Speaking of Teotihuacan, Bancroft says: "Here kings and priests were elected, ordained, and buried. Hither flocked pilgrims from every direction to consult the oracles, to worship in the temples of the sun and moon, and to place sacrificial offerings on the altars of their deities. The sacred city was ruled by the long-haired priests of the sun, famous for their austerity and their wisdom. Through the hands of these priests, as the Spanish writers tell us, yearly offerings were made of the first fruits of the fields; and each year at harvest-time, a solemn festival was celebrated, not unattended by human sacrifice." In the neighborhood of these huge mounds there are traces of a large and substantially built city having once existed. It is believed to have been twenty miles in circumference. Obsidian knives, arrowheads, stone pestles, and broken plaster trowels are often found just below the surface of the soil. A large number of smaller pyramids stand at various distances about the two principal ones which we have named. These do not exceed twenty-five or thirty feet in height, and are thought to have been dedicated to the stars, and also to have served as sepulchres for illustrious men. We have mounds of a similar character and size to these secondary ones in the Western and Middle States of the Union.

After passing through several small cities and towns, by taking a branch road, the city of Pachuca is reached, at eighty-five miles from the city of Mexico. It is interesting especially as being a great mining centre which has been worked long and successfully. It was in this place that the process of amalgamation was discovered, and a means whereby the crude ores as dug from the mines are most readily made to yield up the precious metal which they contain. It will be remembered in this connection that for more than two centuries Mexico has furnished the world with its principal supply of silver, and that she probably exports to-day about two million dollars worth of the precious metal each month. The production of gold is only incidental, as it were, while the output of silver might be doubled. The ore of this district is almost wholly composed of blackish silver sulphides. Mr. Frederick A. Ober, who has written much and well upon Mexico and her resources, tells us that the sum total coined by all the mints in the country, so far as known, was, up to 1884, over three billions of dollars, while the present annual product is greater than the amount furnished by all the mines of Europe.

Pachuca is the capital of the State of Hidalgo, lying on a plain at an altitude of eight thousand feet and more, environed by purple hills, and is one of the oldest mining districts in the republic, having been worked long before the Spanish conquest. It has a population of about twenty thousand, nearly half of whom are Indian miners. The surrounding hills are scarred all over with the opening of mines. In all, there are between eighty and a hundred of them grouped near together at Pachuca. The streets are very irregular and narrow, the houses being mostly one story in height, and built of stone. The place is said to be healthy as a residence, though in a sanitary sense it is far from cleanly. A muddy river makes its way through the town, the dwellings rising terrace upon terrace on either side. The market-place is little more than a mound of dirt; cleanliness is totally neglected, and everything seems to be sacrificed to the one purpose of obtaining silver, which is the one occupation. The wages of the miners are too often gambled away or wasted in liquor. There are both English and American miners at work with fair pecuniary success; and this is almost the only locality where foreign miners have been introduced. Government supports a school here for teaching practical mining, established in an imposing structure which was once a convent.

Quite a colony of Cornish miners emigrated to this place a few years since, many of whom have acquired considerable means and have become influential citizens. Here and in the immediate district, including Real del Monte to the northwest, El Chico to the north, and Santa Rosa to the west, there are nearly three hundred silver mines, all more or less valuable. The most famous is named the Trinidad, which has yielded forty million dollars to its owners in a period of ten years! Real del Monte stands at an elevation of a little over nine thousand feet above the sea. The country which surrounds this district is extremely interesting in point of scenery. It was here that an English mining company came to grief pecuniarily, under the name of the Real del Monte Mining Company. At the organization of the enterprise, its shares were a hundred pounds sterling each; but they sold in one year in the London market for sixteen hundred pounds a share! The management was of a very reckless and extravagant character. Economy is certainly more necessary in conducting a silver mine than in nearly any other business. After a few years, it was found that sixteen million dollars worth of silver had been mined and realized upon, while the expenses had amounted to twenty million dollars,—a deficit of four million dollars in a brief period. The property was then sold to a Mexican company for a merely nominal sum, and is now regularly worked at a handsome percentage of profit upon the final cost. Much of the modern machinery was promptly discarded, and the new managers returned to the old methods of milling the ore. The Indians who bring in the supplies from the vicinity for this mining town are typical of the race all over the country. At their homes, far away from the city, they live in mud cabins, under a thatched roof, with the earth for a floor. One room serves for every purpose, and is often shared with pigs and poultry. These Indians do not eat meat once a month, nay, scarcely once a year. Some wild fruits are added to their humble fare, which consists almost wholly of tortillas, or cake made from maize and half baked over charcoal. A rush mat serves them for a bed, a serape as an overcoat by day and a blanket at night. The men wear a coarse, unbleached cotton shirt and cotton drawers reaching to the knees, leaving legs and feet bare. The women wear a loose cotton chemise and a colored skirt wrapped about the loins, the legs, feet, and arms being bare. They supply the town with poultry, charcoal, eggs, pottery, mats, baskets, and a few vegetables, often trotting thirty miles over hills and plains with a load of one hundred and twenty pounds or more on their backs, in order to reach the market, where a dollar, or perhaps two, is all they can hope to get for the two or three days' journey.

An Indian will cheerfully spend four days in the mountains to burn a small quantity of charcoal, load it upon his back, and take it twenty-five miles to market, where it will sell for half a dollar or seventy-five cents. When he gets home, he has earned from ten to fifteen cents a day, and traveled fifty or sixty miles on foot to do it! If the poor native lives anywhere within the influence of a Catholic priest, the probability is that the priest will get half of this pittance. There is a local saying here that "Into the open doors of the Roman Catholic Church goes all the small change of Mexico." This is a sad story, but it is a true one; and it represents the actual condition of a large class of the country people known as Indians. The condition of our own Western tribes of aborigines is, in comparison, one of luxury. And yet these Mexicans, as a rule, are temperate and industrious. The women, though doomed to a life of toil and hardship, are not made slaves, nor beaten by fathers or husbands, as is too often the case among our Western tribes.

We are speaking of the Aztecs pure and simple, such as have kept their tribal language, habits, and customs. They form nearly two thirds of the populace of the republic, and, as a body, are ignorant to the last degree, complete slaves to superstition of all sorts. The idolatrous instinct inherited from their Indian ancestors finds satisfaction in bowing before the hosts of saints, virgins, pictures, and images generally, which the Catholic Church presents for their adoration; while their simplicity and ignorance permit them to be dazed and overawed, if not converted, by a faith which presents itself in such theatrical form as to captivate both their eyes and ears. "This people have changed their ceremonies, but not their religious dogmas," says Humboldt, significantly.



CHAPTER XIII.

Puebla, the Sacred City.—General Forey.—Battle-Ground.—View of the City.—Priestly Miracles.—The Cathedral.—Snow-Crowned Mountains. —A Cleanly Capital.—The Plaza Mayor.—A Typical Picture.—The Old Seller of Rosaries.—Mexican Ladies.—Palm Sunday.—Church Gala Day. —Education.—Confiscation of Church Property.—A Curious Arch.—A Doll Image.—Use of Glazed Tiles.—Onyx a Staple Production.—Fine Work of Native Indian Women.—State of Puebla full of Rich Resources. —A Dynamite Bomb.—The Key of the Capital.

Our next objective point is Puebla, situated seventy-five miles, more or less, southeast of the city of Mexico. It is the capital of the state of the same name, and in a military point of view is the key to the national capital. It has often changed hands with the fortunes of war, both civil and foreign, which have so long distracted this land of the sun. One of the most desperate fights which took place between the Mexicans and the French forces occurred here, the event being celebrated by the people of the republic annually as a national festival. Puebla cost the intruders a three months' siege and the loss of many lives in their ranks before it yielded. General Forey, the commander of the besieging force, increased as far as possible the difficulties of the conflict, in order to send, with the customary French bombast, brilliant bulletins to Paris, and thus bind a victor's wreath about his own brow, and enable him to obtain a much-coveted marshalship. In this he was successful, as he was promoted to that dignity upon his return to France. The fact was that an ordinary fighting column of American or English troops would have taken the place in twenty-four hours, the defense being totally inadequate, and the Mexican soldiers comparatively insignificant. The defenders of the place were raw and undisciplined, and composed of the worst possible material. Many of them were peons who had been impressed at the point of the bayonet; others were taken from the prisons and put at once into the ranks. As we have already stated, this is a common practice in Mexico.

In the environs of the town is what is called the hill of Guadalupe, famous in the annals of Mexican history, this being the principal battle-ground of the 5th of May. The Mexican forces were four thousand strong, defended by earthworks improvised by cutting down the walls of the church of Guadalupe. The French troops were six thousand strong. The defenders were under command of General Zaragoza; the French, under General de Lorencez, who attacked the fort with great dash and vigor. The Mexicans repulsed them with heavy loss to the attacking party. It was not a very important battle, but its moral effect upon the Mexicans was excellent. They realized that they were comparatively raw troops, and that their enemies were trained soldiers of the much-lauded French army. Though it was only a gallant repulse, it was heralded all over the country as being a great victory, and probably had as much effect upon the popular mind as though it had been. It gave them courage to continue their warfare against the invaders with increased determination. Five years later, the position was reversed, when General Porfirio Diaz—now President—took Puebla by storm and made prisoners of its French defenders. Between the occurrence of these battles the fortifications on the hill of Guadalupe had been erected. The view from the fort is one of extraordinary interest, taking in three snow-capped mountains, and affording a comprehensive panorama of the city with its myriad domes and fine public buildings, the tree-decked Plaza Mayor, the alameda, the stone bridge over the Aloyac, while over the Cerro de San Juan is seen the church of Los Remedios, which crowns the great earth-pyramid of Cholula. To the south of the city lies the interesting suburb of Jonaco, and to the north, on the hill of the Loreto, stands the fort of the Cinco de Mayo.

