps of fine trees, particularly the graceful Arbold de Peru (shinum
molle, the Peruvian pepper-tree), its bending branches loaded with bunches
of coral-coloured berries, the old orchards with their blossoming
fruit-trees, the conviction that everything necessary for the use of man
can be produced with scarcely any labour, all contributes to render the
landscape one which it is impossible to pass through with indifference.
A magnificent ash-tree (the Mexican _fresno_), the pride of Tacubaya; which
throws out its luxuriant branches, covering a large space of ground, was
pointed out to us as having a tradition attached to it. It had nearly
withered away, when the Ylustrisimo Señor Fonti, the last of the Spanish
archbishops, gave it his solemn benediction, and prayed that its vigour
might be restored. Heaven heard his prayer; new buds instantly shot forth,
and the tree has since continued to thrive luxuriantly.
Tacubaya is a scattered village, containing some pretty country-houses, and
some old gardens with stone fountains. The word country-house must not,
however, be understood in the English acceptation of the word. The house,
which is in fact merely used as an occasional retreat during the summer
months, is generally a large empty building, with innumerable lofty rooms,
communicating with each other, and containing the scantiest possible supply
of furniture. One room will have in it a deal table and a few chairs; you
will then pass through five or six quite empty; then you will arrive at two
or three, with green painted bedsteads and a bench; the walls bare, or
ornamented with a few old pictures of Saints and Virgins, and bare floors
ornamented with nothing. To this add a kitchen and outhouses, a garden
running to waste and overrunning with flowers, with stiff stone walks and a
fountain in the middle, an orchard and an olive-ground; such are most of
the haciendas that I have yet seen. That of the Countess C---a, which seems
to be the handsomest in Tacubaya, is remarkable for commanding from its
windows one of the most beautiful views imaginable of Mexico, the volcanoes
and Chapultepec. From her azotea there is also a splendid view of the whole
valley; and as her garden is in good order, that she has an excellent
billiard-table, a piano, but above all, a most agreeable society in her own
family, and that her house is the very centre of hospitality, one may
certainly spend many pleasant hours there, without regretting the absence
of the luxurious furniture, which, in Mexico, seems entirely confined to
the town houses. The countess herself assured us that she had twice
completely furnished the house, but as, in two revolutions, everything was
thrown out of the windows and destroyed, she was resolved in future to
confine herself to _le stricte nécessaire._ We went to see a house and
garden which has fallen, in chance succession, to a poor woman, who, not
being able to occupy her unexpected inheritance, is desirous of selling it.
The garden and grounds are a deserted wilderness of sweets. We were joined
by several monks from a neighbouring convent, and with them went to visit
the archbishop's palace. _Chemin faisant_, the padre informed us that he
was formerly a merchant, a married man, and a friend of Yturbide's. He
failed, his wife died, his friend was shot, and he joined a small community
of priests who lived retired in the convent of La Profesa, which, with its
church is one of the richest in Mexico.
The Arzobispado is a large, handsome, but deserted building, commanding the
same fine view as from the house of the countess, and with a garden and
fine olive-ground, of which the trees were brought from Europe. The garden
was filled with large double pink roses, and bunches of the
mille-fleur-rose, which are disposed in arches, a favourite custom here,
also with a profusion of sweet-peas and jessamine, and a few orange-trees.
The gardener gave us some beautiful bouquets, and we lingered here till
sunset, admiring the view. There is no point from which Mexico is seen to
such advantage. It is even a finer prospect than that from Chapultepec,
since it embraces the castle itself, one of the most striking features in
the landscape. But just as the sun sunk behind the mountains, a sudden
change took place in the weather. The wind rose, great masses of dark
clouds came driving over the sky, and the rain fell in torrents, forcing us
to make a hasty retreat to our carriages, and having omitted to take any
precautions, and this road not being particularly safe at night, we were
probably indebted for our safe return more to "good luck than good
guidance;" or, perhaps, we owed it in part to the _padre_, for the robbers
are shy at attacking either soldiers or priests, the first from fear, and
the second from awe.
