I am a dog that gnaws a bone,
I couch and gnaw it all alone;
A time will come, which is not yet,
When I’ll bite him by whom I’m bit.
1736.
_Maximilian at Queretaro_
On the 10th of June, 1864, an assembly of notables in the city of Mexico
tendered the crown to Maximilian, the Archduke of Austria. On the 12th
he was crowned Emperor. On the 3d of October Maximilian, at the instance
of Bazaine, made the fatal mistake of publishing a decree declaring all
persons in arms against the Imperial Government bandits, and ordering
them to be executed. On the 21st, under this cruel decree, Generals
Felix Diaz, Arteaga, Salazar, and Villagomez were shot at Uruapam. Time,
which at last “makes all things even,” proved by its reprisal that this
was “a game that two could play at.”
On November 6, 1865, the United States, through Secretary Seward, sent a
dispatch to Napoleon III. protesting against the presence of the French
army in Mexico as a grave reflection against the United States, and
notifying him that nothing but a Republic would be recognized. In
November, 1866, Louis Napoleon ordered the evacuation of Mexico by his
troops, and their departure meant the withdrawal of support from
Maximilian. In the face of formidable resistance to his usurpation he
refused to abdicate. With the restoration of the authority of Juarez,
and the rising of the Mexican people, he was confronted with an empty
exchequer and dwindling followers. He made his last stand against the
Mexican army at Queretaro, where he was basely betrayed by Colonel
Lopez, a Spaniard and an officer in his own army. Through this treachery
General Escobedo gained access to the city at night, and captured
Maximilian as he attempted to escape from his head-quarters in the old
convent of La Cruz, and with him Generals Miramon and Mejia.
The date of this arrest was May 15, 1867. On June 14th, a court-martial
was convened at 10 o’clock, A. M., based on the law which provided for
the execution on the spot of capture of all caught bearing arms against
the government. At 10 o’clock, P. M., on the 15th, sentence of death was
pronounced, and at once approved by General Escobedo, who ordered the
execution to take place next day, but a telegram from Juarez, at San
Luis Potosi, postponed it till the 19th.
The morning of the execution dawned bright and beautiful, and Maximilian
remarked, “I always wished to die on such a day.” With Father Soria he
left the convent at 6 A. M., in a carriage, and was driven to Cerro de
las Campañas, beyond the western limits of the city, Mejia and Miramon
following in other carriages. Arrived at the “Hill of Bells,” the
prisoners were placed against a low wall of adobe erected for the
purpose. Maximilian was expected to occupy the centre, but he stepped to
the right and placed Miramon in the centre, saying, “A brave soldier
must be honored by his monarch even in his last hour; therefore, permit
me to give you the place of honor.” An officer and seven men stood only
a few yards away. The Emperor went to them, took each soldier by the
hand, gave each a piece of gold, saying: “Muchachos (boys), aim well,
aim right here,” pointing to his heart. Then stepping back to his place
in the line, he expressed the hope that his blood might be the last to
be shed. Truly, a sad end for a prince of the house of Hapsburg, and a
weary life of mental alienation for Carlotta.
_The Thieves’ Market_
Tradition has it—and most happily for romance in this fascinating
Mexican land, traditions in most cases are still as good coin as
fact—that the “Thieves’ Market,” in the City of Mexico, stands on the
grounds of what was once a part of the spacious gardens of the “new
house” of Montezuma. In the days long gone by, this garden, of spacious
proportions, was the scene of many dark and dismal crimes, and many were
the robberies and acts of violence that occurred there, for it was on a
highway much used, and when night had fallen was very dark and
dangerous.
The tale goes of the murder by a powerful officer of the sweetheart of
one of his retainers, a crime that rankled in the breast of the poor
Indian until, not long afterward, he took his revenge, and his master
lay dead, killed in a drunken stupor by the wronged servant. The wronged
man, rifling the master’s pockets, carried away with him from the house
all the trinkets and valuables on which he could lay his hands. Then he
hied himself to the protecting shade of Montezuma’s gardens, where he
hid himself under the trees until the coming day should waken the city
and he could pass beyond the guard without molestation. But when he had
been hidden only a short while, the alarm having spread, a servant more
zealous in his own interests than to revenge his master’s murder, found
the guilty man and quickly and thoroughly dispatched him.