Puebla contains between eighty and ninety thousand inhabitants, and is rated as the fourth city of the republic in point of population and general importance. It certainly rivals the larger cities in the character of its principal buildings, which are mostly constructed of granite, as well as in some other respects. Among the citizens it bears the fanciful name of La Puebla de los Angeles (The City of the Angels). One might reasonably think this was on account of its beautiful situation and salubrious climate; the veracious chroniclers tell us it was because the walls of the grand cathedral were erected amid the songs of angels. What would any Roman Catholic institution be in Mexico without its mystery and miracles? In this instance, the legend runs to the effect that the angels built as much each night upon the walls of the church while it was erecting as the terrestrial workmen did each day. It is of basaltic material, supported by massive buttresses, and as a whole is surpassingly grand. High up over the central doorway of the main front is placed in carved stone the insignia of the order of the Golden Fleece. The interior is as effective and elegant as that of any church we can recall, having some fine old bronzes and valuable paintings, the latter well worthy of special attention, and embracing some thirty examples. The woodwork upon the grand altar shows an artistic excellence which is rarely excelled. The two organs are encased, also, in richly carved wood, exhibiting figures of angels blowing trumpets. The interior adornments, as a whole, are undoubtedly the finest of any church or cathedral in Mexico. A majority of writers consider that the cathedral of the national capital is the grandest church on the continent of America, but with this we cannot agree; to our mind, the cathedral of Puebla, all things considered, is its superior.

Puebla might be appropriately called the city of churches, for, at a short distance, the countless domes and steeples looming above the flat tops of the houses are the main feature. We believe that it has as many edifices occupied for religions purposes as the city of Mexico. The twin towers of its stately cathedral are especially conspicuous and beautiful. The town was founded three hundred and sixty years ago, and retains, apparently, more of its ancient Spanish character than most of its sister cities. From any favorably situated spot in the town, for instance from the hill of Guadalupe, one beholds rising in the southwest, twenty-five miles away, the snowy crown of the world-renowned Popocatepetl, the view of this mountain being much superior to that had at the national capital, while the two hardly less famous mountains of Orizaba and Iztaccihuatl are also in sight, though at farther distances. The rarefied atmosphere makes all these elevations clear to the view with almost telescopic power.

The nights here are a revelation of calmness and beauty. The stars are much brighter than they appear to us in the dense atmosphere we inhabit. The North Star and the Southern Cross are both visible, though only a portion of the Dipper is to be seen. Within the points of the Southern Cross there is a brilliant cluster of stars, which are not apparent to the naked eye, but which are made visible by the use of the telescope, shining like a group of gems in a choice necklace. How glorious is the sky on such nights as we experienced at Puebla, so full of repose; no force can disturb its eternal peacefulness! Below, all about us, rages a nervous activity; every one is stricken with the fever of living; but we raise our eyes to that broad, blue, star-spangled expanse, and behold only the calm, adorable majesty of heaven.

There are extensive manufactories in Puebla, especially in cotton goods, leather, soap, hats, matches, and earthenware; indeed, it has been called the Lowell of Mexico. It is also destined to become eventually a considerable railroad centre, having already established connections with the capital, Vera Cruz, and other important points. There are six railroad depots in the city, each representing a more or less important railway line.

The stranger is agreeably struck with the appearance of Puebla at first sight, and is confirmed in this impression as he becomes better acquainted with its mild and healthful climate, tempered by being more than seven thousand feet above the sea level, its wide, cleanly streets, running exactly east and west, north and south, its beautiful, flower-decked Plaza Mayor, its fine public squares, the interesting Moorish portales nearly surrounding the plaza, its gray old churches, and its neat stores and houses, having their various-colored fronts ornamented by iron balconies. The ever-present contrast between wealth and poverty, so striking in most of the Mexican cities, did not seem so prominent here. The people were certainly better clothed, and looked more cleanly and respectable. We saw very few beggars in the streets. The lame and the blind must have been taken care of by the municipal authorities, for none were to be seen in public. The city is clean in all its visible belongings. There are no offensive smells, such as greet one in the badly-drained capital of the republic. The thoroughfares teem with a bright, cheerful population, often barefooted and in rags, to be sure, but still smiling and good natured. True, we first saw the town under favorable auspices, it being Palm Sunday, and those who had them probably donned holiday costumes. The Plaza Mayor was radiant with the brilliant colors of the rebosas and serapes, agreeably relieved by the black lace mantillas of the more select senoras and senoritas. Many of these wore marvelously high heels, not infrequently having only Eve's stockings inside of their gayly-ornamented boots! The Indian women who had come to town to see the church ceremonials formed an unconscious but interesting portion of the holiday show in their sky-blue or red rebosas, and the variegated skirt wound about waists and hips, leaving the brown limbs and bare feet exposed. They were gathered all about the square, awaiting their opportunity; and as half a hundred came pouring down the broad steps, others hastened to take their places inside the church.

The cathedral already alluded to forms one whole side of the Plaza Mayor. It is not quite so large as that of the city of Mexico, though it has the effect of being so. Like that, it stands upon a raised platform, built of dark porphyritic stone, the surface being five or six feet above the level of the plaza. The principal front is in the Doric style; but the two tall side towers are Ionic. The two domes, covered with the glittering native tiles, throw back the sunlight with a dazzling mottled effect. The chapels of the interior are perhaps a little tawdry with their profuse gilding, and the main altar is dazzling with gold, having cost, it is stated, over a hundred thousand dollars. The pulpit is especially curious, and was carved by a native artist from onyx, which came from a neighboring quarry. The floor is of marble, while that of the more pretentious edifice at the city of Mexico is of wood, a token indicative of more important matters wherein the Puebla cathedral is superior in finish. The main roof, with its castellated cornice and many pinnacles, its broken outlines, and crumbling, gray old stone sides, is wonderfully picturesque.

Not many years ago there hung from the lofty ceiling a famous and most beautiful golden lamp of exquisite workmanship, the intrinsic value of which is said to have been over one hundred thousand dollars. During the civil war it was ruthlessly broken up and coined into doubloons to aid General Miramon to keep the field while representing the church party. The bells attached to the cathedral are of the most costly character and of superior excellence. These are eighteen in number, the largest of which weighs about ten tons. One is at a loss to understand why so many and so expensive bells are required, since they are not arranged as chimes, and have no apparent connection with each other.

A typical picture is recalled which presented itself as we entered for the first time the broad portal of the cathedral, where an old, wrinkled, bare-limbed woman, poor and decrepit, sat upon the stones at the entrance of the church offering rosaries for sale. She did not speak, but held up a cross with its attachments, accompanied by a look so cadaverous, so weak and pitiful, that she got the silver she desired and kept her beads. The poor creature, so aged, emaciated, and ragged, had somehow a strangely significant look about her, suggestive of having known better days. It was a festal occasion, and many bright-eyed senoritas, casting stolen glances about them while accompanied by their duennas, were passing into the church. What a contrast of youth and age, between these fair young creatures so richly clad, so fresh and full of life, and the faded, hopeless vender of rosaries resting her weary limbs on the flinty portal!

The Mexican ladies have none of the languor of their continental sisters, but are overflowing with vivacity and spirit. We remember these buds of humanity at the church door; they seemed to be "spoiling" for a chance flirtation, looking out from deep black eyes full of roguishness. Within the dimly-lighted church the smell of burning incense, the sharp tinkling of the bell before the distant altar, the responsive kneeling and bowing of the worshipers, the dull murmur of the officiating priest, the deep, solemn tones of the great organ,—all combined to impress themselves upon the memory, if not to challenge an unbeliever's devotion.

At midday, on the occasion of our second visit, the priests were clad in the gayest colors, the robes of some being red, some blue, others white, and all more or less wrought with gold and silver ornamentation. The attendants and the priests who were not officiating carried tall palm branches. The marble floor of the nave was covered with kneeling devotees, among whom every class of the populace was represented; rags and satins were side by side, bare feet and silken hose were next to each other. Indians, Spaniards, and foreign visitors mingled indiscriminately; there were few men, but many women. The choir was singing to an organ accompaniment, while the military band was playing in the plaza close at hand, opposite the open church doors, causing rather an incongruous mingling of sounds, and yet with the remarkable surroundings it did not strike the ear as inharmonious. Here and there, along the side of the church, a woman was seen kneeling, with her lips close to the little grating of the confessional. Now and again the closely wrapped figure of a man was observed making its way among the crowd, with a dark and sinister expression upon his face betraying his lawless character. He was here prompted by no devotional impulse, but to watch and mark some intended victim. As we came out of the cathedral, long lines of natives were seen, men, women, and children, sitting on the edge of the sidewalks, or squatting near the low garden wall of the church, eating tortillas, while an earthen jar of pulque was occasionally passed among them, all drinking from the same vessel. Another group close by these had a lighted cigarette which they were handing from one to another, men and women alike, each taking a long whiff, which was swallowed to be slowly emitted at the nostrils. It was a gala day, a church festival, of which there are something less than three hundred and sixty-five in the year. These idlers had nothing to do and plenty of time to do it in. Puebla has always been most loyal to the Catholic Church, even when directly under the evil influence of the Inquisition. It is visited to-day by thousands of Roman Catholics from various parts of the country at periods when church ceremonials are in progress, because they are more elaborately carried out here than in any other city of the republic. Indeed, the place is generally known and spoken of by Mexicans as "The Sacred City."

