MEXICO.
We will now leap over about two months and, leaving the Rocky Mountains,
invite the reader to accompany us to the heart of Mexico.
The Spanish Conquistadors selected with admirable tact the sites on
which they founded the cities destined to insure their power, and become
at a later date the centres of their immense trade, and the entrepôts of
their incalculable wealth.
Even at the present day, although owing to the negligence of the
Creoles and their continual fratricidal Wars, combined with the sudden
earthquakes, these cities are half ruined, and the life which the
powerful Spanish organization caused to circulate in them has died out,
these cities are still a subject of surprise to the traveller accustomed
to the morbid crowding of old European cities. He regards with awe
these vast squares, surrounded by cloister-like arcades; these broad
and regular streets through which refreshing waters continually flow;
these shady gardens in which thousands of gaily-plumaged birds twitter;
these bold bridges; these majestically simple buildings, whose interiors
contain incalculable wealth. And yet, we repeat, the majority of these
cities are only the shadow of themselves. They seem dead, and are only
aroused by the furious yells of an insurrection, to lead for a few
days a feverish existence under the excitement of political passions.
But so soon as the corpses are removed, and water has washed away the
blood stains, the streets revert to their solitude, the inhabitants
hide themselves in their carefully-closed houses, and all becomes again
gloomy, mournful, and silent, only to be galvanized afresh by the hoarse
murmurs of an approaching revolt.
If we except Lima, the splendid "Ciudad de los Reyes," Mexico is
probably the largest and handsomest of all the cities that cover the
soil of ancient Spanish America.
From whatever point we regard it, Mexico affords a magnificent view;
but if you wish to enjoy a really fairy-like sight, ascend at sunset one
of the towers of the cathedral, whence you will see the strangest and
most picturesque panorama imaginable unrolled at your feet.
Mexico certainly existed before the discovery of America, and our
readers will probably pardon a digression showing how the foundation of
the city is narrated by old chroniclers.
In the year of the death of Huetzin, King of Tezcuco, that is to say,
the "spot where people stop," because it was at this very place that the
migration of the Chichimèques terminated, the Mexicans made an eruption
into the country, and reached the place where Mexico now stands, at the
beginning of the year 1140 of our era. This place then formed part of
the dominions of Aculhua, Lord of Azcapotzalco.
According to paintings and the old chronicles, these Indians came from
the empires of the province of Xalisco. It appears that they were of the
same race as the Toltecs, and of the family of the noble Huetzin, who
with his children and servants escaped during the destruction of the
Toltecs, and was residing at that period at Chapultepec, which was also
destroyed at a later date.
It is recorded that he traversed with them the country of Michoacán,
and took refuge in the province of Atzlán, where he died, and had for
his successors Ozolopan, his son, and Aztlal, his grandson, whose heir
was Ozolopan II. The latter, remembering the country of his ancestors,
resolved to return thither with his entire nation, which was already
called Mezetin. After many adventures and combats, they at length
reached the banks of a great lake covered with an infinitude of islands,
and as the recollection of their country had been traditionally kept up
among them, they at once recognized it, though not one of them had even
seen it before. Too weak to resist the people that surrounded them, or
to establish themselves in the open country, they founded on several of
the islands, which they connected together, a town, which they called
after themselves, Mexico, and which at a later date was destined to be
the capital of a powerful empire.
Although the Mexicans arrived on the banks of the lake in 1140, it was
not till two years later that the American Venice began to emerge from
the bosom of the waters.
We have dwelt on these details in order to correct an error made by a
modern author, who attributes to the Aztecs the foundation of this city,
to which he gives the name of Tenochtitlan, instead of Temixtetlan,
which is the correct name.[1]
Like Venice, its European sister, Mexico was only a collection of
cabins, offering a precarious shelter to wretched fishermen, who were
incessantly kept in a state of alarm by the attacks of their neighbours.
The Mexicans, at first scattered over a great number of small islands,
felt the necessity of collecting together in order to offer a better
resistance. By their patience and courage they succeeded in building
houses, raised on piles, and employing the mud of the lagoons, held
together by branches of trees, they created the _chinampas_, or floating
gardens, the most curious in the world, on which they sowed vegetables,
pimento, and maize, and thus, with the aquatic birds they managed to
catch on the lake, they contrived to be entirely independent of their
neighbours.
Almost destroyed during the obstinate fights between the natives and the
Spaniards, Mexico, four years after the conquest, was entirely rebuilt
by Fernando Cortez. But the new city in no way resembled the old one.
Most of the canals were filled up, and paved over; magnificent palaces
and sumptuous monasteries rose as if by enchantment, and the city became
entirely Spanish.
Mexico has been so frequently described by more practised pens than
ours, and we, in previous works, have had such frequent occasions
to allude to it, that we will not attempt any description here, but
continue our story without further delay.
