or so of matadors, in the same sort of jackets and breeches which they
wear in the pictures of Spanish life so familiar to all. Each wore a
plumed hat, a scarlet sash, a poniard, and the gold lace upon the black
velvet showed their lithe and supple forms to advantage. They looked as
Don Juan looks in the opera, while the leader, Bernardo Cavino, “del
decano de los toreros,” I was a veritable Figaro, in appearance at
least. Each carried a scarlet cloak upon his arm, and in the other hand
a pikestaff. Behind them came a troop of eight horsemen upon gayly
caparisoned steeds, with the usual amount of silver and leather
trappings in which the Mexicans delight. The procession tailed up with a
team of four mules hitched abreast, dragging a whiffletree and a long
rope. These, we are told, were for the purpose of dragging out the dead.
The cavalcade made a circuit of the amphitheatre, like the grand entrée
at a circus, and upon reaching the Governor’s box stopped, saluted him,
and received a short address in Spanish, which probably was simply one
of approval and congratulation at their fine appearance. There was a
rack in front of the Governor’s box upon which hung several rows of
darts, gayly decorated with paper rosettes and paper fringes of gold and
other brilliant tints. Upon these racks the matadors hung their plumed
hats, and stood a while to give the ladies and gentlemen of the audience
an opportunity to see and admire.
[Illustration: THE ENCORE.]
The gay horsemen then rode out, and were followed by the mules, but the
horsemen soon returned upon an entirely different style of
animals--poor, broken-down, lean, lame, and mangy hacks, which looked as
if they had been turned out of some street-car stable as bait for
vultures. They were covered with a sort of leathern armor, and this
concealed their fleshless ribs; but nothing could disguise the shambling
and uncertain gait with which they painfully ambled across the arena
under the savage spurring of their riders. They managed to get across,
and that was all. The first set of horses were intended for show, and
the second for slaughter. Public opinion appears to demand that
something besides a bull be sacrificed, and the matadors not being
amiable enough to afford this gratification, a pair of animated
clothes-racks are turned in to be gored. The poor beasts are
blindfolded, which is about the only humane feature of the show.
The Governor’s herald gave another blast, at which the entire audience,
who were on the _qui vive_, arose and shouted. A door across the pit
opened, and a large, clumsy, long-horned bull poked his head out into
the arena. The crowd yelled, and matadors posed at different parts of
the ring--ten of them--and the two horsemen pretended to get ready for
the fray. The bull looked up, the only frightened being in the entire
multitude. The posters described him as “a valiant and arrogant animal.”
He was a fine piece of beef, but he didn’t want to fight. Somebody
behind spurred him, and he ran into the ring. The doors were closed
behind him, and there was no way of escape. He plunged one way, but was
met by three matadors, who flapped their cloaks in his eyes; he turned
in the other direction, but was met by three more; then he made a bolt
between them, and darting towards the other side of the ring, gave a
great leap, as if he would go over the eight-foot wall. Of course he
failed, but he struck the planks with tremendous force, tumbling forty
or fifty fellows who were perched on the top into a heap on the other
side. It was the only amusing feature of the whole show. There was a
grand crash, a loud howl, forty or fifty pairs of legs were in the air,
and the audience shouted with laughter. The bull turned around
frightened at the noise, ran to the other side of the ring, and sought
in vain for a place to get out. Then one of the horsemen rode up in
front of the animal and jammed a spear into his face. The bull plunged
at his assailant, bellowing with pain, lifted the poor horse upon his
horns, raised him from the ground, and threw him with great force
against the side of the arena.
The rider, expecting the attack, was prepared for it, and leaped with
great agility from the saddle just as the two animals came in contact.
There was very little left of the horse. There was not much of him when
he was dragged into the ring, but the long horns of the bull penetrated
his bowels and tore them out. The bull jams the horse against the
planks, two, three, four times, and then withdraws. The horse lies a
bleeding, disembowelled mass, and the crowd cheers the dreadful
spectacle.