A neighboring gully, which had perhaps served a similar purpose before
in these thrilling days, concealed the body, and the third murderer made
away with the goods, this time to keep them safe and secure until the
excitement had blown over.
Then, on the very spot which he had stained with the blood of his fellow
servant, the wretch set up a tiny stand, with the twice stolen goods as
the basis of a little stock, which he sold to the tourists of that day
as they passed by the stand in their visits to the famous gardens.
From this rather thrilling beginning grew a classic market, until to-day
there is the world-famed “Volador,” where things fly in and out, once
and for many long centuries truly a “thieves’ market.” It is not so many
years ago that one counted this market as one of places wherein to look
for goods that had flown away from the house in some mysterious fashion,
but that day is past.
_Amulets and Talismans_
The amulet, and its astrological expression, the talisman, may be traced
far back in the mists of antiquity to the prehistoric flint arrowhead.
The one, wrought in a great variety of significant and suggestive forms
out of precious gems, and of amber, agate, jasper, and carnelian; or
metal, particularly gold, oxidized silver, and bronze, or wood, or
parchment, is worn as a remedy for or a preservative against disease, or
poison, or accident, or calamity, or bad luck, or the evil eye, or
witchcraft, and is supposed to exert a constant protective power while
suspended from the neck, affixed to the bosom, or other part of the
body, or carried in a pocket. The other is a charm consisting of a
magical image, usually of a planet engraved under carefully regulated
observations of the configuration of the twelve constellations forming
the circuit called the Zodiac, the sign, seal, or figure of the heavenly
body being supposed to receive benign influence therefrom, and thereby
produce under special conditions desired results for the wearer,
especially in averting evils, such as disease or sudden death. Unlike
the amulet, it was not usually worn on the person, but deposited in a
safe place. Many of the varied forms of the amulet were credited with
specific virtues. The old abracadabra, for instance, (the name of the
supreme deity of the Assyrians), written on parchment, and suspended
around the neck by a linen thread, was regarded as an infallible cure
for intermittent fevers, dysentery, and toothache. Certain gems were
believed to possess specific powers. The emerald, for example, was an
antidote to poison and a preventive of melancholy, and the amethyst was
a security against intoxication. The coins of St. Helena, the mother of
Constantine, were reputed in the Middle Ages to be efficacious in
epilepsy. A piece of paper on which the names of the Seven Sleepers of
Ephesus and their dog were inscribed, pasted on the wall of the house,
was believed to afford protection against ghosts and demons. In one of
Sir Walter Scott’s tales of the Crusaders, called “The Talisman,” we are
gravely told that the famous talisman which in the hands of the Sultan
wrought such marvellous cures, is “still in existence, having been
bequeathed to a brave Knight of Scotland, the Laird of Lee, in whose
ancient and honored family it is still preserved; and although charmed
stones (continues Sir Walter) have been dismissed from the modern
pharmacopœia, its virtues are still applied to for arresting hemorrhage,
and as an antidote to hydrophobia.” A charm made of heliotrope, or
bloodstone, was also used to stop hemorrhage, and in some countries,
including England, it is still used to check bleeding of the nose. A
favorite signature on the parchment to counteract the bite of a mad-dog
was _pax_, _max_, and _adimax_. This was considered quite irresistible.
For a fracture or a dislocation, the magic restorative was _araries_,
_dandaries_, _denatas_, and _matas_. The absurd theory known as the
“doctrine of signatures” is traced back to the Chaldeans. It is based
upon external natural markings or symbolical appearances of a plant,
mineral, or other substance, indicating its special medicinal quality or
appropriate use. Boyle says in his Style of the Holy Scriptures,
“Chemists observe in the book of Nature that those simples that wear the
figure or resemblance (by them termed _signature_) of a distempered part
are medicinal for that part of that infirmity whose signature they
bear.” Butler says in “Hudibras,”—
“Believe mechanic virtuosi
Can raise them mountains in Potosi;
Seek out for plants with signatures,
To quack (boast) of universal cures.”
