THE MAGYAR AND THE AZTEC, OR THE TWO EXTREMES OF HUMAN
DEVELOPMENT.
The great Magyar’s first impression of Broadway—if he was cool enough
to lay it away with tolerable distinctness—will be as peculiar material
for future dream and remembrance as any spectacle in which he could have
taken part. The excessive brilliancy of the weather made a novel portion
of it, to him. They do not see such sunshine nor breathe such elastic
air where the world is older. It was an American day, juicy and
fruity—a slice, full of flavor, from the newly-cut side of a planet
half eaten. But there were features in the pageant, beside, which were
probably new to the Magyar. A town all dressed with flags and
transparencies, and streets crowded with people, he may have been
welcomed by, before. Poles and bunting are easily made enthusiastic, and
so are the crowds afloat in a large city. We went out, for one,
expecting these demonstrations only. What was new—what gave the Magyar
a welcome unforeseen and peculiar—was the two miles of French bonnets
and waving cambric pocket-handkerchiefs through which he passed—two
miles of from three to six-story houses, and every window crowded with
fair faces, and alive with gloved hands waving the perfumed white flags
of individual admiration.
The _ladies_ of America have received Kossuth as their hero—and this is
not a trifle. It might readily have been foreseen, however. The dominant
intellect and purpose that can control the mind of a nation, and the
perseverance that can follow its cause to imprisonment and exile, make a
statesman and patriot worth seeing—even if that were all. But Kossuth
is, _besides_, “potent with sword and pen”—he is, _besides_, eloquent
beyond all living men—he is, _besides_, heroic-looking, courteous and
high-bred—and he is, _besides all this_, a faultless husband and
parent. That he dresses picturesquely in furs and velvet, wears “light
kid gloves” and a moustache, and has a carefully set feather in his hat,
may be disparagements among the men—but not among the ladies. He is, to
them, all that he could be or should be—nothing that he should not be.
And when we remember what the ladies are, in our country—free to read,
and expand in intellect, while their husbands and brothers drudge and
harrow—we can safely repeat what we say above, that the
_lady-constituency_ which welcomed Kossuth to America, and will sustain
him here, is by no means a trifle.
It was really curious, (to leave speculation and confine ourself to
description, that is more amusing,) to be one in the crowd on the
reception day, and observe the character of the enthusiasm. We followed
the carriage of Kossuth, ourself, from the Astor House to Leonard
street—half-a-mile—and can speak of Broadway for that much of his
progress. In this country (where there is no window tax, and every house
is as full of windows as a sieve is full of holes,) the houses look like
flat-sided beehives, to a foreigner’s eye; and the sudden outbreak,
apparently, of every brick with a pocket-handkerchief, as he rode along,
must have seemed to Kossuth very extraordinary. The houses looked hidden
in snowflakes of immense size. It was an aisle between walls of waving
cambric—and, either from the oddity of this phenomenon, or from the
attractive glimpses of the smiles behind them, all eyes were on the
windows and handkerchiefs, none on the sidewalks and soldiers. As far as
we saw, it was a show of elegantly-dressed ladies, throughout; and, of
the beauty and taste of the city, the discriminating Magyar can have
received no indifferent idea. We did not know, (or had “forgotten, in
the press of business,”) that so much loveliness was around us, and we
are very sure that Kossuth will never see so much assembled in any city
of Europe.
The rest of the show—the troops, flags, arches and civic
ceremonies—are over-described in the other papers; and, of Kossuth
himself we omit any special mention till we have seen him closer and
heard him speak. In our next number, perhaps, we shall be able to
portray him for our distant readers, with some material for accuracy.
At the same time that the “_greatest_ specimen of humanity” was thus
passing in triumph on one side of the Park, the _smallest_ specimen of
humanity was comfortably lodged upon the other. We crossed over—partly
to astonish the same ten minutes with a sight of the two extremes of
human nature, (contrasts so help one to realize things,) and partly in
the way of humble servant to our readers, for whom we are bound to take
every means to be astonished—and called upon the =Aztec
Children=, at the Clinton. We will precede our account of the
visit, by a sketch of the facts concerning them, which we find in the
_Evening Post_:
“The two children of the South American race, commonly called
the Aztec Children, have recently been brought to this city.