The bull having given up all idea of escape, plunges at everything he
sees, and the second horse is ridden up before him. No attempt is made
to get the animal out of the way. He was brought there to be
slaughtered, and took his turn. Both horses having been disposed of, and
the bull being completely exhausted, the bugle gives the signal, the
matadors enter the arena, and tease him with their scarlet cloaks. At
frequent intervals around the ring are placed heavy planks, behind which
the matadors run for protection when they were pursued. The bull had no
chance at all; he was there simply to be teased and killed by slow
degrees. One matador more agile than the rest baits the animal with his
lance, and when the bull turns upon him, vaults over the down-turned
horns by resting his lance upon the ground. Then they bring out the
ornamented darts, and thrust them into the bull’s hide. The animal jumps
and plunges with pain, and tries to shake them off, but the barbs cling
to the hide, and the more he struggles the farther they penetrate the
flesh. His shoulders are covered with them, and the crimson blood
trickles down his sides. He stands panting with distress, his tongue
hanging out, and is thoroughly exhausted.
[Illustration: MEXICAN BEGGAR.]
The Governor’s trumpet sounds the bull’s death-warrant. It means that
the cruel sport has lasted long enough, and the chief matador comes
forward with a red blanket and a sword. He approaches the bull, and
flaps the blanket in his eyes; the animal plunges at him, and with great
dexterity the matador whirls and thrusts the sword into the animal’s
heart. The bull plunges with pain, and throws the sword out of his body
into the air. He staggers and falls upon the ground, the chief matador
runs up, pierces his brain with a poniard, and the mules are brought in
to drag the dead animals out. The band plays, the crowd cheers, and the
first act is over. The matadors bow to the Governor, bow to the crowd,
and rest, while a clown dances in the ring to amuse the people in the
interim. Pretty soon the trumpet blows again, two more old crow-baits
are ridden in, and another bull is brought from the corral. The same
scenes recur; the horses are always killed, but the men are seldom
injured. Four bulls are usually disposed of each Sunday afternoon before
the appetite for blood is satiated.
This cruel sport in Mexico is in its decadence. It grew out of the lack
of other entertainment. Until two years ago there was no horse-racing in
Mexico, and this class of sport is unknown outside of the capital. The
young men are not allowed to visit the girls, are not permitted to walk
with them in the parks, and have, in short, no amusements but billiards,
cock-fighting, and bull-baiting. The exodus of foreigners into the
Republic will break many of the barriers down. While the “Gringos,” as
foreigners are called, generally conform to the customs of the country,
they refuse to accept all of them, and the Mexican people are gradually
tending towards a more modern civilization.
The ancient volcano, Popocatepetl, has got into the courts. Not that it
has been bodily transported into the halls of litigation, but it is the
subject of a novel suit at law. For many years General Ochoa has been
the owner of the volcano, the highest point of land in North America,
together with all its appurtenances. The crater contains a fine quality
of sulphur, which the general has been extracting, giving employment to
Indians who cared to stay down in the vaporous old crater. The property
was at one time fairly profitable; the volcano was, some time ago,
mortgaged to Mr. Carlos Recamier, who brings suit of foreclosure. The
papers have been joking about the matter, some asking what Mr. Recamier
intends to do with his volcano when he gets legal possession. He has
been solemnly warned that the law forbids the carrying out of the
country ancient monuments and objects of historical interest.
Good-Friday is observed as a sort of May festival. The _Paseo de las
Flores_ (Flower Promenade) is held along the Viga, the picturesque canal
which stretches away between willows and poplars to the far-famed
Floating Gardens of the ancient Aztecs. The scene along the historic
causeway is astonishing to foreigners, and as charmingly peculiar as it
is typical of a poetic and pleasure-loving people. For miles along the
tree-lined avenue a constant procession of vehicles, horsemen, and
pedestrians pack the space between green booths on either side, while
the canal is crowded with canoes and Venetian-like gondolas. Everything
imaginable on wheels is seen--the stately closed carriage of the Mexican
millionaire, open barouches, coupés, victorias, dog-carts, wagonettes,
even velocipedes and tricycles, while thousands of horsemen gallop gayly
between.
