THE PASEO AND BULL-FIGHT.
The City of Mexico with its 350,000 inhabitants is a disappointment to
the foreigner. The business portion looks just like an American city.
All the Mexican cities are paved with cobble stones, with the street
lowest in the center, which is the gutter. Here the streets are broad,
cross at right angles, high in the middle with gutters next the
sidewalk, and are paved with asphalt. The houses are four story, and the
shops have glass show windows, very unusual in Mexico. The reason is,
this is not a Mexican city. It was built by foreigners and is now run by
foreigners.
On July 14, when the French celebrated the Fall of the Bastile,
four-fifths of the business houses were draped in the tri-color of
France. With twenty-five foreign consuls, six vice consuls, and fourteen
foreign ministers, each with its attaches and dependencies, it is no
wonder the city’s local ear-mark is lost in this assembly of foreigners;
and, were it not for the languages of Spanish and French which fall so
musically on the ear, the scene would not be very different from a
street in Chicago, if we eliminate the vehicles. It is due the foreign
element that the city has the finest boulevard in America.
LA PASEO DE LA REFORMA.
The Latin American races are very fond of carriage-driving, and one of
the first signs of wealth is the laying out of the promenade where the
“four hundred” may drive at the fashionable hour. Before the present
Paseo was built, the fashionable drives were Paseo de La Viga and Paseo
de Bucareli. Every afternoon, then as now, were to be seen two long rows
of carriages with crowds of gentlemen on horse-back and multitudes of
foot passengers.
The Paseo de Bucareli, or Paseo Nuevo, is in the southwestern part of
the city. It was opened Nov. 4, 1778, by Don Antonio Maria de Bucareli,
the viceroy. It has the same starting point as La Reforma, the circular
plazuela in which stands the statue of Charles IV. and extends half a
mile almost due south to the Garita de Belem. In the glorieta near the
city gate, is what was once a handsome fountain, surmounted by a statue
of Victory, erected in 1829 in honor of Guerrero, and which was
originally gilded. For promenading, the Paseo is now practically
deserted, but is becoming a fashionable residence section.
The glories of Paseo de La Viga have indeed departed. The once famous
and fashionable drive is almost deserted, save during Lent when an old
custom prescribes that fashion shall air itself there. It traverses the
bank of La Viga canal for many miles, past the _chinampas_ or floating
gardens, through a double avenue of shade trees, where continual
processions of Indians are seen from the Lake country, paddling to
market with canoes laden to the guards with vegetables, fruits and
flowers.
But Fashion is a tyrannical mistress, and she decrees that Paseo de La
Reforma be the only place to see and be seen. It leads from the statue
of Charles IV. to the gate of Chapultepec, two miles and a half. It is
laid with smooth asphalt, and has a uniform width of two hundred feet.
It has double avenues of shade trees on each side, with broad foot ways
on the side, lined with seats for the weary. At certain intervals, the
street widens into glorietas, or circles, four hundred feet in diameter.
The street passes on each side of these glorietas and leaves them as
green islands with beautiful flowers and statuary. There are six of
these glorietas and more are to be added.
All along the curbing of the Paseo, are statues of men famous in Mexican
history, and are contributed by different states. At the entrance to the
Paseo is the equestrian statue of Charles IV. of colossal size.
Thirty tons of metal were used in the casting, and it is the largest
single casting in the world. Humboldt says it has but one superior, that
of Marcus Aurelius.
A royal order issued Nov. 30, 1795, granted to the Viceroy Marquis de
Branceforte to erect this statue in the Plaza Mayor. The commission was
given to the sculptor Don Manuel Tosta, and the casting in bronze to Don
Salvador de la Vega. The mold and furnaces were made ready in the garden
of San Gregorio, and after two days spent in fusing the mass, the cast
was made at 6 a.m. Aug. 4, 1802. The casting, remarkable alike for being
in a single piece, and for being the first important piece of bronze
executed in America, came out of the mold complete and without defect.
