The white and mixed races, especially the former, constitute the property-owning and administrative classes, and naturally the Mexican upper class is drawn from these. The six million Indians, more or less, constitute some fifty aboriginal tribes in various stages of semi-civilisation or savagery, distributed all over the country from Sonora to Yucatan, and these are described elsewhere. It is not to be supposed that they are savages as a whole; for, on the contrary, they are remarkably gifted in some cases, assimilating the civilisation and intellect of the white man and furnishing excellent material for the country's citizens. The upper-class Mexicans, like the Peruvians or other Spanish-Americans when they are of unmixed white descent, naturally pride themselves upon the fact, and to a certain extent aim to preserve this condition. This is the "colour-line" of the race, and the term "Indio" is still a term expressing something of contempt, notwithstanding the fact that some of the prominent, and even intellectual, men of Mexico's history have been drawn from the Mestizo class, and—in the case of Juarez—from pure aboriginal stock. Of course, the Indian is, as yet, an inferior being.

Included in Mexico's population is a foreign element numbering some 60,000 people, more or less, Spaniards predominating, with more than 16,000, and Americans of the United States with somewhat over 15,000. This is according to the census of 1900, and it is probable that both these elements have increased considerably since then. Of British there are only some 3,000 in the country; of French about 4,000; and of Germans 2,600, approximately. The vast area of Mexican territory contains only about twenty persons to the square mile; were it populated in the same ratio as parts of Europe it might support a population of 180,000,000, it has been calculated.

As has been shown, but a small percentage of the Mexican people are of purely white descent. As for the characteristic type of Mexican—those of mixed white and aboriginal race—they form the principal human element of the country, and shade off indefinably into the peon class. This class, drawn both from Mestizos and Indians, forms the great working population, in the fields and the mines, and without them the national industries would be non-existent. They are a picturesque, poor and generally ignorant class, although possessed of excellent natural elements and traits which must develop as time goes on. They form a strong, virile backbone to the country, but the conditions of their life are at present but little removed from serfdom, due to their general poverty as a class and to the monopolisation of the ownership of land by the upper classes. In this connection it is to be recollected that the natives of the civilised pre-Hispanic States of the Americas—as Mexico and Peru—enjoyed an excellent system of individual land-tenure, or rather, of free land-use, which gave being to a strong, independent peasantry; and this, in Peru, still obtains to a certain degree, due principally to the inaccessibility of the Andine regions. But in Mexico such a class no longer exists, and the peon lives by sufferance upon the soil which was wrested from his forbears by the white man, who adopted there the singular land customs of Europe, which arrogate to the enjoyment of a few the soil which philosophy points to as belonging to the community.[27] Enormous landed estates are held in Mexico—indeed, in the State of Chihuahua the largest single estate in the world exists—and a semi-feudal regime of the land and its inhabitants marks the character of this modern American civilisation. The population on the soil scarcely reaches twenty persons to the square mile—principally rural or inhabiting small towns—and there is ample room, therefore, for expansion. It must, however, be stated that excellent new land laws have been promulgated of recent years in the Republic. National lands have been set aside in vast areas, and any inhabitant of the Republic may "denounce" or acquire a piece of such land, and retain it by annual tax-payment at prices varying from two pesos—a peso is about two shillings—in the remote regions, to twenty or thirty pesos per hectare—equal to 2-1/2 acres—in the more settled States. The Mexican peasantry is not debarred absolutely from the enjoyment of the land if he has the knowledge and means to perform the simple requirements necessary to its acquisition—which generally he has not. I have dealt in detail with the matters of land acquisition elsewhere in this work, and with the conditions of life of and the character of the peon class familiarly.

[Footnote 27: In certain regions there are, of course, numerous Indian squatters and landholders.]

To cast, now, a glance at ethnic conditions, it is sufficient to say that a wide range of peoples have mingled their blood in the race which now forms the people of Mexico. No other American nation constitutes so varied a blending of races. The invading Conquistadores and their followers from Spain—which itself has formed from the beginning of history a veritable crucible or mixing-ground of the world's peoples, languages and creeds—brought Iberian, Roman, Celtic, Semite, Vandal, Goth, and Moorish blood to Mexico, and mingled it with the aboriginal Aztecs and others. As to the origin of the Mexican aboriginals, this is unknown or only conjectured, but they embrace an enormous range of tribes, some 230 names of which appear in the list compiled by Mexican ethnologists. These, however, are grouped into some twelve or more linguistic families, among whom may be mentioned in order of their numerical importance the Nahuatlan, Otomian, Zapotecan, Mayan, Tarascan, Totonacan, Piman, Zoquean, and others, including the Serian and the Athapascan, or Apache. These families embody people of very varying degrees of native culture; from the low type of the abject Seri Indians, inhabiting part of Sonora; the treacherous and bloodthirsty Apaches, who formerly roved over the vast deserts of the north, up to the cultured peoples who formed the prehistoric civilisation of the country; the Nahuatl- and Maya-speaking races, who, in the peninsula of Yucatan and the Valley of Mexico, were the foremost peoples in point of culture of the whole of the New World, and who have left the remarkable chapters in stone of their history which are scattered about Mexico, and which have been described in a former chapter.

To-day the vast area and different peoples of Mexico are combined politically into one community—a Federation of States or Federal Republic; and the blending of the peoples, carnally, goes on day by day, as there are not inseparable distinctions of colour or creed to keep them asunder. Politically Mexico may be considered as the foremost of the Spanish-American Republics, her population being the greatest, and her civilisation more broadly developed than any of her sister-nations. The form of government, as stated, is that known as a Federal Republic—a definition of which is that the numerous States composing the whole are free and sovereign as regards their internal regime, but united under their representative, democratic Constitution as a political entity.

The Constitution is fashioned upon the model of the United States to a certain extent, and as a Federation differs from most of the other Spanish-American republics. The supreme authority of the Republic is held and exercised by three bodies—the Legislative, the Executive, and the Judiciary. The Legislative embodies the Congress, or Parliament, consisting of the Chamber of Deputies and the Senate, the members of which are elected, the first in the proportion of one for every 60,000 inhabitants, every two years: and the second of two Senators for each State every four years. The Judiciary consists of the Supreme and other courts, the judges of the first being elected, and the business of the body relates to law and justice concerning Federal, political, and international matters. The Executive in Mexico consists of a single depositary of authority—the President, who, with the vice-president, is elected, and who enter upon office on the 1st of December, for terms of six years. The Constitution which all these officials swear to uphold is that first brought to being on February 5, 1857, with various modifications. By the Reform Laws of 1859, and their additions of 1873, the Church and State are absolutely independent of each other, and the power and functions of the ecclesiastical authority are rigidly defined. The Federation consists of thirty-one States and "territories," which latter are subject to Federal control and regulation of their internal regime, unlike the former. The States are governed by Governors.

Mexico has, therefore, well established all the machinery of a republic, wherein equal rights of man and the sovereignty of the people are well set forth. How do these excellent methods and theories work out in practice as regards the social system and inhabitants? A republic in name, Mexico shares with Spanish-American countries generally, social conditions which are far from being embodied in the real meaning of that designation. It is not necessary to dwell much upon this palpable fact, and its reason is not far to seek. The communities of the New World which Spain conquered were inhabited by inferior peoples who were easily enslaved, or who were already subject to autocratic forms of government. Every Spaniard who arrived there—were he a noble of Castile or a common boor from his native Iberian province—was full of the arrogance and superiority, sometimes fancied, generally real, of the civilised European, and this spirit burst into full bloom amid the environment of such countries as Mexico and Peru. Thus an autocratic race was established whose class distinctions are as strong and enduring as those of the most class-ridden countries of Europe. It would be impossible to expect other conditions yet, with a great mass of the people being of Indian race, and coming on almost imperceptibly towards civic knowledge and intellectual advancement. Scarcely 13 per cent. of the total population can read and write, whilst as to the labouring classes they are only just beginning to show any advancement along lines of modern civilisation. Nevertheless the Government of the country has their welfare at heart, and in the last quarter of a century has regarded the working classes and Indians as citizens with rights rather than mere material for revolutionary struggle, as was formerly the case. The Mexican people having always been sharply divided into two classes, an upper and a lower; a middle-class, such as in Europe or the United States forms the great bulk of intelligent citizens, tends but slowly to appear, and it is this which must be encouraged to arise and to absorb the aboriginal element.