It seemed on inquiry and from casual observation that more attention was given to the cause of education here than in some other districts we had visited, colleges and schools being maintained by the state as well as by the municipality, however much opposed by the priestly hierarchy. The fact is, that education is the true panacea for the ills of this people, and it is the only one. It is the poor man's capital. Freedom can exist only where popular education is fostered. The soldier and the priest have been too long abroad in Mexico. When the schoolteacher's turn shall come, then let tyranny and bigotry beware. The primer, not the bayonet, should be relied upon to uphold the liberty of a nation. Thirty or forty years ago illiteracy was the rule in Mexico; but each year sees a larger and larger percentage of the population able to read and write. This evidence of real progress is not confined to any locality, but is widespread among both those of Spanish descent and the half-castes. The situation of the peons is still one of entire mental darkness.

The episcopal palace, near the cathedral, is a picturesque edifice, with its red roof tiles faced with white. So late as 1869, the city contained a dozen nunneries and nine or ten monasteries; but these institutions are happily of the past, the buildings which they once occupied having been occupied for various business purposes, as hospitals, public schools, and libraries. When the confiscation of the enormous wealth of the church was decreed and carried out by the government some twenty years since, that organization actually held a mortgage on two thirds of the real property of the entire country. The priesthood was completely despoiled of even their churches, which they now occupy only on sufferance, the legal fee in the same being vested in the government. To emphasize this fact one sees the national flag waving on special occasions over the cathedrals as well as other government properties. Their other real estate has been sold and appropriated to various uses, as we have shown. The indefatigable priesthood are and have ever since been steadily at work accumulating from the poor, overtaxed, and superstitious people money which we were told was hoarded and so disposed of as not to be again liable to seizure under any circumstances. It is the boast of the church party that their confiscated millions shall all be gathered into their coffers again. They may possibly get back the gold, but their lost power will never be regained. Intelligence is becoming too broadcast in Mexico, and even the common people begin to think for themselves.

In the church of San Francisco, erected in 1667, there was pointed out to us an arch, supporting one of the galleries, so flat that no one believed it would stand even until the church was dedicated. So pertinaciously was the architect badgered and criticised at the time of its construction, that he finally lost faith in his own design, and fled in despair before the threatening arch was tested. It was therefore left for the monks to remove the supporting framework at the proper time. This they ingeniously did without any danger to themselves, by setting the woodwork on fire and letting the supporting beams slowly burn away! To the wonder of all, when they had been thus removed, the arch stood firmly in its place, and there it stands to-day, sound and apparently safe, after being in use for two hundred years, and having passed through the severe test of more than one slight earthquake. In this church, which, after the cathedral, is the most interesting in Puebla, we were shown by an old, gray-haired priest the little doll representing the Virgin Mother which Cortez brought with him from Spain to Cuba, and thence to Vera Cruz, carrying it through all of his campaigns with apparent religious veneration. It is astonishing to see the reverence with which this toy is regarded. Adjoining the church is a reconstructed convent which is now used as a military hospital, and before which lounged an awkward squad of soldiers belonging to the regular army. There are several very old churches in the city, on whose eaves and cornices small trees and tropical bushes, which have planted themselves in these exposed places, have grown to considerable size, surrounded by deep-green moss, shaded by the rounded domes and lofty towers.

A feature of the town which is sure to attract the attention of a stranger is the fanciful manner in which the people adapt richly colored and highly ornamented glazed tiles for both internal and external decoration of public and private buildings. The effect of this was certainly incongruous, not to say tawdry. There are eight or ten tile factories in Puebla, and one glass manufactory. Some of the work turned out in both these lines is really very artistic and attractive. Large quantities are regularly shipped to various parts of the country. In several shops collections of onyx ornaments are to be seen, besides handsome baskets and mats of colored straw, all of which are of native workmanship. Onyx may be said to be the rage of Puebla. We remember an attractive store solely devoted to the sale of this stone, where the large and most artistic display formed a veritable museum. Here members of our party expended considerable sums of money in the purchase of pretty mementoes to take home with them as souvenirs of Puebla de los Angeles. Onyx articles are shipped from here in considerable quantities to London and Paris, where there are agencies for their sale. The quarries whence these fine specimens come are fifty miles away from the city, near Mount El Pizarro.

The State of Puebla is remarkable for producing a fine quality of wheat, and also for its heavy yield of other cereals. One may look in vain elsewhere for better apples, pears, peaches, and plums than are offered in the public market of this attractive town, all of which are grown in its immediate vicinity. Articles of embroidery were offered at one of the open stands in the market-place fully equal to the Fayal product so well known in Boston. The very low price demanded for fine linen handkerchiefs and napkins, representing days of patient labor on each, showed how cheaply these native women estimate their time. They will follow the most intricate design which may be given to them as a pattern, reproducing it with Chinese fidelity, and with as much apparent ease as though it were their own conception. It seemed to us, as we examined this delicate product, that art needlework could hardly go further as to perfection of detail. This work is not that of dainty fingers and delicate hands, educated and taught embroidery in some convent school, but the outcome of very humble adobe cabins, and the instinctive artistic taste of hands accustomed to the severe drudgery of a semi-barbarous life. It was found that the sales-people, when they first receive these goods from the natives, are obliged to wash and bleach them thoroughly, they are so begrimed, but they know very well how beautifully the work will prove to be executed, and gladly purchase it even in this soiled condition.

For so restricted a territory, Puebla contains a great aggregate of valuable resources,—a rich and extensive coal-mine near by on the ranch of Santa Barbara, inexhaustible stone-quarries on the hill of Guadalupe, abundant deposits of kaolin close at hand for the manufacture of porcelain ware, a sufficient supply of material for making lime to last a hundred years, an iron mine within eight or ten miles which employs a large foundry, running night and day; while the neighboring foothills are covered with an almost inexhaustible supply of good merchantable wood. Certainly, no city in Mexico is better situated as to natural resources. The state is so located as to embrace a great variety of climate. In the north it produces wheat, corn, and other cereals, also affording grazing ground to immense herds of domestic animals, while in the south it yields liberal crops of cotton, tobacco, sugar, rice, and a great variety of fruits, together with many rich and beautiful cabinet and dye woods. Truly, this is a record which few localities can equal in any zone.

We have said that Puebla is the key to the national capital. This is proven by the fact that the chief events in its history have been the battles fought for its possession. A few of those which most readily occur to the memory are its capture by Iturbide, August 2, 1821; its occupation by Scott, May 25, 1847; its successful defense against the French, May 5, 1862; its capture by the French, May 17, 1863; and its capture from the French, April 2, 1867, by General Diaz, now President of the republic.

We were told that the thieving populace of Puebla had so provoked the agent of the company who own the road between Mexico and Vera Cruz, by abstracting everything they could lay their hands on, whether available for any purpose of their own or not, that he finally resolved to set a trap which should teach them a severe lesson. A small dynamite bomb with its brass screw at the vent was left exposed in the yard at night. One of the prowling, thieving peons climbed the wall and attempted to abstract the cap,—not because he was in want of a brass cap to a dynamite bomb; he would have stolen a railroad spike or an iron tie all the same. He hadn't fooled with this instrument more than sixty seconds before it was discharged in his hands with a report like a cannon. The consequence was, that not enough of that would-be thief could be found to give the body Christian burial! It was observed thereafter that peons didn't feel sufficient interest in the company's affairs to climb the wall which incloses the depot, and meddle with the articles of railroad property lying about the yard. This was a pretty severe dose of medicine, but it wrought a radical cure.



CHAPTER XIV.

Ancient Cholula.—A Grand Antiquity.—The Cheops of Mexico.—Traditions relating to the Pyramid.—The Toltecs.—Cholula of To-Day.— Comprehensive View.—A Modern Tower of Babel.—Multiplicity of Ruins. —Cortez's Exaggerations.—Sacrifices of Human Beings.—The Hateful Inquisition.—A Wholesale Murderous Scheme.—Unreliable Historians. —Spanish Falsification.—Interesting Churches.—Off the Track.— Personal Relics of Cortez.—Torturing a Victim.—Aztec Antiquities. —Tlaxcala.—Church of San Francisco.—Peon Dwellings.—Cortez and the Tlaxcalans.