The amulet appears to have been a favorite charm in the early periods of
the history of Assyria, Egypt, Arabia, Persia, and Judea. Judging by the
multitudinous collections in European museums, as well as by the
traditions of centuries, it must have been universally worn in ancient
times. In the Pompeiian section of the National Museum, at Naples, many
thousands of the charms worn in the first century of the Christian era
are preserved. Their use is still prevalent in Asiatic countries and in
some of the South American republics. In Rio Janeiro the jewelers keep
them for sale in large numbers and in great variety. Some of the old
favorites show remarkable vital tenacity. There is the three-pronged red
coral, for instance, which was considered possessed of the power of
keeping off evil spirits, and neutralizing the malignity of the evil
eye. Paracelsus directed it to be placed around the necks of infants as
a protective against convulsions, sorcery, and poisons. We still find
coral necklaces encircling the necks of infants in evidence of the
abiding faith of fond mothers and cautious nurses. In the West Indies
the negroes wear strings of red coral as a guard against the mischievous
influence of the fetish known as Obi or Obiism. In other cases we see
necklaces of amber or of white bryony on the little ones as a preventive
or remedy for inflamed eyes. In the old days it was a frequent custom to
enclose the amulet in the shell of a hazel-nut as a preservative. May we
not trace to that usage the modern fashion of stowing in an inside
pocket a buckeye or horse-chestnut? Or to go further, the habit of
carrying a potato for its alleged power of absorption in rheumatic
conditions? Those who treasure the rattles of a snake, or a rabbit’s
left hind foot, which is a favorite mascot, especially if the rabbit is
killed at midnight in a country graveyard, may find prototypes three
thousand years old. Among the German people may often be noticed a ring
of brass on the middle finger, or a ring of steel on the little finger,
worn, as they say, to prevent cramps.
In a recently published little volume entitled, “What They Say in New
England,—a book of old signs, sayings, and folk-lore,” will be found a
chapter devoted to this sort of absurdity. Half a dozen citations will
serve as specimens. To keep off rheumatism, wear an eel-skin around the
waist. To prevent cramps, wear an eel-skin around the ankle. Another
preventive of rheumatism is to wear a red string around the neck. To
prevent cramps in a child, tie a black silk cord around its neck. To
avoid the itch, wear sulphur in a bag around the neck. To prevent fits,
carry an onion in the pocket.
_Christmas Observances_
Out of the customs, practices, and ceremonies in the observance of the
Feast of the Nativity, for hundreds of years, we have sifted and saved
what is worth keeping. In the changes that have been wrought, the new
Christmas is better than the old, better in itself, better for the time
in which we live. It is not so picturesque, but it is imbued with more
of the spirit of charity and fraternity, of the love that warms and the
kindness that cheers, of thoughts and things that win us from ourselves
to human fellowship, of peace on earth and good will to men. From hall
to hovel, from childhood’s playthings to the touching pledges of later
life, its passing moments are the brightest of the year. From the
stately temple, with its “long-drawn aisle and fretted vault,” its
“gules and or and azure on nave and chancel pane,” to the little
meeting-house with its severe simplicity and lack of adornment alike, as
“* * beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy melodies of love arise.”
Reference is often made to Walter Scott as by far the best of the
descriptive poets of the Old Christmas. Says he, in closing his lines in
“Marmion,”—
“England was merry England, when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.
’Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale;
’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;
A Christmas gambol oft would cheer
The poor man’s heart through half the year.”
But when it comes to delightful description of the later Christmas, our
own Washington Irving is the Laureate. In the Sketch Book he shows in
his admirable way how this kindliest of seasons is pervaded and
irradiated with the brotherhood which is the essential spirit of
Christianity. In its gifts, its symbols, its gracious influences, its
blessings, and benedictions, he sees nothing doctrinal, or dogmatic, or
theological, but only mouldings to newer forms of the old faith; only
the message which leads men and women and children to step aside from
their own paths of pleasantness and peace, and go out on a mission of
love and mercy into a world which knows more of the darkness of
adversity than of the sunshine of happiness. In a letter written by
Charles Dickens to Irving, in 1841, it is apparent that Bracebridge Hall
made a very strong impression upon him, and it was manifest afterwards
that Irving’s sketches served as the prototype of the Christmas scenes
at Dingley Dell in the Pickwick Papers, and the forerunner of a series
of Christmas stories commencing with the Christmas Carol in prose. The
elders who, years ago, when Mr. Dickens visited this country, heard him
read with dramatic force the closing chapters of the Carol, detailing
the softening influences which metamorphosed the miserly Scrooge into a
benefactor, and lifted Bob Cratchit’s family with his crippled boy, Tiny
Tim, out of the depths of depressing poverty, will never forget the
pathos which he threw into the last line, the invocation of Tiny Tim,
“God bless us, every one.” These stories, however, started a flood-tide
of Christmas editions of daily papers, pictorial papers, class papers,
and monthly magazines, to the point of wearisome superfluity. They
contain nothing pertaining to the Christmas season, and in respect to
such absence are like Thackeray’s “Christmas Books.” In the Kinkleburys,
Thackeray himself says, “Christmas Books are so called because they are
published at Christmas.” As to the bibliography of Christmas, with the
embodiment of songs, hymns, carols, legends, stories, comedies, myths,
sermons, customs and usages, its magnitude is such that a reviewer would
hardly know where to begin or where to end.