They are altogether the most remarkable specimens of the human
species we have seen—decidedly human, yet so variant from the
common type of our race, so peculiar in conformation of
features, in size, attitude and gesture, that they impress one
at first with a feeling for which surprise is hardly the true
name. One can hardly help at first looking upon them as
belonging to the race of gnomes with which the superstition of
former times once peopled the chambers of the earth—a tradition
which some have referred to the existence of an ancient race, of
diminutive stature, dwelling in caverns, and structures of
unhewn stones, which have long since disappeared.
“The race to which they appear to belong—with precisely the
remarkable conformation of skull—has hitherto been thought to
be extinct. That it did once exist, and was a numerous and
populous race, is proved, not so much by the sculptures of
Yucatan—though these furnish corroborative proof—as by the
skulls found in the ancient burial places of Peru and Brazil.
These skulls have much occupied the attention of ethnologists,
to whom they have furnished arguments and difficulties in the
controversy concerning the unity of the human race. Until now,
however, it has been agreed that no living sample of this
extraordinary variety was remaining on the surface of the globe.
“The manner in which these specimens of a race supposed no
longer to exist have been procured, is related in a pamphlet
just printed, entitled ‘A Memoir of an Eventful Expedition in
Central America,’ partly compiled and partly translated from the
Spanish of Pedro Velasquez, of San Salvador. Our readers will
remember the account given in Stevens’s Travels in Central
America, of a large city among the mountains of Central America,
inhabited by a race which had never been subdued by the white
man, and the inhabitants of which slew every white man who
penetrated into their country.
“Two young men, Mr. Huertis, of Baltimore, and Mr. Hammond, a
civil engineer, of Upper Canada, determined to visit this city.
They landed at Balize, in the autumn of 1848, and proceeded to
Copan, where they were joined by Velasquez, the author of the
narrative. He accompanied them to Santa Cruz del Quiche, where
the curate lived who gave Mr. Stevens the account of the
mysterious and inaccessible city, the white limits of which he
had seen from the mountains, glittering in the sun.
“They obtained a guide, climbed the mountains, and were rewarded
with a view of the city—the city of Ivimaya. It was of vast
dimensions, with lofty walls and domes of temples. They were not
permitted to enter, however, without fighting for it, and an
engagement took place between the inhabitants and the visiters,
in which the former, who were without the use of fire-arms, were
worsted, and consented to admit the strangers into the city.
“It was not expected, however, that the guests would ever leave
the city, and accordingly they were carefully watched. Hammond
died at Iximaya, but Huertis and Velasquez made their escape,
carrying with them two orphan children—the children who are now
in this city—of the ancient priestly race, who are described in
the following paragraph—
“The place of residence assigned to our travellers, was
the vacant wing of a spacious and sumptuous structure at
the western extremity of the city, which had been
appropriated, from time immemorial, to the surviving
remnant of an ancient and singular order of priesthood,
called Kaanas, which it was distinctly asserted, in
their annals and traditions, had accompanied the first
migration of this people from the Assyrian plains. Their
peculiar and strongly distinctive lineaments, it is now
perfectly well ascertained are to be traced in many of
the sculptured monuments of the central American ruins,
and were found still more abundantly on those of
Iximaya. Forbidden, by inviolably sacred laws, from
intermarrying with any persons but those of their own
caste, they had dwindled down in the course of many
centuries, to a few insignificant individuals,
diminutive in stature, and imbecile in intellect. They
were, nevertheless, held in high veneration and
affection by the whole Iximayan community, probably as
living specimens of an antique race so nearly extinct.
Their position, as an order of priesthood, it is now
known, had not been higher, for many ages, if ever, than
that of religious mimes and bacchanals in a certain
class of pagan ceremonies, highly popular with the
multitude.”
Shown, unannounced, into a private room where these Aztec children were
playing, we came upon them rather suddenly. The surprise was mostly on
our own part, however. Two strange-looking little creatures jumped up
from the floor and ran to shake hands with us, then darted quickly to a
washstand and seized comb and hair-brush to give to the attendant, that
they might be made presentable to strangers—and, with the entire
novelty of the impression, we were completely taken aback. If we had
been suddenly dropped upon another planet and had rang at the first door
we came to, we should not have expected to see things more peculiar.