In 1803, it was erected in front of the cathedral where now is the
bandstand of the Zocalo. Here it remained till 1822 when the Mexicans
had achieved their independence, and the feeling against Spain was so
bitter it was encased in a wooden globe and painted blue, but was
finally placed for safety from the mob in the patio of the university, a
comparatively out-of-the-way place. Here it remained in obscurity till
1852 when it was set up in the commanding position it now occupies. The
height of horse and rider is fifteen feet nine inches. The king is
dressed in classic style, wearing a laurel wreath and raising aloft a
scepter.
On both sides of the Paseo at its entrance, are colossal figures on high
granite pedestals said to represent Aztec warriors. The work must have
been done by Spaniards, in ridicule, for a more hideous pair of warriors
never went to battle.
The first glorieta contains Cordier’s Columbus, one of the most
admirable and artistic modern statues to be found in the world. This was
the work of the French sculptor, Cordier, and was erected at the cost of
Don Antonio Escandon. The base is a platform of basalt, surrounded by an
iron railing, above which are five lanterns. From the base arises a
square mass of red marble with four basso-relievos; the arms of Columbus
with garlands of laurel; the rebuilding the monastery of La Rabida; the
discovery of San Salvador; a fragment of a letter from Columbus to his
patron Raphadi Sauris; beneath which is the dedication by Señor
Escandon.
Above the basso-relievos and surrounding the pedestal, are four
life-size figures in bronze, of monks and missionaries, and crowning the
whole upon the top of a pedestal of red marble is the figure of
Columbus, drawing aside the veil which hides the new world.
In the next glorieta is Cuauhtemoc, a worthy companion of Columbus, and
is the work of Don Francisco Jiminez. The statue of the great warrior
king is magnificent, as he appears hurling defiance at his country’s
enemies. The base contains some fine basso-relievos, one representing
the torture of Cuauhtemoc (also spelled Guatemotzin) by the cruel
Spaniards. The fretting around the structure is all after the old Aztec
pattern, and the trophies of Indian arms and insignia are all intensely
appropriate to the warrior who preferred death of his whole people to
the surrender of his city to the Spaniards. Facing the Paseo is the
following inscription: “_A la memoria de Cuauhtemoc y de los Guerreras
que Combatieron Heroicamente en Defensa de su Patria M. D. XXI._”
Mexico is indebted to Maximilian and his wife Carlotta for this Paseo.
She had set her heart upon a “Paseo Imperaliz,” and Maximilian entered
heartily into the scheme, but he did not live to complete it. His idea
was to establish a court that should rival any in Europe, and he had
already introduced titles of nobility.
He planned to create a handsome park of Chapultepec, with lakes and
streams and drives, with deer and swans and all the other nice things.
What was done he paid for out of his own civil lists, and he intended to
pay for it all and present it to the city. The Mexican people could not
brook a European Emperor, but they all loved “Poor Carlotta,” and as she
planned the Paseo, every year they add some new improvement until it has
now become the glory of the republic. Every addition is an evidence of
good taste, and Carlotta’s park idea is already planned. From the last
glorieta two roads branching to Tacubaya and Tlaxpana are being
prepared, and the park grounds will then extend from Molino del Rey to
the Exposition building, three miles.
One never tires of sitting on this boulevard and viewing the motley
throng as it passes in review, driving, riding or promenading. Ladies in
Parisian bonnets and Spanish mantillas; the dashing equestrian rigged in
the paraphernalia of Mexican horsemanship, or breeched and booted after
the manner of Rotten Row itself. Stately vehicles drawn by snow-white
mules; four-in-hands tooled along in the most approved European style;
youthful aristocrats astride Lilliputian ponies, followed by liveried
servants; here and there mounted police with drawn sabres, giving an air
of old world formality to the whole proceeding. In and out among them
flash the bicycles ridden by men, women and children from all civilized
countries; the kaleidoscope of the pedestrians, dressed in their
peculiar garb with red and gray and black _rebosas_, raven black hair
exposed to view, and the Indians from the mountains in their severe
simplicity. The procession passes up the right, with here and there a
light American buggy, or a heavy-wheeled English mail phaeton with a
real live dude at the front holding the reins, and a liveried flunkey
facing behind and holding a flaring bouquet, and, after reaching
Chapultepec, it comes back on the other side, leaving the center to the
horsemen, and to the latter’s disgust, the bicycles.
