FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[8]Alameda, a general name for a public walk; literally, a place planted with poplars,alamos.[9]The name of the viceroy who presented it to the town.

[8]Alameda, a general name for a public walk; literally, a place planted with poplars,alamos.

[9]The name of the viceroy who presented it to the town.

A Mexican Wake.

The company to which Perico had introduced me presented a very singular appearance. About twenty men and women of the lowest class were seated in a circle, chatting, bawling, and gesticulating. A dank, cadaverous smell pervaded the apartment, which was hardly smothered by the smoke of cigars, and the fumes of Xeres andChinguirito. In a corner of the room stood a table loaded with provisions of every sort, with cups, bottles, and flasks. Some gamblers, seated at a table a little farther off, jingling copper money, and shouting out the technical terms ofmonte, were quarreling, with drunken excitement, over piles ofcuartillas[10]andtlacos. Under the triple excitement of wine, women, and play, the orgie, which had only commenced when I arrived, seemed likely to mount to a formidable height; but what struck me most was precisely that which seemed to engage the attention of the assembly least. A young child, who seemed to have scarcely reached his seventh year, was lying at full length on a table. His pale brow, wreathed with flowers faded by the heat of the stifling atmosphere, his glazed eyes, and shriveled, sunken cheeks, already tinged with a violet hue, plainly showed that life had left him, and that it was some days, probably, since he had slept the eternal sleep. The mere sight of the little corpse was heartrending amid the cries, thegambling, and the noisy conversation; the men and women meanwhile laughing and singing like savages. The flowers and jewels which decorated him, far from stripping death of its gloomy solemnity, only made the appearance more hideous. A general silence followed our entrance. A man, in whom I soon recognized the master of the house and the father of the dead child, rose to receive us. His face, far from being oppressed with sadness, seemed, on the contrary, radiant with delight, and he pointed with an air of pride to the numerous guests that had assembled to celebrate the death of his son, an event considered as a favor from heaven, since God had been pleased to call the child to himself before he was old enough to displease him. He assured us that we were welcome to his house, and that to him, on such an occasion, strangers became friends. Thanks to the loquacity of Perico, I had become the focus on which all eyes were centred. I had a difficult part to play, Perico thinking it right to make it appear to all who would listen to him that no one could kill people with a better grace than I. To enable me to act my part properly, I hastened to put my gloves in my pocket, and affect the most cavalier assurance, convinced that it was prudent to follow the fashion.

"What do you think of the lodging I have found you?" asked Perico, rubbing his hands; "is not this better than what I could offer you? besides, you will now know what a velorio is; it will be a resource in the evenings when you are low-spirited, and have nothing to do. Thanks to me, you will thus acquire a title to the eternal gratitude of this worthy father, whose child, having died before its seventh year, is now an angel in heaven."

And Perico, anxious, no doubt, to have a share in this tribute of gratitude, seized, without ceremony, an enormous glass ofchinguirito, and swallowed it at a draught. I witnessed for the first time this barbarous custom, which compels the father of a family to cloak his sorrow beneath a smiling face, and to do the honors of his house to the first vagabond who, under the guidance of a sereno, comes to gorge himself with meat and drink before the corpse of his son, and share in that profuse liberality which often brings want to the family on the morrow.

The orgie, which had been disturbed a moment by our entrance, now fell in its usual course, and I began to cast my eyes about a little. In the midst of a circle of excited females, who esteem it a duty never to neglect a night-wake, I perceived a pale face, lips attempting to smile in spite of eyes full of tears, and, in this victim of a gross superstition, I had little difficulty in detecting the mother, for whom an angel in heaven could not compensate for the angel she missed on earth. The women about her seemed vying with one another as to who should increase the sorrow of the poor woman by their ill-timed but well-meant importunities. The different stages of the disease, and the sufferings of the dead child, were described by one woman; another enumerated infallible remedies that she would have applied if she had been consulted in time, such as St. Nicholas's plasters, moxas, the vapor of purslane gathered on a Friday in Lent, decoctions of herbs strained through a bit of a Dominican's frock, and the poor credulous mother turned her head away to wipe her eyes, thoroughly convinced that these remedies, if applied in time, would have saved her child. Sherry and cigarettes were rapidly consumed duringthese discussions; then all the innocent games in use in Spanish America were proposed and played, while the children, weary and sleepy, lay down to rest in every corner of the room, as if envying him whose discolored face protested, beneath the withered flowers, against this odious profanation of the dead.

