Palm Sunday--Holy Thursday--Variety of Costumes--San Francisco--Santo
Domingo--Santa Teresa--Nuns--Stone Bust--The Academy--Religious
Procession--Pilgrimage to the Churches--Santa Clara--Nun's
Voice--Orange-trees and Rose-bushes--The Cathedral Illuminated--Our Saviour
in Chains--Good Friday--The great Square towards Evening--Dresses of Men,
Women, and Children--Approach of the Host--Judas--Great
Procession--_Miserere_--The Square by Moonlight--A Lonely Walk--_Sábado de
Gloria_--Ball in Contemplation--Weekly Soirées--Embroidered Muslins--A
Tertulia at Home.
21st April.
On the morning of Palm Sunday, I went to the Cathedral, accompanied by
Mademoiselle de -----, daughter of the ----- Minister. We found it no easy
matter to make our way through the crowd; but at last, by dint of patience
and perseverance, and changing our place very often, we contrived to arrive
very near the great altar; and there we had just taken up our position,
when a disinterested man gave us a friendly hint, that as the whole
procession, with their branches, must inevitably squeeze past the spot
where we were, we should probably be crushed or suffocated; consequently we
followed him to a more convenient station, also close to the altar and
defended by the railing, where we found ourselves tolerably well off. Two
ladies, to whom he made the same proposition, and who rejected it, we
afterwards observed in a sad condition, their mantillas nearly torn off and
the palm-branches sweeping across their eyes. In a short time, the whole
cathedral presented the appearance of a forest of palm-trees, (_à la_
Birnam wood) moved by a gentle wind; and under each tree a half-naked
Indian, his rags clinging together with wonderful pertinacity; long,
matted, dirty black hair both in men and women, bronze faces with mild
unspeaking eyes, or all with one expression of eagerness to see the
approach of the priests. Many of them had probably travelled a long way,
and the palms were from _tierra caliente_, dried and plaited into all
manner of ingenious ways. Each palm was about seven feet high, so as far to
overshadow the head of the Indian who carried it; and whenever they are
blessed, they are carried home to adorn the walls of their huts. The
priests arrived, at length, in great pomp; and also carrying
palm-branches. For four mortal hours, we remained kneeling or sitting on
the floor, and thankful we were when it was all over, and we could make our
way once more into the fresh air. From this day, during the whole week, all
business is suspended, and but one train of thought occupies all classes,
from the highest to the lowest. The peasants flock from every quarter,
shops are shut, churches are opened; and the Divine Tragedy enacted in
Syria eighteen hundred years ago, is now celebrated in land then
undiscovered, and by the descendants of nations sunk in Paganism for
centuries after that period. But amongst the lower classes, the worship is
emphatically the worship of Her who Herself predicted, "From henceforth all
nations shall call me blessed." Before her shrines, and at all hours,
thousands are kneeling. With faces expressive of the most intense love and
devotion, and with words of the most passionate adoration, they address the
mild image of the Mother of God. To the Son their feelings seem composed of
respectful pity, of humble but more distant adoration; while to the Virgin
they appear to give all their confidence, and to look up to her as to a
kind and bountiful Queen, who, dressed in her magnificent robes and
jewelled diadem, yet mourning in all the agony of her divine sorrows, has
condescended to admit the poorest beggar to participate in her woe, whilst
in her turn she shares in the afflictions of the lowly, feels for their
privations, and grants them her all-powerful intercession.
On Holy Thursday nothing can be more picturesque than the whole appearance
of Mexico. No carriages are permitted and the ladies, being on foot, take
the opportunity of displaying all the riches of their toilet. On this day
velvets and satins are your only wear. Diamonds and pearls walk the
streets. The mantillas are white or black blonde; the shoes white or
coloured satin. The petticoats are still rather short, but it would be hard
to hide such small feet, and such still smaller shoes. "Il faut souffrir
pour être belle," but _à quoi bon être belle?_ if no one sees it. As for
me, I _ventured_ upon a lilac silk of Palmyre's, and a black mantilla.
The whole city was filled with picturesque figures. After the higher
Señoras were to be remarked the common women, chiefly in clear white, very
stiffly starched muslins, some very richly embroidered, and the petticoat
trimmed with lace, white satin shoes, and the dresses extremely short,
which in them looks very well. A reboso is thrown over all. Amongst these
were many handsome faces, but in a still lower and more Indian class, with
their gay-coloured petticoats, the faces were sometimes beautiful, and the
figures more upright and graceful; also they invariably walk well whilst
many of the higher classes, from tight shoes and want of custom, seem to
feel pain in putting their feet to the ground.
