THE VALLEY OF ANAHUAC
The dim traditionary history of Mexico shows us shadowy tribes flitting
across the stage, each acting its part like the different performers in
a vaudeville show, and then making way for other actors. The Valley of
Mexico, or Anahuac, meaning “near the water,” seems to have been the
centre of the civilization of these early tribes. It is a beautiful
valley nearly sixty miles in length and thirty in breadth, and is
enclosed by a wall of mountains which circumscribe the view in every
direction. Six shallow lakes lie in this hollow: Texcoco, Xochimilco, San
Cristobal, Xaltocan, Zumpango and Chalco, of which the first named is the
nearest to the city and lies distant about three miles. It is easy to
believe that the waters of these lakes at one time entirely surrounded
the ancient city of Tenochtitlan, for within historic times their shores
have greatly receded.
The history of these early races rests mostly upon tradition; yet a
diversity of architectural ruins, and the few meagre records that remain,
present certain general facts. These positive proofs leave no doubt that
this valley was inhabited from a very early period by tribes or nations
which made distinct advances in civilization. These tribes had developed
certain of the useful arts and had evolved a social system that exhibited
some refinement. The first of these races of whom we have reliable record
are the Toltecs, who appeared in the Valley of Mexico in the seventh
century at almost the same time that Mohammed was spreading his religion
over Asia and Africa. Their sway lasted about five centuries, when they
disappeared as silently and mysteriously as they came.
These peaceful and agricultural people were succeeded by the Chichimecs,
a more barbarous race, who came from the north. They in turn were
followed by the Nahuals. Lastly came the Aztecs, who entered the
valley about 1196, and reached a higher state of civilization than any
of their predecessors. War was their choicest profession, for they
considered that warriors slain in battle were immediately transported
to scenes of ineffable bliss. They offered human sacrifices to their
gods. Prescott tells us of a procession of captives two miles long, and
numbering seventy thousand persons who were sacrificed at one time. This
is incredible, for at that rate the population would soon have been
exhausted even in this prolific land. Furthermore we know that the Aztecs
were not always successful in war, and may have furnished victims from
their own numbers, for sacrifice to the gods of the other nations in the
same land.
[Illustration: THE CALENDAR STONE]
The Aztecs were clever workers in gold and silver, and were acquainted
with a number of arts that are lost to-day. Their picture writings bear
witness to a clever fancy and fertile invention of symbols. The numerous
idols show their skill in carving and a true artistic instinct. Many
antiquities have been exhumed from the swampy soil on which the capital
city is built, in making excavations for improvements. The National
Museum is a treasure house of these relics and it would take a volume to
describe them. The huge Sacrificial Stone, which is generally supposed
to have been placed on the top of the great altar, is preserved there.
It also houses the horrible image of the god Huitzilopochtli, and a
varied assortment of inferior gods, goddesses, and other objects of
worship. But the most celebrated antiquity—the one showing the greatest
advancement—is the Calendar Stone. This stone was buried for centuries,
and when resurrected was placed in the west tower of the cathedral. From
this place it was removed a few years ago and placed in the museum. It
is a mighty stone, eleven feet and eight inches in diameter, and weighs
more than twenty tons. The Aztecs divided the year into eighteen months
of twenty days each, and then arbitrarily added five days to complete the
year.
“Let us follow the cross, and if we have faith we will conquer,” was
the motto on the banner of Cortez. It was with this spirit that he led
his little band over the mountains and into the heart of the empire
of Montezuma, late in the fall of 1519. He was met by that sovereign,
tradition says, on the site of the present Hospital of Jesus, with every
manifestation of friendliness. For several months they were the honoured
guests of the Aztec chief, but at length the aggressions of the Spaniards
changed friendship to hate and the Aztecs, rising in their wrath, chased
the invaders from the city. Driven before the infuriated natives like
sheep, they fled over the present road to the suburban village of Tacuba,
and many were those who fell. This rout of the Spaniards has been
painted with wonderful vividness by Gen. Lew Wallace in “The Fair God.”