In leaving Puebla for Cholula, which lies at a distance of only a couple of leagues to the westward, we first pass on the left the fine architectural group formed by the church of San Javior and Guadalupe, with its attractive cluster of domes, spires, and pinnacles. Our course lies through broad maguey fields and across the Atoyac River, a shallow stream most of the year; but at times it becomes a rushing torrent. The country hereabouts is under excellent cultivation, though the awkward plough introduced by the Spaniards centuries ago still does service here. Almost as soon as the city disappears from view, there looms in the distance the grand pyramid of Cholula, crowned by a lofty modern chapel, its dome of enameled and parti-colored tiles glistening in the warm sunshine. Far beyond the pyramid the volcanoes are seen in their lonely grandeur. Cholula lies upon a perfectly level plain, broken only by the great artificial mound called the pyramid, situated on the eastern outskirt of the present city. The town, Spanish history tells us, once contained over two hundred thousand inhabitants; but to-day there are less than nine thousand, while of its four hundred reputed temples, scarcely a trace now remains.

When Cortez made his advent here he found Cholula to be the sacred city of the Aztecs, where their main body of high priests and their most venerated temples were located. Is it possible that these mud-built cabins represent a city once so grand and so populous? Can it be that these half-clad, half-fed peons whom we see about us, exhibiting only a benighted intelligence, represent Aztecs and Toltecs who are supposed to have possessed a liberal share of art and culture; a people, whose astronomers were able to determine for themselves the apparent motion of the sun and the length of the solar year: who had the art of polishing the hardest of precious stones; who cast choice and perfect figures of silver and gold in one piece; and who made delicate filigree ornaments without solder? These are achievements belonging to quite a high state of civilization. The cabins consist mostly of one room, in which lives a whole family, with the bare earth for a floor, the open door often affording the only light which reaches the interior. There are some better dwellings here, to be sure; but all are adobe, and this brief description is applicable to nine tenths of the people and their rude dwellings.

Cholula has one grand antiquity, which even the ruthless finger of Time has made little impression upon, being the remains of one of those remarkable earth-pyramids which was probably built by the Toltecs; though how they could erect a mountain without beasts of burden is an endless puzzle. The rains, winds, and storms of ages have opened crevices in the sides of the artificial hill; but these have only served to show what labor it must have cost to build the structure in stout layers of sun-dried brick, so substantially that it has lasted thus intact for many centuries. It is not at all unreasonable to fix the date of its completion at a thousand years ago. This peculiar elevation rises a little over two hundred feet above the plain, and measures about a thousand feet square at the base, forming one of the most interesting relics in all Mexico; though its height is less than half that of Cheops in Egypt, its base is twice as large, covering about as many acres as Boston Common. In its composition it strongly resembles the pyramids of Upper Egypt. On its summit is a level space one hundred and sixty feet square, the view from which is one of vast breadth and beauty, embracing the entire valley of Puebla. The four sides of the huge mound face the cardinal points, the whole being composed of alternate strata of adobe bricks and clay. The sides are mostly overgrown with trees and shrubs; but a winding road, well paved with stones laid in broad, deep steps, leads to the top. The constant wear of centuries has thrown the original shape somewhat out of harmony with the supposed idea; but there is quite enough extant to establish the original design. One corner has been excavated to a considerable extent to make room for the railway, an exposure which has served a double purpose, since it has proven the whole elevation to be artificial, constructed in layers, and not a natural hill, as some casual observers have declared it to be. The material of which the pyramid is composed is earth, sun-dried bricks, limestone, and lava. It is thought by some that besides having the apex crowned originally with a temple of worship, the sides were covered by adobe houses from base to near the summit, accommodating a large population. That there were once terraces and steps here which would carry out such an idea is very clear from the portions which have been laid bare by excavation.

The mounds of our Western and Southwestern States are almost the counterpart of this grand elevation at Cholula, so far as the idea goes, except that they are mere pigmies in comparison. The fact is worth recalling that the same species of domestic implements of stone which are found from time to time deeply buried in portions of the United States are also exhumed here. So in the museum of the capital one sees stone hatchets, pestles, mortars, and arrowheads of the same shapes that we have been accustomed to find beneath the soil of our Northern States.

The most casual observer will be satisfied that this pyramid dates long before the time of the Spanish conquest, and that it was not built by the race of Indians whom Cortez found in possession. It may represent a race who existed even prior to the Toltecs, to whom the Aztecs were indebted for all their arts and refinements, and upon which it is doubted if they much improved. No one can possibly say how many centuries are looking down upon us from this colossal ruin. We are told of one tradition, recorded by a Jesuit priest named Torquemada, which ascribes the origin of this pyramid to a period contemporary with that of the Tower of Babel, in the land of Shinar. The tradition also speaks of a great deluge, and says that this artificial mound was originally designed to reach the clouds; but the gods were angered by the attempt, and dispersed the workmen with lightning, after it had got to its present height. With mountains close at hand, so much loftier than any human agency could achieve, it is a mystery what motive could have actuated a people to rear this colossal mound except it was for the foundation of a temple. The pretended legend of aboriginal origin is no doubt a pure fabrication, like nine tenths of the priestly records relating to Mexico.

The ancient builders erected a shrine and sacrificial stone on the summit of the pyramid. This idolatrous temple was promptly destroyed by Cortez, and the place where it stood is now occupied by a Roman Catholic chapel dedicated to the Virgin of Remedios. The present edifice is of quite modern construction, replacing the original chapel erected by the Spaniards, which was destroyed by fire. It struck us as being more than usually tawdry in it equipment. Its cupola is decidedly out of proportion to the small body of the structure. There are traditions among the natives here, as is usually the case in relation to all antique remains, telling of interior galleries and chambers of great extent; but no confidence is placed in such rumors. The excavation already referred to laid bare a tomb containing two skeletons, with a couple of idols in basalt, also a small collection of aboriginal pottery. The sepulchre was square, with stone walls supported by cypress beams. The discovery of these two skeletons in one corner and at the base of the pyramid does not indicate that it was reared for the purpose of a tomb. It would require the discovery of such a burial near the centre of the immense mound to indicate such a design.

The hoary-headed monarch, Popocatepetl, looms in the distance, proudly dominating the scene, with Puebla and the hill of Cinco de Mayo on the right. The exceeding transparency of the atmosphere brings these distant objects seemingly close to the observer, as though he was looking at them through a telescope.

The small city of Cholula is spread out at the base of the pyramid, and beyond it are wide, fertile fields of grain and alfalfa, with gardens of semi-tropical fruits. One large orchard seemed to be a very garden of Hesperides, yellow with golden oranges and sweet with fragrant blossoms. The pyramid originally stood near the centre of the town, the streets radiating from it; but the dwellings which once lined these thoroughfares have long since crumbled into dust, leaving standing only the useless stone churches, of which there are forty dotting the plain here and there, built without regard to any adjacent population. Two lesser pyramids are visible near the main elevation. Farther away, small villages, each with its church tower, add interest to the scene, while the mellow notes of distant bells mingle and float upon the air. The multiplicity of these churches shows how dense must have been the population in the time of Cortez, as it was the practice of the invading Spaniards to compel the natives not only to demolish their own temples, but to build a Christian church in place of each one thus destroyed. A number of the churches are abandoned and are gradually going to decay. "Why," said a practical individual of our party, "it's all churches and no town." The site of the ancient city is very evident from the lines of its regular streets stretching away in all directions.

"I assure your majesty," wrote Cortez from Cholula to his sovereign in Spain, "that I have counted from a mosque or temple four hundred mosques and as many towers, all of which were mosques in this city." We have here an example of this adventurer's style of exaggeration and hyperbole. If we take three hundred and sixty from the four hundred "mosques" which he pretends to have seen, there will be forty left, which is probably about the truth. Cortez not only uses oriental words to express himself, but is exercised by a truly oriental extravagance in his stories. There are no "mosques" in Mexico, nor were the native temples anything like such structures. There are sufficient remains of Aztec temples left to show that they were plain in construction, of pyramidal form, without towers, and that their altars were erected on the summits in the open air, surrounded by broad platforms.

This pyramid was dedicated to the benevolent god Quetzalcoatl, "the great, good, and fair god of the Aztecs." Yet, it seemed to have been considered necessary to sacrifice human life to his godship in a most sanguinary manner, as was the practice at the great temple of the capital. We are told that twelve thousand lives were laid at the feet of Quetzalcoatl in a single year! If this is true (which we very much doubt), one would say that the advent of Cortez with all his cruelty was a blessing that came none too soon. No matter how low the type of Christianity which replaced the murderous devotion of these idolaters, any change, it would seem, must have been for the better. The frightful barbarity of the Aztecs is apparently shown by the records of Spanish priests concerning the sacrificial stone, now preserved in the museum at the national capital, upon which the victims were bound, their hearts cut out and laid reverentially thereon, while their bodies were cast down the declivity of the pyramid to the exultant multitude below, who cooked and ate them at religious banquets. Even the hateful Inquisition was an improvement upon this ghastly cannibalism covered up by a cloak of religious rites.

It was Southey who expressed the opinion in poetic lines that heaven made blind zeal and bloody avarice its ministers of vengeance against the Aztec idolaters. Still, the Aztec remains and is the governing race in Mexico, while the Spaniards as a distinct people have virtually disappeared.