But none could vie with the handsome Poblana peasants in their holiday
dresses, some so rich and magnificent, that, remembering the warning of our
Ministerial friends, I am inclined to believe them more showy than
respectable. The pure Indians, with whom the churches and the whole city is
crowded, are as ugly as can be imagined; a gentle, dirty, and
much-enduring race. Still, with their babies at their backs, going along at
their usual gentle trot, they add much to the general effect of the _coup-
d'oeil_.
We walked to San Francisco about ten o'clock, and the body of the church
being crowded, went upstairs to a private gallery with a gilded grating,
belonging to the Countess de Santiago, and here we had the advantage of
seats, besides a fine view of the whole. This church is very splendid, and
the walls were hung with canvas paintings representing different passages
of our Saviour's life; his entry into Jerusalem, the woman of Samaria at
the well, etc., which, with the palm-trees had a cool and oriental effect.
Before the altar, which was dazzling with jewels, was a representation of
the Lord's Supper, not in painting, but in sculptured figures as large as
life, habited in the Jewish dresses. The bishops and priests were in a
blaze of gold and jewels. They were assisted during the ceremony by the
young Count of Santiago. The music was extremely good, and the whole effect
impressive. We visited several churches in the course of the day, and
continued walking until four o'clock, when we went to dine with our friends
the A---s. After dinner one of their coachmen, a handsome Mexican, in a
superb dress, all embroidered in gold, was called upstairs to dance the
_Jarabe_ to us with a country girl. The dance is monotonous, but they
acquitted themselves to perfection.
We then continued our pilgrimage through the city, though, as the sun
had not yet set, we reserved our chief admiration until the churches
should be illuminated. One, however, we entered at sunset, which is
worthy of remark--Santo Domingo. It looked like a little Paradise, or
a story in the Arabian Nights. All the steps up the altar were covered
with pots of beautiful flowers; orange-trees, loaded with fruit and
blossom, and rose-bushes in full bloom, glasses of coloured water, and
all kinds of fruit. Cages full of birds, singing delightfully, hung from
the wall, and really fine paintings filled up the intervals. A gay
carpet covered the floor, and in front of the altar, instead of the
usual representation of the Saviour crucified, a little infant Jesús,
beautifully done in wax, was lying amidst flowers with little angels
surrounding him. Add to this, the music of Romeo and Juliet, and you may
imagine that it was more like a scene in an opera, than anything in a
church. But certainly, as the rays of the setting sun streamed in with a
rosy light through the stained windows, throwing a glow over the whole;
birds, and flowers, and fruit, paintings and angels, it was the
prettiest and most fantastic scene I ever beheld, like something
expressly got up for the benefit of children.
We did not kneel before each altar for more than three minutes, otherwise
we should never have had time even to enter the innumerable churches which
we visited in the course of the night. We next went to Santa Teresa la
Nueva, a handsome church, belonging to a convent of strict nuns, which was
now brilliantly illuminated; and here, as in all the churches, we made our
way through the crowd with extreme difficulty. The number of _léperos_ was
astonishing, greatly exceeding that of well-dressed people. Before each
altar was a figure, dreadful in the extreme, of the Saviour, as large as
life, dressed in purple robe and crown of thorns, seated on the steps of
the altar, the blood trickling from his wounds; each person, before leaving
the church, devoutly kneeling to kiss his hands and feet. The nuns, amongst
whom is a sister of Señor A----, sung behind the grating of the gallery
above, but were not visible.
One of the churches we visited, that of Santa Teresa, called the _Antigua_,
stands upon the site formerly occupied by the palace of the father of the
unfortunate Montezuma. It was here that the Spaniards were quartered when
they took Montezuma prisoner, and here Cortes found and appropriated the
treasures of that family. In 1830 a bust of stone was found in the yard of
the convent, which the workmen were digging up. Don Lucas Alaman, then
Minister of Exterior Relations, offered a compensation to the nuns for the
curious piece of antiquity which they gladly gave up to the government, on
whose account he acted. It is said to be the idol goddess of the Indians,
_Centeotl_, the goddess of medicine and medicinal herbs, also known by the
name of _Temaz calteci_, or the "Grandmother of the Baths." A full account
is given of her in one of the numbers of the "Mosaico Megicano," as also of
a square stone found in the same place, beautifully carved, and covered
with hieroglyphical characters.
