Spanish America: Its Romance, Reality and Future. C. Reginald Enock
in distance, lay the strange, unknown city of the Aztecs, like a gem upon the borders of its lakes: its towers and buildings gleaming white in the brilliant sun of the tropic upland beneath the azure firmament and brought to deceptive nearness by the clear atmosphere of that high environment. There at last was their longed-for goal, the mysterious Tenochtitlan."[8]
The city of Mexico, notwithstanding its modern attributes, is stamped with history and tradition, and in this respect is perhaps the most noteworthy metropolis on the American continents. It is, as it were, a mediaeval city, transplanted from the Old World to the New. The United States has, naturally, no place which may compare with it, and in happier times Mexico City has been a tourist centre for Americans, who, escaping from the more materialistic and commercial atmosphere of their own busy towns, and the extremes of heat or cold which alternate therein, have sought the equable and healthful condition of the Mexican upland capital—an easy journey comparatively, of a few days in a Pullman car, amid landscapes attractive from their novelty.
We are in a city of churches and convents. Elsewhere I have described some of these remarkable edifices, home of the Roman Catholic faith, and as we view the city from the pleasing hills surrounding the valley their domes and towers stand up refreshingly.
The houses of Mexico are of a type unknown to the Anglo-Saxon American; the social customs, the aspects of the streets, the markets, the flower-market, the old, massive public buildings, the cotton-clad Indian folk in the plazas side by side with beautifully dressed señoritas and correctly attired, grave and ceremonious men—statesmen, lawyers, doctors and men of many professions, the serenatas or concerts in the alamedas, the lottery ticket vendors thrusting their flimsy wares into one's face, urging you to tempt fortune—for will not the wheel be turned in the public square in half an hour, and may you yourself not be the winner of the sorteo?—all these features catch the traveller's eye as in the genial sunshine, before the midday heat renders the shade of the patio or veranda advisable, we observe the life of the Mexican city. In the market-place, at an early hour or in the evening, the odour of the tortilla or the frijoles, fried in the open for ready sale, will greet our nostrils, and there are piquant chiles—a favourite article of diet—and many luscious and unknown fruits which we cannot resist.
THE CATHEDRAL, CITY OF MEXICO.
Vol. I. To face p. 114.
Under the shade trees in the plaza or the alameda, escorted by Indian maid-servant, or perhaps entering or leaving the temples, are sweet-faced girls of the upper class, pale oval-faced señoritas with dark hair and expressive eyes, with the mantilla drawn over the head, bent on their early-morning orisons: but though their thoughts are at the moment doubtless dwelling upon matters spiritual, there are glances from expressive eyes—
Para que te miré, mujer divina?
Para que contemplé tu faz hermosa?
Sentiment and love, indeed, play a strong part in the temperament of this southern race, with all its reserve and seclusion.
The foreigner in Mexico will thus find a varied local colour in the Mexican capital and in other cities throughout the Republic, such as could long occupy his pen, and indeed his brush, if he wield such. To come into actual touch with the people in their homes is more difficult, but if he is fortunate enough to be the guest in an upper class Mexican family, he will experience the most pleasing hospitality. To penetrate such circles, however, there must be the appropriate qualities and circumstances.
In this peaceful city there are few signs of revolution, disorder or bloodshed. The walls here and there may be pitted with bullet-marks, but the things which caused them come and go, and the populace lives its life with merely passing notice of them.
We may wander somewhat farther afield in the valley: to the suburbs where the palaces of the wealthy lie embowered in flowers and orange-trees; to Xochimilco, the Field of Flowers; to Chalpultepec—the Aztec "Hill of the Grasshoppers," where stands the presidential castle; to the shrine of Guadalupe, the Lourdes of Mexico, where the Virgin, it is said, appeared in a vision to Juan, the poor Indian.
The great lake of Texcoco, a dreary body of water now—it is partly drained by a great canal, to the far greater salubrity of the place—formerly extended to the city, which, indeed, at the time of the Conquest, was built upon it and reached by stone causeways—a position which might have been impregnable.
The first attempt by Cortes and the Spaniards upon Tenochtitlan ended in disaster. They were enjoying the Aztec hospitality, which, however, they outraged. They attacked and massacred a number of the people and took Montezuma a prisoner in the stout palace which had been assigned as their quarters. They stormed and carried the great Teocalli, or pyramid-temple, and threw down the great idol of the Mexicans. Montezuma was killed, either by a missile from without or treacherously by the Spaniards whilst in their power. All seemed lost as a result of the mad act of Alvarado in attacking the people. The story of the disaster is a thrilling one.
"The bridges broken, the savages screaming outside the walls, hope of victory gone, there was now no counsel of war for the Spaniards save that of escape. But how? At night and along the great causeway was the only plan. A weird scene it was on the beginning of that Noche Triste—the sorrowful night—which stands forth so unforgettably in the history of the Conquest. Disorder everywhere; piles of gold and valuables on the floor, each Spaniard, whether cavalier or boor, loading himself with what he thought he could carry. 'Pocket what you can,' Cortes said, 'but recollect that gold is heavy and we have to travel swiftly'—grave advice, the neglect of which cost some their lives upon that awful night.
"And then began the retreat along the fatal causeway. It was known that there were three openings in this, and a portable bridge had been made and was borne along to enable passage to be effected. Hurrying on in the hope of passing the breaches before alarm might be given, the Spaniards entered upon the causeway and placed their portable bridge upon the first breach. Was safety to be theirs? No! what was that appalling sound, sonorous and melancholy, which rang over the city and the waters amid the darkness? It was the great drum on the teocalli; the tambor of the war-god, sounded by vigilant priests, calling the people to vengeance and battle. And in their myriads the Aztecs poured forth and fell upon the Christians, raining darts and stones upon them, and making the night hideous with their war-cries. Meanwhile Cortes and the advance guard had passed over, and reached the second breach. 'Bring up the bridge!' was the repeated order, as those behind crowded on. Useless; the bridge was stuck fast in the first breach, wedged down by the weight of guns and horses which had passed over it, and as these dread tidings were heard the mass of men upon the narrow causeway lost their presence of mind. Those behind crowded on those in front; men and horses rolled into the lake; Spaniards and Tlascalans fell victims to the Aztecs, who crowded the water in their canoes and leapt upon the causeway; the shouts of vengeance and triumph of the savages resounded all along the dyke, silencing the muttered oath or prayer of the Christians huddled at the breach. Down went horse and man, artillery and treasure, until the bodies of Christians and Indians and horses, and bales of merchandise and chests of ammunition the breach was almost filled, and a portion of the fugitives passed over. And now the third breach yawns before them—deep and wide. The morning is dawning upon the fatal scene; the salt waters of the lake have closed over many a gallant Christian head; the frightful causeway is strewn with wreck of man and merchandise. 'The rear guard perishes!' and 'back and save them!' were the words which rang out then, and Cortes and his remaining cavaliers, who were in the lead, rode back, even in that frightful hour—be it recorded to their honour—and, swimming the breach once more, strove to support their comrades. There stood Alvarado unhorsed and battling, with the savages pressing upon his rear. Escape there seemed none. Canoes and spears teemed on every side, and Cortes and his companions were forced onward."[9]
The figure of Alvarado stood up against the grey sky alone—a moment—and then he measured the breach with his eye. Planting his lance on the wreckage in the waters of the breach, after the manner of a leaping-pole, the heroic Spaniard, collecting his energies, leapt forward, and passed the chasm at a bound. The Aztecs paused in admiration of this feat of the "Son of