It was an awful night of despair, that first day of July, 1520, and the
Spaniards who escaped named it La Noche Triste, “the sorrowful night.”
The pursuit stopped at the little town of Popotla. In this village is a
great cypress tree whose branches are blasted by the storms of centuries.
For a moment the strong will of Cortez gave way and he sat down upon a
stone under the spreading branches of this tree and wept. Whether he
wept most for his fallen soldiers or disappointment over his ignominious
defeat, we are not told by the chroniclers. This tree is now noted as _el
arbol de la noche triste_, or “the tree of the sorrowful night.” A high
iron fence protects the ancient relic from the souvenir vandals.
The Spaniards retreated beyond the valley to their allies, the
Tlaxcalans, at Cholula. Reinforcements and supplies arriving,
they returned a few months later and began the memorable siege of
Tenochtitlan, and made a triumphal entry into that city on the 13th of
August, 1521. Then Guatemotzin, the last of the Aztec emperors, wept in
his turn, because the sacred fires of the temple had for ever gone out,
and his people would henceforth be slaves. “Take that dagger,” he said,
“and free this spirit.” But, no, torture must come before death, for
Cortez fain would learn where the gold was hidden that had so suddenly
disappeared. To-day, in the City of Mexico, a statue stands in one of the
circles of the famous Paseo, which commemorates this great warrior and
his torture by the Spanish chieftain. This monument is greatly cherished
by the Indians, who hold annual festivals in his honour and decorate it
with a profusion of flowers and wreaths.
The great Valley of Mexico is without a natural outlet, and this fact
has caused seven inundations of the capital during exceptionally rainy
seasons. One of the lakes, Zumpango, is twenty-five feet higher than
the city and drains into Texcoco, from which the waters spread over the
city. When the first serious inundations came in 1553, 1580 and 1604, the
project of removing the city to a higher level was strongly agitated.
It was only the loss of millions of dollars of property that prevented
this action. Then the idea of draining this valley was definitely adopted
and the work was begun in 1607. A tunnel was decided upon and fifteen
thousand Indians were set at work sinking shafts and driving the tunnel
in both directions. Within a year a tunnel four miles long had been
completed. This tunnel eventually caved in, so that very little good
was realized from it and efforts were made to convert it into an open
cut. But this undertaking was not finished until two centuries later. It
is a great trench, however, with an average depth of from one hundred
and fifty to two hundred feet, and from three hundred to seven hundred
feet in width at the top. It is called the _Tajo de Nochistongo_, or
Nochistongo cut, and its only use now is as an entrance for the Mexican
Central railway. Even this waterway did not drain the valley, remarkable
engineering feat as it was, but a new canal was constructed by American
engineers a few years ago which successfully accomplishes the work of
draining these shallow lakes and carrying off the sewerage of the city.
The first Aztecs who settled in this valley lived almost entirely in the
marshes and lakes, we are told, because of the hostility of their fierce
neighbours. They were thus obliged to depend almost wholly upon the
products of these watered lands for their sustenance, and they acquired
some strange and—we would say—depraved tastes. A reminder of those days
is seen in the cakes made of the eggs of a curious marsh-fly, which are
sold in the market of the City of Mexico to-day. The flies themselves
are pounded into a paste and sold after being boiled, but the eggs are
preferred. The Indians collect the eggs in a systematic manner. Bundles
of a certain kind of sedge are planted in Lake Texcoco and the insects
deposit their eggs thereon in great quantities. These bundles as soon as
covered are shaken over pieces of cloth and replaced for another supply.
The eggs thus collected are made into a paste and form a favourite
article of food, especially during Lent.
It is interesting to learn what different races regard as toothsome
dainties. In Southern Mexico I have seen bushels of common grasshoppers
sold in the markets as a delicacy, reminding one of the locusts and
wild honey used as food in Biblical times. In other parts of Mexico
the honey-ant is greatly sought after for food. The natives of Central
America are partial to the iguana, a large lizard sometimes reaching a
length of three or four feet, and prefer it to beef. After all there is
no accounting for tastes. A man who eats snails might criticize another
who relishes oysters. And perhaps the man who want his cheese “ripe”
should not criticize the poor Indian who has inherited a taste for the
eggs of the fly.