Art has found no higher expression than in its perpetuation of the
portraiture of the Madonna and the Child. The great masters who thus
immortalized the trust committed to them, found no more inspiring
subject than the Motherhood and the Childhood whose sacredness appeals
to all hearts through the never-ending, still-beginning succession of
the ages. As we gaze on these spiritual faces, with their transcendent
beauty, their unclouded serenity, their heaven-reflected radiance, on
the canvas of Raphael and Angelo and Guido and Murillo and Rubens and
Titian and del Sarto and Carlo Dolce, we are reminded that though there
was no room for the mother in the inn, she was exalted above all women,
and though there was no cradle but a feeding-trough for the child, that
manger, in the divinely-appointed time, was transformed into an
everlasting throne.
_What Language did Jesus Speak?_
Dr. Gustav Dalman, Professor of Theology in the University of Leipzig,
one of the most distinguished Orientalists of Europe, in a recently
published work begins by setting forth the reasons for believing that
Jesus spoke the Galilean dialect of the Aramaic language, and then
proceeds to discuss from this point of view the meaning of the
utterances attributed to Jesus in the synoptic Gospels. The evidence for
the primary hypothesis is of several kinds. Professor Dalman adduces,
for example, the custom which in the second century after Christ was
represented as very ancient, of translating into Aramaic the text of the
Hebrew Pentateuch in the synagogues of the Hebraists of Palestine. By
Hebraists the author desires to distinguish from the Hellenistic Jews
who spoke Greek, those who spoke, not Hebrew, but Aramaic. Attention is
next directed to the Aramaic title for classes of the people in
Palestine, and for feasts—titles that are attested by Josephus and the
New Testament. Thus the words for pharisee, priest, high priest,
Passover, Pentecost, and Sabbath used by Josephus and by the authors of
the New Testament, are not Hebrew, but Aramaic. Then, again, there are
traditions dating from a period considerably antecedent to Christ that
John Hyrcanus heard in the sanctuary a divine voice speaking in the
Aramaic language, and that in the temple the legends on the tokens for
the drink offerings and on the chests in which the contributions of the
faithful were deposited were in Aramaic. Moreover, there are old
official documents in the Aramaic language.
These include, first, the “Roll Concerning Fasts,” a catalogue of days
on which fasting was forbidden, first compiled in the time of the rising
against the Romans, 66–70 A.D., and, secondly, the Epistles of Gamaliel
II. (about 110 A.D.) to the Jews of South Judea, Galilee, and Babylon.
Both of these documents were destined for the Jewish people, and
primarily, indeed, for those of Palestine. A like inference as to the
use of Aramaic in Palestine may be drawn from the language of the public
documents relating to purchase, lease-tenure, debt, conditional
betrothal, refusal of marriage, marriage contract, divorce, and
renunciation of levirate marriage. The Mishna gives the decisive formulæ
of these documents, which were important for securing legal validity for
the most part, though not always in Aramaic, thus implying that this was
the language commonly in use. Cumulative testimony is furnished by the
unquestioned adoption, in the time of Jesus, of the Aramaic characters
in place of the old Hebrew in copies of the Bible text. The change of
character naturally presupposes a change of language. Stress is laid by
Professor Dalman on the facts that the Judaism of the second century of
our era possessed the Bible text only in “Assyrian,” _i.e._, Aramaic
handwriting, and that even the Alexandrian or Septuagint translation had
been based upon Hebrew texts in this character. It has further been
observed by students of the Talmud that the syntax and the vocabulary of
the Hebrew of the Mishna proved themselves to be the creation of Jews
who thought in Aramaic. We observe, finally, that it was customary in
the first century of our era for writers to call the Aramaic “Hebrew.”