Seated in the deep recess of one of the windows which looked into the street, I watched all Perico's motions with some uneasiness. It appeared to me that the protection he had so suddenly bestowed was only a cloak to entrap me. My features must have betrayed my uneasiness, for the lépero approached and said, by way of consolation,

"Look you, señor, killing a man is like every thing else; the first step is the only painful one. Besides, your sereno may perhaps be like my Englishman, who is to-day as well as ever. These heretics have as many lives as a cat. Ah! señor," said Perico, with a sigh, "I have always regretted that I was not a heretic."

"To have as many lives as a cat?"

"No, to be paid for my conversion! Unfortunately, my reputation as a Christian is too well established."

"But the cavalier you were to kill," I asked of Perico, naturally brought back to the recollection of the melancholy young man whom I had seen kneeling before the Morgue, "do you think that he is still alive?"

Perico shook his head. "To-morrow, perhaps, his mad passion may have cost him his life, and his mistress will not survive him. I have no desire to make two victims at once, and I threw up the business."

"These sentiments do you honor, Perico."

Perico wished to profit by the favorable impression his answer had produced upon me.

"Doubtless—you can not risk your soul so for afew piastres. But, speaking of piastres, señor," he continued, holding out his hand, "I feel in the vein, and perhaps there are still a few pieces left in your purse. If I break the bank atmonte, you shall go halves with my winnings."

I thought it prudent to yield to this new demand of the Zaragate. The play, besides, would free me from his company, which was becoming irksome. I slipped, then, some piastres into Perico's hand. Almost at the same moment twelve o'clock struck. One of the company rose, and cried in a solemn tone, "It is the hour of the souls in Purgatory; let us pray!"

The gamblers arose, amusements were suspended, and all the company gravely knelt. The prayer began in a high tone of voice, interrupted by responses at regular intervals, and for the first time the object of the meeting seemed remembered. Picture to yourselves these sots, their eyes glazed with drunkenness—these women in tatters, standing round a corpse crowned with flowers; draw over all this kneeling crowd the vapors of a thick atmosphere, in which putrid miasmas were mingled with the fumes of liquor, and you will have an idea of the strange and horrible scene of which I was forced to become an unwilling eye-witness.

Prayers over, gambling commenced anew, but not with so much liveliness as before. In company, when the night is far advanced, there is always a strong inclination to go to sleep; but when this struggle is over, the spirits become more lively, and get almost delirious and frantic. That is the hour of the orgie: the time was approaching.

I had again sat down in the recess of the window, and, to drive away the drowsiness which I felt stealing upon me, occasioned by the close air in the room,had opened the window a little. Looking out into the darkness of the night, I tried to find out, by the stars, what o'clock it was, and also to trace my way mentally through the labyrinth of streets, but I could scarcely see a bit of the sky, which on that night was cloudy, above the tops of the neighboring houses. I never remembered to have seen in Mexico before this canal with its leaden waters, nor those dark, deserted lanes which ran at right angles to it. I was completely at fault. Should I remain any longer amid this hideous orgie? Ought I not to try to escape, even though it was dangerous, through the streets of this distant suburb? While I was irresolutely weighing all these things in my mind, a noise of steps and confused whispers attracted my attention. I hid myself behind one of the shutters, so as to see and hear without being seen. Half a dozen men soon issued from a lane in front of the house in which I was. Their leader was wrapped in anesclavina,[11]which only half concealed the scabbard of his sword. The others were armed with naked sabres. A European but newly arrived in the country would have considered them criminals from their timid deportment, but my experienced eye could not be deceived; justice alone could seem so terrified, and I easily recognized the night patrol, composed of a regidor, an auxiliary alcalde, and fourceladores.

"Voto a brios!" said the man in theesclavina, probably one of the auxiliary magistrates, at once alcaldes and publicans, who lodge criminals during the day, and let them off to pursue them at night; "what does my Lord Prefect mean by sending us to patrol in such a quarter as this, where the officers of justicehave never penetrated. I should like to see him employed about this business."

"He would take care to provide himself with fire-arms, that he refuses to us," said one of thecorchetes, who appeared the coolest of the party, "for criminals and malefactors are not in the habit of carrying the arms we do, and the person whom we have been ordered to protect will perhaps experience it this night to his cost."

"What the devil!" said the alcalde, "when one knows that he runs the risk of getting a dagger into him at night, why does not he stay at home?"

"There are some scamps whom nothing frightens," replied one of the corchetes; "but, as the Evangelist says, 'he who seeks the danger shall perish in it.'"

"What o'clock may it be now?" asked the auxiliary.

"Four in the morning," answered one of the men; and, raising his eyes to the window behind which I was concealed, he added, "I envy those people who pass the night so merrily in thattertulia." Talking thus, the celadores walked along the brink of the canal. All at once the auxiliary at their head stumbled in the darkness. At that moment a man sprang up and stood before the patrol.