It was October 12th, 1854, two months, day for day, had elapsed since
the unfortunate Count de Prébois Crancé, victim of an iniquitous
sentence, had honourably fallen at Guaymas beneath the Mexican
bullets.[2] A thick fog had hung over the city for the whole day,
changing at times into a fine drizzle, which after sunset became
sharper, although a heavy fog still prevailed. However, at about eight
in the evening the rain ceased to fall, and the stagnant waters of the
lake began to reflect a few particles of brighter sky. The snow-clad
summit of Iztaczihuatl, or the White Woman, feebly glistened in the pale
watery moonbeams, while Popocatepetl remained buried in the clouds.[3]
The streets and squares were deserted, although the night was not yet
far advanced; for the loungers and promenaders, driven away by the
weather, had returned to their homes. A deep silence brooded over the
city, whose lights expired one after the other, and only at lengthened
intervals could be heard on the greasy pavement the footsteps of the
serenos, or watchmen, who performed their melancholy walk, with the
indifferent air peculiar to that estimable corporation. At times a few
discordant sounds, escaping from the velorios were borne along on the
breeze; but that was all--the city seemed asleep.
Half past nine was striking by the cathedral clock at the moment when
a dull sound resembling the rustling of reeds shaken by the wind was
audible on the gigantic highway joining the city to the main land. This
sound soon became more distinct, and changed into the trampling of
horses, which was deadened by the damp air and the ground softened by
a lengthened rain. A black mass emerged from the fog, and two horsemen
wrapped in thick cloaks stood out distinctly in the moonlight.
These horsemen seemed to have made a long journey; their steeds,
covered with mud, limped at each step, and only advanced with extreme
difficulty. They at length reached a low house, through whose dirty
panes a doubtful light issued, which showed that the inhabitants were
still awake.
The horsemen stopped before this house, which was an inn, and without
dismounting, one of them gave the door two or three kicks, and called
the host in a loud sharp voice. The latter, doubtless disturbed by this
unusual summons at so improper an hour, was in no hurry to answer, and
would have probably left the strangers for some time in the cold, if the
man who had kicked, probably tired of waiting, had not thought of an
expeditious means of obtaining an answer.
"_Voto a Brios!_" he shouted, as he drew a pistol from his holster, and
cocked it, "since this dog is resolved not to open, I will send a bullet
through his window."
This menace had been scarce uttered ere the door opened as if by
enchantment, and the landlord appeared on the threshold. This man
resembled landlords in all countries; he had, like them, a sleek and
crafty look, but at this moment his obsequiousness badly concealed a
profound terror, evidenced by the earthy pallor of his face.
"Hola, caballero," he said, with a respectful bow, "have a little
patience, if you please. Caramba! how quick you are; it is plain to
see that you are forasteros, and not acquainted with the custom of our
country."
"No matter who I am," the stranger answered sharply; "are you a
landlord--yes or no?"
"I have that honour, caballero," the host remarked, with a deeper bow
than the first.
"If you are so, scoundrel," the stranger exclaimed angrily, "by what
right do you, whose duty it is to be at the orders of the public, dare
to keep me waiting thus at your door?"
The landlord had a strong inclination to get into a passion, but the
resolute tone of the man who addressed him, and, above all, the pistol
he still held in his hand, urged him to prudence and moderation; hence
he answered with profound humility--
"Believe me, señor, that if I had known what a distinguished caballero
did me the honour of stopping before my humble dwelling, I should have
hastened to open."
"A truce to such impertinent remarks, and open the door."
The landlord bowed without replying this time, and whistled a lad,
who came to help him in holding the travellers' horses; the latter
dismounted, and entered the inn, while their tired steeds were led to
the corral by the boy.
The room into which the travellers were introduced was low, black, and
furnished with tables and benches in a filthy state, and mostly broken,
while the floor of stamped earth was greasy and uneven. Above the bar
was a statuette of the Virgin de la Soledad, before which burned a
greasy candle. In short, this inn had nothing attractive or comfortable
about it, and seemed to be a velorio of the lowest class, apparently
used by the most wretched and least honourable ranks of Mexican society.
A glance was sufficient for the travellers to understand the place to
which accident had led them, still they did not display any of the
disgust which the sight of this cut-throat den inspired them with. They
seated themselves as comfortably as they could at a table, and the one
who had hitherto addressed mine host went on, while his silent companion
leaned against the wall, and drew the folds of his cloak still higher up
his face.
"Look here," he said, "we are literally dying of hunger, patron; could
you not serve us up a morsel of something? I don't care what it is in
the shape of food."
"Hum!" said the host with an embarrassed air, "it is very late,
caballero, and I don't believe I have even a maize tortilla left in the
whole house."
"Nonsense," the traveller replied, "I know all about it, so let us deal
frankly with each other; give me some supper, for I am hungry, and we
will not squabble about the price."
"Even if you paid me a piastre for every tortilla, excellency, I really
could not supply you with two," the landlord replied, with increased
constraint.
The traveller looked at him fixedly for a moment or two, and then laid
his hand firmly on his arm, and pulled him toward the table.
"Now, look here, Ño Lusacho," he said to him curtly, "I intend to pass
two hours in your hovel, at all risks; I know that between this and
eleven o'clock you expect a large party, and that all is prepared to
receive them."
The landlord attempted to give a denial, but the traveller cut him short.