Josephus, indeed, showed himself quite capable of distinguishing the
language and written character of the “Syrians” from those of the
“Hebrews.” Nevertheless, between Hebrew and Aramaic words he makes no
difference. The “Hebrew” in which Josephus addresses the people of
Jerusalem—the incident is recounted in his history of the Jewish war
against the Romans—is even called by him his paternal tongue, though in
the circumstances nothing but Aramaic can have been used. Again, in the
Johannine Gospel, the Aramaic terms Bethesda, Golgotha, and Rabbouni are
called “Hebrew.” Aramaic, too, must be meant by the “Hebrew tongue” in
which Paul spoke to the people of Jerusalem (Acts xxi., 40; xxii., 2),
and in which Jesus spoke to Paul (Acts xxvi., 14). Hellenistai and
Hebraioi were the names, according to Acts vi., 1, of the two parts of
the Jewish people as divided by language. But, if it were possible to
characterize Aramaic as Hebrew, it is clear that Aramaic was the
every-day speech of the Jewish people in the first century of our era;
in so far, at least, as it was not Greek.
In Professor Dalman’s opinion the facts adduced do not justify us in
drawing a distinction between Judea and Galilee, as if Hebrew was at
least partially a spoken language in the former region. That Aramaic had
at least a distinct predominance in Judea may be inferred with certainty
from the place names in Jerusalem and its environs. The author of this
book can find no ground for the belief expressed by another Orientalist
that Hebrew was the language of the mother of Jesus, inasmuch as she
belonged to South Palestine.
There is even less ground for supposing that Hebrew was the vernacular
in Galilee. During the rising of the Maccabees the Jewish population in
Galilee was so inconsiderable that Simon, about 163 B.C., had no other
means of protecting them from their ill-disposed neighbors than by
transporting them to Judea. John Hyrcanus (B.C. 135–105) appears later
to have conquered Galilee and to have forced its inhabitants into
conformity to Judaism; but, under the circumstances, the Hebrew language
was not to be looked for. What is true of Galilee in general is true of
little Nazareth in particular, to which has been wrongly attributed an
isolation from intercourse with the outer world. As a matter of fact,
Nazareth had on the one side Sippori (Sepphoris), the then capital of
Galilee, and on the other, in close proximity, the cities of Yapha and
Kesaloth, and it lay on the important highway of commerce that led from
Sepphoris to the plain of Megiddo and onward to Cæsarea. Dalman points
out that the actual discourses of Jesus in no way give the impression
that He had grown up in solitude and seclusion. It is merely true that
He, like the Galileans generally, would have little contact with
literary erudition. The fact implies that from this side he did not come
into contact with the Hebrew language. The Aramaic was the mother tongue
of the Galileans, as of the people of Gaulonitis; and, according to
Josephus, natives of Syria were able to understand it. From all these
considerations the conclusion is drawn that Jesus grew up speaking the
Aramaic tongue, and that He would be obliged to speak Aramaic to His
disciples and to the people in order to be understood. Of Him, least of
all, who desired to preach the Gospel to the poor, or, in other words,
to people that stood aloof from the pedagogic methods of the scribes, is
it to be expected that He would have furnished His discourse with the
superfluous and, to his hearers, perplexing embellishment of the Hebrew
form.
_Royalty’s Family Names_
The English royal family are frequently spoken of as Guelphs, just as
the Russian imperial family are known as Romanoffs, the Portuguese as
Braganzas, etc. Such statements are founded in error. Queen Victoria,
for example, was originally Miss Azon von Este. She was descended, as
were the other members of the House of Brunswick-Lüneburg and Hanover,
from Azon, Margrave of Este. King Edward VII, the son of Prince Albert
of Saxe-Cobourg, has naturally his father’s family name. Descended from
the Wettins, a line founded in the 12th century, his actual name is
Albert Edward Wettin.