and being defeated by Juarez, issued his celebrated manifesto known as
the “Plan of Noria,” repudiating all existing powers, and proposing to
retain military command. Being thoroughly whipped by the Indian
President, after more than a year’s hard fighting and the loss of
thousands of lives, the general left Mexico for a time, along with a
number of his fellow-partisans.
After Juarez died in office, his successor, Don Sebastian Lerdo de
Tejada, recalled all political exiles by issuing a general amnesty,
which act Diaz hastened to repay by rushing again to arms and speedily
deposing his rival. Although the Electoral College had declared Lerdo
the legally elected ruler by a vote of 123 to 49, Diaz proceeded to
issue a pronunciamento from Palo Blanco, State of Tamaulipas, denouncing
the President, Congress, and all recognized authorities, and at the head
of the Constitutional army took possession of the capital and usurped
the Executive chair, driving the incumbent into exile, and holding his
position by force of arms.
When the term was over for which Diaz had thus elected himself, he
retired temporarily to fulfil the law he had so strenuously advocated,
Article 28 of the amended constitution. Next he set about paving the way
to permanent success by placating all opposing factions. First, he
forever laid any restless ghost of Lerdist sentiment that might arise
and shake its gory locks in the future, by marrying in the very midst
of the enemy’s camp. His young and beautiful wife is the daughter of
Romero Rubio, who was President Lerdo’s most influential adviser, and
his bosom friend and companion in exile. Señor Rubio has since been
President of the Senate, and Minister of the Interior.
No man since the Indian Juarez, who was the Abraham Lincoln of Mexican
history, has achieved the popularity that Diaz enjoys, or has won the
confidence of the people to so great a degree. The ballad-singers at
Santa Anita, an Indian village in the suburbs of the capital, on the
romantic canal that leads to the far-famed Floating Gardens, where the
populace swarm on Sundays to drink _pulque_ and dance fandangoes, carol
many a long-drawn refrain to twanging guitars in praise of Porfirio
D-i-i-iaz, while the dedications of their myriad _pulquerias_ are about
equally divided between Diaz, Montezuma, and the Mother of God.
The old Capitol, or Palace, as it is called, which Cortez raised upon
the ruins of the Aztec temple is still occupied as the seat of
government, and shelters the Executive departments. Here, too, is the
National Museum, with its collection of antiquities, and in its centre,
near the Sacrificial Stone of the Aztecs, is the imperial coach in which
the ill-fated Emperor rode. Public business is conducted very much as in
the United States; the officials are usually accomplished linguists, and
well read in political economy. The science of government is studied
there more than with us, and public life is a profession, like law or
engineering. There still exists, however, and many generations will come
and go before it can be eradicated, a caste that divides the people into
three classes--the peon, the aristocrat, and the middle class. The
prejudice that separates them is usually overcome by military force. The
peon, who like Diaz becomes a political and a social leader, must win
the place by military skill, or wear a _sarepa_ forever.
Among the upper classes of Mexico will be found as high a degree of
social and intellectual refinement as exists in Paris, as quick a
reception and as cordial a response to all the sentiments that elevate
society, and a knowledge of the arts and literature that few people of
the busy cities of the United States have acquired.
[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL, CITY OF MEXICO.]
Their wealth is lavishly displayed, their taste is exercised to a degree
equal to that of any people in the world, and the interior of many of
their dwellings furnishes a glimpse of happiness and cultured elegance
that, with their less active temperament, they enjoy more than their
northern neighbors. Yet the people who receive the latest Paris fashions
and literature by every steamer, and who would rather wear a shroud than
a garment out of style, still cling to some ancient customs as eagerly
as they seize some modern ideas. Social laws restrict intercourse
between the sexes, as in the Latin nations of Europe, and Pedro makes
love to Mercedes through his father and hers. Marriage is often a
commercial contract for pecuniary or social advantages, and a parent
chooses his son-in-law as he selects his partners or the directors of a
bank. It is an impropriety for men and women to be alone together, even
if they are closely related, and no woman of the higher caste goes upon
the streets without a duenna.