"Who are you?" cried the alcalde, in a voice meant to be imposing.

"What's that to you?" replied the man as haughtily. "Can't a man sleep in the streets without being questioned?"

"One sleeps at home as—as—much as possible," stammered the alcalde, evidently frightened.

The person thus caught acting so much like a vagabond gave a shrill whistle, and, pushing the alcaldeaside, ran down a neighboring lane. To my great surprise, the alcalde and the celadores, like men who dread a snare, instead of following him, ran off in quite an opposite direction. Almost at the same moment a hand was laid on my shoulder. I started and turned about. Perico and my host stood before me.

"That whistle sounds wonderfully like the call of my chum Navaja, when out on an expedition," cried the former, stooping to peer through the window, while the latter, with bleared eyes, his legs tottering like a man who had too conscientiously fulfilled his duties as master of the house, offered me a glass of liquor, that his shaky hand allowed to run over. Then, with the irritability peculiar to drunkards,

"One may say, señor," said he to me, "that you despise the society of poor people like us; you don't play, you don't drink; yet, in certain cases of conscience, gambling and brandy give great relief. Look at me now! To gratify my friends, I have eaten and drunk what I have and what I haven't: well, I am happy, although I don't possess atlacoin the world; and, if you like, I will play with you for my child's body! It is a stake," continued he, in a confidential tone, "which is as good as another, for I can let it out, and well too, to some lover of a velorio."

"Play for the body of your child!" I cried.

"Why not? That is done every day. Every body hasn't the good fortune to have an angel aloft, and the body of this dear little one brings luck here."

I got rid, as well as I could, of the entreaties of this tender-hearted father, and cast my eyes once more into the street, but the approaches to the canal were now silent and deserted. I was not long, however, in discovering that this quiet, this solitude, were onlyapparent. Some strange, vague sounds escaped now and then from one of the lanes leading to the canal. Presently I fancied I heard the crunching of unsteady steps on the gravel. With my body leaning over the balcony, and listening intently, I waited for the moment when the awful stillness would be broken by some cry of anguish. The sound of voices, loud in dispute, again drew my attention to the room on which my back was turned. The orgie was this moment at its height. The Zaragate, surrounded by a group of angry gamblers, whose suspicions had been roused by his run of good luck, was trying, but in vain, to wrap around him the shreds of his olive cloak, which had been torn into ribbons by the furious hands of his adversaries.

The most stinging epithets were launched against him from all sides.

"I am a man of substance," cried the fellow, impudently, "as much as those whose uncivil hands have torn to tatters the handsomest cloak I ever possessed."

"Barefaced swindler!" cried a gambler; "your cloak had as many rents as your conscience."

"In any other place," replied Perico, who was prudently edging toward the door, "you would have to give me satisfaction for this double insult. Señor," said he, appealing to me, "be my surety, as I have been yours; half of my winnings is yours; they were honestly come by. All this is but mere slander."

I was once more mentally cursing my intimacy with Perico, when an occurrence of a graver nature made a happy diversion to the scene in which I saw myself in danger of becoming an actor. A man rushed hurriedly out of one of the back rooms on the same floor. Close behind him another followed, knife in hand; awoman after, shrieking terribly, and her dress flying in disorder about her.

"Will you stand and see me murdered?" cried the pursued, piteously. "Will no one hand me a knife?"

"Let me bury my knife in this rascal's body, this destroyer of my honor!" gasped the outraged husband.

The women, doubtless through sympathy, shrieked in concert, and uttered the most dreadful cries, while a friend of the offender slyly slipped a long knife into his hand. The latter faced about, and rushed boldly at his adversary. The cries of the women increased; a dreadful confusion ensued. The infuriated fellows made prodigious efforts to get at one another. Blood was about to flow, when, in the struggle, the table on which the infant lay was overturned. The body fell on the floor with a dull, heavy sound, and the flowers were scattered about. A large circle formed round the profaned corpse. A piercing shriek rose over all the uproar, and the bereaved mother threw herself on her child's remains with a cry of intense agony.

I had seen too much. I rushed to the balcony to cast a second look into the street, to assure myself that escape was yet possible; but there was no egress in that way. A man had just emerged from one of the lanes which opened upon the opposite bank of the canal. Other men came behind him, brandishing their weapons. This Navaja, whom Perico acknowledged as one of the fraternity, had doubtless collected his troop, and I was about to see him terminate, without being able to help his victim, one of those nocturnal brawls, of which some of the léperos boast. The person they were pursuing soon reached the parapet, and set his back to it. I distinctly heard him exclaim,

"Back, you cowardly rascals, who fight five to one."

"At him,Muchachos!" cried the chief of the band; "there are a hundred piastres to be earned."