The upper class Mexican is often a well-educated and well-informed man of the world, and in appearance and habit differs little from the European. His wealth has permitted him to be educated in the best establishments his country affords, or often abroad, in France, England, and in a less degree the United States, and to spend years in Europe and live a life of ease, preferably in Paris—that true Mecca of the Spanish-American people. The Mexican gentleman is generally courteous and punctilious, and gives much attention to dress and matters of ceremony, after the general manner of the Spanish-American, and the frock-coat and silk hat form his indispensable exterior whenever possible. His courtesy pervades his business relations generally, as well as social affairs. And, indeed, this pleasing quality permeates the whole social regime from the highest official or wealthy citizen down to the poorest peon or to the Indian labourer. The matter of courtesy, in addition to being native both with the Spanish progenitor and the native race, is, it might be said, part of the political Constitution. The republics of Spanish-America at least regard all men as equal in this sense, a condition which is far from existing in the Anglo-Saxon Republic of the United States, where brusque assertion of even the meanest authority is evident, in the present development of that country. Nor is it to be supposed that Mexican politeness is a mere veneer, or mask, to be put on and off as occasion dictates, for it arises from native kindliness—a species of Quixotism of a laudable nature.

The Mexican largely shares the spirit of hospitality of the Spanish-American race, and this, besides being a native characteristic, was strongly implanted in colonial days by the very exigencies and circumstances of the times. In some parts of the country, until recent years, hotels or inns were unknown; and it was sufficient for the traveller to knock at almost any door to ask and receive food and shelter for himself and his retainers and beasts, even though the people of the place might be ignorant of his name or business: and the best that was forthcoming was put at his service. Something of practical patriarchal simplicity governed life in regions more remote from main routes of travel, which held, and indeed still hold, much of charm for the traveller from lands whose hospitality—as Britain or the United States—is the result often of ostentation or social necessity rather than that of native kindliness. This amiable trait of more or less pastoral communities, as Mexico and South America, tends naturally to disappear before the influence of the commercial element which is invading the country, and it is not to be expected that it will survive always.

The Spanish-American possesses an ineradicable element of Quijotismo—he will tell us so himself—and this element seems to have become stronger in the New World than in Spain, which gave it origin. The Mexican has it to the full, like the Peruvian; doubtless it arises largely from the conditions of caste brought about by the existence of the Mestizo and the Indian. Trembling on the verge of two races, his eyes looking towards the land of his progenitors, the enshrined Spain of his dreams, with something of race-nostalgia—if we may be permitted to coin the term—yearning for the distinction of the white skin and traditions of European civilisation, yet bound to the life of and race of his own patria by reason of the native blood within his veins, the Hispanic Mexican has cultivated a sensitive social spirit which tinges his character and action in every-day life. From this largely arise his courtesy and spirit of hospitality—although these are undeniably innate—and principally his love of pomp and externals, the keeping up of appearances, and his profound eloquence. The Mexican is intensely eloquent. His speakings and writings are profuse in their use of the fulness of the Spanish language, and teem with rich words and phrases to express abstract ideas. Indeed, judged by Anglo-Saxon habit, they would be termed grandiloquent and verbose. He indulges in similes and expressions as rich and varied as the vegetation of his own tropical lands. The most profound analogies are called up to prove the simplest fact, not only in the realm of poetry, or description, but in scientific or business matters at times, and whether he is writing upon some deep social problem or reporting upon the condition of the parish pump he will preface his account with an essay! This, whilst it betrays often an attractive idealism, is prone at times to lead to the sacrificing of exact information to elegance of style or diction. The Mexican is never at a loss for words; his eloquence is native, and whether it be the impassioned oratory of a political speaker or the society small-talk of a young man in the presence of ladies, he is never shy, and his flow of language and gesture is as natural to him as reserve and brevity to the Englishman. Indeed, the Anglo-Saxon, especially the Briton, seems repellant in comparison with the Spanish-American, and to cultivate selfishness rather than ceremony in his own social dealings.

This tendency towards idealism becomes exaggeration often, though not intended for such, and the prefixing of superlatives is very noticeable in ordinary language. Thus glory is generally "immortal glory"; knowledge "profound knowledge"; every person partaking in public affairs, if a friend of the speaker, is ever "enlightened and patriotic," and his intelligence becomes "vast intelligence." "Our distinguished and universally beloved Governor" would be the customary reference to such a functionary; and "an era of glorious progress" would be the only way of characterising his administration. Indeed, a glance over a Mexican book or article or speech seems to show that the writer has made use of every elegant and abstruse word in the dictionary. In a dissertation upon any subject he seems called upon to begin from the very beginning of things, desde la creacion del mundo—"from the beginning of the world," as the Spanish-American himself sarcastically says at times. Perhaps this is a habit acquired from the early Spanish chroniclers, who often began their literary works with an account of the Creation! The love of linking together the material and the poetic is, of course, at the basis of this striving after effect, and no philosophical observer would pretend to hold it up to ridicule. Anglo-Saxon civilisation grows material and commercial; the Spanish-American preserves and cultivates some poetic and cultured imagery; and perhaps Nature intends the one to affect the other in the future amalgamation of the world's races.

Less lovable a characteristic of the Spanish-American is the tendency to fulsome adulation of public or powerful personages in the hope of winning patronage. The tendency to pander to each other's vanity, however, shows up in marked contrast to the harshness and abuse of authority often employed in political matters. The Spanish character, amiable and courteous in friendship or equality, tends to become arbitrary when vested with some brief authority, and this has been at the bottom of much of the political disturbance and bloodshed of the past. It is characteristic of this race to show a certain "Oriental" trait—that which gives rise to an acquiescence in successful guile, rather than an admiration and self-sacrifice for abstract truth. This is, of course, a characteristic both of individuals and nations before they reach a certain standard of civilisation. The readiness to follow the successful cause among the upper class, and the easy regard of the unpunished criminal, are the outcome of these qualities. In business matters the Spanish-American, the Mexican, Peruvian, Chilean, Brazilian, or other has a much less sense of rigid observance of agreements, and a far greater latitude of expediency and mental juggling than the Anglo-Saxon. And this insinuation embodies one of the main defects of the race. Ideas of "mine" and "thine" are much less strong than with the Briton or American. It has been said of the Spaniard that he makes excellent laws, but ever considers that he personally has a right to break them. This sentiment becomes very evident in America: yet not only with the Spanish-American, for it is a marked characteristic of the United States, and of all American republics, where licence is often indulged in under the name of liberty.

The Mexican character must be summed up as that of a people in the making. The fact is stamped upon their physiognomies even. Let us turn over the pages of any book issued in Mexico and observe the portraits of public men and of their biographies, for it will generally be full of these, often pandering to their vanity. The features are strongly pronounced, and at times verge upon the grotesque—we mean it in no offensive spirit. A high intelligence runs riot, and an idealism untempered by sobriety and practice, with strong passions, and love of show. But they mark a people, not decadent, but evolving. The Mexicans are at the beginning, not the end, of their civilisation; the rise, not the fall, of their life. Here is the material of a vigorous and prolific race which may be destined to bulk largely—like the whole of Spanish-America—in the future regime of the civilisation of the white man.



The "era of glorious progress"—to use the Mexican term—which the long dictatorship of the present famous President of Mexico inaugurated is a theme which occupies the Mexican mind and pen very largely. The European writer ungrudgingly records it, and the much-used adjective has much of truth for its constant use. General Porfirio Diaz has been wise and fortunate, and has been able to surround his administration with the talented men of his time—una pleiade incontable de hombres conspicuos, to quote from a Mexican description of his colleagues—"an innumerable pleiades of conspicuous men!" in their own grandiloquent phrases. As for the President, it might be supposed that the tendency to deify him by his contemporaries, and the constant pouring out of adulation and flattery upon him for the last twenty years, has made him proof against the workings of vanity. He well deserves this praise, both from his countrymen and from foreigners; but so long and varied a course of it must prove unpalatable, notwithstanding that the Spanish-American, as a rule, is capable of absorbing an infinite amount of praise. Porfirio Diaz has brought his country up from chaos, and for this fortunate work he has to thank his own staunch character and the fact that a time had arrived in the natural evolution of America when even the most turbulent States are called upon to perform their function and carry out their destiny. The man and the hour arrived together, and Diaz deserves to rank among the historic statesmen of the world.

The Mexicans, in their oratory and writings, are still congratulating themselves upon their overthrow of the power of the Church, and of the other ancient tyrannies which were a bar to their progress as a modern nation. But the tendency—though growing less as time goes on—is to overrate this. They pride themselves on being "modern," and congratulate themselves on every occasion upon having destroyed past traditions. But it is easy, in wiping away the evils of the past with too vigorous a hand, to destroy at the same time much that is of good report. Mexico possesses traditions, religious influences, historical and literary associations which are of great value, and possessed by no other American community upon that continent. These can never be replaced by the plumed hat of the General and all that it conveys, nor by the freethinker, nor by the factory whistle and overalled mechanic, nor, indeed, by the elements of a strenuous commercialism generally. As time goes on and civil life broadens and develops this attitude will be moderated—it is but a phase of the country's history, and indeed a healthy one, to cry for progress and the modern spirit.