The funeral customs of Mexico are a source of constant interest to
strangers in that land, as the burial of the dead is a ceremony of great
display. The poor rent handsome coffins which they have not the means to
buy, and transfer the body from its temporary casket to a cheap box
before it is laid in the grave. Invitations are issued by messenger, and
advertisements of funerals are published in the newspapers or posted at
the street corners like those of a bull-fight or a play. Announcements
are sent to friends in big, black-bordered envelopes, and are usually
decorated with a picture of a tomb. The information is conveyed in
faultless Spanish, that Señor Don Jesus San a Maria Hidalgo died
yesterday at noon, and that his bereaved wife, who mourns under the name
of “Donna Maria José Concepcion de los Angelos Narro Henriandos y
Hidalgo,” together with his family, desire you to honor them by
participating in the ceremonies of burial, and in supplicating the
Mother of God and the Redeemer of the world to grant the soul of the
dead husband a speedy release from the pains of Purgatory, and eternal
bliss in Paradise.
The oddities of Mexican life and customs strike the tourist in a most
forcible manner. The first thing he observes among the common people is
that the men wear extremely large hats, and the women no hats at all.
The ordinary sombrero costs fifteen dollars, while those bearing the
handsome ornaments so universally popular run in price all the way from
twenty-five to two hundred and fifty dollars. The Mexican invests all
his surplus in his hat. Men whose wages are not more than twelve dollars
a month often wear sombreros which represent a whole quarter’s income. A
servant at the house of a friend was paid off one day for the three
months his employer had been absent. He got forty-two dollars, of which
he paid thirty-five dollars for a hat and gave seven dollars to his
family.
[Illustration: STYLES OF ARCHITECTURE.]
The next thing that you notice is that every block on the same street
has a different name, and when you start out on foot to make a visit you
become bewildered at once, and have to call a carriage. Take the chief
street, for example, which begins at the Grand Plaza, where the Palace
stands, and runs to the statue of Charles IV. of Spain. Each of the
seventeen blocks has a name of its own, and the names that are used are
quite as striking as this perplexing custom. Here is a list of some of
the principal blocks or streets translated into English: “Crown of
Thorns Street,” “Fifth of May Street,” “Holy Ghost Street,” “Blood of
Christ Street,” “Body of Christ Street,” “Mother of Sorrows Street,”
“Street of the Sacred Heart,” “The Heart of Jesus Street,” “Street of
the Love of God,” “Jesus Street,” and “John the Baptist Street.” Nearly
every saint in the calendar has a street named after him or her, and
nine-tenths of the city has the religion of the people thus illustrated.
Another thing that surprises you greatly is that nearly every man you
meet makes you a present of a residence. He grasps your hand with ardent
cordiality when he leaves you, and says, “My house is yours; it stands
numero tres--Calle,” and so on, “and is at your service.” The next man
tells you that your house is such and such a number, and he shall be
angry if you do not occupy it. As neither of them has enjoyed the honor
of your acquaintance for more than five minutes, and both are only
casually introduced, this excessive generosity is quite embarrassing. An
English lord told me he met fourteen men at the Jockey Club one evening,
and was presented with thirteen houses. The other man lived in Cuba. But
it is only the Mexican way of saying, “I’m pleased to meet you.” It
often leads to comical adventures, however, for the gentleman who
tenders such profuse hospitality seldom remembers you the next morning.
People have accepted these ardent invitations and been met with a cold
welcome. Another amusing and puzzling peculiarity is that everybody
lives over a shop. Even the millionaires rent out the first floor of
their residences for purposes of business, and live in the third story.
The handsomest house in all Mexico has a railway ticket-office on one
side of the entrance and a cigar shop on the other. Everybody smokes:
women as well as men. They smoke in the street-cars, in the shops, at
the opera, everywhere. I have often seen a man upon his knees in a
chapel muttering his prayers with a lighted cigar in his hand.