And we must not forget the centaurs, the Mexican horsemen; rigged out in
all the silver ornaments of bridle and saddle worth more than the
spirited horse, and ten thousand people to admire them, they never
appear to better advantage than when exhibiting on the Paseo. Spanish
and Mexican ladies rarely ride, and when they do, they are so very
exclusive they ride in closed carriages. At the glorietas are stationed
military bands with from forty to eighty pieces in each, and the
procession always exhibits to “slow music.”
Poor Maximilian, at heart a great man, but the dupe of Europe, planned
this city as a king and died as a king. Could he return now, what might
be his feelings to see his plans carried out? And poor Carlotta! the
idol of Mexico, a victim of circumstances, has never forgotten that
fatal day when Maximilian was shot at Queretaro and the flash of the
rifles left her a queen without a throne and a wife without a husband.
To this day she drags out a miserable existence at the Austrian capital,
a maniac that has spent thirty years murmuring and jibbering his name.
There is in America a miserable lack of respect to kings, be they never
so good and kind and great, and Mexico was only true to the free air of
the mountains when she refused Maximilian. Mountain-born men will always
be free.
BULL-FIGHTING.
The Aztec in his palmy day offered human sacrifice. He daily made war
upon his neighbors to secure the victims, and washing his hands in gore
has been his profession for six hundred years; this is why bull-fighting
with its fascination and danger and death is to him so dear.
Every Sunday afternoon and every feast-day is given up to this bloody
pastime and everybody goes. The foreigner goes once, sometimes twice,
but rarely three times, but he never forgets what he sees. Four dead
bulls, three dead horses, from one to three maimed or dead men is the
possible result of a Sunday’s sport. Each city has its _plaza de torus_
or bull-ring, just as we have theaters, and the bull-fighters go from
town to town as our opera companies. The stars of the company are the
swordsmen. The bull-ring is a circular amphitheater, after the manner of
the Roman Coliseum, and will seat from four to twenty thousand. The
government takes a strong hand in lotteries and bull-fights, and in the
latter, receives twenty-one per cent. of the gate receipts. In the
federal district, the secretary of the republic presides at the fight.
Four different haciendas are licensed by the government to breed bulls
for fighting purposes, Durango and Cazadero being the most noted.
Poncama Diaz, a nephew of the president, is called the star matador of
the world, and owns the Bucarelli bull-ring in the city, which is
capable of seating 20,000 people. The arena is a circle 200 feet in
diameter, and open to the sky. Around this is an eight foot wall to
protect the people, and at intervals along this wall are “escapes” for
the fighters when the bulls decide there is not enough room in the
ring. Receding from the ring are the tiers of seats arranged in the
manner of a circus. Those on the shady side usually selling for a
dollar, while the “bleachers” sell for 25 or 37 cents. Over these seats
are the private boxes, and above all the gallery for the _olla podrida_.
An ordinary troupe consists of two matadores or swordsmen, four
banderilleros or dart stickers, two or four picadores or lancers, and
the lazadores who lasso and drag the dead animals from the ring. The
program usually consists of the killing of four bulls in an hour, with
sometimes an extra. The president of the function, (every thing here is
a function) may reject any part of the performance or fine any member
who commits a breach of ring etiquette. The performance is set for four
o’clock and is always the same. The crowd waits, grows impatient, the
band plays. The crowd grows more impatient, the band plays again--plays
all the time. Finally the judge appears, (every function must have a
mediator between the people and the event) and is seated in his
decorated box, and the band plays again.