Much of this cry for modern things, as well as some other of the characteristics of the Spanish-American, comes from the desire to be considered highly civilised. This feeling, whether in Mexico or South America, gives birth at times to a certain feverish spirit of construction, and is responsible for the existence of railways, but no roads; electric light in streets without sewers, and pretentious-looking stucco buildings where solid stone should have been employed. Buenos Ayres, Lima, Santiago, Mexico—all bear witness to this tendency, in more or less degree. And under the garish electric arc at night, or silhouetted against the new white stucco wall of some costly hygienic institution, or art gallery, or Governor's palace, glaring in the bright sun, stands the incongruous figure of the half-naked and sandalled Indian, ignorant and poverty-stricken! These, indeed, are elements of Spanish-American civilisation which the philosopher sees and ponders upon. In fact, the character of the Latin races seems sometimes to tend to run off into ultra-scientific methods and institutions before the every-day welfare of its citizens is secured. Elaborate meteorological observations, great schools of medicine with costly apparatus, and great penitentiaries are to be found as prominent features in all Spanish-American capitals, where they have been inaugurated with much fanfare of oratory regarding civilisation. In Mexico, Lima, Buenos Ayres, and other great centres of Spanish-American life, the Penetenciaria is always a showplace, or notable institution to which visitors' attention is drawn. This, however, seems to be rather a development of modern American civilisation all through, and whether in New York—and indeed Canada—or whether in Mexico, Peru, Chile, or Argentina, greater care seems to be expended upon the welfare of the criminal than on the ordinary poor citizen!



As previously observed, Mexican society falls into lines of marked class distinction. The rich and the educated stand in sharp juxtaposition to the great bulk of poor and uneducated, and the high silk hat and frock-coat form a striking contrast to the half-naked and sandalled peon in the plazas and streets of the cities. Similarly does the caballero, the horseman on caparisoned steed, spurn the dust on country roads through which the humble cotton-clad Indian labourer slinks to his toil. The horse, in Mexico, is always an outward sign of social superiority, and no self-respecting Mexican would ever be seen on foot beyond the paved streets of his cities. The noble animal is an integral part of Mexican life, social or industrial, and the Mexicans are in some respects the most expert horsemen in the world, as elsewhere shown.

The upper-class Mexican is generally a large landowner. The great estates which form his hacienda lie in one or the other part of the country, whether upon the great tableland or in the tropical regions which surround it. He spends a certain period of the year upon his hacienda, returning to the capital or journeying to Europe as desire or necessity may dictate. Great plantations of cotton, or immense areas of sugar-cane, or maguey, or other products yield him the considerable income which he enjoys; and, as a rule, the fertile lands of the Republic are in the hands of this class, to the exclusion of the great bulk of the inhabitants. But the haciendas are important centres of industry, supporting the rural population in their vicinity.

The Mexican shares the characteristics of the Latin race in his love for politics, military and other titles and distinctions, and his predilection for holding some Government office. The law, the army, medicine are professions which appeal to him as affording distinction or degree, as well as giving outlet to the love of scientific pursuits, generally, however, theoretical rather than practical. On all sides one hears men addressed as "Doctor," whether it be of science, laws, medicine, or divinity. This condition is observed by the traveller in all Spanish-American republics, and it seems to the foreign observer that the practical and plodding class of workers and trade-makers is insufficiently represented, bearing in mind the large amount of scientific and theoretical leadership. This is in accordance with the dictates of caste, inherited from Spain. The upper class have always had Indians to wait upon them, and a Quixotic tendency to the despising of manual labour has naturally resulted, as among the leisured class of any other country. Any occupation that cannot be performed in the habiliments of the frock-coat and silk hat seems derogatory to the Spanish-American, and, filtering down through all the strata of society above the peones this sentiment has the effect of keeping the young men in the cities and robbing the country of a race of intelligent peasants of white descent. The Spanish-American youth of the poorer class prefers to pass the days behind a counter selling cashmeres and silks to bargaining senoritas rather than to take up work on the land, which urgently requires more distributed and intelligent cultivation.

The young Mexican of the upper class cares little for sport as understood by the Anglo-Saxon, and the strenuous games of the young Briton or American, or the hard work of British sport, are alien to his ease-loving nature. It is true that tennis and football and even polo are played to a limited extent by enthusiastic young men in the capital, who have followed the example of British or American residents, but it is not to be expected that these alien games could be grafted upon a different stock. Horsemanship is, of course, a natural pastime; but this has nothing in common with the pastime of the English hunting-fields, notwithstanding that a certain class of Mexicans are exceedingly famous as horsemen and have no superiors in the world in this art, in some respects.

As regards political distinction and career, the system obtaining in Spanish-American countries—like that of the United States—causes a change every few years of almost the whole official body, from President and Cabinet Ministers downwards. This has advantages and disadvantages. It certainly creates a large and generally capable governing class or clique. It is rare in the society of the capitals of these countries to find prominent men who, at one time or other, have not been Cabinet Ministers or held other important State office. This gives—to the foreigner at least—a somewhat farcical impression of the life of the community, but, at any rate, it may be conceded that the Republican method gives nearly all good citizens "a show," to use an Americanism, in the State or municipal life.

Whilst, up to recent years, almost all the administrative positions were filled by men with military titles, there is now a tendency to use the talent of men of civil professions in those departments of State corresponding thereto. Thus it is refreshing to observe that the Department of Fomento—Development or Promotion—one of the most important, has at its head and secondary positions men who are Engineers, not Generals. This Department is concerned with the railways, roads, mines, irrigation, and all matters of a similar nature, and its administration naturally calls for technical knowledge which the ubiquitous General does not often possess. The Minister of Foreign Affairs has been a lawyer (licenciado) as well as his seconds; others of the Cabinet Ministers are of the same professions, and the principal representatives of the country abroad, their ambassadors, are men whose simple titles of "Senor Don," and "Honourable" show their civil origin. So the picturesque and vigorous military element, invaluable in its place, is kept within its natural bounds, and as the pages of the book of Mexico are turned over the portraits of distinguished men with plumed hats and sword and uniform tend to become less and the civilian dress and the thoughtful brow of the educated civil statesman take their place. Among the ancient Mexicans, in pre-Hispanic days, commerce was a most honourable calling, as indeed were the handicrafts. But until recent years the titles of soldier and priest in Christian Mexico—as, indeed, it was in mediaeval Europe—seemed to be those which alone called for respect.

The Mexicans are very careful to preserve the forms of their Republican system of government in the conduct of affairs of State, whether in principle or nomenclature. A decree is prefaced with "The Citizen President so decrees," is addressed to a "Citizen Secretary, Citizen Governor," or other, and terminates with the words "Independence and Liberty." Statues and streets, and institutions on every hand convey the recollections of liberty and reform. The Calle de la Independencia, that of the Cinco de Mayo (Fifth of May), the Paseo de la Reforma, and other kindred names are much in evidence, and the Anglo-Saxon observer is startled from his own prosaic world to one where the matters of civic machinery and romantic pretension people its everyday life. It is safe to say that the average Mexican knows more about the chief men of his patria, and its history and institutions, than does the average Briton or American of his country. The educated Mexican speaks correct and expressive Spanish, which language—the Castellano—is, of course, the language of the country. In addition, he invariably speaks French, for in his generation this has ever been considered the mark of a polite education. English he may speak in addition, but not so universally. When we ask the Mexican gentleman of the old school if he speaks English there will the slightest shrug of the shoulders or lifting of the eyebrows. "No, senor," he will reply, perhaps with a polite expression of regret; "but, on the other hand, I speak French." Nevertheless, he very often does speak English, and with fluency, acquired in England or the United States—preferably the former, he will add.

The Spanish of Mexico is very similar to that of Peru, and this says much for a language separated by such vast distances. The same good accent and facility of expression and gesture, the same native eloquence, grandiloquent similies, philosophical allusions and vivid descriptions, not only concerning things great and important, but things commonplace and everyday. The Mexican, however, partakes less of this character than the Peruvian. The pronunciation of the words, and especially of their termination, marks a great difference between the Mexican and Peruvian on the one hand and the Chilian on the other. The latter has developed a chopped and incomplete pronunciation, although it betrays the energetic and virile character of the Chileno in contrast to the more effeminate Peruvian.