Need I tell what followed? The unequal struggle lasted only a few moments. Soon a fierce shout announced that the murderers had triumphed. The unhappy man still breathed. He was able even to drag himself to the bridge, and, waving the stump of his sword, to dare the assassins to come on. Again surrounded by these villains, he once more fell beneath their blows. By the wan light of the lamp burning for the souls in Purgatory, I saw the men lift a bleeding body and throw it into the canal, the surface of which was for a moment disturbed. A second after, the assassins dispersed, and so rapidly that I asked myself if all this was not a bad dream; but the reality was too evident for me to indulge long in this error. Another incident occurred to prove to me that I was wide awake. A man on horseback issued from the house to which a fatal chain of events had bound me, and in this man I recognized Perico, mounted on the noble animal that I had brought with so much trouble from thehacienda de la Noria.

"Halloo, you rascal!" I exclaimed, "this is too much; you are stealing my horse."

"Señor," replied Perico, with astonishing composure, "I am carrying away a proof which might criminate your lordship."

Such was the lépero's farewell. The spurs driven home, the horse sprang off at a gallop. Without taking leave of any body, I set off in pursuit. It was too late; I only heard in the distance his plaintive neigh and the break of his gallop. These sounds soon diedaway. I rushed at random down one of the lanes which led to the canal. I wandered a long time in this labyrinth before finding myself in a place I knew, and day was breaking before I discovered my whereabouts. Night had brought its counsel, and I resolved to make a declaration in a court of law about the misfortune I had caused the night before. I went, then, to thejuzgado de latras.[12]When I entered the judge had not yet arrived, and I waited in the hall. Fatigue and want of sleep were not long in making me oblivious of all my anxieties, and I fell asleep on a bench. I was retracing in my dreams the extraordinary scenes I had witnessed. I fancied I heard a dull noise about me, then deep silence all at once. I opened my eyes; I still believed myself a prey to the nightmare. A stretcher, covered with a bloody sheet, was laid almost at my feet. A thought passed through me like a flash of lightning. I imagined that I had been recognized, and that, by a refinement of barbarous justice, they were about to confront me with him whose death I had caused. I walked to the end of the lobby; the sight of the bloody sheet became insupportable to me. I gradually reassured myself, however, and, arming myself with courage, went and raised a corner of the covering. I had no difficulty in recognizing the victim. His pale, handsome face, and forehead marked with a long, slender scar, had left too deep an impression in my memory. The marshy plants and green slime which soiled his clothes reminded me of the theatre of the crime. This was the man I had seen die so valiantly, and whose loss, I knew, would be so tenderly bewailed. I let the sheet fall over his noble face.

I hasten to terminate this too long story. Twentydays had passed. No attention seemed to have been paid to the unfortunate accident of which I had been the innocent cause, and nothing remained of my nocturnal adventures but an invincible horror of the whole tribe of léperos, when I received an order to appear before a strange alcalde. A man about forty years of age, as much a stranger to me as the alcalde, was waiting for me at the bar.

"Señor," said this man to me, "I am the lamplighter whom your lordship almost killed; and as this accident has kept me from work for a fortnight, you will not take it ill if I ask you to make it up to me."

"Certainly not," said I, delighted to know that I had not to reproach myself with the death of any body. "How much do you ask?"

"Five hundred piastres, señor."

I must confess that this exorbitant charge immediately changed my pleasure into anger, and I could not help mentally consigning the lamplighter to the devil. But these feelings cooled down almost immediately; and the alcalde advising me to compound with the man, I was glad to be let off for a fifth part of the sum demanded by the lamplighter. After all, if my studies had been too expensive, the experience I had gained had its value, and I regretted nothing that Perico had extorted from me, not even the noble horse which he had so ingeniously appropriated.

FOOTNOTES:[10]A cuartilla is worth 1½d; a tlaco ¾d.[11]A small frock-coat, a short cloak.[12]Justiciary court. Thejuez de latrasis the criminal judge.

[10]A cuartilla is worth 1½d; a tlaco ¾d.

[11]A small frock-coat, a short cloak.

[12]Justiciary court. Thejuez de latrasis the criminal judge.

The Convent of St. Francis.