The street-cars run in groups. Instead of starting a car every ten
minutes from the terminus, three are started together every half hour.
One car is never seen alone, nor two together, but always three in a
row, less than half a block apart. It requires two conductors to run a
car. One approaches a passenger and sells him a ticket; the second one
then comes in and takes it up. In some respects it is an improvement on
the bell-punch system. There are first-class cars and second-class cars.
The former are of New York manufacture, and similar to those used in
that city; the latter are of domestic construction, have but few
windows, and look like the cabooses used on railroad freight trains.
First-class fares are sometimes as high as twenty-five cents, but are
more often a _medio_ (six and a quarter cents), being governed by the
distance. Second-class fares are always one-half the amount of
first-class fares. Street-car drivers carry horns, and blow them when
they approach street crossings. The conductors usually carry revolvers.
Nearly everybody, in truth, carries a revolver.
Horseback riding is the national amusement, and the streets are full of
horsemen, particularly in the cooler hours of the morning and evening.
The proper thing to wear is a wide sombrero, very tight trousers of
leather or cassimere, with rows of silver buttons up and down the outer
seam, a handsomely embroidered velvet jacket, a scarlet sash, a sword,
and two revolvers, not to mention spurs of marvellous size and design,
and a saddle of surpassing magnificence. A Mexican caballero often
spends one thousand dollars for an equestrian outfit. His saddle costs
from fifty dollars to five hundred dollars, his sword fifty dollars, his
silver-mounted bridle twenty-five dollars, his silver spurs as much
more, the solid silver buttons on his trousers one hundred dollars, his
hat fifty dollars, and the rest of his rig in proportion. The Mexican
small boy, if he has wealthy parents, is mounted after a similar
fashion, even to the revolver and sword. An equestrian costume for a boy
of ten years can be purchased for about fifty dollars, not including
saddle and bridle.
[Illustration: A MEXICAN CABALLERO.]
The Mexican ladies do not ride any more than their sisters in the United
States. Social etiquette prohibits this recreation, unless they have
brothers to go with them. The señoras and señoritas take their exercise
in closed carriages. You never see a phaeton or wagon in Mexico. When
they go shopping they sit in their carriages and have the goods brought
out to them. It is a common thing to see a row of carriages before a
fashionable store with a clerk at the door of each one exhibiting silks
or gloves or ribbons. In some of the stores are parlors in which a
señora can sit if she likes and have the goods brought to her. None but
foreigners and the common people stand at the counters and buy. Mexican
merchants never classify their goods. They have no system in arranging
them. Silks and cottons are indiscriminately mixed on the shelves. There
is no place for anything, and nothing is ever in place. Hence shopping
requires the exercise of a vast deal of patience. I went to buy a pair
of gloves one day. The clerk pulled open a drawer in which were shoes,
corsets, and ribbons. He found some gloves, but there being none in the
box to fit, he hunted around on the shelves and in the drawers until he
discovered another lot. Nor are goods ever delivered at the residences
of purchasers. If your package is too bulky to carry in your hands or in
your carriage it is sent to your house by a licensed carrier, similar to
the district messenger boy of New York, to whom you pay a fee. Each
carrier has a brass badge like a policeman’s, bearing a number, and if
he does not deliver the goods promptly and in good order you report him
at police headquarters, where he is heavily fined. On the other hand, if
he cannot find your residence, or there is a mistake in the directions,
he takes the goods to police headquarters, and you can find them there,
and discover the reasons why they were not delivered.
On pleasant afternoons--and except in the rainy season all afternoons
are pleasant here--everybody who owns a carriage, or is able to hire
one, drives on the boulevard which Maximilian made from the city to the
Castle of Chapultepec, a distance of two and a half miles. As most of
the carriages are closed, the scene is not so interesting as it might
be, but you can occasionally catch a glimpse of a beautiful face
through the carriage windows. The horses are indifferent. Some of the
handsomest equipages are drawn by mules.