Life in Mexican cities does not lack colour and interest, and the peoples to be encountered in the streets show very varying traits and occupations. Here is the carriage of a wealthy citizen, drawn by a splendid pair of imported English horses; here is a sweet-faced senorita, bending her steps towards her favourite temple, accompanied by some vigilant chaperon or domestic; here two Mexican gentlemen pass each other on the narrow curb, each insisting upon giving the other the inside—the place of honour—and ceremoniously raising their silk hats to each other in salutation. Along comes a bull-fighter now, with his distinctive hat, slouch, and shaven face, the redoubtable torero, accompanied by admiring amigos, ready to pay for all the copas their hero might, with lordly dignity, desire to partake of. In the middle of the stone-paved street the peones, or perhaps some Indians from the country, porters, cargadores, or other humble occupation, slink along—the footpath is not for them—with their pantaloons of cotton manta rolled up to their knees and their feet unshod or sandalled. The Mexican woman of the Indian class prefers to carry her shoes in her hand when she enters or leaves the city streets, putting them on only as a concession to civilisation and removing them when away. Some years ago it was necessary to pass a regulation to the effect that the Indians must wear trousers or other covering when in the city, as they continually asserted their aboriginal love of bodily freedom by appearing without them! The life and colour of Mexican towns is characteristic, and the Mexican journeying to Britain's cities finds life flat and colourless, without gleam of interest for him, its more solid basis of existence not easily falling into his comprehension.



It is the spectacular which more readily appeals to the Mexican. The bull-fight, with its accompaniments of showy dress, tense excitement, and elements of danger and bloodshed, is his favourite amusement. Military parades and political functions enter largely into the distractions of polite life, as indeed is the case throughout Spanish-America generally. Military titles are exceedingly numerous. Formerly it was rare that a President, a Cabinet Minister, the Governor of a State, or the official head of a department did not carry the distinction of general or colonel. The dormant military spirit, indeed—and in view of Mexico's history it could hardly be otherwise—permeates the whole body politic, and its influence and effects give place very slowly to civil ideas. The tramp of armed men and accoutred horses, the roll of drum and call of trumpet, appeal ever to this race of warlike instinct. The gleam of arms and sabre possesses for them an attraction which the ploughshare or the miner's drill can never impart. Their ancestors, on the one side, were the warlike Aztecs and other aboriginal races, and on the other the Conquistadores and martial men of Spain. A note of their stirring national anthem, with its warlike words and martial strain, and the soldier—and warrior—instinct arises:—

"Mexicanos al grito de guerra El fierro apretad i el bridon! Y retumba sus entranas la tierra Al sonoro rugir del canon!"

Which might almost be translated in the fiery words of the—

"Pibroch of Donnel Dhu; pibroch of Donnel, Wake thy wild voice anew; summon clan Connel. Come away! come away! hark to the summons, Come in your war array, gentles and commons!"

* * * * *

From such stern matters let us turn to a gentler theme—the woman of Mexico. The cultured upper-class are extremely exclusive as regards their women. Any sense of liberty or independence such as characterises the English or American girl is impossible with the Mexican. Between the sexes social intercourse before marriage is much restricted; the rigid etiquette and seclusion of years gone by—almost Moorish in its character—scarcely giving way to the more tolerant ideas which pervade society in general elsewhere. Nevertheless, there has been some improvement in this condition, partly due to the influence of the numerous foreigners who reside in the capital, and, no doubt, time will effect a change. But far be it from the philosophical observer to suggest that such conditions should be hastily swept away. The Mexican, and Spanish-American woman generally, retains qualities and attributes, due partly to her up-bringing, which in some respects gain rather than lose in comparison with the Anglo-Saxon woman.

The Mexican lady is generally of refined and distinguished manner and of a characteristically handsome type, with expressive eyes and a wealth of fine hair. As a girl she is of voluptuous form, remarkably attractive, and of romantic disposition. Her outlook on life is naturally somewhat restricted; its main culminating point is in love and marriage; and indeed the amorous passions in the Mexican race of both sexes are exceedingly strongly developed, and very largely determine their friendships or quarrels. There is a slumberous Southern fire in the Mexican girls' eyes and love. Her passion is consuming, and has not the sense of expediency of the cold Northern races.

This attractiveness of outward demeanour is accompanied often by sterling qualities which make for happy motherhood. But most women of Spanish-American countries sacrifice themselves to their children, nor endeavour to preserve their youth much beyond its allotted span. Also, lack of hygienic measures—as that of active exercise—and the too excessive use of paint and powder in the toilette seem to bring on an early middle age. But apart from this it is a natural condition of the race that it matures early—the Mexican girl is ripe for marriage long before her Anglo-Saxon sisters—and then pays the penalty of an earlier fading. When there is an admixture of the aboriginal strain—and in few families this is absent—a tendency to extreme stoutness exists as middle age approaches, especially among women of the leisure class, whose life calls for no active labour as among their poorer sisters. Sweet, soft, and melancholy, yet often vivacious and always simpatica—such is the impression of the Mexican girl which remains upon the mind of the foreigner who has known her. It is always evident to the foreign observer that a too exaggerated habit of seclusion and reserve between the sexes, such as prevails in Spanish-American countries, defeats its own ends to some extent. The men of these countries, whilst outwardly courteous and correcto towards their women, to an almost excessive degree, have not the real respect towards them which the less polite Anglo-Saxon entertains towards his feminine world. Nor does this too artificial barrier conduce to any rigid condition of morality. It rather tends to encourage clandestine courtship and amours.

But the Mexican girl's nature calls for admiration and notice. Behold the main street of the city during the fashionable shopping hours, lined with admiring young men, who make audible remarks as to the beauty of eyes, hair, or figure of the passing senoritas—remarks which would give grave offence in cold-blooded England, but which are heard with inward gratification by their recipients. These young men of fashion make it an event of the day to line up in this way, attired in fashionable garb, with an exaggerated height of collar and length of cuff! Largartijos—lizards—they are dubbed in the language of the country.

In the social life of Mexican cities religion plays an important part. Indeed, religion is the basis of politics—that is to say, the two political parties of the country are divided upon questions of religious control. Mexico, although the State divorced itself long ago from the Church, is, nevertheless, one of the firmest strongholds of Roman Catholicism in the New World. The handsome cathedral and numerous fine churches in the capital City of Mexico, as in the capitals of the various States, attest the fervour of the people's religion. The numerous Church feast-days and varying functions form the most important events of society. On the more special occasions, as during the Semana Santa, or Passion Week, almost frenzied multitudes—men as well as women—attend the churches, entrance to which, unless one has gone early, it is impossible to gain on account of the multitude. Among a large section of the Mexican people, however, religious observance has very greatly fallen into disuse, a result of matters which have been previously dealt with, and which include the influence of former French thought; for Mexicans have always made an intense study and example of French philosophers and methods. But in the main it is the natural reaction against centuries of clerical domination, which the evolving modern spirit will have none of. The Roman Catholic Church in Mexico brought about its own downfall. The following translation from a recently published Mexican book shows the spirit pervading the modern Mexico in this connection: "The prevailing religion is Roman Catholicism, but it may be said that its cult is confined to the weaker sex, as the majority of the men, although Catholic, do not practise any religion. Thus the State of Vera Cruz (for example) enjoys the fame of being Liberal. Marriage statistics show that in one year 2,500 civil marriages were consummated against 1,218 ecclesiastical." This is the State of Vera Cruz, of the "True Cross," where the Conquistadores tumbled down the Aztec idols from their teocallis and set up the image of the Virgin and Child!



But the Church and her religion is the Spanish-American woman's special kingdom. The attendance at Mass upon the Sabbath is the most important of her engagements. Whether in the cool of the early morning, before the dewdrops have fallen from the flowers in the plaza, or whether at a later fashionable hour, she is to be seen, in charge of her chaperon, her fair face shaded by the romantic mantilla whose use time has failed to banish, devoutly directing her steps towards her favourite temple. Perhaps—confess it!—you have followed her, and one bright glance has rewarded you before she disappeared within the portal—

"Para que te mire, mujer divina; Para que contemple tu faz hermosa? Y tu labio encendido, cual rosa Es mi delirio ..."