The festivities are kept up, though in diminishing scale, until late
Sunday night. During all these days the shrill, discordant rattle of ten
thousand _matracas_ rises above the babel of human voices. These little
instruments of torture are made of tin, iron, ivory, wood, even of gold
and silver, and in all imaginable shapes. Some are in the form of
humming-birds, birds-of-paradise, chickens, parrots; others are like
gridirons, frying-pans, musical instruments, fruits, flowers, or
reptiles. Everybody must have one, from the dignified grandparent to the
baby in arms, and by twirling them rapidly a most unearthly, rasping,
grinding sound is produced by wooden springs inside. The noise is
intended to typify and ridicule the cries of the Jews, “Crucify him!
crucify him!” as they followed Christ to His death.
On Easter-Sunday the strangest of all Mexican ceremonies takes place in
the burning of the traitor. During all Holy-week men are continually
perambulating the streets, holding high above the heads of the multitude
long poles encircled by hoops, upon which are suspended the most
grotesque figures, in every conceivable color, shape, and degree of
deformity, and all with horns and crooked backs and twisted limbs. These
are filled with fire-crackers, the mustache forming the fuse, and
millions of them are annually exploded. Many are life-size, some having
faces to represent politicians who are unpopular at the time. Some are
hung by the neck to wires stretched across the streets, or to the
balconies of houses. Every horse-car and railroad engine and donkey-cart
is decked with one, and even every mule-driver has one or more tied on
his breast. At ten o’clock on Easter-Sunday, when the cathedral bells
peal forth in commemoration of Christ’s resurrection, they are all
touched off at once, and the air is filled with flying traitors
everywhere over the length and breadth of Mexico.
[Illustration: ON MARKET-DAY.]
[Illustration: SUNDAY AT SANTA ANITA.]
An American who is married in Mexico finds that he must be three times
married: twice in Spanish and once more in Spanish or English, as he
prefers, besides having a public notice of his intention of marriage
placed on a bulletin-board for twenty days before the ceremony. This is
the law. The public notice can be avoided by the payment of a sum of
money, but a residence of one month is necessary. The three ceremonies
are the contract of marriage, the civil marriage--the only marriage
recognized by law since 1858--and the usual, but not obligatory, Church
service. The first two must take place before a judge, and in the
presence of at least four witnesses and the American consul. The
contract of marriage is a statement of names, ages, lineage, business,
and residence of contracting parties. The civil marriage is the legal
form of marriage. These ceremonies are necessarily in Spanish. Most
weddings are confirmed by a church-service.
[Illustration: A MEXICAN BELLE.]
At a Mexican church wedding it is the custom for the groom to pass coins
through the hand of the bride, as typical of the fact that she is to
keep the money of the household. A very pretty feature, as the couple
kneel at the altar with lighted candles in their hands--an emblem of the
light of the Christian faith--is the placing of a silken scarf around
the shoulders of the bridal couple, and then the binding them together
with a yoke of silver cord placed around the necks of both. That “thy
people shall be my people” is an accepted fact, for it is a common thing
for members of the bride’s family to take up their permanent residence
with the husband, and make it their home.
One of the most singular, and, to the foreigner, most interesting of the
institutions of Mexico is the _Monte de Piedad_. The phrase means “The
Mountain of Mercy.” It is the name given to what is in reality a great
national pawnshop, which has branches in all the cities of the country,
is exclusively under Government control, and is not managed, as in the
United States, by guileless Hebrew children. The central office of the
Monte de Piedad occupies the building known as the Palace of Cortez,
which stands on the site of the ancient Palace of Montezuma, on the
Plaza Mayor. It was founded in 1775 by Conde de Regla, the owner of very
rich
[Illustration: CACTUS, AND WOMAN KNEADING TORTILLAS.]
