| SPANISH COLONIAL CHURCH ARCHITECTURE: A TYPICAL MEXICAN TEMPLE. |
But the Church and her religion is the Spanish-American woman's special kingdom. The attendance at Mass upon the Sabbath is the most important of her engagements. Whether in the cool of the early morning, before the dewdrops have fallen from the flowers in the plaza, or whether at a later fashionable hour, she is to be seen, in charge of her chaperon, her fair face shaded by the romantic mantilla whose use time has failed to banish, devoutly directing her steps towards her favourite temple. Perhaps—confess it!—you have followed her, and one bright glance has rewarded you before she disappeared within the portal—
| "Para que te miré, mujer divina; |
| Para que contemplé tu faz hermosa? |
| Y tu labio encendido, cual rosa |
| Es mi delirio ..." |
Otherwise, the distractions of the Mexican women are few. Yet our sweet damsel of the dark eyes and demure lips who daily enters her temple, applauds with her little gloved hands—with the approval and accompaniment of her mamma—the onslaught of the fierce bull at the bull-fight, and sees the torturing of the unfortunate horses as, their life-blood rushing forth, they expire in the arena before her. And the populace—ha! the populace of holiday peones—how frenziedly they shout! And the band plays a soft air, and the blue Mexican sky shimmers overhead. Love, blood, wine, dust—O tempora! O mores! This is Mexico; carrying into the twentieth century the romance of the Middle Ages, tinging her new civilisation still with the strong passions of the old, and refusing—whether unwisely, whether wisely, time shall show—to assimilate the doctrines of sheer commercialism whose votaries are hammering at her gates. But it is time now to review the cities and homes of this picturesque and developing people.
CHAPTER X
THE CITIES AND INSTITUTIONS OF MEXICO
Character of Mexican cities—Value of Mexican civilisation—Types of Mexican architecture—Mexican homes and buildings—The Plaza—Social relations of classes—The City of Mexico—Valley of Mexico—Latitude, elevation, and temperature—Buildings—Bird's-eye view—The lakes—Drainage works—Viga canal and floating gardens—General description—The cathedral—Art treasures—Religious orders—Chapultepec—Pasco de la Reforma—The President—Description of a bull-fight—Country homes and suburbs—Colleges, clubs, literary institutions—Churches and public buildings—Army and Navy—Cost of living—Police—Lighting and tramways—Canadian enterprise—British commercial relations—The American—United States influence—A general impression of Mexico.
Mexico is a land of numerous capital cities—far more numerous than those of any South American country. These cities are entirely distinct in type to the centres of population of Anglo-Saxon North America. Their structure, environment, atmosphere, are those of the Old World rather than the New—that is to say, if the cities of the United States and Canada are to be taken as American types.
Their character is that distinct Spanish-American one ever encountered in the countries which were the main centres of Spanish civilisation. Consequently there is much similarity between them. Standing in the Zocalo, or plaza of the City of Mexico, in front of the fine cathedral, we might imagine ourselves transported 2,500 miles, more or less, to the south-east, to the handsome city of Lima with its plaza and cathedral. But we may journey over the whole of Anglo-Saxon America, north of the Mexican border, and we shall find nothing similar.
The difference in character of the two nationalities of the Americas is plainly stamped upon their respective cities. The one is sealed with a hurried activity—the mark of the exigencies of commerce; the windows and doors of a business world, where men look out or emerge to the strife of money-making. Notwithstanding its wealth and solidity it bears a certain ephemeral stamp which the Mexican type does not convey. The atmosphere of this is one of serenity, of indifference to the feverish haste of money-getting, and its windows and doors give sight and footstep to less modern, less useful, perchance, but less evanescent a phase of civilisation. Let us theorise as we may, let us say what we will, about the progress of the world, but we continue to hope that the quiet civilisation of Spanish-America will preserve its character, for who can doubt that in the plan of nature there is some meaning in this preservation of a race which refuses to make the strife of commerce its main basis of progress.
History and tradition are stamped upon the façades of the stone-built cities of Mexico—religion and aristocracy have left their mark. They are cities of churches and convents, and of the abodes of the authoritative and the wealthy. They are far from being "republican" in aspect—that is, if the term is meant to convey the idea of democracy. The Governor's palace, the military cuartel, the ecclesiastical seat, form the centres from which the ordinary streets and life of the people radiate. The general structure and disposition of these cities is dignified and convenient. The dominant idea is the central plaza, upon whose four sides are the abodes of the authorities. First is the cathedral, whose façade takes up a whole side, or, if the place is not a capital, an extensive church—the iglesia—occupies the place of honour. Following this are the national or municipal palaces, where the public business is transacted, whilst on the opposite sides are clubs, shops, or other main centres of business or pleasure.