* * * * *

Otherwise, the distractions of the Mexican women are few. Yet our sweet damsel of the dark eyes and demure lips who daily enters her temple, applauds with her little gloved hands—with the approval and accompaniment of her mamma—the onslaught of the fierce bull at the bull-fight, and sees the torturing of the unfortunate horses as, their life-blood rushing forth, they expire in the arena before her. And the populace—ha! the populace of holiday peones—how frenziedly they shout! And the band plays a soft air, and the blue Mexican sky shimmers overhead. Love, blood, wine, dust—O tempora! O mores! This is Mexico; carrying into the twentieth century the romance of the Middle Ages, tinging her new civilisation still with the strong passions of the old, and refusing—whether unwisely, whether wisely, time shall show—to assimilate the doctrines of sheer commercialism whose votaries are hammering at her gates. But it is time now to review the cities and homes of this picturesque and developing people.



CHAPTER X THE CITIES AND INSTITUTIONS OF MEXICO

Character of Mexican cities—Value of Mexican civilisation—Types of Mexican architecture—Mexican homes and buildings—The Plaza—Social relations of classes—The City of Mexico—Valley of Mexico—Latitude, elevation, and temperature—Buildings—Bird's-eye view—The lakes— Drainage works—Viga canal and floating gardens—General description— The cathedral—Art treasures—Religious orders—Chapultepec—Pasco de la Reforma—The President—Description of a bull-fight—Country homes and suburbs—Colleges, clubs, literary institutions—Churches and public buildings—Army and Navy—Cost of living—Police—Lighting and tramways—Canadian enterprise—British commercial relations—The American—United States influence—A general impression of Mexico.

Mexico is a land of numerous capital cities—far more numerous than those of any South American country. These cities are entirely distinct in type to the centres of population of Anglo-Saxon North America. Their structure, environment, atmosphere, are those of the Old World rather than the New—that is to say, if the cities of the United States and Canada are to be taken as American types.

Their character is that distinct Spanish-American one ever encountered in the countries which were the main centres of Spanish civilisation. Consequently there is much similarity between them. Standing in the Zocalo, or plaza of the City of Mexico, in front of the fine cathedral, we might imagine ourselves transported 2,500 miles, more or less, to the south-east, to the handsome city of Lima with its plaza and cathedral. But we may journey over the whole of Anglo-Saxon America, north of the Mexican border, and we shall find nothing similar.

The difference in character of the two nationalities of the Americas is plainly stamped upon their respective cities. The one is sealed with a hurried activity—the mark of the exigencies of commerce; the windows and doors of a business world, where men look out or emerge to the strife of money-making. Notwithstanding its wealth and solidity it bears a certain ephemeral stamp which the Mexican type does not convey. The atmosphere of this is one of serenity, of indifference to the feverish haste of money-getting, and its windows and doors give sight and footstep to less modern, less useful, perchance, but less evanescent a phase of civilisation. Let us theorise as we may, let us say what we will, about the progress of the world, but we continue to hope that the quiet civilisation of Spanish-America will preserve its character, for who can doubt that in the plan of nature there is some meaning in this preservation of a race which refuses to make the strife of commerce its main basis of progress.

History and tradition are stamped upon the facades of the stone-built cities of Mexico—religion and aristocracy have left their mark. They are cities of churches and convents, and of the abodes of the authoritative and the wealthy. They are far from being "republican" in aspect—that is, if the term is meant to convey the idea of democracy. The Governor's palace, the military cuartel, the ecclesiastical seat, form the centres from which the ordinary streets and life of the people radiate. The general structure and disposition of these cities is dignified and convenient. The dominant idea is the central plaza, upon whose four sides are the abodes of the authorities. First is the cathedral, whose facade takes up a whole side, or, if the place is not a capital, an extensive church—the iglesia—occupies the place of honour. Following this are the national or municipal palaces, where the public business is transacted, whilst on the opposite sides are clubs, shops, or other main centres of business or pleasure.

Generally, the upper storeys of the buildings in the plaza—except the ecclesiastical—overhang the footpaths, or, rather, are built over them, supported by the characteristic portales, or series of arches and pillars facing the roadway. This type of structure is prevalent in almost all the older Spanish-American cities. It is a feature of Mexican and Peruvian cities, and is encountered even in remote places such as Arequipa and Cuzco, the old Inca capital in the heart of the Andes, where it was introduced by the Spanish builders.



A similar type of architecture, especially as regards the houses, characterises all Mexican cities and towns. The plan of town dwelling is that with interior patio, wide saguan, or entrance door, and windows covered with outside grilles, either of bars or of wrought-iron scrollwork. From this patio, which in the wealthier houses is paved with marble, the doorways of the lower apartments open. The houses are of two storeys, and access to the upper is gained by a broad staircase which terminates on a wide balcony, or, rather, gallery, above the patio. From this gallery the doors of the upper rooms open. A balustrade runs round the outer side of the gallery, and this is generally covered with flowering plants, ferns, and palms, in pots or tubs, which lend an air of coolness and luxury to the interior. Above, the patio is open to the sky, except that the overhanging roof of the house covers the gallery, from which it is supported by pillars. The whole arrangement is pleasing, and adapted to the climate, and the foreigner who has become accustomed to it finds that it possesses certain advantages which the houses of his own country do not enjoy.

On the other hand, this plan of building has grave drawbacks. The absence of a garden or grounds in front of, or surrounding the house, gives a restricted feeling. The main difference between an English and a Mexican house is that the Briton loves to cut off too-close intercourse with humanity by retiring his dwelling far from the road, whilst the Spanish-American builds his fronting immediately upon the street. In these houses, moreover, the rooms generally open one into the other, which is far from the Northerner's idea of privacy. This fact, indeed, is born of a race characteristic—the closer association between the members of families which obtains with the Latin race. The guest in these houses—somewhat to his embarrassment if he be an Englishman—sometimes finds a glass door, with no means of screening him from observation, the division between his apartment and that of some other—possibly a reception-room! Moreover, light and ventilation often seem quite secondary matters, for as a rule the rooms—in the case of the interior one—simply open on to the patio gallery above it if it be the second floor, with glass door and no windows. Consequently, if light or air are required, it is necessary to keep these open, and this is, of course, difficult at night. The Mexican thinks nothing of sleeping in a closed-up room all night, and shuts his doors and windows—where windows exist—and closes his shutters to the "dangers" of the outside air!

There are rarely fireplaces or stoves in Mexican houses. Of course, in the tropics these are not required, but in the cities of the uplands it is often bitterly cold. There is a popular belief that warming the air of a room by artificial heat in the rarefied air of the uplands induces pneumonia, but it is doubtful if this has any real foundation. And the Mexican prefers to shiver under cover of a poncho, rather than to sit in comfort and warmth, after the European or American fashion. On the other hand, the Englishman who has experienced the inveterate habit of overheating of the houses and offices of New York or other parts of the United States will prefer the Mexican method. Nothing is more trying to the Briton than the sudden change of temperature from the high-heated American office or house to the bitter cold of its winter streets, such conditions as prevail in the United States: or the overheating of American trains.

The architecture of Mexican cities is often of a solid and enduring type, especially the buildings of older construction; and many of these date from the time of the earlier viceroys. All public buildings and ecclesiastical edifices are of this nature. The modern buildings have, in some instances, followed out the same style, eminently suitable for the country, but others have adopted a bastard and incongruous so-called "modern" type, copied from similar structures in Europe or the United States, where pure utility of interior has been clothed with undignified exterior of commercial character, marking a certain spirit of transition in its inhabitants. This is partly due to the ruthless American industrial invasion, which, whilst it has valuable elements for the country, should not be allowed to stamp a shoddy modernism upon the more dignified antiquity of environment. This tendency, however, has not yet had time to show itself, except in a few instances in the capital. Nevertheless, some portions of the City of Mexico have already been spoilt by the speculative Anglo-American builder, who has generally called himself an architect in order to perpetrate appalling rows of cheap adobe houses or pretentious-looking villas, made of the slimmest material and faced with that sin-covering cloak of tepetatl, or plaster "staff." Even some of the principal streets of the capital have been disfigured with hideous pretentious business structures, for which the Anglo-American element, whether in fact or example, has been responsible. If the Mexicans are wise they will sternly refuse to adopt much of steel construction or of "staff" and corrugated iron covering imported from the north, but to limit their buildings to native materials of stone or brick and their elevation to two or, at most, three storeys. The skyscraper is at home in New York or Chicago; in Mexico (or in London) it is the abomination of desolation. In San Francisco the outraged earth endeavoured to shake them off a year or so ago in an earthquake! An attractive feature of Mexican houses is the flat roofs, or azoteas. These are often made accessible from the interior and adorned with plants and flowers, and even the heavy rain-storms of certain regions do not seem to influence this type of construction or demand the rapid watershed of the gabled roof. During the time of the conquest of the City of Mexico these azoteas formed veritable coigns of vantage for the Aztecs, who poured down a hail of darts and stones upon the besiegers.