"Silence," he continued, "I wish to be present at the meeting of these
persons; of course I do not mean them to see me; but I must not only
see them, but hear all they say. Put me where you please, that is your
concern; but as any trouble deserves payment, here are ten ounces for
you, and I will give you as many more when your visitors have gone, and
I assure you that what I ask of you will not in any way compromise
you, and that no one will ever know the bargain made between us--you
understand me, I suppose? Now, I will add, that if you obstinately
refuse the arrangement I offer----"
"Well, suppose I do?"
"I will blow out your brains," the traveller said distinctly; "my friend
here will put you on his shoulder, throw you into the water, and all
will be over. What do you think of my proposal?"
"Hang it, excellency," the poor fellow answered, with a grimace which
attempted to resemble a smile, and trembling in all his limbs, "I think
that I have no choice, and am compelled to accept."
"Good! now you are learning reason; but take these ounces as a
consolation."
The landlord pocketed the money, as he raised his eyes to heaven and
gave a deep sigh.
"Fear nothing, _viva Dios_!" the traveller continued; "all will pass off
better than you suppose. At what hour do you expect your visitors?"
"At half past ten, excellency."
"Good! it is half past nine, we have time before us. Where do you
propose to hide us?"
"In this room, excellency."
"Here, diablo; whereabouts?"
"Behind the bar; no one will dream of looking for you there, and,
besides, I shall serve as a rampart to you."
"Then you will be present at the meeting?"
"Oh!" he said with a smile, "I am nobody; the more so, that if I spoke,
my house would be ruined."
"That is true. Well, then, all is settled; when the hour arrives, you
will place us behind the bar; but can my companion and I sit there with
any degree of comfort?"
"Oh, you will have plenty of room."
"I fancy this is not the first time such a thing has occurred, eh?"
The landlord smiled, but made no answer: the traveller reflected for a
moment.
"Give us something to eat," he at length said; "here are two piastres in
addition for what you are going to place before us."
The landlord took the money, and forgetting that he had declared a
few moments previously that he had nothing in the house, he instantly
covered the table with provisions, which, if not particularly delicate,
were, however, sufficiently appetizing, especially for men whose
appetite appeared to be powerfully excited.
The two travellers vigorously attacked this improvised supper, and for
about twenty minutes no other sound was heard but that of their jaws.
When their hunger was at length appeased, the traveller who seemed to
speak for both, thrust away his plate, and addressed the landlord, who
was modestly standing behind him hat in hand.
"And now for another matter," he said; "how many lads have you to help
you?"
"Two, excellency--the one who took your horses to the corral, and
another."
"Very good. I presume you will not require both those lads to wait on
your friends tonight?"
"Certainly not, excellency; indeed, for greater security, I shall wait
on them alone."
"Better still; then, you see no inconvenience in sending of them into
the Cuidad; of course on the understanding that he is well paid for the
trip?"
"No inconvenience at all, excellency; what is the business?"
"Simply," he said, taking a letter from his bosom, "to convey this
letter to Señor Don Antonio Rallier, in the Calle Secunda Monterilla,
and bring me back the answer in the shortest possible period to this
house."
"That is easy, excellency; if you will have the kindness to intrust the
letter to me."
"Here it is, and four piastres for the journey."
The host bowed respectfully, and immediately left the room.
"I fancy, Curumilla," the traveller then said to his companion, "that
our affairs are going well."
The other replied by a silent nod of assent, and a moment the landlord
returned.
"Well?" the traveller asked.
"Your messenger has set off, excellency, but he will probably be some
time ere he returns."
"Why so?"
"Because people are not allowed to ride about the city at night without
a special authority, and he will be obliged to go and return on foot."
"No consequence, so long as he returns before sunrise."
"Oh, long before then, excellency."
"In that case all is for the best; but I think the moment is at hand
when your friends will arrive."
"It is, excellency, so have the kindness to follow me."
"All right."
The travellers rose; in a twinkling the landlord removed all signs of
supper, and then hid his guests behind the bar. This bar, which was
very tall and deep, offered them a perfectly secure, if not convenient,
hiding place, in which they crouched down with a pistol in each hand, in
order to be ready for any event. They had scarce installed themselves
ere several knocks, dealt in a peculiar fashion, were heard on the outer
door.
[1] In order to protect themselves from the misfortunes which had before
crushed them, the Mexicans placed themselves under the safeguard of the
King of Azcapotzalco, on whose lands they had established themselves.
This prince gave them two of his sons as governors, of whom the first
was Acamapuhtli, chief of the Tenochcas. On their arrival in Ahanuec,
these Indians had found on the summit of a rock a nopal, in which was an
eagle devouring a serpent, and they took their name from it. Acamapuhtli
selected this emblem as the _totem_ of the race he was called upon to
govern. During the War of Independence, the insurgents adopted this
hieroglyphic as the arms of the Mexican Republic, in memory of the
ancient and glorious origin of which it reminded them.
[2] See the "Indian Chief." Same publishers.
[3] This second volcano, whose name indicates "The Smoking Mountain," is
near the former.