[Illustration: SCENES ON THE VIGA CANAL]
There are many places of interest round about the City of Mexico which
are easily reached. One should not fail to visit the famous _jardines
flotandos_ or “floating gardens” where the beautiful flowers sold in
the market are grown. These gardens, called by the Aztecs _chinampas_,
are reached by the Viga Canal. The inquirer is told to take a gondola
and float down to them. The name gondola excites pleasant anticipations
of a delightful trip. Entering a mule-car at the Plaza Mayor the canal
is soon reached after traversing a number of narrow streets which would
not especially delight the fastidious traveller. The gondoliers take
the stranger almost by force and urge him into one of the flea-infested
boats that abound at the landing, and which more resemble a collection of
mud-scows than any other kind of floating fleet. Instead of using oars
these queer gondoliers with the picture hats pole the boat through the
muddy waters of La Viga, stirring up odours which cause the passenger
to wish that he was not gifted with the sense of smell, or that he
could temporarily dispense with breathing. However, there is life in
the stream and on the banks that is typically Mexican, for boats are
constantly passing up and down. Occasionally a load of Indians will
float by playing native airs on guitars and other string instruments,
with the light-heartedness and gaiety peculiar to this race. On the bank
are scattered many native thatch huts around which idle natives group.
Along the road pass men and women going to and from the city with loads
on their heads or on their backs. The “floating gardens” are always just
beyond. They are first at Santa Anita but, when this place is reached,
they are at Mexicalcingo. Arrived there the visitor is sent to Ixtacalco,
and then he is forwarded to Xochimilco, and so the real floating gardens
are never reached. The fact is that they do not float and perhaps never
did. This characteristic only exists in the imagination, for it sounds
romantic to speak of gardens that can be moved around and anchored at
will.
Disembarking at an unattractive mud and thatch village bearing the
charming name of Santa Anita, self constituted guides are waiting to
conduct you to the object of your visit, something which does not
literally exist. Yet the “floating gardens” are all about you at this
place. They are simply marsh lands with canals leading in and out and
crossways by means of which the gardener can reach all parts in his
boat. The earth may yield somewhat if you step upon it, but they do
not float. It is possible, and historians so assert, that floating
gardens did exist in reality during the Aztec invasion. These people
were frequently driven to dire extremities to secure food. They may have
adopted the plan of making floating gardens which could be moved about
as necessity compelled. This was done by culling masses of vegetation
with its thick entwined stems and pouring upon this mat the rich mud
dredged from the bottom of the lake. Then, as the masses settled, more
mud was put on until the whole anchored upon the bottom of the lake and
became immovable. The gardens look beautiful, covered as they are with
the many-coloured blossoms. By means of the canals the roots are kept
thoroughly moist at all times, and the plants thrive luxuriantly.
This canal of La Viga was formerly a great trade route, for a large part
of the natives came to the City of Mexico by this way. It leads back into
regions where dwell full blooded Aztecs who speak a language that is said
to be almost the pure ancient tongue. These natives can be distinguished
from all others on the street and in the market by their features and
peculiar dress. They are clannish and keep by themselves, except in the
intercourse made necessary by barter and trade. They are proud of their
lineage and rejoice in the fact that they have not mingled with the other
native races.
Tacuba, distant only a few miles, is an interesting little village, and
has many gardens and a fine old church. It is a good place to study the
people and get snap-shots of quaint life. Its principal distinction is
that it was a proud city when Tetlepanquetzaltzin was king once upon
a time. Texcoco at the time of the conquest was the capital of the
Tezcucans, who were a race in alliance with the Aztecs, but it is now
principally in ruins, for its glory has passed away. El Desierto was once
the home of the Carmelite monks and is frequently visited now in its
decay. Coyoacan was the first capital of Mexico, for Cortez established
the seat of government there for a time while the new city was being
built.