Generally, the upper storeys of the buildings in the plaza—except the ecclesiastical—overhang the footpaths, or, rather, are built over them, supported by the characteristic portales, or series of arches and pillars facing the roadway. This type of structure is prevalent in almost all the older Spanish-American cities. It is a feature of Mexican and Peruvian cities, and is encountered even in remote places such as Arequipa and Cuzco, the old Inca capital in the heart of the Andes, where it was introduced by the Spanish builders.
| SPANISH-COLONIAL ARCHITECTURE: THE PORTALES OF CHOLULA. |
A similar type of architecture, especially as regards the houses, characterises all Mexican cities and towns. The plan of town dwelling is that with interior patio, wide saguan, or entrance door, and windows covered with outside grilles, either of bars or of wrought-iron scrollwork. From this patio, which in the wealthier houses is paved with marble, the doorways of the lower apartments open. The houses are of two storeys, and access to the upper is gained by a broad staircase which terminates on a wide balcony, or, rather, gallery, above the patio. From this gallery the doors of the upper rooms open. A balustrade runs round the outer side of the gallery, and this is generally covered with flowering plants, ferns, and palms, in pots or tubs, which lend an air of coolness and luxury to the interior. Above, the patio is open to the sky, except that the overhanging roof of the house covers the gallery, from which it is supported by pillars. The whole arrangement is pleasing, and adapted to the climate, and the foreigner who has become accustomed to it finds that it possesses certain advantages which the houses of his own country do not enjoy.
On the other hand, this plan of building has grave drawbacks. The absence of a garden or grounds in front of, or surrounding the house, gives a restricted feeling. The main difference between an English and a Mexican house is that the Briton loves to cut off too-close intercourse with humanity by retiring his dwelling far from the road, whilst the Spanish-American builds his fronting immediately upon the street. In these houses, moreover, the rooms generally open one into the other, which is far from the Northerner's idea of privacy. This fact, indeed, is born of a race characteristic—the closer association between the members of families which obtains with the Latin race. The guest in these houses—somewhat to his embarrassment if he be an Englishman—sometimes finds a glass door, with no means of screening him from observation, the division between his apartment and that of some other—possibly a reception-room! Moreover, light and ventilation often seem quite secondary matters, for as a rule the rooms—in the case of the interior one—simply open on to the patio gallery above it if it be the second floor, with glass door and no windows. Consequently, if light or air are required, it is necessary to keep these open, and this is, of course, difficult at night. The Mexican thinks nothing of sleeping in a closed-up room all night, and shuts his doors and windows—where windows exist—and closes his shutters to the "dangers" of the outside air!
There are rarely fireplaces or stoves in Mexican houses. Of course, in the tropics these are not required, but in the cities of the uplands it is often bitterly cold. There is a popular belief that warming the air of a room by artificial heat in the rarefied air of the uplands induces pneumonia, but it is doubtful if this has any real foundation. And the Mexican prefers to shiver under cover of a poncho, rather than to sit in comfort and warmth, after the European or American fashion. On the other hand, the Englishman who has experienced the inveterate habit of overheating of the houses and offices of New York or other parts of the United States will prefer the Mexican method. Nothing is more trying to the Briton than the sudden change of temperature from the high-heated American office or house to the bitter cold of its winter streets, such conditions as prevail in the United States: or the overheating of American trains.
The architecture of Mexican cities is often of a solid and enduring type, especially the buildings of older construction; and many of these date from the time of the earlier viceroys. All public buildings and ecclesiastical edifices are of this nature. The modern buildings have, in some instances, followed out the same style, eminently suitable for the country, but others have adopted a bastard and incongruous so-called "modern" type, copied from similar structures in Europe or the United States, where pure utility of interior has been clothed with undignified exterior of commercial character, marking a certain spirit of transition in its inhabitants. This is partly due to the ruthless American industrial invasion, which, whilst it has valuable elements for the country, should not be allowed to stamp a shoddy modernism upon the more dignified antiquity of environment. This tendency, however, has not yet had time to show itself, except in a few instances in the capital. Nevertheless, some portions of the City of Mexico have already been spoilt by the speculative Anglo-American builder, who has generally called himself an architect in order to perpetrate appalling rows of cheap adobe houses or pretentious-looking villas, made of the slimmest material and faced with that sin-covering cloak of tepetatl, or plaster "staff." Even some of the principal streets of the capital have been disfigured with hideous pretentious business structures, for which the Anglo-American element, whether in fact or example, has been responsible. If the Mexicans are wise they will sternly refuse to adopt much of steel construction or of "staff" and corrugated iron covering imported from the north, but to limit their buildings to native materials of stone or brick and their elevation to two or, at most, three storeys. The skyscraper is at home in New York or Chicago; in Mexico (or in London) it is the abomination of desolation. In San Francisco the outraged earth endeavoured to shake them off a year or so ago in an earthquake! An attractive feature of Mexican houses is the flat roofs, or azoteas. These are often made accessible from the interior and adorned with plants and flowers, and even the heavy rain-storms of certain regions do not seem to influence this type of construction or demand the rapid watershed of the gabled roof. During the time of the conquest of the City of Mexico these azoteas formed veritable coigns of vantage for the Aztecs, who poured down a hail of darts and stones upon the besiegers.