The plaza of the Spanish-American city is its main centre. Thence the principal streets emerge, and there, upon its prettily planted and shady promenade foregather the people to listen to the serenata, or playing of the band on frequent occasions. The Mexicans are passionately fond of music, and a wise governmental sentiment has found that it is a useful part of government. Therefore it is decreed that the bands shall play, free of cost, to the multitude. In some cities the plaza-promenade has two paved footpaths adjoining each other—the inner for the elite and well-dressed class, the outer for the peon and Indian class. It would be manifestly impossible that the hordes of blanket-clothed, pulque-saturated, ill-smelling, and picturesque lower class could rub shoulders with the gente decente or upper class, nor do they desire to do so. They take their fill of the music quite indifferent to the presence of their superiors in the social grade, and the vendors of native sweetmeats, cooling drinks, and fruits ply their trade among them. On one side of the plaza, in the smaller towns, there are booths or tables where food is being cooked and displayed for the lower orders; and the savoury odour of frijoles and tortillas, or other matters of satisfaction to the peon, greet the nostrils of the promenader from time to time. The well-dressed senoritas and their male acquaintances, with ceaseless charla, or small-talk, promenade round and round the plaza, flirting, laughing, and enjoying life in a way that seems only possible to the Latin race. Indeed, the plaza is the principal meeting-place of the sexes.

As has been remarked, Mexico is a land of many capital cities. From the City of Mexico, northward along the plateau and southward, eastward, and westward, we may visit a score of handsome State capitals, a hundred towns, and an endless succession of remote villages and hamlets. Their environments embrace every change of scenery—from arid plains and rocky steeps to fertile valleys; and the larger communities share the quaint—if not always hygienic—disposition and atmosphere of their especial national character. At times, however, the smaller hamlets, or collection of primitive habitations of the plateau, have an inexpressibly dreary and squalid aspect, the backwardness and poverty of their people being well stamped thereon. Treeless, dusty, and triste, they strike a note of melancholy within us. The towns of the Pacific and Gulf slopes have generally some added charm afforded by the tropic vegetation surrounding them, and we shall often mark with surprise, after days of dusty and arduous journeying, that we have suddenly entered a handsomely built town, sequestered far from beaten routes of travel, yet bearing a stamp of permanence and solidity and the air of an independent entity.



The first city of importance in the country is, of course, the Federal capital of the Republic, with its population of 369,000 inhabitants.

Standing towards the southern extremity of the great plateau of Anahuac, reposing in a beautiful valley full of natural resources, and rich with historic lore, is the City of Mexico. Of singular and varied interest is this capital of the prosperous North American Republic whose name it bears, for its geographical situation and historical associations are such as assign it a leading place among the great centres of Spanish-American civilisation.

In many respects the capital of Mexico may be considered the queen city of Latin America. Buenos Ayres is much larger and of greater importance as a centre of population, but it has not Mexico's history and tradition. The commerce of Santiago and Valparaiso are potent factors in the life of the Pacific coast, but the Chilean capital and seaport are but modern creations in comparison with the old city of the land of Anahuac. Only Lima, the beautiful and interesting capital of her sister nation—Peru—is comparable with Mexico as a centre of historical tradition and Spanish-American culture. Of course, the City of Mexico with its large population is much larger than Lima, with less than 150,000.

Indeed, there are many points of similarity between Mexico and Peru, such as have been discussed elsewhere, and which are the common knowledge of the student, but the City of Mexico possesses a special interest in that it was actually the seat of a prehistoric American civilisation—that of the Aztecs—whilst its position between the great oceans which bathe the American coasts, give it a value for the future of untold possibilities.

The Valley of Mexico, wherein the capital is situated, is a broad elevated plain, or basin, surrounded by hills, which culminate far away to the south-east in the snow-clad summits of Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl—the extinct volcanoes of the Sierra Madre. The combined conditions of its latitude and elevation above sea-level—19 degrees 26 N., 99 degrees 7 W., and 7,410 feet—have dowered it with an agreeable and salubrious climate, with an annual range of temperature from 60 degrees F. to 75 degrees F. The mornings are cool and bracing, often bitterly cold indeed; whilst the midday sun is often hot, and the Mexican stays within the cool of his thick-walled house, for it is the hour of siesta. Excessive extremes of heat and cold are not encountered, although at night the Mexican gladly dons his velvet-lined cape, and the foreigner his overcoat, whilst the poor peon shrouds himself in his serape.

The city is one of handsome buildings, wide streets, and fine avenues. Its architecture bears the stamp of its Spanish origin—the typical and picturesque facades of the houses, the grille-covered windows, the balconies looking on to the streets, and other characteristic features well known to the traveller in Spanish-America. The great plaza, ever the pulse and centre of these communities, is known here as the Zocalo; and this ample square is that same one around which the Aztec city—the famous Tenochtitlan—was built, upon whose foundations the Mexican capital arose.

The plan of the city is more or less the geometrically regular one of main and cross-streets running at right angles to each other, and the principal of these are lined with shops, whose windows display luxurious articles of jewellery, clothing, and other effects such as betoken the taste and purchasing power of a wealthy upper class. It is a city of domes and towers, which rise above the surrounding roofs, and convey that aspect of charm and refinement unknown to the purely business cities of Anglo North America. The strong part which the Church has played is shown by the numerous and handsome churches in every quarter of the city. There are more than one hundred and twenty churches and other edifices which were built and formerly occupied for ecclesiastical purposes. The cathedral is the dominating structure, and its two great towers, nearly 200 feet high, are conspicuous from any point of view.

Let us behold this pleasing city from afar before examining more in detail the institutions and habitations of its people. The environs of the capital form a good setting to its beauty. Taking our stand on the range of hills which bound the Valley of Mexico, our eyes rest upon the cultivated fields and gardens of the smaller towns which dot the plain and lead up to the central mass. Green meadows, running streams, great plantation of maguey, giving their characteristic semi-tropical aspect to the landscape, surround haciendas and villages embowered in luxuriant foliage, all lying beneath the azure vault of the Mexican sky. The gleam of domes and towers, softened in the glamour of the distance, catches our eyes; and the reposeful atmosphere and mediaeval tints seem to belie the strife of its past, or even the incidents of its modern industrial life. There is the Castle of Chapultepec surrounded by trees, the beautiful and venerable ahuahuetes, or cypresses, surmounting its hill—the Aztec "Hill of the Grasshoppers" where Montezuma's palace was, and where stands the fine structure reared by the viceroys, now the official residence of the Presidents of Mexico of to-day. And there lies Guadalupe gleaming in the sun, with its famous shrine of miraculous visions and cures—the Lourdes of Mexico. There lie Tacubaya, San Angel, and Tlalpam, luxurious and aristocratic suburban homes of Mexico's wealthy citizens, surrounded by their exuberant vegetation on fertile hillsides mid soft and soothing colour and balmy atmosphere. From the pine-clad hills whereon we stand, which form the rim of this singular valley, the whole panorama is open to the view, of lakes and flat plain, the latter crossed by the dusty roads cut by centuries of traffic through the white adobe soil, giving access to the surrounding villages and the serried lines of the maguey plantations, or the chess-board chequers of dark green alfalfa, lighter barley, and yellow maiz. And from plain and dusty road, and vivid hacienda and city domes and whitened walls, our gaze rises to the clear-cut, snowy crest of "The Sleeping Woman," Ixtaccihuatl, in her gleaming porcelain sheen, where she hoards the treasures of the snow, reminding us of the peaks of the great South American Cordillera, to whose system she and her consort Popocatepetl are but a more recent addition. Like legendary sentinels of a vanished past, they seem to overwatch the valley.

The Valley of Mexico is a flat plain, in the lowest portion of which the City of Mexico is situated, two or three miles from Lake Texcoco. The plain consists of lands barren and lands cultivated, marshes and swamps, all intersected by numerous streams falling into the lakes, as well as irrigation and drainage canals, whilst on the rising ground which appears in places the volcanic understructure is laid bare, often in the form of great lava sheets. The group of lakes have been elsewhere described in these pages. Lake Texcoco, whose shores are now distant from the city, is a dreary waste of brackish water with scarcely any fish-life, inhabited by water-fowl at certain seasons. During the period of overflow its rising waters cover many added square miles of ground, but in the dry season the water recedes, leaving saline-covered marshes of desolate aspect. Lakes Chalco and Xochimilco, however, are very different in their regimen and aspect. They are of fresh water, and stand at an elevation some 10 feet higher than Texcoco, into which they discharge. Fertile meadows surround these, and Xochimilco is now, as it was at the time of the Conquest, a "Field of Flowers," which is the meaning of its native nomenclature, not unworthy of the designation of an "earthly paradise," which the modern Mexicans bestow upon it.