But we must take the record of these events with a degree of caution. That fable and history have been indiscriminately mingled by the Spanish authors is plain enough from the fact that ridiculous miracles are constantly recorded by them as having actually occurred, which were the pure invention of the priesthood, designed to influence and awe the ignorant native race. This reduces us to the unfortunate condition of being obliged to doubt what may have been historically true. The Inquisition exercised a censorship over everything designed for publication, and unless it subserved the interest of that fiendish institution, it was made to do so, or it was suppressed. These facts caused Prescott to say: "In short, the elements of truth and falsehood became so blended that history was converted into romance, and romance received the credit due to history." The confusion of fact and fiction in the writings of Spanish historians, as they are called, is so grave and obvious as simply to disgust the honest seeker after truth. This is the case not only as relating to Mexico, but the past story of Spain both at home and abroad. "What is history," says the first Napoleon, "but a fable agreed upon?"

The horrid pictures of human sacrifice as represented by the Spanish chroniclers, also by the letters and despatches of Cortez, we do not credit, though undoubtedly they had some foundation in truth. It is the characteristic of all these records to persistently distort facts so as to further the purposes of the writers, and as to correctness where figures are concerned, they are scarcely ever to be relied upon. Though forced to admit this want of veracity, Prescott has relied almost entirely upon these sources for the material of his popular work. No person can calmly survey the field to-day, compare the statements of the various authors, and visit the country itself, without seeing clearly how much of absurd exaggeration and monstrous fiction has been foisted upon the reading public relative to this period of the conquest of Mexico.

"These chroniclers," says Bancroft, "were swayed like other writers of their time, and all other times, by the spirit of the age, and by various religious, political, and personal prejudices."

"I lay little stress upon Spanish testimonies," says Adair, "for time and ocular proof have convinced us of the labored falsehood of almost all their historical narrations."

At the advent of the Spaniards, Cholula was doubtless the commercial centre of the plain; Puebla, the now large and thriving capital of the state, was then a mere hamlet in comparison. It was also the Mecca of the Aztecs, who came from far and near to bow down before Quetzalcoatl. The grand public square or plaza is still extant where Cortez perpetrated his most outrageous act of butchery, killing, it is said, three thousand Cholulans who had assembled unarmed and in good faith, in compliance with his request. Everything in and about this spacious area seems strangely silent and dilapidated, as though stricken by decay. The present interest and attraction of the place exists almost solely in the pyramid and the tragic legends of its vanished people. A few ancient trees ornament the neglected plaza, about which a score of weary burros were seen cropping the scanty herbage which springs up naturally here and there. The spot is said to exhibit some life on market-days, but it was lonely and deserted when we looked upon it, while the dry earth seemed on fire under the intense heat of the sun. It was difficult, while looking upon this gloomy area, to realize that the place was once conspicuous for its trade and manufactures, for its wealth and splendor. The social and official life of Cholula is reported at one time to have even rivaled the court of Montezuma. Here religious processions, sacrifices, and festivals were of continual occurrence, and no other city had so great a concourse of priests and so incessant a round of ceremonies.

The church known as the Royal Chapel, and also as the Church of the Seven Naves, situated at the northeast corner of the plaza, was of considerable interest. The last named was closed, undergoing radical repairs; but our curiosity was aroused, and a small fee soon opened a side door through which entrance was effected. The repairs going on will greatly change its original appearance. One could not but regret to see its ancient and delicate Moorish frescoes ruthlessly obliterated, the colors and designing of which so completely harmonized with the architecture and with the dim light which struggled in through the deep, small, mullioned windows. This chapel, with its sixty-four supporting columns, forcibly recalled the peculiar interior of the cathedral mosque at Cordova in Spain, which, indeed, must have suggested to Cortez so close though diminutive a copy, for it was built by his special orders and after his specified plans.

It is said that the early dwellers in this region excelled in various mechanical arts, especially in the working of metals and the manufacture of cotton and agave cloth, to which may be added a delicate kind of pottery, rivaling anything of the sort belonging to that period. Examples of this pottery are often exhumed in the neighborhood, and as we suspect are quite as often manufactured to order, for the present generation of Aztecs is not only very shrewd and cunning, but also very able in imitating all given models in earthenware. This sort of work forms a remunerative industry at the present time in Cholula. As we pass the open doors and windows of the dwelling-houses, cotton goods are weaving on hand looms by members of the families. Another local industry was observed here, namely, the manufacture of fireworks of a toy character, which we were told were shipped to all parts of the country.

The engine which had drawn our train from Puebla hither, after doing so, managed to get derailed, and a Mexican crowd spent hours in an ineffectual attempt to get the iron horse once more upon the track. As the day drew to its close our party was prepared to return to Puebla; but there was the engine stubbornly fixed upon the sleepers of the track, and the wheels partially buried in the ground. Mexican ingenuity was not equal to the emergency, so Yankee genius stepped forward. One of our party conversant with such matters took charge, and by a few judicious directions and appliances improvised upon the spot, he soon had the heavy engine once more in its proper position, and we started back to Puebla amid the cheers of the Mexicans at Yankee skill and energy, which seemed to them equal to any exigency.

A branch railway takes us from Puebla to Santa Ana, from whence ancient Tlaxcala is reached by tramway. It is the capital of the state bearing the same name, and has some four or five thousand inhabitants; it is credited with having had over fifty thousand three centuries ago. Had it not been that civil discord reigned at the time of the advent of Cortez here, he could never have conquered Montezuma; but the Tlaxcalans were induced by cunning diplomacy to join the Spaniards, and their united forces accomplished that which neither could have done single-handed. One is struck by the diminutive size of the native men and women at Tlaxcala. The latter are especially, short in stature, the never absent baby lashed to their backs making the mothers look still shorter.

This place is remarkable for the accumulation of Aztec and Spanish antiquities. The municipal palace, situated on the east side of the plaza, contains four remarkable oil paintings bearing the date of the conquest. Here also is preserved the war-worn banner of Spain, which was carried by Cortez from the time of his first landing at Vera Cruz throughout all his triumphant career. The material is rich, being of heavy silk brocade, the color a light maroon, not badly faded considering its age. Large sums of money have been offered for this ancient and interesting banner, the object being to take it back to Spain, from whence it came nearly four hundred years ago; but the Tlaxcalans refuse to part with it at any price. Despite the lapse of so many years and its having passed through so many vicissitudes, the flag is nearly perfect at this writing. It is eight or nine feet long and six broad, cut in swallow-tail fashion. The iron spearhead bears the monogram of the sovereigns of Spain, and the original staff, now broken, is still preserved with the flag. Here one is also shown the arms of Tlaxcala illuminated on parchment and bearing the signature of Charles V., together with the standard presented to the local chiefs by Cortez; the robes which they wore when baptized, and a collection of idols which have been unearthed from time to time in this immediate neighborhood, are also shown in the municipal palace. In the corridor stands the great treasure chest, with departments for silver and gold. This was locked with four different keys, one being held by each of four officers who were unitedly responsible for the treasures, the chest thus requiring the presence of the four when there was occasion to open it.

There are many personal relics of Cortez shown to the visitors at the municipal palace; but the intelligent observer, aided by the light of history, finds it difficult to accord much admiration to this man. He is represented to have been handsome, commanding in person, brave, but far from reckless, and to have possessed strong magnetic power over his associates and those whom he desired to influence. He was eloquent and persuasive, exercising an irresistible control over the half savage people whom he came to conquer. Another secret of his influence with the authorities at home, in Spain, was his never-failing fidelity to the legitimate sovereign, and the shrewd despatch of rich presents and much gold to his royal master. We know him to have been ambitious, cruel, heartless, avaricious, and false. He deserted his faithful wife in Spain, a second in Cuba (whom tradition accuses him of murdering), and was shamefully unfaithful to the devoted Marina, mother of his acknowledged son, she who was his native interpreter, and who more than once saved his life from immediate peril, finally guiding his footsteps to a victorious consummation of his most ambitious designs. Cortez owed more of his success to her than to his scanty battalions. If nothing else would serve to stamp his name with lasting infamy, the infernal torture which he inflicted upon the ill-fated Guatemozin, for the purpose of extorting information as to the hiding-place of the imperial treasures, should do so. The true record of the life of Cortez reads more like romance than like the truth. This is not perhaps the place to refer to his private life, which history admits to have been perfidious. Landing on the continent with a band scarcely more than half the number of a modern regiment, he prepared to traverse an unknown country thronged with savage tribes, with whose character, habits, and means of defense he was wholly unacquainted. We know that this romantic adventure was finally crowned with success, though meeting with various checks and stained with bloody episodes, that prove how the threads of courage and ferocity are inseparably blended in the woof and warp of Spanish character.

Just above the town, on the hillside, is the ancient convent of San Francisco, which contains over one hundred paintings more than two centuries old. The old church of San Francisco, close at hand, dates from a period, three hundred and seventy years ago, when Mexican history often fades into fable. The approach is over a paved way, and through a road bordered by a double row of old trees, which form a gothic perspective of greenery. The convent now serves in part for the purpose of a military barrack, before which stand a few small cannon so diminutive as to have the appearance of toys. A few soldiers lounged lazily about, and some were asleep upon a bench. Probably they were doing guard duty after the Mexican style. On the hillside above the church of San Francisco is a modern church, and beyond it a Campo Santo.