In the present state of society in Europe, in which the principles and traditions of the Middle Ages have been so completely broken up, one can hardly form any idea of the influence which the monk exercises in Mexico, and of the strong tie which connects him with the world. If, however, this bond had no existence, the singular picture which Mexican society presents would lose one of its greatest charms—the perpetual contrast, namely, of the customs and characteristics of the nineteenth century with those of the time of Philip II. Beside men armed to the teeth, women dressed as in the days of Cortez and Pizarro, and barelegged Indians, with feet encased in ancient sandals, the gown of the monk appears, not as an anomaly, but as a highly poetic souvenir. This figure is not out of keeping with the picture, but in perfect harmony with it. Whether in public or in private, the monk takes a share in Mexican life, not only every day, but almost every moment. Not to speak of the many religious ceremonies performed by the monks, the rules of the cloister are generally so lax as to allow them free liberty of egress at almost any hour; and thus they can mix, without difficulty, in all the gayeties of the world.You can easily understand what a picturesque element is introduced into society by this immense crowd, who issue every day from the numerous convents, each order bringing its own type upon the scene, from the black frock of the Dominican to the white robe of theMercedario.

If the upper classes of Mexican society have escaped from the trammels of monkish influence, the middle classes regard them with as much superstitious reverence as they did a century ago. The fantastic eloquence of the Middle Ages still keeps its ground here. The Mexican preacher, carried away by his enthusiasm, seizes upon the most startling metaphors: sometimes he represents Godas making the sun his charger, and the moon his stirrup;[13]sometimes it is an obscene story, to which, with the most imperturbable gravity, he attaches a religious moral. When out of pulpit or confessional, the same man who inculcated the severest ascetism, utters the raciest jokes, and sings the best songs in sometertuliaon the ground floor. He even pushes his anxiety so far as to furnish the laity with hints about dress. He gives excellent directions about the cut of a new suit of clothes; nay, more, he charges himself sometimes with their purchase, frequenting assiduously the saloons of fashion—and there is no appeal from his criticism. Very often his complaisance is not of the most disinterested kind; too often his purchase is only a kind of tribute paid to a family whom the reverend father supports at his own expense, on condition of tasting clandestinely in its pleasures. The monk is every where except at his convent. Every thing is an attraction to him—bull-fights, cock-fights, gambling-tables, and theatres;every place gives him an opportunity of displaying his whims and oddities. Let no one fancy that his compliant manners operate against him as a priest and spiritual director. The Mexicans understand to a nicety the bond which unites devotion to worldly pleasures. When the monk, late at night, wends his way to his convent after a day spent in dissipation, the passers-by, when they see him, bow the knee with as much respect as if his pious discourses and conduct were not in startling contrast with each other.

After this account of the character and habits of the Mexican monk, no one will be astonished at the occurrence which made me acquainted with one of the jolliest members of the great monastic family, the Reverend Fray Serapio. Curiosity had led me to a popular fête in the environs of Mexico, that of San Augustin de las Crevas, a small town about twelve miles from the capital. This fête, which makes Mexico a deserted city for three days, is frequented by the élite of Mexican gamblers. Whoever does not play is looked upon with suspicion. I followed the example of the numerous card-players who had been attracted to San Augustin, and seated myself at a table. My opposite neighbor was a Franciscan of athletic mould, and I shall never forget his sunburned, swarthy countenance, his piercing look, and his shaven face fringed with clusters of long crisp hair, shaggy as a bison's mane. He was a true soldier in a monkish dress. After a run of bad luck, I left the tables just as my last stake disappeared in the pocket of the monk. I wandered for some time in the streets of the village, hearing around me every where the clink of quadruples and piastres. I then mounted my horse, and, cursing my ill luck, took the road to Mexico. I hadscarcely gone more than half way when I was brought to a stand-still by a very disagreeable circumstance. A turnpike gate stood half way between Mexico and San Augustin. Just as I came within sight of it, I made the disagreeable discovery that I had not the real necessary for passing me through the gate. Wishing to give myself time for reflection, I walked my horse slowly along, but the fatal turnpike came always nearer and nearer. I was just going to turn my horse's head round and gallop back, when by chance the Franciscan who had cleaned me out came up. The lucky winner addressed me most politely, and I replied in the most courteous manner. He offered to accompany me to Mexico; and the secret hope of being able to pass the gate at the Franciscan's expense doubtless made me accept his offer with so much alacrity. I fancied that I was doing no more than an act of politeness in congratulating my companion on his run of good luck. But what was my surprise when he exclaimed, with a sigh, "Confound it! I was quite cleaned out down there; I have nothing—nothing but my debts. I must say that I counted upon you to pass me through."

I confessed that I was just about to beg the same favor of him. Upon this the Franciscan fell into such convulsions of laughter that, in spite of myself, I could not help joining him heartily. We then deliberated what course to pursue. We hit upon several ludicrous expedients, but they were rejected one after the other. After some discussion, we decided that it would be best to clear the turnpike at a gallop without paying. "We will pay double the next time we pass," said the monk. Having thus disposed of this case of conscience, he spurred his steed; I followed.We soon left the pikemen behind us; and our horses flying at full speed, a thick cloud of dust soon hid us from their sight. Once at Mexico, it may be easily understood that we did not part without agreeing to meet again. A card-table, it must be owned, is rather an extraordinary place for one to strike up a friendship with a monk.