mines, who endowed it in the sum of three hundred thousand dollars. His
charitable purpose was to enable the poor of the city of Mexico to
obtain loans on pledges of all kinds of articles, and for very low rates
of interest. He thus relieved the poorer classes from usurious rates of
interest which had been previously charged them by rapacious private
pawnbrokers. At first no interest was charged, the borrower only being
asked, when he redeemed his pledge, to give something for the carrying
on of the charitable work which the institution had in hand. But as this
benevolence was greatly abused, it was found necessary to charge a rate
of interest which was very low, and yet sufficient to yield a revenue
equal to necessary expenses. The affairs of this institution have been
wisely managed, and it has been kept true to the purpose of its
benevolent founder. When pledges come to be sold, if they bring a price
greater than the original valuation, the difference is given back to the
original owners. The Monte de Piedad has survived all revolutions, and
its ministry of relief to the sufferers by these revolutions and other
misfortunes has been incalculably great and blessed. Its average general
loans on pledges amount to nearly a million dollars, and the borrowers
whom it yearly accommodates number from forty to fifty thousand. From
the time when it was founded, in 1775, down to 1886--a little more than
the first century of its existence--it made loans to 2,232,611 persons,
amounting in the aggregate to nearly $32,000,000, and during the same
period it gave away nearly $150,000 in charity.
There is nothing in which the Mexican character appears to better
advantage than in the provisions made for the sick and unfortunate.
There are in the city of Mexico alone ten or a dozen hospitals, some of
which are large, well endowed and equipped, and managed in a way to
compare favorably with the best appointed hospitals in any country. This
for a city of three hundred thousand inhabitants is a more liberal
provision than many larger cities in our own country have. A lying-in
hospital was founded by the Empress Carlotta, who, after her return to
Europe, sent the sum of six thousand dollars for its support. Besides
the hospitals there is a foundling asylum capable of accommodating two
hundred inmates: an asylum for the poor, which is a very large and
important charity; a correctional school; an industrial school for
orphans, having thirteen hundred scholars; an industrial school for
women; another for men; schools for deaf-mutes and for the blind; and an
asylum for beggars.
The Church of England has been established in Mexico for twelve or
fifteen years, having been induced to hold services there by the large
number of English residents in the city; but no missionary work has been
done by that denomination. The Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions
several years ago commenced to labor in the Republic under the patronage
of Diaz, who was then President, and who gave them substantial
[Illustration: FIRST PROTESTANT CHURCH IN MEXICO.]
encouragement. Among other things, he presented the American Board with
an old Catholic church, where the school is now held daily, and a
printing-office, for the purpose of the publication of a weekly
newspaper and religious literature, is carried on. There are now at work
in Mexico six Protestant clergymen and two lady missionaries from the
United States, twenty-four regularly ordained Mexican ministers, six
native licentiates, and three native helpers. Seventy-five congregations
have been organized, and meet for worship every Sunday, and the number
of native members is about three thousand. There is also a Theological
Seminary, with two professors from the United States and one native
instructor, having a total attendance of twenty-seven young men
preparing for the ministry. Fourteen of these are studying theology,
and thirteen are in the preparatory department. There is also a school
for girls, with two American and one native lady teacher, which has a
large attendance. A missionary paper called _El Faro_ (The Light-house)
is conducted at the Theological Seminary. The work is rapidly
increasing, seven churches having been organized in 1885 and as many
more in 1886.
[Illustration: THE FIRST CHRISTIAN PULPIT IN AMERICA--TLAXCALA.]
The missionaries are very often interfered with by the country people,
instigated by the priests, and several of the native preachers have been
shot or injured. These attacks have usually been attributed to
highwaymen, but after investigation have proven to be the work of
assassins employed by the priests. One white missionary was murdered
some two years ago while passing along the road at night, but his
assassins were brought to speedy justice, and wholesome examples made of
them.