This gray old church, the oldest in Mexico, is certainly very interesting in its belongings, carrying us in imagination far into the dim past. "The earliest and longest have still the mastery over us," says George Eliot. This was the first church erected by the Spaniards in Mexico, and was in constant use by Cortez, who, notwithstanding his heartless cruelty, his unscrupulous and murderous deeds, his gross selfishness, faithlessness, and ambition, was still a devout Catholic, never omitting the most minute observances of church ceremonies, and always accompanying his most questionable deeds with the cant phrases of religion. The roof of the church of San Francisco is a curiosity in itself, being upheld by elaborately carved cedar beams, which were imported from Spain. In a side chapel is preserved the original pulpit from which the Christian religion according to the tenets of the Church of Rome was first preached in the New World, and also the stone font in which the native Tlaxcalan chiefs were baptized. The defacing finger of Time is visible on all perishable articles. One or two of the mediaeval paintings were scarcely more than tattered, drooping canvas, presenting here and there a shadowy human figure or a clouded emblem. We were shown a series of religions vestments, said to have been worn by the first officiating priests in this ancient church; but we instantly realized that they could not be so old, for such articles would long ago have become too frail to hold together, whereas these were exposed upon an open table, and were freely handled by any one who chose to do so. They were of a light, thin texture, silk and satin, and elaborately trimmed with gold and silver lace.

One is shocked on observing the roughly carved figures of bleeding saints and martyrs, with crucifixion scenes and mangled bodies, suspended from the walls of the church. "The repulsive and ghostly images, paintings, and mechanical contrivances, common in the small towns and villages, are mostly banished from the capital and other large cities," says Hon. John H. Rice, in "Mexico, Our Neighbor," "in obedience to the demands of a more decent civilization. They are used, however, where most practicable (representing the crucifixion and diverse rites and ceremonies of the church), to hold in awe and superstitious thralldom the weak and untutored minds of the degenerated children of the republic; and so to extort from them the last dregs of their poverty-stricken purses."

The prevailing style of this Tlaxcalan church, as well as that of the churches generally which we visited throughout the country, is of the Spanish Renaissance. Puebla, Guadalajara, and the city of Mexico contain cathedrals which will compare favorably even with those of continental Spain, where the most elaborate and costly religious edifices in the world are to be seen to-day. The plans of all these churches came originally from Spain, and builders from thence superintended their erection. The parish church of Tlaxcala, situated on a street leading from the plaza, has a curious facade of stucco, brick, and blue glazed tiles. In this edifice was seen an interesting picture representing the baptism of the Tlaxcalan chiefs already referred to. This was an event which was of local importance, perhaps, at the time, but which is without a shadow of interest to-day, though it is duly emphasized and repeated by the guides. The dome of the church was destroyed by an earthquake so late as 1864. Near this church are the ruins of a chapel, the facade of which is still standing, and on which are displayed the royal arms of Spain.

Regarding the dwellings of the poorer classes of this region, as well as of the country generally, they are of the most miserable character, wanting in nearly all the requirements of health and comfort. They consist of adobe-built cabins, wherein the people live, eat, and sleep upon the bare ground, without light or ventilation, except that which comes in through the open door, and where drainage of any sort is not even thought of. Mud cabins on the bogs of Ireland are not poorer places to live in. In the warmer regions, the common people live in mere huts of cane, consisting of a few poles covered with dry plantain leaves, palms, or cornstalks, made into a thatch by braiding and twining them together. A mat woven of dried husks and laid upon the ground forms the only bed. Neither chairs, tables, nor benches are seen in these cabins,—they are unknown luxuries. In the more tropical regions of the country, the cabins have no sides, the thatched roof coming down to near the ground, thus forming only a screen from the rain during the season of the year when it falls. A sort of instinct causes the common people of the tropics to seek some sort of shelter from the stars when they sleep; but half the Indian population of Mexico do not see the inside even of an adobe cabin from one year's end to another. The universal food depended upon to support life, besides the wild fruits, is the preparation of corn called tortillas, and a few vegetable roots. The grain is pulverized by hand between two stones, made into a paste or dough, and eaten half baked in thin cakes. We are, of course, speaking of the poor Indian people, but they form probably two thirds of the population, especially in the rural districts. These natives make their own fermented liquor. On the coast it is what they call palm wine, and rum from sugar-cane; on the table-land, it is pulque, from the maguey plant,—their delight and their curse. After the maguey has yielded its sap to the last quart, and begins to wilt, there appears in the stalk a nest of white caterpillars, which the Indians consider to be a great luxury, and which they eat with avidity, besides which the roots of the exhausted plant are boiled and eaten, possessing considerable nutritive properties. The native people of New Zealand exhibit a similar appetite. When the trunks of the tall kauri trees, which have been uprooted by storms, have lain so long upon the moist ground that they begin to decay, a large worm breeds in the decomposing wood; these, when arrived at maturity, are eagerly grubbed for and devoured by the Maoris. Our ideas of what constitutes proper food for human beings are governed by very arbitrary rules. The Chinese consume dogs, cats, and rats; the Japanese and Africans are fond of monkey flesh; the Parisians often eat horse-meat from choice; while some of the South Sea Islanders have still an appetite for human flesh. The London gourmand revels in snails, and the New Yorker demands frogs upon his bill of fare. Is the New Zealander so very exceptional in his fancy for wood-worms? Green goose and broiled chicken are among the delicacies of our table, and yet there is scarcely any sort of foul garbage which they will not consume as food. Why is their flesh considered more delicate than any other?

The better dwellings of Tlaxcala are nearly all adobe houses, standing in a rough, hilly region on the eastern slope of the mountains which inclose the valley. It is difficult to conjecture what possible industry keeps the place alive, for, though interesting to the thoughtful traveler and the scientist, it has no visible business activity beyond the exhibition of the antiquities to which we have referred, but seems to smoulder in a sort of moss-grown, picturesque decay. The seats of the old, half-forgotten, and neglected plaza were occupied by groups of idle natives, who regarded us with a dull, sleepy interest. A few laden burros passed through the streets bearing charcoal, wood, or bags of grain, and others with high panniers of straw lashed in compact form. They carried their noses close to the ground, picking up any edible object—banana skins, orange peel, bits of garbage, and similar scraps. This small creature which carries such enormous loads seems to eat anything, no matter how little nutriment it contains, and, strange to say, keeps in good flesh. The single candy shop under the arches beside the plaza did a lively business with our party while we remained, its members having suddenly developed a marvelous appetite for dulces. Bright-eyed boys and girls, with a paucity of clothing and any amount of good looks, met us at each turn with hands extended, and a cry of "Centavo, centavo!"

It was to Tlaxcala that Cortez and his small band of followers retreated when the natives of the valley of Mexico rose and in desperation drove him from their midst. Here, after some months devoted to recuperation and being joined by reinforcements from Cuba, he prepared to lay siege once more to the Aztec capital. Part of this preparation consisted in building a number of small, flat-bottomed boats in pieces, so that they could be transported over a mountainous district, and put together on the shore of Lake Texcoco, thus enabling him to complete the investment of the water-begirt city. It sounds ludicrous in our times to read of the force with which the invading Spaniards laid siege to a nation's capital. His "army" consisted of forty cavalrymen, eighty arquebusiers and cross-bowmen, and four hundred and fifty foot-soldiers, armed with swords and lances, to which is to be added a train of nine small cannon, about the size of those which are carried by our racing yachts of to-day for the purpose of firing salutes. Of course he had a crowd of Tlaxcalans with him, the number of which is variously stated, but who could not be of much actual use. More than one of these veracious Spanish historians states the number to have been one hundred and twenty thousand! So large a body of men would have been a hindrance, not a help, in the undertaking. Cortez neither had nor could he command a commissariat suitable for such an army, and it must be remembered that the siege lasted for months. "Whoever has had occasion to consult the ancient chronicles of Spain," says Prescott, "in relation to its wars with the infidels, whether Arab or American, will place little confidence in numbers." We all know how a French imperial bulletin can lie, but Spanish records are gigantic falsifications in comparison. This siege lasted for over six months, and finally, on August 13, 1521, Cortez entered the city in triumph, hoping to enrich himself with immense spoils; but nearly all valuables, including those of the royal treasury, had been cast into the lake and thus permanently lost, rather than permit the avaricious Spaniards to possess them. Cortez's final success of this invasion caused it to be called a "holy war," under the patronage of the church! Had he failed, he would have been stigmatized as a filibuster.

A brief visit was paid to the palace once occupied by Cortez, and now the residence of the highest city official. It has been so modernized that nothing was found especially interesting within the walls. The hot sun of midday made the shade of the ancient trees on the plaza particularly grateful, and the play of the fountain was at least suggestive of coolness. Sitting on one of the long stone benches, we mused as to the scenes which must have taken place upon this spot nearly four hundred years ago, and watched the tri-colored flags of Mexico floating gayly over the two palaces. In the mean time, the swarthy, half-clad natives, regarded curiously and in silence the pale-faced visitors to their quaint old town, until, by-and-by, we started on our return to Puebla by tramway, stopping now and then to gather some tempting wild flowers, or to purchase a bit of native pottery, which was so like old Egyptian patterns that it would not have looked out of place in Cairo or Alexandria.

Occasionally, in this section and eastward, towards Vera Cruz, as we stop at a railway station, a squad of rural police, sometimes mounted, sometimes on foot, draw up in line and salute the train. They are usually clad in buff leather uniforms, with a red sash about their waists, but sometimes are dressed in homespun, light gray woolen cloth, covered with many buttons. They remind one of the Canadian mounted police, who guard the frontier; a body of men designed to keep the Indians in awe, and to perform semi-military and police duty. It is a fact that most of these men were formerly banditti, who find that occupation under the government pays them much better, and that it is also safer, since the present energetic officials are in the habit of shooting highwaymen at sight, without regard to judge or jury.