The acquaintance thus commenced promised to be agreeable, and a few days after our first meeting I repaired to the convent of St. Francisco, the abode of my friend. After this visit I went often, at first for the Franciscan's sake, and afterward to see the convent, the most beautiful building of the kind in Mexico. To tell the truth, Fray Serapio was seldom in his cell; but his friendship insured me a constant welcome at the monastery, the library of which possessed inexhaustible treasures.

None of the religious communities scattered over Mexico is so rich or powerful as that of St. Francis. The vast extent of ground covered by the Franciscan convents in all the large towns, and the massive walls, crowned with numerous turrets, which surround them, are sufficient indications of the power and wealth of the order. The monastery to which chance had introduced me is at once worthy of the community that owns it, and of the capital of which it is one of the chief ornaments. The street of San Francisco, which leads to the cloister of this name, is a continuation of that crowded commercial street, thePlateros. The cloister, happily situated in the most stirring part of the town, rises at the extremity of the street Francisco, and extends as far as the entrance to the Alameda. The thick walls, flanked with massive buttresses, give to the convent the appearance of a fortress. At thesame time, the spires, which shoot up into the air, and the fine cupolas, covered with burnished tiles, gave clear indications of the character of the building. You arrive at the principal chapel by a vast flagged court, which is always crowded with sight-seers, visitors, the faithful, and the poor. Opposite the first court is an inclosure reserved for the monks. The immense cloisters, ornamented with basins inlaid with white jasper, gardens, a rich library, new dormitories, three hundred cells, a refectory, in which three hundred persons can sit down to dinner, combine to form a spectacle at once imposing and magnificent, which surpasses even the expectation of the visitor who enters the convent after having admired its exterior.

All my leisure hours, on Sundays especially, I loved to bury myself in the huge dusty library, and to ransack archives of which even the monks themselves were quite ignorant. Two books, above all, captivated me completely; one was a volume of legendary stories, the other a collection ofautos de fé, executed by the Mexican Inquisition. I forgot even the lapse of time while reading them. These atrocious recitals, which the cold-blooded chronicler always sums up withLaus Deo, exercised upon me, especially when the day was waning, a singular fascination. The distant droning of the organ, and the doleful chanting of the monks, sometimes deepened the impression; and, in the mysterious gloom which had already enveloped the hall, I fancied I saw rise before me the heroes of the legendary stories, or the victims of the Inquisition. When I came out of the library, and walked in the cloisters, the monks whom I met in the dark corridors seemed to me to bear no resemblance whatever to those I had seen upholding the dignity of the cowlin the streets of Mexico. There are two sorts of monks in the convent: monks still young enough to delight in amontetable and in atertulia, and who are never in their cells; others whose age and infirmities prevent them from mixing with the world: these last form the settled population, which is not a very numerous one. Among the monks whom I met in the corridors of San Francisco, there was one, above all, who seemed to me to personify the convent life, with all its attendants of gloomy observance and secret penance. He was an old man, with a shining bald head; a kind of awe, mingled with curiosity, seized me whenever I saw him. I could have sworn that one of those sombre pictures upon the walls of the convent, from the pencil of Rodriguez, Cabrera, or Villalpando, had left its frame and come to life again.

Sometimes I mused away an idle hour in the garden; for, all the time I was in Mexico, solitude was peculiarly pleasing to me. Since my arrival in Mexico, years had been added to years, and I began to experience attacks of home-sickness. The unvarying deep blue sky, so unlike that of France, rather increased my sadness. The appearance of the convent garden, surrounded on all sides by lofty walls, was in perfect harmony with the melancholy thoughts which had taken possession of my mind. The sun had calcined the brick walls, upon which opened the windows of the tenantless cells. Weeds were growing here and there on a terrace shaded with the wide-spreading branches of the sycamore, the palma christi, and the mango. An arbor, ornamented with climbing plants, was the place to which I most frequently directed my steps. There, under a flowery arch, where the passion-flower, that favorite plant of the cloisters,the jasmine, and the clematis, with its beautiful flowers, grew in charming confusion, I passed many long hours, dreaming of my native country and absent friends. A mysterious charm drew me to this fresh and rustic retreat. A quaint device, cut on the trunk of a sycamore, which threw its branches across my bower, often attracted my attention:In silentio et in spe erit fortitudo tua. My soul felt strengthened and soothed in this solitude. In this wild and uncultivated garden I was charmed into a forgetfulness of the world, where the only sounds that reminded me of life were the buzzing of the humming-birds among the rose-bushes, the tinkling of bells, and the distant droning of the organ.