Talking of robbers and robberies, rather a fertile theme of conversation,
Señor ----- told me the other day that, in the time of a former president,
it came to pass, that a certain gentleman went to take his leave at the
palace, previous to setting off for Vera Cruz. He was received by the
president, who was alone with his aide-de-camp, General -----, and
mentioned to him in confidence that he was about to take a considerable
sum of money with him, but that it was so well concealed in the lining of a
trunk, which he described, that even if attacked by robbers, it was
impossible they should discover it, and that therefore he did not think it
necessary to take an escort with him. The next day this confidential
gentleman left Mexico, in the diligence. Not far from the gates the coach
was attacked, and, strange to say, the robbers singled out the very trunk
which contained the money, opened it, ripped up the lining, and having
possessed themselves of the sum therein concealed, peaceably departed. It
was a singular coincidence that the captain of the robbers, though somewhat
disguised, bore a striking general resemblance to the president's aide-de-
camp! These coincidences will happen....
My chief occupation, lately, has consisted in returning visits; and it is
certain that, according to our views of the case, there is too wide a
distinction between the full-dress style of toilet adopted by the ladies
when they pay visits, and the undress in which they receive their visitors
at home. To this there are some, nay, many exceptions, but _en masse_ this
is the case....
On first arriving from the United States, where an ugly woman is a phoenix,
one cannot fail to be struck at the first glance with the general absence
of beauty in Mexico. It is only by degrees that handsome faces begin to
dawn upon us; but, however, it must be remarked that beauty without colour
is apt to be less striking and to make less impression on us at first. The
brilliant complexion and fine figure of an Englishwoman strike every one.
The beauty of expression and finely-chiselled features of a Spaniard steal
upon us like a soft moonlight, while a Frenchwoman, however plain, has so
graceful a manner of saying agreeable things, so charming a tournure, such
a piquant way of managing her eyes, and even her mouth, that we think her a
beauty after half an hour's acquaintance, and even lose our admiration for
the quiet and high-bred, but less graceful _Anglaise_. The beauty of the
women here consist in superb black eyes, very fine dark hair, a beautiful
arm and hand, and small, well-made feet. The defects are, that they are
frequently too short and too fat, that their teeth are often bad, and their
complexion not the clear olive of the Spaniards, nor the glowing brown of
the Italians, but a bilious-looking yellow. Their notion of inserting the
foot into a shoe half an inch shorter, ruins the foot, and destroys their
grace in walking, and, consequently, in every movement. This fashion is,
fortunately, beginning to fall into disuse.... It is therefore evident that
when a Mexicana is endowed with white teeth and a fine complexion, when she
has not grown too fat, and when she does not torture her small foot to make
it smaller, she must be extremely handsome.... The general carelessness of
their dress in the morning is, however, another great drawback to beauty. A
woman without stays, with uncombed hair and _reboso_, had need to be very
lovely, if she retain any attraction at all. This indolence, indeed, is
going out of fashion, especially among the younger part of the community,
owing, perhaps, to their more frequent intercourse with foreigners, though
it will probably be long before the morning at home is not considered a
privileged time and place for dishabille. Notwithstanding, I have made many
visits where I have found the whole family in a perfect state of order and
neatness, but I have observed that there the fathers, and what is more
important, the mothers, had travelled in Europe, and established a new
order of things on their return.
Upon the whole, the handsomest women here are not Mexicans, that is, not
born in the capital, but in the provinces. From Puebla, and Jalapa and Vera
Cruz, we see many distinguished by their brilliant complexions and fine
teeth, and who are taller and more graceful than those born in the city of
Mexico; precisely as in Spain, where the handsomest women in Madrid are
said to be those born out of it.
The common Indians, whom we see every day bringing in their fruit and
vegetables to market, are, generally speaking, very plain, with an humble,
mild expression of countenance, very gentle, and wonderfully polite in
their manners to each other; but occasionally, in the lower classes, one
sees a face and form so beautiful, that we might suppose such another was
the Indian who enchanted Cortes; with eyes and hair of extraordinary
beauty, a complexion dark but glowing, with the Indian beauty of teeth like
the driven snow, together with small feet and beautifully-shaped hands and
arms, however imbrowned by sun and toil. In these cases it is more than
probable that, however Indian in her appearance, there must have been some
intermarriages in former days between her progenitors and the descendants
of the conquerors. We also occasionally observe very handsome
_Rancheritas_, wives or daughters of the farmers, riding in front of their
farm-servants on the same horse, with the white teeth and fine figures
which are preserved by the constant exercise that country women must
perforce take, whatever be their natural indolence, while the early fading
of beauty in the higher classes, the decay of teeth, and the
over-corpulency so common amongst them, are no doubt the natural
consequences of want of exercise and of injudicious food. There is no
country in the world where so much animal food is consumed, and there is no
country in the world where so little is required. The consumers are not the
Indians, who cannot afford it, but the better classes, who generally eat
meat three times a day. This, with the quantities of chile and sweetmeats,
in a climate which every one complains of as being irritating and
inflammatory, probably produces those nervous complaints which are here so
general, and for which constant hot baths are the universal and agreeable
remedy.