In July, 1885, the Romanists of a small town in the interior entered a
Protestant church, carried off all of the valuables, smashed the organ
into fragments, emptied kerosene oil upon the benches, and set the place
on fire. The furniture of the interior was destroyed, but the walls of
the building, being of adobe, and the roof of tiles, the house was not
destroyed. For some weeks afterwards several shots were fired at people
who were on their way to evening service, and a missionary was attacked
in the dark by armed assassins who would have been murdered but for the
courageous use of his revolver. Subsequently all the other churches in
the neighborhood were similarly treated, and when appeals were made to
the local authorities for protection, and for the punishment of those
who had committed the outrages, it was decided that it was the work of
highwaymen, and a reward was offered for the arrest of the perpetrators.
This opinion was thought to be a subterfuge, and it is believed that the
authorities were in sympathy with the acts.
The matter was carried to President Diaz, who ordered an investigation,
and promised an effectual protection to the missionaries wherever there
was need of it. Several days after he issued a proclamation which was
addressed to the commandants of the several departments of the Republic,
and ordered that it should be read before the troops on parade, and kept
posted in conspicuous places for the information of the public. In this
proclamation, among other things, President Diaz said: “These acts of
intolerance, apart from their injustice, are the data by which people of
other lands judge of the nature and degree of our civilization, and for
this reason especially I command that you give especial attention to
prevent such outrages, and to secure to all believers in any religion
the liberty which the constitution and laws concede to them. Catholics
shall be protected in the same way as Protestants, and those who attempt
to interfere with the exercise of any religious ceremony shall be
punished severely. If troops are needed to carry this order into effect,
they will be supplied upon request.”
[Illustration: FONT IN OLD CHURCH OF SAN FRANCISCO.]
GUATEMALA CITY.
THE CAPITAL OF GUATEMALA.
Guatemala has had three capitals, all called Guatemala City, since the
Conquest. The first was founded by Alvarado in 1524, and buried under a
flood of sand and water in 1541. The second capital was founded the same
year, a few miles eastward of the old site, and was destroyed by an
earthquake in 1773. The present capital is the largest and by far the
finest city in Central America, and is more modern in its appearance
than any other. It is situated in what is called the _tierra templada_,
or temperate zone, about forty-five hundred feet above the level of the
sea, at the northern extremity of an extensive and beautiful plain, and
has a climate that is very attractive. The plain upon which it stands is
by no means as fertile as many other portions of the country, and is
deficient in water. The supply which is used by the people is brought
for a distance of fifteen miles in an aqueduct, which has the honor of
having been described by Charles Dickens in his sketch of “The Flying
Dutchman.” These water-works were commenced as far back as 1832, and
involved an expenditure of over two million dollars, but without them
the city could not have prospered.
Guatemala City is not favorably situated for commerce, as it is a
considerable distance from both seas, and is shut out from the most
productive portions of the country by walls of mountains. The city is
laid out in quadrilateral form, and formerly was surrounded by a great
wall through which it was entered by gates opening in various
directions. It covers a vast area of territory for a place of its
population, as the houses, like those of other Central American cities,
are very
[Illustration: VIEW OF GUATEMALA CITY.]
large, and enclose attractive gardens. During the last twelve years,
under the presidency of General Barrios, Guatemala has made rapid
progress, and but for the low and commonplace appearance of the houses
would resemble the more modern cities of Europe. All the streets are
paved, with gutters in the centre, and have broad paths of flag-stones
on each side for foot-passengers.
Antigua Guatemala, the old capital, thirty miles to the westward of the
new, is still a place of considerable importance, and in its time was
far superior to the present capital in size and appearance. Previous to
its destruction in 1773 there were but two cities on the American
hemisphere which compared with it in population, wealth, and
magnificence. These were the City of Mexico, and Lima, Peru. New York
was then a commercial infant, Boston a mere village, and Chicago yet
unknown. But here was a city in which were centred the ecclesiastical
and political interests of the Central American colonies, where millions
of dollars were spent in erecting churches, convents, and monasteries,
which covered acres of ground, and beautiful residences whose shattered
portals still bear the escutcheons of the noble families who ruled the
city and cultivated the plantations of coffee, sugar, and cochineal.