The position of the City of Mexico near Lake Texcoco, which receives the waters of all the other lakes of the system, has ever rendered it liable to inundation, and to a saturated and unhealthy subsoil, conditions which, were it not for the healthy atmosphere of the bracing uplands whereon the valley is situated, would undoubtedly make for a high death-rate. The drainage and control of the waters of the valley have formed matters of thought for Mexico's successive Governments for more than four centuries. Work to this end was begun under Montezuma in 1449, nearly three-quarters of a century before the Conquest. During the colonial regime further works were undertaken, in 1553, to replace those destroyed by Cortes, followed by other works in 1604 and 1708. But only after the Republican regime was established was the work carried to completion, upon a plan brought forward by a Mexican engineer. These works, which were mainly carried out during the closing years of last century by English firms of engineers and contractors,[28] consist of a canal and tunnel. The canal is thirty miles long, flowing from the city and bearing its sewage and storm-waters, and taking the overflow from Lake Texcoco: and discharging thence into a tunnel, perforating the rim of the valley, about six and a half miles long. This in turn empties into a discharge conduit and a ravine, and the waters, after having served for purposes of irrigation and for actuating a hydro-electric station, fall into an affluent of the Panuco river and so into the Gulf of Mexico. This work, which is the climax of the attempts of four hundred years or more, reflects much credit upon its constructors and the Government of Diaz, which financed it at a total cost of sixteen million Mexican dollars.

[Footnote 28: S. Pearson & Sons, Ltd., London, and Read, Campbell & Co.]

An Aztec hydraulic work of the Valley of Mexico is the Viga Canal, which leads from the Indian quarter of the city, crossing swamps, plantations, and waste lands to Xochimilco, the "Field of Flowers." Along this canal ply daily primitive canoes and punts laden with vegetables, flowers, and other produce for the native market. The floating gardens, or chinampas, far-famed of Mexico, are encountered upon this canal. But, alas! the "floating gardens" do not float, nor is it possible to prove that they ever did, in plain, prosaic fact. They consist of areas of spongy soil intersected by numerous irrigation ditches, where the traveller may observe the Indian owners industrially watering them and tending their profuse array of flowers and vegetables. New "floating gardens" are sometimes made by the method of driving stakes into the shallow bottom of the lake, winding rushes about them and filling in with the fertile mud.

The city itself is surrounded on all sides, except that leading to Chapultepec, by miles of squalid streets, where dwell the poor and outcast of the community—and their name is legion. Yet these surroundings, if squalid, are less painful than the frightful East End dens of London, or the appalling Bowery and east side of New York. American cities, whether North or South, have produced nothing in their boasted march towards "liberty," which is an alleviation for the proletariat, above the cities of Europe. These mean yet picturesque streets give place as we enter to those inhabited by the better class, whose dwellings generally exist side by side and interspersed with the shops and commercial establishments, after the general fashion of Spanish-American cities. This is indeed a notable feature of their regimen. Here is the old home of a former viceroy or of a modern grandee, cheek by jowl with a little bread or liquor shop; its handsome doorway, worthy of study, but a few paces away from the humble entrance of the tienda aforesaid. The names of some of Mexico's streets and squares are reminiscent of the past or of fanciful story and legend and heroic incident. Here is the puente de Alvarado, formerly the Teolticalli, or Toltec canal; here the street of the Indio triste, or that of the Nino perdido; the "sad Indian" and the "lost child" respectively. Redolent of the Mexico of the viceroys, of political intrigue, of love and liasons, of the cloak and the dagger, are some of the old streets, balconies, and portals of Mexico. Here the Spanish cavalier, with sword and muffling cape, stalked through the gloom to some intrigue of love or villainy, and here passed cassocked priest and barefooted friars, long years ago. Here sparkling eyes looked forth from some twilight lattice what time from the street below arose the soft notes of a serenading guitar. As to the sparkling eyes and the serenading lover and the balconies, these are not gone; they are imperishable in Mexico. Here is a description of Mexico of years ago—the Mexico of the viceroys—which I will translate freely from the description of a Mexican writer of to-day, and which in some respects might almost describe the city at the present time: "Hail, mediaeval city, redolent of sentimental recollections and romantic impressions such as well might be the creation of fantastic romance! Clustered with monasteries and convents, turreted dwellings and sombre monuments, bathed in an atmosphere of orisons and melancholy, threaded by foul and ill-paved alleys, made for crime, intrigue, and mystery; where buried in the profundity of night love and wickedness both stalked forth; strange temples and niches lit by twinkling lamps before the images of saints; recollections of diabolical Inquisitorial rites—a romantic and fantastic shroud, dissipated now, torn into shreds by the iron hand of destiny, and banished or transfigured by the torch of progress!"



As has been said, the construction of the houses of Mexico was of solid type, with walls such as might serve for fortresses rather than dwellings, and when from necessity, some old building is demolished it can only be performed by the aid of dynamite. So builded the Spaniards, and their work will outlast the more ephemeral structures of to-day. Indeed, at the beginning of the colonial period and throughout the sixteenth century, the buildings actually were constructed both as dwellings and fortresses. At the end of that century a greater refinement of architectural art appeared—as a natural outcome of corresponding conditions in Spain—in the colonies. The great cathedral of Mexico was constructed, due to a mandate of Philip II. It was dedicated in 1667, but not concluded until the beginning of the nineteenth century, and into its facade enter the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian orders. It is an exceedingly handsome building, both interiorily and exteriorily, and it stands upon the spot where the great Aztec teocalli stood—the shrine of the abominable war-god of the early Mexicans. The edifice stands upon the soft subsoil of which the city's foundation is composed, softness which has caused the subsidence of other buildings; but the cathedral, although it has suffered somewhat from earthquake shocks, stands firm and solid as ever. Valuable art treasures exist within, among the pictures being a Murillo, and possibly a Velasquez. So numerous are these old pictures that they overlap each other upon the walls. The cathedral is nearly 400 feet long, and its interior rises upon twenty splendid Doric columns for 180 feet, whilst the apices of the great towers are 204 feet above the pavement. But this splendid temple—as is often the case with the cathedrals of Spanish-American capitals—is not the fashionable or aristocratic resort of Mexico's religious people. Nevertheless, its aisles are generally thronged, and the highborn and expensively attired lady and the poor peon woman, with her modest rebosa, or shawl, may be seen side by side kneeling upon its knee-worn floor, whilst before the images in the seven chapels of its aisles there are never wanting supplicating figures, nor the numerous little written supplications pinned upon their altar rails.

It would be endless to describe the other numerous ecclesiastical buildings and temples of the City of Mexico. Their number and beauty are indicative of the strength and rooted persistence of religion and monastic orders in New Spain. Among the principal of these Orders and the dates at which their corresponding habitations were erected, were those of the Franciscans, 1524; Dominicans, 1526; Augustinians, 1533; Jesuits, 1572; Carmelites, 1585; and various others, with numerous convents.

The principal commercial and fashionable street of Mexico City is that of Plateros, somewhat narrow and congested, but full of high-class shops. Thence it continues along Bucareli[29] and the broad Avenida de Juarez, which in turn is continued by the famous Paseo de la Reforma, a splendid drive and promenade of several miles in length, which terminates at the Castle of Chapultepec. This great road is planted throughout its length with trees and adorned with a profusion—almost too great—of statues, and along both sides are private houses of modern construction. These are less picturesque, but more comfortable, than the old Spanish-built dwellings before described, although at times somewhat bizarre in their facades, with a certain nouveau riche air, consequent upon the transition period of Mexican life of recent years. The beautiful monument and statue of Guatemoc is planted in this avenue, and is worthily deemed a successful embodiment of Aztec art sculptured by modern chisels. Upon Sunday morning—the fashionable time of serenata or promenade concert—the wealth and beauty of the capital foregather in carriages and upon foot and listen to the strains of the band. Here we may, from the seats of our victoria, observe the Mexican upper class at our—and their—ease. Hats off! A private carriage comes driving swiftly by; its coachman attired after the English fashion, and the whole equipage of similar character. In it is a well-dressed gentleman well past the middle age, with dark complexion and characteristic features. It is the citizen-President, the redoubtable General Diaz, and the universal salutations are evidence of his popularity. The air is balmy and the warmth of the sun pleasant. But at any moment these conditions may change, and a ruthless dust-storm, swept by the wind from the dry adobe plains surrounding the city, descend upon us, the fine dust covering our clothes and bidding us direct our coachman to turn his horses' heads towards our hotel. This, however, is not frequent, but when it does occur it brings a certain sense of disillusion akin to that felt by the British holiday-maker when he has gone down to an English seaside place to enjoy the balmy air and finds a bitter east wind blowing!