I scarcely ever saw any one in the garden. One monk only seemed to share with me a predilection for this peaceful inclosure, and, above all, for the arbor, from which I almost always saw him escaping at my approach. He was the same man whom I had so often watched in the cloisters with such a fearful curiosity. Sometimes I surprised him watering the garden borders, or giving his care to those flowers which grew near the grass-grown walks. My imagination soon found some romantic link between this melancholy old man and the forsaken bower. I resolved to enter into conversation with him. A conscience so troubled as his seemed to be might surely be able to make some curious revelations; but, after repeated attempts to rouse him from his habitual taciturnity, I was forced to give it up as hopeless. With hands crossed, and face turned to the ground, the monk, every time he met me, quickened his pace and vanished from my sight. I looked at him always with intense interest, as the intellectual though stern expression of hisfeatures contrasted strikingly with the vacant faces of the other monks. His face, which sometimes betrayed painful dejection, sometimes a fanatical joy, reminded me at times of the wonderful legends and dismal stories which I had been reading in the convent library. Was I right in my conjectures about this singular personage? Despairing of success in my endeavors to induce the monk to break silence, I resolved to question Fray Serapio about him; and, with the hope of meeting the jolly Franciscan, I directed my steps to one of the most charming spots in the environs of Mexico, the canal of Viga.

FOOTNOTE:[13]Cabalgando el sol, y estribando la luna.

[13]Cabalgando el sol, y estribando la luna.

The Viga Canal.

Nowhere in Mexico could there be found a spot which presents an appearance more different, according to the seasons of the year, than the Viga Canal. No place is by turns more solitary or more crowded, more noisy or more silent. This canal, about twenty-four miles long, mixes its waters with the lake on which Chalco stands, and forms a means of transport and communication between that town and Mexico. A broad open road, planted with aspens and poplars, runs along its sleeping waters. If the pedestrian did not observe, at some distance from the highway, the buildings which inclose the bull-ring, and, farther off, the towers of the Cathedral, above which shoot up the two mighty volcanoes of Mexico, he might fancy himself three hundred miles from the city. Some country houses, whose inhabitants are always invisible;the deserted paths of theCandelaria, a rival road to the Viga; lakelets scattered here and there in the midst of teeming vegetation, on whose surface floatchinampas[14]looking like large baskets; a solitaryvaquerohut here and there in the plain; then a range of hills overtopped by the sierra, form the principal features in the landscape. A placid stillness reigns over every part of the picture. Sometimes a pirogue is seen gliding noiselessly on the canal, sometimes a group of Indians kneeling in some grove before a Christ that they are decking with flowers, at whose feet they are piously depositing oranges and grenadilles, offerings which savor strongly of paganism. The flapping of the wings of an aigret hovering over the water, or that is losing itself in the blue sky, and the baying of some dogs prowling about, are the only sounds which break the stillness on this shady road. But at the approach of the Easter fêtes the road assumes quite a different appearance. Every Sunday in Lent, the entire population of Mexico assembles here, and a noisy crowd streams along the way. The day on which I went to the canal was the last Sunday in Lent. On reaching the road, I found the habitual promenaders of thePaseoandAlamedacrowding every spot of the ground in the Viga; but it was not the crowd which chiefly attracted me, it was the canal itself. On that day, the reeds on the bank, ordinarily so still, waved and jostled to and fro under the continual motion of the water, produced by the passing and repassing of numberless fleets of boats.Launches, canoes, pirogues, were constantly coming and going; some conveying to Mexico, for the Holy Week, immense quantities of flowers, which diffused a most delightful odor around.Other boats followed, crowded with light-hearted, merry passengers, wearing wreaths of wild poppy and sweet pea, and dancing on the deck to the inspiring strains of harps, flutes, and mandolins. Light-hearted Cyprians, in gamesome mood, scattered upon the breeze the purple buds of their wreaths, and trolled out choruses of lascivious songs. The clear sky, the dazzling brilliancy of the different costumes, and the soft, sweet melody of the language, brought to my mind the national festivals of ancient Greece; while the canal, which seemed at times suddenly transformed into a carpet of flowers, generally had the appearance of a moving mass of canoes, which shot past one another in all directions; groups of people, lying lazily on the bank, bantered the boatmen as they passed. Farther off, under the green arcades formed by the aspens upon the road, which shook under the roll of carriages and gallop of horses, paraded the gay fashionables of Mexico. Parties of high-spirited, wild-looking cavaliers, dressed in the national costume, sauntered up and down amid this gay throng as if protesting by their rough manners against the whimsical appearance of the dandies habited in French style.