CHAPTER XV.

Down into the Hot Lands.—Wonderful Mountain Scenery.—Parasitic Vines. —Luscious Fruits.—Orchids.—Orizaba.—State of Vera Cruz.—The Kodak.—Churches.—A Native Artist.—Schools.—Climate.—Crystal Peak of Orizaba.—Grand Waterfall.—The American Flag.—Disappointed Climbers.—A Night Surprise.—The French Invasion.—The Plaza.— Indian Characteristics.—Early Morning Sights.—Maximilian in Council.—Difficult Engineering.—Wild Flowers.—A Cascade.—Cordova. —The Banana.—Coffee Plantations.—Fertile Soil.—Market Scenes.

After returning to Puebla from Tlaxcala, we take the cars which will convey us eastward from the elevated table-land towards the tropical region of the coast. The steep descent begins just below Boca del Monte (Mouth of the Mountain), where the height above the Gulf of Mexico is about eight thousand feet, and the distance from Vera Cruz a trifle over one hundred miles. Here also is the dividing line between the states of Puebla and Vera Cruz. The winding, twisting road built along the rugged mountain-side is a marvelous triumph of the science of engineering, presenting obstacles which were at first deemed almost impossible to be overcome, now crossing deep gulches by spider-web trestles, and now diving into and out of long, dark tunnels, all the while descending a grade so steep as to be absolutely startling. The author remembers nothing more remarkable of the same character, unless it may be portions of the zigzag railway of the Blue Mountains in Australia, and some grades among the foothills of the Himalayan range in India. This road leading from Vera Cruz to the national capital, a distance of two hundred and sixty miles, ascends seven thousand six hundred feet. The scenery all the while is so grand and beautiful as to cause the most timid traveler to forget his nervousness. We were reminded by an officer of the road of the fact, remarkable if it is true, that no fatal accident had ever occurred upon the line. The geological formation of this region is on a most gigantic scale, the rocks of basalt and granite rising in fantastic shapes, forming ravines and pinnacles unparalleled for grandeur. Presently we come in full view of the beautiful valley of La Joya (The Gem), revealing its lovely gardens, beautifully wooded slopes, and yellow fields of ripening grain. By-and-by the lovely vale and pretty village of Maltrata is seen, with its saffron-colored domes and towers, its red-tiled, moss-enameled roofs, its flower-bordered lanes, and its squares of cultivated fields. These greet the eye far, far down the dizzy depths, two thousand feet, on our right, while on the left the mountains rise abruptly hundreds of feet towards the sky. The mingled rock and soil is here screened by lovely ferns and a perfect exposition of morning glories, fabulous in size and dazzling in colors. No artificial display could equal this handiwork of nature, this exhibition of "April's loveliest coronets." Now and again large trees are seen on the line of the road withering in the cruel coils of a parasitic vine, which winds itself about the trunk like a two-inch hawser, and slowly strangles the stout, columnar tree. Finally the original trunk will die and fall to the ground, leaving the once small vine to grow and fatten upon its decay until it shall rival in size the trunk it has displaced. This is a sight common in tropical regions, and often observed in the forests of New Zealand, where the author has seen trees two and three feet in diameter yielding their lives to the fatal embrace of these parasites.

We descend rapidly; down, down, rushes the train, impelled by its own impetus, approaching the town first on one side, then on the other, until we stop at a huge elevated tank, rivaling the famous tun of Heidelberg in size, to water the thirsty engine. Here, and at most of the stations along the route, boys and girls offer the travelers tropical fruits in great variety at merely nominal prices, including large, yellow pineapples, zapotas, mameys, pomegranates, citrons, limes, oranges, and the like. Large, ripe oranges are sold two for a penny. One timid, half-clad, pretty young girl of native blood held up to us diffidently a bunch of white, fragrant orange blossoms which were eagerly secured and enjoyed, the child could not know how much. Other Indians brought roses and various orchids, splendidly developed, which they sold for a real (twelve cents) each, with the roots bound up in broad green leaves. Doyle or Galvin would charge ten dollars apiece for such in Boston. Some of them had marvellous scarlet centres, eccentric in shape but very beautiful. As to color, there were blue, green, scarlet, yellow, and purple specimens among them.

Still winding in and out among the mountains, our ears frequently greeted by the music of tumbling waters, we finally arrive at Orizaba, in the State of Vera Cruz. The capital of this state was formerly Jalapa, but it is now Orizaba, which is named after the grand old mountain whose base is about twenty-five miles away. The State of Vera Cruz contains something over half a million of inhabitants. Few places in Mexico have a more fascinating site, or are surrounded by more lovely scenery. We are here eighty miles from Vera Cruz, and one hundred and eighty from the city of Mexico. Orizaba, having a little over twenty thousand inhabitants, is in many respects the quaintest, as it is one of the oldest, cities in the country. Most of the dwellings are but one story in height, built with broad, overhanging eaves, and are composed of rubble-stone, mortar, sun-dried brick, and a variety of other material; but not including wood. The low, iron-grated windows, so universal in Spanish towns, are not wanting here, through the bars of which, dark-eyed senoritas and laughing children watch us as we pass, often exhibiting pleasant family groups which were photographed as swiftly and as surely on the brain as a No. 2 Kodak instrument would depict them. Some of our party, by the way, were very expert with their Kodaks, and brought away with them illustrated records of their extended journey which, for interest, would put these pen-and-ink sketches to utter shame.

The pitched roofs of the low houses of Orizaba are covered with big red tiles, which afford a sort of ventilation, as well as serving to throw off the heat of the burning sun, while the dry earth seems to absorb it, radiating a glimmer of heated air, like the sand dunes of Suez. It is singular that everything should be so oriental in appearance, while it would be puzzling to say exactly wherein lies the resemblance.

That there are numerous churches here goes without saying, and we may add that two or three of them are quite imposing, while all are suggestive, with a few crippled beggars standing like sentries at their doors. An Indian artist, Gabriel Barranco, has contributed oil-paintings of considerable merit to nearly all the churches in his native town. He is still alive, or was so a couple of months since, and is a most interesting conversationalist, though he is blind and decrepit. This locality seems particularly liable to earthquakes in a mild form. The largest church here has had its steeple overthrown three times, and the towers on several others have been made to lean by the same agency, so that they are considerably out of plumb. No earthquake, however, is likely to make much headway against the low dwellings, which cling to the ground like one's shoe to his foot. It is pleasant to mention that several good schools have been established at Orizaba, supported by the local government. These, we are told on good authority, are in a flourishing condition in spite of all opposition from the church party. There are four schools for boys and three exclusively for girls. Bigotry may make a bold show, but it cannot prosper where a system of free schools prevails.

A river runs through the city, lending a little life to the sleepy old place, and affording ample water power for six or eight mills which manufacture sugar, cotton, and flour. The situation is about midway between Vera Cruz and Puebla, on one of the two principal routes from the former port to the city of Mexico. The surrounding valley is quite fertile, and is mostly devoted to the raising of coffee, sugar, and tobacco. The climate is said to be very fine all the year round, the average temperature being 74 deg. Fahr. in summer and rarely falling below 60 deg. at any season, though it seemed to us, who had just come from the higher table-land, to be about 90 deg.. The scenery is that of Switzerland, the temperature that of southern Italy. It affords an agreeable medium between the heat of the lower country towards the Gulf and the almost too rarefied atmosphere of the high table-lands of Mexico. "In the course of a few hours," says Prescott, "the traveler may experience every gradation of climate, embracing torrid heat and glacial cold, and pass through different zones of vegetation, including wheat and the sugar-cane, the ash and the palm, apples, olives, and guavas."

In this vicinity one sees the orange, lemon, banana, and almond growing at their best, while the coffee, sugar, and tobacco plantations rival those of Cuba, both in extent and in the character of their products. While Spanish rulers were still masters here, and when all manner of arbitrary restrictions were put upon trade, the cultivation of tobacco was confined by law to the districts about Cordova and Orizaba. There is no such handicapping of rural industry now enforced, and sugar and tobacco, which are always sure of a ready market where transportation is to be had, are engaging more and more of the attention of planters. It was found that the best of sugar-cane land, that is, best suited for a sugar plantation, could be had here for from thirty to forty dollars per acre; superior for the purpose to that which is held at one thousand dollars per acre in Louisiana. Though cotton is grown in about half the states of Mexico, the states of Vera Cruz and Durango are the most prolific in this crop. The plant thrives on the table-land up to an elevation of about five thousand feet above the level of the Gulf, and according to Mexican statistics the average product is about two thousand pounds to the acre, which is double the average quantity produced in the cotton-growing States of this Union. The modes of cultivation are very crude and imperfect, especially at any distance from the large and populous centres, but the amazing fertility of the soil insures good and remunerative returns to the farmer or planter even under these unfavorable circumstances. Water is the great, we may say the only, fertilizer—none other is ever used, and irrigating facilities are excellent. The city is elevated more than four thousand feet above Vera Cruz, but is also as much below the altitude of the national capital. As to the climate, one is prepared to agree with its inhabitants, who declare it to be "perfection." The city is overshadowed, as it were, by the crystal peak of Orizaba, though it is some miles away, rising to nearly eighteen thousand feet above the sea. It is probably the second loftiest mountain in North America south of the Territory of Alaska, and exceeds the highest point in Europe. Violent eruptions took place from its crater in 1545 and 1546.