The plaza of the Spanish-American city is its main centre. Thence the principal streets emerge, and there, upon its prettily planted and shady promenade foregather the people to listen to the serenata, or playing of the band on frequent occasions. The Mexicans are passionately fond of music, and a wise governmental sentiment has found that it is a useful part of government. Therefore it is decreed that the bands shall play, free of cost, to the multitude. In some cities the plaza-promenade has two paved footpaths adjoining each other—the inner for the élite and well-dressed class, the outer for the peon and Indian class. It would be manifestly impossible that the hordes of blanket-clothed, pulque-saturated, ill-smelling, and picturesque lower class could rub shoulders with the gente decente or upper class, nor do they desire to do so. They take their fill of the music quite indifferent to the presence of their superiors in the social grade, and the vendors of native sweetmeats, cooling drinks, and fruits ply their trade among them. On one side of the plaza, in the smaller towns, there are booths or tables where food is being cooked and displayed for the lower orders; and the savoury odour of frijoles and tortillas, or other matters of satisfaction to the peon, greet the nostrils of the promenader from time to time. The well-dressed señoritas and their male acquaintances, with ceaseless charla, or small-talk, promenade round and round the plaza, flirting, laughing, and enjoying life in a way that seems only possible to the Latin race. Indeed, the plaza is the principal meeting-place of the sexes.
As has been remarked, Mexico is a land of many capital cities. From the City of Mexico, northward along the plateau and southward, eastward, and westward, we may visit a score of handsome State capitals, a hundred towns, and an endless succession of remote villages and hamlets. Their environments embrace every change of scenery—from arid plains and rocky steeps to fertile valleys; and the larger communities share the quaint—if not always hygienic—disposition and atmosphere of their especial national character. At times, however, the smaller hamlets, or collection of primitive habitations of the plateau, have an inexpressibly dreary and squalid aspect, the backwardness and poverty of their people being well stamped thereon. Treeless, dusty, and triste, they strike a note of melancholy within us. The towns of the Pacific and Gulf slopes have generally some added charm afforded by the tropic vegetation surrounding them, and we shall often mark with surprise, after days of dusty and arduous journeying, that we have suddenly entered a handsomely built town, sequestered far from beaten routes of travel, yet bearing a stamp of permanence and solidity and the air of an independent entity.
| A PUBLIC GARDEN IN TROPICAL MEXICO: VIEW AT COLIMA. |
The first city of importance in the country is, of course, the Federal capital of the Republic, with its population of 369,000 inhabitants.
Standing towards the southern extremity of the great plateau of Anahuac, reposing in a beautiful valley full of natural resources, and rich with historic lore, is the City of Mexico. Of singular and varied interest is this capital of the prosperous North American Republic whose name it bears, for its geographical situation and historical associations are such as assign it a leading place among the great centres of Spanish-American civilisation.
In many respects the capital of Mexico may be considered the queen city of Latin America. Buenos Ayres is much larger and of greater importance as a centre of population, but it has not Mexico's history and tradition. The commerce of Santiago and Valparaiso are potent factors in the life of the Pacific coast, but the Chilean capital and seaport are but modern creations in comparison with the old city of the land of Anahuac. Only Lima, the beautiful and interesting capital of her sister nation—Peru—is comparable with Mexico as a centre of historical tradition and Spanish-American culture. Of course, the City of Mexico with its large population is much larger than Lima, with less than 150,000.
Indeed, there are many points of similarity between Mexico and Peru, such as have been discussed elsewhere, and which are the common knowledge of the student, but the City of Mexico possesses a special interest in that it was actually the seat of a prehistoric American civilisation—that of the Aztecs—whilst its position between the great oceans which bathe the American coasts, give it a value for the future of untold possibilities.