A striking contrast was observable to the spectator. Upon the canal one saw America in the sixteenth century, which, under the beaming sun of the tropics, had abandoned herself without constraint to pleasure. Upon the road was America in the nineteenth century, seeking to model its native appearance on the worn-out type of Europe. By way of compensation, a few Europeans, habited in the ancient Mexican costume, at times appeared on the Viga; but beneath their dress you could distinguish at a glance the Englishman, the Frenchman, or the German. I must say,however, that our compatriots of the South were distinguished above all the other foreigners for the ease and grace with which they wore the national costume.

Evening was drawing on, darkness was coming down over the surrounding country, and the moving picture before me was rapidly dissolving, when I perceived four horsemen seemingly making their way toward me. I could not at first distinguish their features, their faces being partly concealed by the wide-spreadingsombreros, trimmed with broad ribbons, which they wore; but their appearance caused me to suspect them. These men, dressed inmangasandsarapes, seemed to be hemming me in with the intention of opposing my passage. They immediately spurred their horses and galloped up to me. "Stand!" cried a threatening voice; and, at the same moment, the four horsemen surrounded me. They were neither robbers nor alguazils, but men whose amiable character and joyous temperament I often had occasion to appreciate. In one I recognized Don Diego Mercado, student of theology in the college of St. John de Lateran; in another, the officer Don Blas; the third was the hidalgo, Don Romulo D—— F——, a political marplot, who could never be satisfied with the government of the day, but was always looking about for an opportunity to overturn it, who was admitted, notwithstanding this weakness, into the highest society in Mexico; the fourth was one whom I would have least expected to find in a company like the present, and in such a disguise: it was no other, in truth, than my worthy friend, Fray Serapio.

"Do I really see the Reverend Fray Serapio?" I exclaimed. "Do I really see my friend under this bandit costume?"

"Tut!" said the Franciscan; "I am traveling incog.; I shall tell you why some other time."

"Good," said I to the monk; "I have something to ask you which interests me as much."

"You are one of ourselves," cried the officer, "and we are going to conduct you to a place out of Mexico, where we intend to finish the Holy Week."

"Where is it?" I inquired.

"You will know when you get there," replied the hidalgo. "I know you are a lover of adventures: well, I promise you some, and of a strange enough kind."

This was taking me on my weak side, and I accepted the offer without troubling myself any farther as to its whereabouts. I was, besides, in full traveling costume; and an excursion by night was, above all, highly agreeable to me. We alighted, and threaded our way through the crowd; then leaving it, we struck along the Candelaria road, and, remounting, pursued a northerly direction. I fell behind the rest and joined Fray Serapio, and again renewed my inquiries about his disguise. On our first acquaintance the monk seemed to my taste too shy and distrustful, but I soon hit upon a sure way of stripping him of these unsocial qualities. I feigned to make the Christian virtues of my venerable friend the theme of my warm admiration; and Serapio, who had the high ambition, a singular one in a monk, of passing for a rake, replied to my eulogiums by some revelations about the old monk which did not redound greatly to his credit. At this time, too, the expedient succeeded as it ordinarily did. The Franciscan assured me, with a contrite air, that he had put on this disguise by the will of God!

"As you always do," I rejoined, gravely; "you obey him implicitly, like a humble servant."

The monk bowed and quickened his horse's pace.

"It has pleased God," replied he, "to deprive his servant of his robes for the purpose of saving the soul of a Christian who is about to quit this world."

"St. Martin gave to the poor only a half of his cloak. What was his charity in comparison with yours?"

The Franciscan shrugged his shoulders.

"Alas!" he muttered, "it is a rich man who has my gown, and I don't deserve to be compared to St. Martin."

"I am well aware that the most noble virtues are often modestly hidden from the world."

Wearied with my bantering, the monk dropped the mask entirely.

"Faith!" he replied, in a frank, open tone, "pietistic people prefer being interred in a monkish habit; and, the more threadbare the garment, the higher they value it. My gown, on this account, is of an inestimable value. I sold it a short time ago for double its original cost; and, besides the profit from the sale of it, I got a present of this costume which I am now wearing."

The sun had now set; and the moon, which was rising, diffused its beams over the solitary country. Arrived at the crest of a small eminence, I looked back upon the canals and the plains of the Viga, which, under the brilliant night of the tropics, appeared to me under quite a new aspect. The moon had lighted up the lagoons, the canal, and the road. They were all now silent. The most profound stillness had taken the place of the stir and hum of the busy crowd; the silence was broken only by the distant bellowing ofthe bulls in the savannas. The fire-flies sparkled in the high grass, and the watch-fires of the shepherds shone here and there in the fields.

Back to Index Next