Tacubaya is the home of the wealthy as well as the sporting element. It
has beautiful gardens within the adobe walls surrounding the homes of
the opulent. It is on higher ground and should have been the site of the
capital city itself. It is also called the Monte Carlo of Mexico, for
gamblers of all sorts and conditions congregate here in booths or under
umbrellas, and you can lose any sum at games of chance as at that famous
resort along the shores of the blue Mediterranean. Games, music, dancing,
cock-fights, and bull-fights are a few of the attractions to amuse and
entertain the visitor, and relieve him from the burden of carrying around
the weighty silver pesos.
[Illustration: CASTLE OF CHAPULTEPEC]
In all this beautiful and historic Valley of Mexico there is no more
beautiful spot, or none around which so many memories cling, as
Chapultepec, the Hill of the Grasshoppers. Historic and beautiful
Chapultepec! A great grove of noble cypresses draped with masses of
Spanish moss surrounds this rock, and between the trees and along the
shores of a pretty little lake wind enchanting walks. One grand old
cypress called Montezuma’s tree rises to a height of one hundred and
seventy feet. It is a magnificent breathing spot—with which no park
that I have ever seen in America compares. Legend says that on the top
of this rock was situated the palace of Montezuma, and it is probably
only legend. No doubt that emperor often rested himself under the
friendly shade of the great _ahuehuete_, and reflected on the glory of
his empire before the disturbing foreigners came. The present Castle of
Chapultepec dates from 1783 when it was begun by one of the viceroys.
Later viceroys, presidents and an emperor added to the original building
until now it is a palace indeed but not a beautiful structure. Ill-fated
Maximilian made this his home and added greatly to the beauty of the
grounds. It is now the White House of Mexico although occupied only a
part of the year by the president.
Perhaps nowhere in the world does there exist a more beautiful scene
than that which unfolds to the view from this rock. All around is the
great sweep of plain with its wealth of cultivated fields; the distant
mountain range with its ever varying outline; the snow-capped twin peaks,
Popocatapetl (seventeen thousand, seven hundred and eighty-two feet) and
Ixtaccihuatl (sixteen thousand and sixty feet), standing like silent
sentinels and dominating the horizon; the silver line of the lakes; and
beneath us the fair City of Mexico, the ancient Tenochtitlan. Legend
says that Popocatepetl, “the smoking mountain,” and Ixtaccihuatl, “the
woman in white,” were once living giants but that having displeased the
Almighty they were changed to mountains. The woman died and the contour
of her body covered with snow can be traced on the summit of the smaller
peak. The man was doomed to live for ever and gaze on the sleeping form
of his beloved. At times when his grief becomes uncontrollable he shakes
with his great sobs and pours forth tears of fire.
As I stood on that historic rock I thought of the New World Venice
described by Prescott, “with its shining cities and flowering islets
rocking, as it were, at anchor on the fair bosom of the waters.” Rising
above all was the great sacrificial altar upon which the sacred fires
were ever kept burning. Beneath this rock under the friendly branches
of the giant cypress Montezuma has no doubt sheltered himself from the
hot sun. Cortez here rested himself after his severe marches. French
zouaves in their quaint uniforms have bivouacked in the grove. American
blue-coats stacked their arms here after the victory of Molino-del-Ray.
And Mexicans now take their siestas under the same friendly shade while
other races are robbing them of their wealth.
Yes, historic scenes and tragedies have taken place on this plain.
Nations have come and gone. Victors have themselves been led away
captives, and taskmasters have in turn become slaves. How finite is man
or his works in the presence of this great panorama of nature! Races
have come and gone but the mountains endure. Human tragedies have been
enacted here but the sky is just as blue and the sun just as bright,
as when Cortez looked with envious eyes upon this beautiful valley.
The mimic play of men, and women and races upon this amphitheatre has
scarcely left its imprint. The only occasions when the calm serenity of
nature has been disturbed were when the giant Popocatapetl, overcome with
grief at the loss of his beloved, has shaken this whole valley with his
sobs and poured forth plenteous tears of fire over its fair surface.