The Valley of Mexico, wherein the capital is situated, is a broad elevated plain, or basin, surrounded by hills, which culminate far away to the south-east in the snow-clad summits of Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl—the extinct volcanoes of the Sierra Madre. The combined conditions of its latitude and elevation above sea-level—19° 26 N., 99° 7 W., and 7,410 feet—have dowered it with an agreeable and salubrious climate, with an annual range of temperature from 60° F. to 75° F. The mornings are cool and bracing, often bitterly cold indeed; whilst the midday sun is often hot, and the Mexican stays within the cool of his thick-walled house, for it is the hour of siesta. Excessive extremes of heat and cold are not encountered, although at night the Mexican gladly dons his velvet-lined cape, and the foreigner his overcoat, whilst the poor peon shrouds himself in his serape.
The city is one of handsome buildings, wide streets, and fine avenues. Its architecture bears the stamp of its Spanish origin—the typical and picturesque façades of the houses, the grille-covered windows, the balconies looking on to the streets, and other characteristic features well known to the traveller in Spanish-America. The great plaza, ever the pulse and centre of these communities, is known here as the Zocalo; and this ample square is that same one around which the Aztec city—the famous Tenochtitlan—was built, upon whose foundations the Mexican capital arose.
The plan of the city is more or less the geometrically regular one of main and cross-streets running at right angles to each other, and the principal of these are lined with shops, whose windows display luxurious articles of jewellery, clothing, and other effects such as betoken the taste and purchasing power of a wealthy upper class. It is a city of domes and towers, which rise above the surrounding roofs, and convey that aspect of charm and refinement unknown to the purely business cities of Anglo North America. The strong part which the Church has played is shown by the numerous and handsome churches in every quarter of the city. There are more than one hundred and twenty churches and other edifices which were built and formerly occupied for ecclesiastical purposes. The cathedral is the dominating structure, and its two great towers, nearly 200 feet high, are conspicuous from any point of view.
Let us behold this pleasing city from afar before examining more in detail the institutions and habitations of its people. The environs of the capital form a good setting to its beauty. Taking our stand on the range of hills which bound the Valley of Mexico, our eyes rest upon the cultivated fields and gardens of the smaller towns which dot the plain and lead up to the central mass. Green meadows, running streams, great plantation of maguey, giving their characteristic semi-tropical aspect to the landscape, surround haciendas and villages embowered in luxuriant foliage, all lying beneath the azure vault of the Mexican sky. The gleam of domes and towers, softened in the glamour of the distance, catches our eyes; and the reposeful atmosphere and mediæval tints seem to belie the strife of its past, or even the incidents of its modern industrial life. There is the Castle of Chapultepec surrounded by trees, the beautiful and venerable ahuahuetes, or cypresses, surmounting its hill—the Aztec "Hill of the Grasshoppers" where Montezuma's palace was, and where stands the fine structure reared by the viceroys, now the official residence of the Presidents of Mexico of to-day. And there lies Guadalupe gleaming in the sun, with its famous shrine of miraculous visions and cures—the Lourdes of Mexico. There lie Tacubaya, San Angel, and Tlalpam, luxurious and aristocratic suburban homes of Mexico's wealthy citizens, surrounded by their exuberant vegetation on fertile hillsides mid soft and soothing colour and balmy atmosphere. From the pine-clad hills whereon we stand, which form the rim of this singular valley, the whole panorama is open to the view, of lakes and flat plain, the latter crossed by the dusty roads cut by centuries of traffic through the white adobe soil, giving access to the surrounding villages and the serried lines of the maguey plantations, or the chess-board chequers of dark green alfalfa, lighter barley, and yellow maiz. And from plain and dusty road, and vivid hacienda and city domes and whitened walls, our gaze rises to the clear-cut, snowy crest of "The Sleeping Woman," Ixtaccihuatl, in her gleaming porcelain sheen, where she hoards the treasures of the snow, reminding us of the peaks of the great South American Cordillera, to whose system she and her consort Popocatepetl are but a more recent addition. Like legendary sentinels of a vanished past, they seem to overwatch the valley.
The Valley of Mexico is a flat plain, in the lowest portion of which the City of Mexico is situated, two or three miles from Lake Texcoco. The plain consists of lands barren and lands cultivated, marshes and swamps, all intersected by numerous streams falling into the lakes, as well as irrigation and drainage canals, whilst on the rising ground which appears in places the volcanic understructure is laid bare, often in the form of great lava sheets. The group of lakes have been elsewhere described in these pages. Lake Texcoco, whose shores are now distant from the city, is a dreary waste of brackish water with scarcely any fish-life, inhabited by water-fowl at certain seasons. During the period of overflow its rising waters cover many added square miles of ground, but in the dry season the water recedes, leaving saline-covered marshes of desolate aspect. Lakes Chalco and Xochimilco, however, are very different in their regimen and aspect. They are of fresh water, and stand at an elevation some 10 feet higher than Texcoco, into which they discharge. Fertile meadows surround these, and Xochimilco is now, as it was at the time of the Conquest, a "Field of Flowers," which is the meaning of its native nomenclature, not unworthy of the designation of an "earthly paradise," which the modern Mexicans bestow upon it.