There are more public hacks and carriages in Mexico than in any other
city in the world in proportion to its population, and few cities have
worse pavements. Most of the vehicles are coupés, but there are a few
victorias. There are no hansoms. The public carriages are all under
police regulation, and the rates are fixed by law, according to the
condition of the vehicle and the horses. Each carriage has a small tin
flag attached to the top. A green flag means that you have to pay a
dollar and a half an hour, for the carriage is new, the horses are good,
and the harness is handsomely trimmed. A blue flag means a dollar an
hour, with a little less style; a white flag, seventy-five cents. The
latter class are about the toughest-looking outfits that can be found
anywhere.
Each of the other sort of carriages has a footman as well as a coachman,
without additional price, although generous people give him a tip to the
extent of a _real_ (twelve and a half cents). The footman is called a
_mozo_, and acts as a sort of apprentice or private secretary to the
_cochero_, or driver. When you hire a hack the _mozo_ rushes off to the
nearest store, looks at the clock, and brings you back a card upon which
the hour is written. When you finish your ride he hands you the card
again, and you pay from the time you started. On feast-days charges are
doubled, and as feast-days are frequent, when all the stores are closed,
the hackmen make a good thing of it. They drive in a most reckless
manner, and as the pavements are rough the passengers are bounced about.
The Spaniards drink cognac and sour wines. Whiskey is not a safe
beverage for the climate. American mixed drinks are not popular, and the
scarcity of ice makes juleps and that sort of thing expensive. The
stranger in Mexico is always very thirsty; the rapid evaporation makes
the mouth and throat dry, and water furnishes only temporary relief. The
most refreshing drink is lime-juice in Apollinaris water.
Pulque (pronounced _poolkee_) is the national drink, and is
[Illustration: NOCHE TRISTE TREE.]
the fermented milk of the cactus. Eighty thousand gallons are said to be
sold in Mexico every day, and double that amount on Sundays and saints’
days. It is a sort of combination of starch and alcohol, looks like
well-watered skim-milk, and tastes like yeast. It costs but a penny a
glass, or three cents a quart, so that it is within the reach of the
humblest citizen, and he drinks vast quantities of it. Five cents’ worth
will make a peon (as all the natives are called) as happy as a lord, and
ten cents’ worth will send him reeling into the arms of a policeman, who
secures him an engagement to work for the Government for ten days
without compensation. But it leaves no headache in the morning, and is
said to be very healthful. In the moist climates one might drink large
quantities without injury, but all the usual intoxicants are harmful in
this altitude.
The police system of Mexico is admirable. At every street corner there
is a patrolman night and day--not a patrolman either, for he never
moves. He stands like a statue during the day, occasionally leaning
against a lamp-post, and answers inquiries with the greatest urbanity.
Whenever there is a row two or three policemen are instantly present,
and if their clubs cannot suppress it they use revolvers. At night the
policeman brings a lantern and a blanket. He sets the lantern in the
middle of the street, and all carriages are compelled to keep to the
right of the row of lanterns, which can be seen glimmering from one end
of the street to the other. As long as people are passing he stands at
the corner, but when things quiet down he leaves his lantern in the
road, retires to a neighboring door-way, wraps his blanket around him,
and lies down to pleasant dreams. As all the windows in the city of
Mexico have heavy prison-like gratings before them, and all the doors
are great oaken affairs that could not be knocked in without a catapult;
as there are never any fires, and everybody goes to bed early, the
policeman’s lot is usually a happy one. He is numerous because of
revolutions, and because the Government always wants to know what is
going on. There is a popular belief in Mexico that no stranger ever
comes to town without having his past history and future plans recorded
at police headquarters. One never reads of robberies or pocket-picking,
or assault and battery cases, in the city of Mexico. Common thieves have
no chance there. The only disturbances are political revolutions, and
the Government alone is robbed.