In the evening, towards the hour when the great procession was expected, we
went to the balconies of the Academia, which command a fine view of the
streets by which it was to pass. Till it arrived we amused ourselves by
looking over the _beaux restes_ of former days, the collections of painting
and sculpture, the fine plaster-casts that still remain, and the great
volumes of fine engravings. It was dark when the procession made its
appearance, which rendered the effect less gaudy and more striking. The
Virgin, the Saints, the Holy Trinity, the Saviour in different passages of
his life, imprisonment and crucifixion, were carried past in succession,
represented by figures magnificently dressed, placed on lofty scaffoldings
of immense weight, supported by different bodies of men. One is carried by
the coachmen, another by the aguadores (water-carriers), a third by the
cargadores (porters), a Herculean race.
First arrived the favourite protectress of all classes, the Virgin of
Dolores, surmounted by a velvet canopy, seated on a glittering throne,
attired in her sable robes, her brow surmounted by glittering rays, and
contracted with an expression of agony; of all representations of the
Virgin, the only one which is always lovely, however rudely carved, with
that invariably beautiful face of terrible anguish. Then followed the
Saviour bearing the cross; the Saviour crucified, the Virgin supporting the
head of her dying son; the Trinity (the Holy Spirit represented by a dove);
all the apostles, from St. Peter with the keys to Judas with the money-bag;
and a long train of saints, all brilliantly illuminated and attended by an
amazing crowd of priests, monks, and laymen. However childish and
superstitious all this may seem, I doubt whether it be not as well thus to
impress certain religious truths on the minds of a people too ignorant to
understand them by any other process. By the time the last saint and angel
had vanished, the hour was advanced, and we had still to visit the
illuminated churches. Being recommended to divest ourselves of our
ornaments before wandering forth amongst the crowd, a matter of some moment
to the Señora A----, who wore all her diamonds, we left our earrings,
brooches, etc., in charge of the person who keeps the Academia, and
recommenced our pilgrimage.
Innumerable were the churches we visited that evening; the Cathedral, La
Ensenanza, Jesús María, Santa Clara, Santa Brigida, San Hipólito, La
Encarnación, the five churches of San Francisco, etc., etc., a list without
an end, kneeling for a short space of time before each blazing altar, for
the more churches one visits, the more meritorious is the devotion. The
cathedral was the first we entered, and its magnificence struck us with
amazement. Its gold and silver and jewels, its innumerable ornaments and
holy vessels, the rich dresses of the priests, all seemed burning in almost
intolerable brightness. The high altar was the most magnificent; the
second, with its pure white marble pillars, the most imposing.
The crowd was immense, but we made our way slowly through it to the foot of
each altar, where the people were devoutly kissing the Saviour's hand or
the hem of his garment; or beating their breasts before the mild image of
Our Lady of Grief. Each church had vied with the other in putting forth all
its splendour of jewellery, of lights, of dresses, and of music.
In the church of Santa Clara, attached to the convent of the same name,
small but elegant, with its pillars of white marble and gold, one voice of
angelic sweetness was singing behind the grating alone, and in the midst of
a most deathlike stillness. It sounded like the notes of a nightingale in a
cage. I could have listened for hours, but our time was limited, and we set
off anew. Fortunately the evening was delightful, and the moon shining
brightly. We visited about twenty churches in succession. In all the organ
was pealing, the blaze of light overpowering, the magnificence of jewels
and crimson velvet and silver and gold dazzling, the crowd suffocating, the
incense blinding.
The prettiest effect in every church was caused by the orange-trees and
rose-bushes, which covered the steps of the altars, up to where the
magnificence of the altar itself blazed out; and the most picturesque
effect was produced by the different orders of monks in their gowns and
hoods, either lying on their faces or standing ranged with torches like
figures carved in stone.