| THE VALLEY OF MEXICO: THE GREAT DRAINAGE CANAL. |
The position of the City of Mexico near Lake Texcoco, which receives the waters of all the other lakes of the system, has ever rendered it liable to inundation, and to a saturated and unhealthy subsoil, conditions which, were it not for the healthy atmosphere of the bracing uplands whereon the valley is situated, would undoubtedly make for a high death-rate. The drainage and control of the waters of the valley have formed matters of thought for Mexico's successive Governments for more than four centuries. Work to this end was begun under Montezuma in 1449, nearly three-quarters of a century before the Conquest. During the colonial régime further works were undertaken, in 1553, to replace those destroyed by Cortes, followed by other works in 1604 and 1708. But only after the Republican régime was established was the work carried to completion, upon a plan brought forward by a Mexican engineer. These works, which were mainly carried out during the closing years of last century by English firms of engineers and contractors,[28] consist of a canal and tunnel. The canal is thirty miles long, flowing from the city and bearing its sewage and storm-waters, and taking the overflow from Lake Texcoco: and discharging thence into a tunnel, perforating the rim of the valley, about six and a half miles long. This in turn empties into a discharge conduit and a ravine, and the waters, after having served for purposes of irrigation and for actuating a hydro-electric station, fall into an affluent of the Panuco river and so into the Gulf of Mexico. This work, which is the climax of the attempts of four hundred years or more, reflects much credit upon its constructors and the Government of Diaz, which financed it at a total cost of sixteen million Mexican dollars.
28 S. Pearson & Sons, Ltd., London, and Read, Campbell & Co.
An Aztec hydraulic work of the Valley of Mexico is the Viga Canal, which leads from the Indian quarter of the city, crossing swamps, plantations, and waste lands to Xochimilco, the "Field of Flowers." Along this canal ply daily primitive canoes and punts laden with vegetables, flowers, and other produce for the native market. The floating gardens, or chinampas, far-famed of Mexico, are encountered upon this canal. But, alas! the "floating gardens" do not float, nor is it possible to prove that they ever did, in plain, prosaic fact. They consist of areas of spongy soil intersected by numerous irrigation ditches, where the traveller may observe the Indian owners industrially watering them and tending their profuse array of flowers and vegetables. New "floating gardens" are sometimes made by the method of driving stakes into the shallow bottom of the lake, winding rushes about them and filling in with the fertile mud.
The city itself is surrounded on all sides, except that leading to Chapultepec, by miles of squalid streets, where dwell the poor and outcast of the community—and their name is legion. Yet these surroundings, if squalid, are less painful than the frightful East End dens of London, or the appalling Bowery and east side of New York. American cities, whether North or South, have produced nothing in their boasted march towards "liberty," which is an alleviation for the proletariat, above the cities of Europe. These mean yet picturesque streets give place as we enter to those inhabited by the better class, whose dwellings generally exist side by side and interspersed with the shops and commercial establishments, after the general fashion of Spanish-American cities. This is indeed a notable feature of their regimen. Here is the old home of a former viceroy or of a modern grandee, cheek by jowl with a little bread or liquor shop; its handsome doorway, worthy of study, but a few paces away from the humble entrance of the tienda aforesaid. The names of some of Mexico's streets and squares are reminiscent of the past or of fanciful story and legend and heroic incident. Here is the puente de Alvarado, formerly the Teolticalli, or Toltec canal; here the street of the Indio triste, or that of the Niño perdido; the "sad Indian" and the "lost child" respectively. Redolent of the Mexico of the viceroys, of political intrigue, of love and liasons, of the cloak and the dagger, are some of the old streets, balconies, and portals of Mexico. Here the Spanish cavalier, with sword and muffling cape, stalked through the gloom to some intrigue of love or villainy, and here passed cassocked priest and barefooted friars, long years ago. Here sparkling eyes looked forth from some twilight lattice what time from the street below arose the soft notes of a serenading guitar. As to the sparkling eyes and the serenading lover and the balconies, these are not gone; they are imperishable in Mexico. Here is a description of Mexico of years ago—the Mexico of the viceroys—which I will translate freely from the description of a Mexican writer of to-day, and which in some respects might almost describe the city at the present time: "Hail, mediæval city, redolent of sentimental recollections and romantic impressions such as well might be the creation of fantastic romance! Clustered with monasteries and convents, turreted dwellings and sombre monuments, bathed in an atmosphere of orisons and melancholy, threaded by foul and ill-paved alleys, made for crime, intrigue, and mystery; where buried in the profundity of night love and wickedness both stalked forth; strange temples and niches lit by twinkling lamps before the images of saints; recollections of diabolical Inquisitorial rites—a romantic and fantastic shroud, dissipated now, torn into shreds by the iron hand of destiny, and banished or transfigured by the torch of progress!"