The judge makes a sign to the bugler who blows the opening of the gates,
through which comes a snow-white horse bearing a rider dressed in green
and gold, with knee pants and silver buckles, flowing cape, cocked hat
and waving plume. This is the president of the company, and he begs the
permission and approval of the fight. The judge assents and throws him
the keys of the bull-ring, (what else is he there for?) and the rider
retires. Again the bugler blows and the company enter in full force, and
the costume of each is worth a thousand dollars in gold. No two are
dressed alike as to color. Silk jackets that reach the waist, knee pants
and silk stockings and a cockade hat, all present the prismatic colors
of the rainbow. Around each is a Spanish cloak, held around the waist
with the left hand. As they make their bow to the audience, the cloak is
let loose with the left hand and swings around gracefully pendant from
the left shoulder.
Again the bugle blows, and through the open gate a fierce bull from the
mountain is ushered in. As he passes the gate a man overhead thrusts a
steel dart into his shoulder, and on the dart is a rosette and a silk
ribbon bearing the name of the hacienda whence he came. Maddened by the
wound and frightened by the noise and people, he seeks the cause, and
sees two horsemen in the arena. The horse is blindfolded to prevent his
shying, and has a piece of sole-leather covering his side for
protection. The horseman has a lance and endeavors to thrust it into his
shoulder to ward him off. The lance point is short and is not meant to
do serious harm, but to wound and irritate the bull and make him furious
for the final battle. Sometimes the lance fails to score, sometimes it
holds in his tough hide and the handle breaks and the bull buries his
horns in the horse’s belly, and hurls both horse and rider in the air.
The horse was intended for the sacrifice from the beginning, and this
was a part of the program. When the bull has killed one or two horses,
he is encouraged to fight, and that is just what the whole thing is for.
A man with a red flag draws the bull’s attention to the other side
while the dead horse is dragged out, and sometimes a dead man. Again the
bugle blows and the ring is cleared, and two banderilleros enter. With a
red flag one gets the bull’s attention, and a banderillero runs to the
center. In each hand he holds a banderilla, a sharp steel dart about a
foot long, and ornamented with rosettes and streamers. When the bull
charges, he must reach over his horns and plant both of his banderillas
in a shoulder at the same time. Sometimes the spread of horns is four
feet, and the banderillero must make the pass and escape in a flash. As
the bull makes the charge in a frenzied run, you find yourself
unconsciously rising from your seat in anticipation of the almost
certain death of the man, and women who see it for the first time
usually faint and are promptly carried out.
Should the man succeed in planting the banderillas, the crowd shower
cigars and flowers and fans upon him and shout _bravo! bravo!_ Should
the bull succeed in thrusting his horns through the man’s equatorial
region and toss him in the air, the crowd shout _bravo torus!_ just the
same and cheer and whistle. They paid their money to see blood and what
does it matter if it be man or bull’s? At this point it is proper for
the American ladies to faint and come to and hurry out, while the
Mexicans laugh at people who leave before the fun begins. The idea of
fainting for such a small thing! The dead man is carried out and the
other banderillero takes his place, and as the bull charges he must
plant his banderillas in the other shoulder. Sometimes the experts vary
the program by sitting in a chair until the bull is within six feet of
him, and then rises and makes his thrust in time to escape, and the
bull goes off writhing in pain and trying to shake the cruel darts from
his shoulder.
Sometimes a detachable rosette is thrust between his eyes as he charges,
and the stream of blood that follows betrays the steel point behind the
beautiful rosette. Then men with red flags will tantalize him. They
stand behind the flag, and as the bull charges the men step aside,
holding the flag at arm’s length in the same place, and the bull passes
under the flag into empty air, where the man was. Quick as a cat he
detects the fraud and turns upon the man, who makes a two-forty sprint
to one of the escapes, where the bull tries to batter down the planks to
get to him. The bull is now mad enough to fight a circular saw, and
again the bugle blows. The ring is cleared and now enters the matador.