In point of amiability and warmth of manner, I have met with no women who
can possibly compete with those in Mexico, and it appears to me that women
of all other countries will appear cold and stiff by comparison. To
strangers this is an unfailing charm, and it is to be hoped that whatever
advantages they may derive from their intercourse with foreigners, they may
never lose this graceful cordiality, which forms so agreeable a contrast
with English and American frigidity.
C---n received an invitation some time ago to attend the _honras_ of the
daughter of the Marquis of S---a; that is, the celebration of mass for the
repose of her soul. M---- was observing to-day, that if this Catholic
doctrine be firmly believed, and that the prayers of the Church are indeed
availing to shorten the sufferings of those who have gone before us; to
relieve those whom we love from thousands of years of torture, it is
astonishing how the rich do not become poor, and the poor beggars, in
furtherance of this object; and that if the idea be purely human, it showed
a wonderful knowledge of human nature, on the part of the inventor, as what
source of profit could be more sure?....
Certainly no expense was spared on this occasion. San Augustin, in itself a
beautiful church, was fitted up with extraordinary splendour. The walls and
pillars were covered with draperies of rich crimson velvet. Innumerable wax
candles were lighted, and an invisible band of music played during the
intervals of the deep-rolling organ. All the monks of San Augustin, with
their white hoods and sandalled feet, and carrying lighted tapers, were
ranged near the altar. All the male relatives of the family, dressed in
deep mourning, occupied the high-backed chairs placed along one side of the
church, the floor of which was covered with a carpet, on which various
veiled and mourning figures were kneeling, whom I joined. The whole
service, the chanting, the solemn music, and the prayers, were very
impressive, yet more joyous than sad, perhaps from the pervading feeling
that each note, as it rose to heaven, carried some alleviation to the
spirit of the young and beloved one for whose repose they played, and
brought her nearer to the gates of the Holy City.
She was but twenty when she died; and our first house is close to that of
the Marquis de S---a, her father, so that we were shocked to learn that she
had expired on the night of our great serenade (we, of course, not aware of
her illness), actually to the sound of that gay music, and amidst the
shouting and clapping of hands of the multitude. When the service was over
the procession passed out, every one kissing the hand of the bishop as he
went along, and we found some difficulty in making our way through the
crowds of _léperos_, who, though not allowed to enter the church on this
occasion, were swarming at the gates. Our carriage, as we returned home,
formed one of a file of at least one hundred.
We found on our table another invitation to a very splendid mass, which is
to be performed in San Francisco, on account of the death of a friend of
ours, a senator of a distinguished family. The style of these invitations
is as follows:--A device is engraved on the paper, such as a tomb and
cypress, and below is printed,
"Josd María A----, José G---- de la C---a, and Basilio G----, brothers and
uncle of the Senator Don Augustin T----, who died on the twenty-eighth of
last month, request you to assist at the suffrage of the funeral honours,
which, by the desire of his wife, Doña J---- A----, will be celebrated in
the church of San Francisco on the morning of the eighth of this month of
February, 1840, at nine o'clock."
Beside this invitation, was a piece of information of a different
description:
"General A---- and Anna R---- beg to inform you that they have contracted
matrimony, and have the honour of offering themselves to your disposal.
"M---- Street, No. 24. Mexico, 1840." Here, as in Spain, a lady, after her
marriage, retains[1] her maiden name; and though she adds to it that of her
husband, she is more commonly known by her own.
[Footnote 1: 664]
From ignorance of another Mexican custom, I made rather an awkward blunder
the other day; though I must observe, in my justification, that I had
lately been in the agonies of searching for servants, and had just filled
all the necessary departments pretty much to my satisfaction. Therefore,
when the porter of the Señora de ----- brought me the compliments of his
mistress, and that she begged to inform me that she had another servant at
my disposal (_otra criada á mi disposición_), I returned for answer, that I
was greatly obliged, but had just hired a _recamerera_ (chambermaid). At
this the man, stupid as he was, opened his great eyes with a slight
expression of wonder. Fortunately, as he was turning away, I bethought me
of inquiring of the Señora's health, and his reply, that "she and the baby
were coming on very well," brought the truth suddenly before me, that the
message was merely the etiquette used on informing the friends of the
family of the birth of a child--a conviction which induced me slightly to
alter the style of my answer. _Experientia docet!_