| THE CATHEDRAL OF THE CITY OF MEXICO. |
As has been said, the construction of the houses of Mexico was of solid type, with walls such as might serve for fortresses rather than dwellings, and when from necessity, some old building is demolished it can only be performed by the aid of dynamite. So builded the Spaniards, and their work will outlast the more ephemeral structures of to-day. Indeed, at the beginning of the colonial period and throughout the sixteenth century, the buildings actually were constructed both as dwellings and fortresses. At the end of that century a greater refinement of architectural art appeared—as a natural outcome of corresponding conditions in Spain—in the colonies. The great cathedral of Mexico was constructed, due to a mandate of Philip II. It was dedicated in 1667, but not concluded until the beginning of the nineteenth century, and into its façade enter the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian orders. It is an exceedingly handsome building, both interiorily and exteriorily, and it stands upon the spot where the great Aztec teocalli stood—the shrine of the abominable war-god of the early Mexicans. The edifice stands upon the soft subsoil of which the city's foundation is composed, softness which has caused the subsidence of other buildings; but the cathedral, although it has suffered somewhat from earthquake shocks, stands firm and solid as ever. Valuable art treasures exist within, among the pictures being a Murillo, and possibly a Velasquez. So numerous are these old pictures that they overlap each other upon the walls. The cathedral is nearly 400 feet long, and its interior rises upon twenty splendid Doric columns for 180 feet, whilst the apices of the great towers are 204 feet above the pavement. But this splendid temple—as is often the case with the cathedrals of Spanish-American capitals—is not the fashionable or aristocratic resort of Mexico's religious people. Nevertheless, its aisles are generally thronged, and the highborn and expensively attired lady and the poor peon woman, with her modest rebosa, or shawl, may be seen side by side kneeling upon its knee-worn floor, whilst before the images in the seven chapels of its aisles there are never wanting supplicating figures, nor the numerous little written supplications pinned upon their altar rails.
It would be endless to describe the other numerous ecclesiastical buildings and temples of the City of Mexico. Their number and beauty are indicative of the strength and rooted persistence of religion and monastic orders in New Spain. Among the principal of these Orders and the dates at which their corresponding habitations were erected, were those of the Franciscans, 1524; Dominicans, 1526; Augustinians, 1533; Jesuits, 1572; Carmelites, 1585; and various others, with numerous convents.
The principal commercial and fashionable street of Mexico City is that of Plateros, somewhat narrow and congested, but full of high-class shops. Thence it continues along Bucareli[29] and the broad Avenida de Juarez, which in turn is continued by the famous Paseo de la Reforma, a splendid drive and promenade of several miles in length, which terminates at the Castle of Chapultepec. This great road is planted throughout its length with trees and adorned with a profusion—almost too great—of statues, and along both sides are private houses of modern construction. These are less picturesque, but more comfortable, than the old Spanish-built dwellings before described, although at times somewhat bizarre in their façades, with a certain nouveau riche air, consequent upon the transition period of Mexican life of recent years. The beautiful monument and statue of Guatemoc is planted in this avenue, and is worthily deemed a successful embodiment of Aztec art sculptured by modern chisels. Upon Sunday morning—the fashionable time of serenata or promenade concert—the wealth and beauty of the capital foregather in carriages and upon foot and listen to the strains of the band. Here we may, from the seats of our victoria, observe the Mexican upper class at our—and their—ease. Hats off! A private carriage comes driving swiftly by; its coachman attired after the English fashion, and the whole equipage of similar character. In it is a well-dressed gentleman well past the middle age, with dark complexion and characteristic features. It is the citizen-President, the redoubtable General Diaz, and the universal salutations are evidence of his popularity. The air is balmy and the warmth of the sun pleasant. But at any moment these conditions may change, and a ruthless dust-storm, swept by the wind from the dry adobe plains surrounding the city, descend upon us, the fine dust covering our clothes and bidding us direct our coachman to turn his horses' heads towards our hotel. This, however, is not frequent, but when it does occur it brings a certain sense of disillusion akin to that felt by the British holiday-maker when he has gone down to an English seaside place to enjoy the balmy air and finds a bitter east wind blowing!