About two miles east of Orizaba, near the hamlet of Jalapilla, is a fine waterfall, known as the Cascade Rincon Grande; this body of water makes a daring plunge of fifty feet over precipitous rocks, amid a glorious growth of tropical vegetation. From here parties are made up to ascend Orizaba (Mountain of the Star). It has stopped business as a volcano since the last date named, and is the highest mountain in Mexico with the exception of Popocatepetl. Until about forty years ago, the summit was considered to be inaccessible to human feet, but a party of energetic Americans planted our national flag on the summit at that time, the tattered remains of which were found to be still there in 1851, by Alexander Doignon, an adventurous Frenchman. We were told by a resident of the city of the experience of an English party, who came up from Vera Cruz not long since on their way to the city of Mexico, and who made a stop at Orizaba, intending to ascend the famous mountain. There is said to be no very great difficulty to overcome in climbing to the top if one has experience in such work and is at the same time strong and well, but the party referred to had just arrived from the level of the sea. The summit of Orizaba is, as we have stated, considerably over seventeen thousand feet above the port of Vera Cruz. This party of confident climbers had to give it up after reaching what is known as the timber line, simply for want of the necessary breathing power. One's lungs must become in a degree accustomed to the rarefied atmosphere of the table-land before attempting to ascend to such a height. Guides, blankets, and two days' provisions should be taken by any party designing to climb Orizaba. One must seek a favorable point in the limits of the town to see this elevation to advantage, because of the close intervening hills. On the west side of the town is an elevation known as El Borrego, where five thousand Mexicans were completely routed by a single company of Zouaves during the ill-conceived French invasion. To be sure, this was a night surprise, wherein the French appeared among the sleeping Mexicans and cut them down as fast as they opened their eyes, until the whole camp took to flight. The importance of military discipline was never more clearly demonstrated. Probably the average of the Mexican soldiers were of nearly as good material as the French, but the former were little better than a mob, each man for himself. Even to-day, it is observed, in the few military exhibitions given in public, that the rank and file are lackadaisical, indifferent, undrilled, evincing a want of nearly every element of discipline, while their officers lounge along the avenues,—they do not march,—presenting an appearance as far from true military bearing as the greatest clown in the ranks.

It will be remembered that Orizaba was for a considerable time the headquarters of General Bazaine's army, and it was here that the French general finally, in 1866, bade good-by to the ill-fated Maximilian, whose cause he deserted by order of his royal master, Napoleon the Little. Stories are told by the residents of the outrages committed by the French soldiers, who were permitted unlimited license by their commander. "The whole army," said an aged citizen to us, "was a body of cutthroats. They stole everything they could carry away, besides which, cruel and aimless murder was their daily diversion."

The small plaza is a delightful resort, a wilderness of green with an ornamental fountain in the middle, about which are stone seats among flowering shrubs, orange and other fruit trees. Indeed, the entire surroundings of Orizaba are gardenlike in fertility and bloom. The vegetation, owing to the humidity of the atmosphere rising from the Gulf, is always intensely green. Huge butterflies flitted in clouds about the plaza, many-colored, sunshine-loving creatures, with widespread, yellow wings shot with purple bars, and bearing strongly contrasting dots of inky-black and lily-white. A tall cluster of the glorious tulipan, quite by itself, looked like a tree on fire, so glowing was its scarlet bloom.

The streets of the town are in tolerably good condition, paved with lava once vomited from the neighboring mountain, now so quiet. The gutters are in the middle of the thoroughfares, and the sidewalks are only a few inches in width. Carts or wheeled vehicles of any sort are very little used, freight being carried almost wholly on the backs of burros and Indians. All vegetables, charcoal, wood, and country produce come into town on the backs of sturdy, copper-colored natives, men and women, and it is really astonishing to see what loads they will carry for long distances over the mountain roads at the rate of five or six miles an hour. Humboldt, in his description of these Indians, tells us that they enjoy one great physical advantage which is undoubtedly owing to the simplicity in which their ancestors lived for thousands of years. He referred to the fact that they are subject to hardly any deformity. A hunchbacked Indian is not to be seen, and it is very rare to meet a maimed or a lame one. Their hair does not grow gray like that of white men, nor do their faces grow wrinkled as they become old. The absence of deformity is also supposed to be owing to their general mode of life, simple food, living in the open air, and temperate habits. Their ivory-white teeth contrast strongly with their black hair and bronzed features. The country people rarely indulge in pulque, never unless when they come to town, and they have too little money to throw it away in the purchase of much of even that cheap liquor. It is said that its injurious effects upon the system are very trifling compared to those of American whiskey. It seems to be little more than a powerful narcotic to those who drink of it freely. The strong distilled liquor made from the roots of the maguey plant is quite another article, and is more like Scotch whiskey in effect.

If you rise from your couch early enough in the morning, you will see many Indian men and women coming in to market from the country, all bending under the weight of provisions, pottery, or some other home product. You will see the women (industrious creatures) knitting or netting as they jog along. And near them long trains of burros laden with grain, alfalfa, straw, or wood. You will see some dark-eyed, coquettish girls with inviting bouquets for sale; also here and there a pretty senora or senorita, with a dark lace veil thrown over her jet black hair, hastening to early mass; but, above all, behold the glorious sun encircling the frosty brow of Orizaba with a halo of gold and silver which sparkles like diamonds in the clear, crisp morning atmosphere. How full of vivid pictures is the memory of these early morning hours in Mexico!

In a small village known as Jalapilla, situated about a couple of miles south of the city, is the spot where Maximilian resided for a brief period after the French army had deserted him. Here he held the famous council as to whether he should abdicate the Mexican throne or not. He was more than half inclined to do it. It was really the only common-sense course which was left open to him. Had he done so, he might have been living to-day. Vera Cruz was close at hand and easily reached, a French steamship lay off San Juan d'Ulloa ready to take him across the sea, but there were three causes working against his abdication. First, his own pride; second, the pressure of the church party; and, last but not least, the confident counsels of Carlotta. These influences prevailed, and decided him to remain. He thus challenged the inevitable fate which ended his career at Queretaro. That two generals who were on his personal staff believed in his star and were wedded to his service under all circumstances, was fully proven in the fact that they made no attempt to escape, but calmly and devotedly died by his side when the crisis finally came.

The railroad station at Orizaba adjoined a neat inclosure, which is a small floral paradise, exhibiting very clearly a woman's taste in the arrangement and cultivation. Roses white and red, lilies tall and pearl-colored, the scarlet hibiscus, tube-roses, orange-trees, coffee-trees full of berries, all are to be seen here, with a few bananas waving their long, broad green leaves, like pennons, over the undergrowth, and showing their one pendulous blossom as large as a pineapple.

The descent from the high elevation of Orizaba is continued, the route leading through groves of bananas, maize and sugar plantations, and creeping down the steep sides of a terrific gorge over a thousand feet deep, where the purple shadows look like shrouded phantoms hastening out of sight. This abyss is crossed by means of extraordinary engineering skill, much of the roadway along the nearly perpendicular side of the ravine having been hewn out of the solid rock. To accomplish this it was necessary at first to suspend workmen by ropes over the brow of the cliffs, lowering them down until they were opposite the point to be operated upon, and, after making fast the ropes which held them, leave them there to work for hours with hammer and chisel. There was one piece of roadbed, not more than ten rods in length, where the track seemed to run on a narrow shelf barely wide enough for the cars to pass, which is said to have required seven years to render available. We can well conceive it to have been so, for the whole road from Vera Cruz to Mexico was about five times seven years in building. The view is at times such as to incline the experienced traveler to hold his breath, if not to close his eyes, in a tremor of excitement. In the steepest part of the route the descent is at the rate of one hundred thirty-three and one third feet to the mile! Were a wheel to break, an iron nut to give way, or the trusted brakes fail to operate, what a frightful catastrophe would instantly follow!

Between Orizaba and Cordova, a few rods off the line of the railway to the left as we go from the former to the latter place, is a dark, cavernous passage cut through the hillside a hundred feet or more, leading to the view of a waterfall of great beauty and of considerable size. It is closely framed on all sides by dark green foliage, tall and graceful trees partially overhanging it. Dainty orchids and beautiful ferns hang upon the damp rocks and the brown tree-trunks. Here the cars stop for a brief period, to enable us to delight our eyes and ears by the sight and sound of the riotous waters. A waterfall or cascade in this climate is enhanced in importance for many reasons; the very sight of rushing, foaming water has a cooling and refreshing effect when the thermometer is at 90 deg. Fahr. The rank, tropical verdure, the depth of the sombre gorge, the tumultuous, sparkling waters, the cool, welcome shade, and the ceaseless anthem of the falls make the charming spot a scene long to be remembered. One would have liked to linger there for hours. Finally, after having passed over a distance of nearly twenty miles, we cross the bridge of Metlac, built over a river of the same name, and arrive in sight of Cordova, whose domes and towers are just far enough away to clothe them in a soft, inviting, amber hue.