In the passage leading to most of the churches was a table, at which
several ladies of the highest rank sat collecting alms for the poor. The
fair _queteuses_ had not been very successful, and that chiefly amongst the
lower classes. The fatigue was terrible, walking for so many hours on that
bad pavement with thin satin shoes, so that at length our feet seemed to
move mechanically, and we dropped on our knees before each altar like
machines touched by a spring, and rose again with no small effort. Of all
the churches we entered that night, the cathedral was the most magnificent,
but the most beautiful and tasteful was San Francisco. The crowd there was
so dense, that we were almost carried off our feet, and were obliged, in
defiance of all rule, to take the arms of our _caballeros_. Still it was
worth the trouble of making our way through it to see such a superbly
illuminated altar. It was now eleven o'clock, and the crowd were breaking
up as the churches are shut before midnight. In one corner of the middle
aisle, near the door, was the representation of a prison from which issued
a stream of soft music, and at the window was a figure of Christ in chains,
his eyes bandaged, and a Jew on each side; the chains hanging from his
hands, and clanking as if with the motion of his arms. The rush here was
immense. Numbers of people were kneeling before the window of the prison,
and kissing the chains and beating their breasts with every appearance of
contrition and devotion. This was the night before the Crucifixion, and the
last scene of the Holy Thursday.
We reached home hardly able to stand. I never felt more dazzled,
bewildered, and sleepy; but I was wakened by finding a packet of letters
from home, which brought back my thoughts, or rather carried them away to
very different lands.
On Good Friday, a day of sorrow and humiliation, the scene in the morning
is very different. The great sacrifice is complete--the Immortal has died a
mortal death. The ladies all issue forth in mourning, and the churches look
sad and wan after their last night's brilliancy. The heat was intense. We
went to San Francisco, again to the Tribuna of the Countess de Santiago, to
see the Adoration and Procession of the Cross, which was very fine.
But the most beautiful and original scene was presented towards sunset in
the great square, and it is doubtful whether any other city in the world
could present a _coup-d'oeil_ of equal brilliancy. Having been offered the
_entree_ to some apartments in the palace, we took our seats on the
balconies, which commanded a view of the whole. The Plaza itself, even on
ordinary days, is a noble square, and but for its one fault, a row of shops
called the Parian, which breaks its uniformity, would be nearly unrivalled.
Every object is interesting. The eye wanders from the cathedral to the
house of Cortes (the Monte Pio), and from thence to a range of fine
buildings with lofty arcades to the west. From our elevated situation, we
could see all the different streets that branch out from the square,
covered with gay crowds pouring in that direction to see another great
procession, which was expected to pass in front of the palace. Booths
filled with refreshments, and covered with green branches and garlands of
flowers, were to be seen in all directions, surrounded by a crowd who were
quenching their thirst with orgeat, _chia_,[1] lemonade, or pulque. The
whole square, from the cathedral to the Portales, and from the Monte Pio to
the palace, was covered with thousands and tens of thousands of figures,
all in their gayest dresses, and as the sun poured his rays down upon their
gaudy colours, they looked like armies of living tulips. Here was to be
seen a group of ladies, some with black gowns and mantillas; others, now
that their church-going duty was over, equipped in velvet or satin, with
their hair dressed,--and beautiful hair they have; some leading their
children by the hand, dressed... alas! how they were dressed! Long velvet
gowns trimmed with blonde, diamond earrings, high French caps befurbelowed
with lace and flowers, or turbans with plumes of feathers. Now and then the
head of a little thing that could hardly waddle alone, might have belonged
to an English dowager-duchess in her opera-box. Some had extraordinary
bonnets, also with flowers and feathers, and as they toddled along, top
heavy, one would have thought they were little old women, till a glimpse
was caught of their lovely little brown faces and black eyes. Now and then
a little girl, simply dressed with a short frock, and long black hair
plaited down and uncovered, would trip along, a very model of grace amongst
the small caricatures. The children here are generally beautiful, their
features only too perfect and regular for the face "to fulfil the promise
of its spring." They have little colour, with swimming black or hazel eyes,
and long lashes resting on the clear pale cheek, and a perfect mass of fine
dark hair of the straight Spanish or Indian kind plaited down behind.
[Footnote 1: A drink made of the seed of the plant of that name.]