29 Named after the viceroy who caused its construction.
But the bull-fight—ha! the bull-fight—takes place this—Sunday—afternoon, for this is the Mexican Sunday sport: a kind of licence, possibly, after the numerous misas of the early morning! We have purchased our seat in the sombra of the great bull-ring, and the corrida is about to begin. Let us glance round the assembly of many thousands of persons. The seats of the great amphitheatre are divided into two classes—the sol and the sombra, "sun" and "shade." That is to say, that the seats in the shady portion—for the structure is open to the sky—are of one class, and command a high price of, say, ten pesos each, whilst the sun-beat portion is of an inferior class, and price, say, one peso. It is a sea of faces we gaze upon, the élite of the city in the sombra, and the lower classes, the peones and others, in the sol.
The arena is empty, but suddenly a bugle-call sounds from the judges' platform, and the picadores, men on horseback, with their legs protected by armour and bearing sharp-pointed lances in their hands, enter and ride around the arena, bowing to the judges and assembled multitude, who receive them with plaudits. Again a bugle-call, and the sliding doors leading from the corral are opened, and a bull, bounding forward therefrom, stops short a moment and eyes the assembled multitude and the men on horseback with wrathful yet inquiring eye. A moment only. Sniffing the air and lashing his tail, the noble bovine rushes forward and engages the picadores; the little pennants of the national colours, which, attached to a barbed point, have been jabbed into his back by an unseen hand as he passed the barrier, fluttering in the wind created by his rush. Furiously he charges the picadores. If they are clever they goad him to madness with their lances, keeping him at bay; if he is resolute down go horse and man—both results tickling the popular fancy immensely—and those frightful horns are buried deep in the bowels of the unfortunate steed, which, maddened with agony and fright, leaps up and tears around the arena, trampling perhaps upon his own entrails which have gushed forth from the gaping wound! At times the wound is hastily sewn up, and the unfortunate horse, with a man behind him with a heavy whip, another tugging at the bridle, and the picador on his back with his enormous spurs, forces the trembling brute to face the savage bull again, whilst the audience once more roars out its applause. As many as ten horses are killed or ruined at times by a single bull, who returns again and again to plunge his horns into the prostrate carcase ere it is dragged away. This is sport!
| BULL-FIGHT IN THE CITY OF MEXICO, SHOWING THE SPECTATORS OF THE "SOL," THE PICADORES, AND THE ENTERING BULL. |
But perhaps the bull himself is faint-hearted! Then, indeed, the noble Spanish blood of the audience is aroused to fever pitch. "Otro toro! Otro toro"—"Another bull! bring another bull!"—rises from a thousand throats. Otherwise the other acts of the performance take their course, and the banderilleros, bull-fighters armed with short gaudily decorated spears with barbed points, come on. Some "pretty" play now ensues, the banderilleros constantly facing the bull at arm's length with the object of gracefully sticking the spears or banderillas in the neck of the animal, where, if successful, they hang dangling as, smarting with the pain, the bull tears round the arena, to the accompaniment of the delighted roar of the crowd. This scene is repeated again and again, until perhaps several pairs of banderillas are depending from the shoulders of the maddened animal. The capeadores have not been idle, and the bull, repeatedly charging them and meeting only the empty flapping of the capas—the scarlet cloaks which the bull-fighters charged with this office wield—works himself into a paroxysm of rage, which must be seen to be understood. Oftentimes the capeadores are severely injured; sometimes killed in the act by a terrific stroke of the bull's horns.
But hark! once more a bugle-call, strong and sonorous, from the judges' box; the well-known notes which call the espada to his task; the last act in the drama—for drama it is. The espada is the most famous bull-fighter of all. His salary is a princely one; his reputation extends over two continents, from Old Madrid to Old Mexico. He is the great star in all that richly-dressed galaxy of toreros—for their gorgeous silver and gold spangled attire baffles description—and all his compañeros are but lesser lights, paling before his name and powers. And now the band, which has hitherto sent forth joyous music, plays a sad and mournful air. The espada takes the sword from an attendant and examines and curves it with critical and expert eye. Then, taking off his gold and silver-embroidered cocked-hat, he bows low towards the judges and to the fair ladies of the sombra; and in fitting phrase "dedicates" the stroke he is about to perform to them. Or otherwise, with his hand upon his heart, he turns towards the occupants of the sol, and again bowing low dedicates the coming stroke and the doomed bull thus: "Al Querido Pueblo!"—"To the beloved people"! A hush falls upon the great assembly: a pin might be heard to drop: the bull, who during these preliminaries—somewhat fatigued but full of life and anger—has been standing in the arena with his attention diverted by the capeadores, is now left to face his doom at the hands of the expert espada. Bull and man slowly approach, eyeing each other as those whose quarrel is to the death, whilst the notes of the music sound low and mournful. Within arm's length the espada extends his shining blade. He glances along it; the bull leaps forward to charge; there is a swift thrust; the blade goes home in that fatal spot which only the expert knows; and tottering, swaying, and falling, the noble bull leans over and falls prone to the dust. He raises his head with a last effort; the espada rushes forward, places his foot upon the prostrate neck, and, exerting a mighty strength, draws forth the scarlet, dripping blade, and a crimson stream of life-blood spurts forth from the wound, whilst the animal, making "the sign of the cross" with its forefoot upon the sand, lowers his noble crest—dead!