All the ice that is used in Mexico comes from the top of Popocatepetl.
It is brought down the mountain on the backs of the natives, and then
sixty miles on the cars to the city, where it is sold at wholesale for
ten cents a pound. At the bar-rooms iced drinks are very expensive, and
ice is seldom seen anywhere else. The people all use a jug of porous
earthenware made by the Indians in which water is kept cool by rapid
evaporation. The stranger should always squeeze a little lime-juice into
his glass before he drinks water, to get a pleasant flavor, and escape
evil effects from alkaline properties.
From the top of the cathedral spire you can see the entire city, and the
most striking feature of the view is the absence of chimneys. There is
not a chimney in all Mexico; not a stove, nor a grate, nor a furnace.
All the cooking is done with charcoal in Dutch ovens, and, while the gas
is sometimes offensive, one soon becomes used to it. Coal costs sixteen
dollars a ton, and wood sixteen dollars a cord. All the coal was
formerly imported from England, but now comes from Cohahuila, and the
wood is all brought from the mountains.
As formerly, bull-fighting is at present the most popular amusement in
Mexico, and a matador is more distinguished in the eyes of the common
people than a prima donna or a president. The Mexican Government has of
late years become humanized to the extent of prohibiting these brutal
spectacles within the city limits, and they now take place at what is
called the “Plaza de Toros,” or Bull Park, on the plains five or six
miles from the city. Here the people gather on every Sunday and
saint-day to witness the butchery of three or four bulls and twice as
many horses, under the official patronage of the Governor of the State,
who always is present with his family and official staff, and from a
decorated platform directs the entertainment, giving his orders through
a trumpeter.
Back of the Castle of Chapultepec is the battle-field of Molino del Rey
(The Mill of the King), where General Scott met stubborn resistance when
he attempted to enter Mexico, but drove the Mexicans up the hill. The
old earthworks erected by the latter still stand as they were at the
time of the battle, and are usually visited by tourists. On the plain
beyond the battle-field stands an amphitheatre enclosed within a massive
wall of adobe--the mud bricks which are used for building material in
all the rainless region of this continent. The amphitheatre is arranged
in the usual form, except that the shady side is divided up into boxes
to be occupied by the grandees, while the sunny side has plain board
benches for the barefooted Castilians whose mild eyes and pathetic
deference give no key to the cruelty of which their race has been
guilty. The centre of the amphitheatre is enclosed by a board wall,
perhaps eight feet in height, surmounted at a point two feet higher by a
heavy cable strung through stalwart iron rods. The top of this fence
appeared to be the favorite eyrie from which to survey the field, and
upon it for the entire length sat a row of urchins, with here and there
a bearded man, all poised upon the edge, with their legs hanging over
into the bull-ring, and their arms clinging to the rope.
The Governor, a tall, swarthy man, with a wide sombrero, mustache and
goatee, the very picture of the “haughty Don,” sat in a decorated box,
with the flag of his country profusely draped around him. He had two
aides-de-camp, his three children, and an orderly, who with a trumpet
sounded a blast now and then to convey his excellency’s desires. We
happened luckily to have the adjoining box, from which we could watch
him closely and hear his comments upon the performances.
The audience was very large, and composed of all classes, from the proud
Castilian who came behind his four-in-hand, with a retinue of outriders,
to the poor peon who had been saving his scanty earnings for a week, and
walked five miles to witness the ghastly spectacle. There were perhaps
ten thousand people, and one-fifth of them were women in silks and
satins, in jewels and rare laces, who hid their eyes behind their fans
when the spectacle was too repulsive, but encouraged the matadors with
applause at the end of each act.
A band of music played lively airs, and played them well, to entertain
the people until the Governor came, whose presence being recognized, the
people gave a cordial cheer by way of welcome. Then the herald in the
Governor’s box blew a signal which sounded like the “water call” of the
United
[Illustration: THE PICADORS.]
[Illustration: TEASING THE BULL.]