As a contrast to the Señoras, with their over-dressed beauties, were the
poor Indian women, trotting across the square, their black hair plaited
with dirty red ribbon, a piece of woollen cloth wrapped about them, and a
little mahogany baby hanging behind, its face upturned to the sky, and its
head going jerking along, somehow without its neck being dislocated. The
most resigned expression on earth is that of an Indian baby. All the groups
we had seen promenading the streets the day before were here collected by
hundreds; the women of the shopkeeper class, or it may be lower, in their
smart white embroidered gowns, with their white satin shoes, and neat feet
and ankles, and rebosos or bright shawls thrown over their heads; the
peasants and countrywomen, with their short petticoats of two colours,
generally scarlet and yellow (for they are most anti-quakerish in their
attire), thin satin shoes and lace-trimmed chemises, or bronze-coloured
damsels, all crowned with flowers, strolling along with their admirers, and
tingling their light guitars. And above all, here and there a flashing
Poblana, with a dress of real value and much taste, and often with a face
and figure of extraordinary beauty, especially the figure; large and yet
_élancée_, with a bold coquettish eye, and a beautiful little brown foot,
shown off by the white satin shoe; the petticoat of her dress frequently
fringed and embroidered in real massive gold, and a reboso either shot with
gold, or a bright-coloured China crape shawl, coquettishly thrown over her
head. We saw several whose dresses could not have cost less than five
hundred dollars.
Add to this motley crowd, men dressed _à la Mexicaine_, with their large
ornamented hats and serapes, or embroidered jackets, sauntering along,
smoking their cigars, _léperos_ in rags, Indians in blankets, officers in
uniform, priests in their shovel hats, monks of every order; Frenchmen
exercising their wit upon the passers-by; Englishmen looking cold and
philosophical; Germans gazing through their spectacles, mild and mystical;
Spaniards seeming pretty much at home, and abstaining from remarks; and it
may be conceived that the scene at least presented variety. Sometimes the
tinkling of the bell announced the approach of _Nuestro Amo_. Instantly the
whole crowd are on their knees, crossing themselves devoutly. Two men who
were fighting below the window suddenly dropped down side by side. Disputes
were hushed, flirtations arrested, and to the busy hum of voices succeeded
a profound silence. Only the rolling of the coach-wheels and the sound of
the little bell were heard.
No sooner had it passed than the talkers and the criers recommenced with
fresh vigour. The venders of hot chestnuts and cooling beverages plied
their trade more briskly than ever. A military band struck up an air from
Semiramis: and the noise of the innumerable _matracas_ (rattles), some of
wood and some of silver, with which every one is armed during the last days
of the holy week, broke forth again as if by magic, while again commenced
the sale of the _Judases_, fireworks in the form of that arch-traitor,
which are sold on the evening of Good Friday, and let off on Saturday
morning. Hundreds of these hideous figures were held above the crowd, by
men who carried them tied together on long poles. An ugly misshapen monster
they represent the betrayer to have been. When he sold his master for
thirty pieces of silver, did he dream that in the lapse of ages his
effigies should be held up to the execration of a Mexican mob, of an
unknown people in undiscovered countries beyond the seas?--A secret
bargain, perhaps made whisperingly in a darkened chamber with the fierce
Jewish rulers; but now shouted forth in the ears of the descendants of
Montezuma and Cortes!
But the sound of a distant hymn rose on the air, and shortly after there
appeared, advancing towards the square, a long and pompous retinue of
mitred priests, with banners and crucifixes and gorgeous imagery,
conducting a procession in which figures representing scenes concerning the
death of our Saviour, were carried by on platforms, as they were the
preceding evening. There was the Virgin in mourning at the foot of the
cross--the Virgin in glory--and more saints and more angels--St. Michael
and the dragon, etc., etc., a glittering and innumerable train. Not a sound
was heard as the figures were carried slowly onwards in their splendid
robes, lighted by thousands of tapers, which mingled their unnatural glare
with the fading light of day.
As the _Miserere_ was to be performed in the cathedral late in the evening,
we went there, though with small hopes of making our way through the
tremendous crowd. Having at length been admitted through a private
entrance, _per favour_, we made our way into the body of the church; but
the crowd was so intolerable, that we thought of abandoning our position,
when we were seen and recognised by some of the priests, and conducted to a
railed-off enclosure near the shrine of the Virgin, with the luxury of a
Turkey carpet. Here, separated from the crowd, we sat down in peace on the
ground. The gentlemen were accommodated with high-backed chairs, beside
some ecclesiastics; for men may sit on chairs or benches in church, but
women must kneel or sit on the ground. Why? "_Quien sabe?_" (Who knows?) is
all the satisfaction I have ever obtained on that point.