Then are the bounds of pandemonium let loose. How the audience of the sol shrieks and cheers! Hats, sticks, cloaks, belts, even money, are thrown into the arena like hail, and nothing is too good for the successful espada and the idol of the moment. Even the dignified sombra shouts itself hoarse, and at times showers bank-notes and jewellery down, and perhaps—let it be whispered low, for it is not unknown!—a billet-doux or papelito for the brave torero from some newly-created female admirer. Grave gentlemen in frock-coats and ladies in elegant attire, on the one hand, discuss the points of the entertainment, whilst the red serapes of the peones and pelados and their great sombreros rush animatedly to and fro. The band plays, the crowd pours into the street, and the long shadows fall from the blue Mexican sky across the dust of their departure, whilst a team of horses drag forth the quivering flesh of the vanquished bull to the corral, and the Sabbath Day draws to its close.
The Mexican upper and middle class share the general Spanish-American characteristic of preference for life in their cities. Expeditions into the country are matters to be avoided if possible. The gilded youth of the capital and members of polite society generally, do not like to leave the conveniences of good pavements, restaurants, fashionable bars and clubs and the like, and to venture into the hot sun or cold winds of the country regions. It is true, however, that there is a certain exodus to their haciendas of the upper-class families in the season corresponding thereto; but the love of the country for its own sake, or for sport, exercise, or exploration, as understood by Englishmen, is unknown. There are no country houses, as in Great Britain, where wealthy people reside because they prefer it; for the Mexican prefers to live in the main streets of his cities, the great doorway of his patio and his barred windows opening and looking immediately on to the streets.
On the other hand, the wealthy inhabitant of the capital often lives in the quaint and beautiful towns adjacent thereto, and reached by rail or electric car with a few miles' journey. Such places are Tacubaya, San Angel, Tlalpam, and others, and here spacious and picturesque stone houses—some of considerable age—surrounded by luxuriant gardens where oranges, pomegranates, and other semi-tropical flora lend shade and beauty, attest the wealth and taste of their inhabitants. Serene and old-world is the atmosphere surrounding these "palaces"—for some are worthy of this designation—and with their environment of summer sky and glorious landscape they form real oases of that romantic and luxurious character which the foreigner in his fancy has attributed to Mexico, but which he fails to encounter in the newer quarters of the city.
To treat at much length of the numerous institutions and buildings of the capital would be to fill a volume. The parks, monuments, museums, art gallery, public library, theatres, hygienic establishments, hospitals, prisons, new drainage-system, pure water-supply, national palaces and public buildings, colleges, schools, clubs: mining, engineering, medical science, and art institutions: all mark the character of the people as lovers of progress, art, and science, with strongly developed literary and artistic perceptions and idealistic aims, which they are striving to apply to the good of their people, as far as circumstances render it possible. All the machinery of State affairs and municipal and social life are excellently ordered theoretically, and in time may be expected to work out in general practice to a fuller extent.
Education is provided for by compulsory primary instruction throughout the Republic, and by preparatory and professional schools and colleges in the capital, all of which are free. The principal of these latter in the capital are the Preparatory College, or High School, providing a general curriculum; the College of Jurisprudence, devoted to law and sociology; the Medical College, to medicine and kindred subjects; the School of Engineering, whether civil, mining, electrical, or all other branches of that profession, which is looked upon as a very important one; School of Agriculture; School of Commerce; School of Fine Arts; Conservatory of Music; Schools of Arts and Trades, for boys and girls respectively; Normal Colleges, for men and women respectively. All these educational institutions are supported by the Federal Government in the capital, by which it is seen that the Mexican nation is holding forth good opportunity to its citizens for acquiring knowledge. Notwithstanding these facilities the education of the lower classes proceeds but slowly, and at present less than 13 per cent. of the entire population can read and write. It is to be recollected, however, that the great bulk of the population consist of the peones and the Indians, and the conditions of the life of these render the acquisition of education by them often impossible. Knowledge cannot else but slowly unfold for the indigenous peoples of Spanish-America, weighed down as they are by conditions of race, caste, and inherited and imposed social burdens.