The judge hands him a red flag and a sword. He must now challenge the
bull to single combat, and to the victor belong the congratulations, and
the man knows full well that if he gets killed the crowd will cheer the
bull just as heartily as they would if it were the other way.
All the preliminaries of the fight were to aggravate the bull to his
highest fighting power, then turn him over to the matador, the “star of
the evening.” Rules as rigid as the Marquis of Queenbury prevail, and
woe to the man who should violate a rule or take advantage of the bull!
The judge would instantly order him from the ring and fine him. The
ethics of the fight require that the man shall stand in the middle of
the ring, wave the red flag as a challenge, and as the bull starts
toward him put the flag behind him. As the bull charges, he must reach
over his horns, thrust the sword through his shoulder, pierce the heart,
and the point of the sword must appear between the bull’s fore legs, and
it must all be done in a single stroke.
The hand and the eye must be as quick as lightning to do that when the
bull is on the run. If the stroke is successful, the sword flashes a
moment in the air and the next its hilt is resting against the shoulder
blades, and the bull falls as if struck by lightning. Then the air is
rent with shouts and dollars and fans and handkerchiefs, and with one
foot upon the dead animal, the matador bows his appreciation. The bugle
blows, the two lazadores gallop in, throw their lariats over the two
hind legs of the bull, and without checking their gallop, drag him out
and prepare for another. A bull is killed every fifteen minutes as
regular as the clock.
Sometimes the sword misses the heart, and the bull walks off with a
stream of blood and an ugly sword wound, and then the hisses and remarks
that fall upon the matador sometimes drive him to suicide. I saw a
matador driven to desperation by the hisses, and seizing another sword
he made the stroke just behind the ear, severing the medulla oblongata,
a more difficult stroke than the other, thereby redeeming himself.
Sometimes a bull with wide stretch of horns will disconcert a matador
and he will attempt to retreat at the last moment, but then it is as
often death as escape.
One Sunday a company had unusually bad luck. Three horses and two men
had already been killed, and only two bulls, and the troupe had no more
matadors. One man was apologizing to the audience that the sport could
not proceed as he had already lost two men, when the bull suddenly made
a charge upon him and caught him between the shoulders. The “sport”
closed for the day, and the people pronounced it a great success.
The next Sunday there was hardly standing room from the crowd that came
back hoping for a similar show. I met the crowd returning, and asked how
was the fight? Several shook their heads and looked dejected. “_No
bueno_, nobody was killed and the whole thing was a fiasco.” If a bull
refuses to fight after the lance has been thrust into him, the bugler at
a sign from the judge blows him out. It must be a bloody, thoroughbred
fight or none at all. It requires a long education to harden people to
suffering and blood as these people practice daily. I saw two soldiers
walk out of the barrack to fight a duel with pocket-knives, and a
hundred people stood by and saw them kill each other and not a hand was
raised to stay them. The _modo duello_ among the cow-boys is very
effective. When two cow-boys have a difficulty that cannot be settled,
their friends take them off and tie their left hands together and stick
two bowie knives in the ground for their right hands, and leave them.
The one that is left alive can cut himself loose and come back to camp.
If neither comes back by the next day, the friends go over and bury
them. There is also a woman bull-fighter in Mexico; her name is La
Charita. Arizona Charley, an American cowboy has also endeared himself
to the Mexican heart by proving himself a first-class matador.
Bull-fighting is as much a national sport as our base-ball. At one time
it was interdicted in the federal district, and the people would go to
Puebla every Sunday, seventy-five miles away, to see the “sport.” To the
lovers of the sport it matters little whether the bull or horse or the
man gets killed, or all three. What they want is their money’s worth.
The meat is sold to the butchers after the fight, and Monday morning
when the waiter asks the _Americano_ how is his steak, the answer
generally comes, “It’s bully.”
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