There was nothing monstrous in their appearance. They were not even
miraculously small. But they were of an entirely new type—a kind of
human being which we had never before seen—with physiognomies formed by
descent through ages of thought and association of which we had no
knowledge—moving, observing and gesticulating differently from all
other children—and somehow, with an unexplainable look of authenticity
and conscious priority, as if _they_ were of the “old family” of human
nature, and _we_ were the mushrooms of to-day. Their size and form—but
we will save labor by copying a literal description of their appearance
from the _Journal of Commerce_:—
“The race of priests to which they belong is supposed to have
become Lilliputian by the degeneracy which results from limiting
intermarriage to those of their own caste. The specimens brought
here are perfect in form, though slight. Maximo, the boy, is
only thirty-three inches in height, and Bartola, the girl, three
or four inches shorter. Their ages can only be conjectured, but
there are indications of maturity about the boy, that are
seldom, if ever, witnessed at so early an age as twelve. The
girl is supposed to be about nine. Their skin is of the Indian
hue, hair and eyes jet black, the latter, large, brilliant and
expressive. The hair is wavy and very beautiful. Their neat
little figures were exhibited to great advantage, in black
stockinet dresses, fitting closely to their bodies and limbs,
and short fanciful tunics. They received us with easy gayety.
Indeed, they seem to have perfect confidence in all who approach
them. Nothing restrains their lively, juvenile propensities.
They seemed to derive infinite amusement from their tin cups,
presenting them, as in giving water, to all who were present,
and finally to the cane on which they seemed to think it fun
alive to ride horseback fashion. They are exceedingly docile and
affectionate, and the little girl seemed quite emulous of
receiving as much notice as her companion. Their heads are
singularly formed—the forehead forming nearly a straight line
with the nose, and receding to an apex which it forms with the
back of the head—strikingly similar to the sculptured figures
on Central American monuments. Nor are they less peculiar in
their manners and carriage. In general, their attitudes exhibit
perfect grace; but we noticed that whenever the boy sat upon the
floor, as he frequently did, he invariably sat upon the inside
of his legs and thighs, bending his knees outwards, and forming
with his legs on the floor the letter W inverted. This attitude
we have frequently seen exhibited in drawings from Egyptian
sculptures.”
You do not charge to the original race, as you look at these little
creatures, either their diminutive size, or their deficiency of room for
brain. The type of a noble breed is in the aquiline nose and soft
lustrous eye, and in the symmetrical frame and peculiar and
indescribable _presence_; and, while you remember the intermarriage by
which they have been kept sacred, and become thus homœopathic in size,
you cannot but feel that the essence is still there, and the quality
still recognizable and potent. With little intelligence, and skulls of
such shape that no hope can be entertained of their being ever
self-relying or responsible, they still inspire an indefinable feeling
of interest, and a deference for the something they vaguely
after-shadow.
We sat a half hour, studying these little wonders. The little girl,
Bartola, held our hand, and looked us full in the eye with affectionate
confidingness, while the boy backed in between the open knees of our
partner, Gen. Morris, and signified his wish, with the careless
authority of a little Emperor, to be taken into the lap. With no words
of their own, they understood what the attendant said to them, and
seemed to be relieved of their loneliness by our company. A band of
music approaching while we were there, the little Aztecs showed the
greatest excitement. We held the boy up to the window while the military
company went by, and his little kitten frame trembled and jumped
nervously to the measure of the march—music happily being of no
language, and stirring brains of all stages of progress, from Kossuth’s,
at the noon of a race’s developement, to the Iximayan’s, in its fading
twilight.
Our readers will not expect, in our columns, the details of Kossuth’s
Progress, nor a literal report of his speeches. They overwhelm even the
double sheets of the daily papers. But we shall chronicle a distinct
outline of his movements, and see that the readers of the _Home Journal_
lose none of the _ideas_, either of his producing or suggesting. He has
begun with magnificent frankness and boldness, and is unquestionably a
magnanimous and admirable man, equal to, and embarked upon, a great
errand. We wish him success—not with the legislators, but with the
_dollars_ of our country. _Money enough will set Hungary free._ We trust
the enlistment of these gold and silver recruits will be organized and
in progress while his eloquence is thundering an accompaniment. Many
ways will be devised for raising contributions. Let us close our present
remarks by _proposing one_—as a natural sequent to the peculiarity of
which we have spoken in his reception. The Magyar’s _lady constituency_
in America—each one giving but the price of a pair of gloves—a dollar
from each of the fair admirers of Kossuth and his cause—might, almost
of itself, secure the independence of Hungary. The dollars are willing
and waiting—who can doubt? Will not some ruling spirit devise a way to
reach and enrol them?