[Footnote 29: Named after the viceroy who caused its construction.]

But the bull-fight—ha! the bull-fight—takes place this—Sunday—afternoon, for this is the Mexican Sunday sport: a kind of licence, possibly, after the numerous misas of the early morning! We have purchased our seat in the sombra of the great bull-ring, and the corrida is about to begin. Let us glance round the assembly of many thousands of persons. The seats of the great amphitheatre are divided into two classes—the sol and the sombra, "sun" and "shade." That is to say, that the seats in the shady portion—for the structure is open to the sky—are of one class, and command a high price of, say, ten pesos each, whilst the sun-beat portion is of an inferior class, and price, say, one peso. It is a sea of faces we gaze upon, the elite of the city in the sombra, and the lower classes, the peones and others, in the sol.

The arena is empty, but suddenly a bugle-call sounds from the judges' platform, and the picadores, men on horseback, with their legs protected by armour and bearing sharp-pointed lances in their hands, enter and ride around the arena, bowing to the judges and assembled multitude, who receive them with plaudits. Again a bugle-call, and the sliding doors leading from the corral are opened, and a bull, bounding forward therefrom, stops short a moment and eyes the assembled multitude and the men on horseback with wrathful yet inquiring eye. A moment only. Sniffing the air and lashing his tail, the noble bovine rushes forward and engages the picadores; the little pennants of the national colours, which, attached to a barbed point, have been jabbed into his back by an unseen hand as he passed the barrier, fluttering in the wind created by his rush. Furiously he charges the picadores. If they are clever they goad him to madness with their lances, keeping him at bay; if he is resolute down go horse and man—both results tickling the popular fancy immensely—and those frightful horns are buried deep in the bowels of the unfortunate steed, which, maddened with agony and fright, leaps up and tears around the arena, trampling perhaps upon his own entrails which have gushed forth from the gaping wound! At times the wound is hastily sewn up, and the unfortunate horse, with a man behind him with a heavy whip, another tugging at the bridle, and the picador on his back with his enormous spurs, forces the trembling brute to face the savage bull again, whilst the audience once more roars out its applause. As many as ten horses are killed or ruined at times by a single bull, who returns again and again to plunge his horns into the prostrate carcase ere it is dragged away. This is sport!



But perhaps the bull himself is faint-hearted! Then, indeed, the noble Spanish blood of the audience is aroused to fever pitch. "Otro toro! Otro toro"—"Another bull! bring another bull!"—rises from a thousand throats. Otherwise the other acts of the performance take their course, and the banderilleros, bull-fighters armed with short gaudily decorated spears with barbed points, come on. Some "pretty" play now ensues, the banderilleros constantly facing the bull at arm's length with the object of gracefully sticking the spears or banderillas in the neck of the animal, where, if successful, they hang dangling as, smarting with the pain, the bull tears round the arena, to the accompaniment of the delighted roar of the crowd. This scene is repeated again and again, until perhaps several pairs of banderillas are depending from the shoulders of the maddened animal. The capeadores have not been idle, and the bull, repeatedly charging them and meeting only the empty flapping of the capas—the scarlet cloaks which the bull-fighters charged with this office wield—works himself into a paroxysm of rage, which must be seen to be understood. Oftentimes the capeadores are severely injured; sometimes killed in the act by a terrific stroke of the bull's horns.

But hark! once more a bugle-call, strong and sonorous, from the judges' box; the well-known notes which call the espada to his task; the last act in the drama—for drama it is. The espada is the most famous bull-fighter of all. His salary is a princely one; his reputation extends over two continents, from Old Madrid to Old Mexico. He is the great star in all that richly-dressed galaxy of toreros—for their gorgeous silver and gold spangled attire baffles description—and all his companeros are but lesser lights, paling before his name and powers. And now the band, which has hitherto sent forth joyous music, plays a sad and mournful air. The espada takes the sword from an attendant and examines and curves it with critical and expert eye. Then, taking off his gold and silver-embroidered cocked-hat, he bows low towards the judges and to the fair ladies of the sombra; and in fitting phrase "dedicates" the stroke he is about to perform to them. Or otherwise, with his hand upon his heart, he turns towards the occupants of the sol, and again bowing low dedicates the coming stroke and the doomed bull thus: "Al Querido Pueblo!"—"To the beloved people"! A hush falls upon the great assembly: a pin might be heard to drop: the bull, who during these preliminaries—somewhat fatigued but full of life and anger—has been standing in the arena with his attention diverted by the capeadores, is now left to face his doom at the hands of the expert espada. Bull and man slowly approach, eyeing each other as those whose quarrel is to the death, whilst the notes of the music sound low and mournful. Within arm's length the espada extends his shining blade. He glances along it; the bull leaps forward to charge; there is a swift thrust; the blade goes home in that fatal spot which only the expert knows; and tottering, swaying, and falling, the noble bull leans over and falls prone to the dust. He raises his head with a last effort; the espada rushes forward, places his foot upon the prostrate neck, and, exerting a mighty strength, draws forth the scarlet, dripping blade, and a crimson stream of life-blood spurts forth from the wound, whilst the animal, making "the sign of the cross" with its forefoot upon the sand, lowers his noble crest—dead!

Then are the bounds of pandemonium let loose. How the audience of the sol shrieks and cheers! Hats, sticks, cloaks, belts, even money, are thrown into the arena like hail, and nothing is too good for the successful espada and the idol of the moment. Even the dignified sombra shouts itself hoarse, and at times showers bank-notes and jewellery down, and perhaps—let it be whispered low, for it is not unknown!—a billet-doux or papelito for the brave torero from some newly-created female admirer. Grave gentlemen in frock-coats and ladies in elegant attire, on the one hand, discuss the points of the entertainment, whilst the red serapes of the peones and pelados and their great sombreros rush animatedly to and fro. The band plays, the crowd pours into the street, and the long shadows fall from the blue Mexican sky across the dust of their departure, whilst a team of horses drag forth the quivering flesh of the vanquished bull to the corral, and the Sabbath Day draws to its close.

The Mexican upper and middle class share the general Spanish-American characteristic of preference for life in their cities. Expeditions into the country are matters to be avoided if possible. The gilded youth of the capital and members of polite society generally, do not like to leave the conveniences of good pavements, restaurants, fashionable bars and clubs and the like, and to venture into the hot sun or cold winds of the country regions. It is true, however, that there is a certain exodus to their haciendas of the upper-class families in the season corresponding thereto; but the love of the country for its own sake, or for sport, exercise, or exploration, as understood by Englishmen, is unknown. There are no country houses, as in Great Britain, where wealthy people reside because they prefer it; for the Mexican prefers to live in the main streets of his cities, the great doorway of his patio and his barred windows opening and looking immediately on to the streets.

On the other hand, the wealthy inhabitant of the capital often lives in the quaint and beautiful towns adjacent thereto, and reached by rail or electric car with a few miles' journey. Such places are Tacubaya, San Angel, Tlalpam, and others, and here spacious and picturesque stone houses—some of considerable age—surrounded by luxuriant gardens where oranges, pomegranates, and other semi-tropical flora lend shade and beauty, attest the wealth and taste of their inhabitants. Serene and old-world is the atmosphere surrounding these "palaces"—for some are worthy of this designation—and with their environment of summer sky and glorious landscape they form real oases of that romantic and luxurious character which the foreigner in his fancy has attributed to Mexico, but which he fails to encounter in the newer quarters of the city.

To treat at much length of the numerous institutions and buildings of the capital would be to fill a volume. The parks, monuments, museums, art gallery, public library, theatres, hygienic establishments, hospitals, prisons, new drainage-system, pure water-supply, national palaces and public buildings, colleges, schools, clubs: mining, engineering, medical science, and art institutions: all mark the character of the people as lovers of progress, art, and science, with strongly developed literary and artistic perceptions and idealistic aims, which they are striving to apply to the good of their people, as far as circumstances render it possible. All the machinery of State affairs and municipal and social life are excellently ordered theoretically, and in time may be expected to work out in general practice to a fuller extent.

Education is provided for by compulsory primary instruction throughout the Republic, and by preparatory and professional schools and colleges in the capital, all of which are free. The principal of these latter in the capital are the Preparatory College, or High School, providing a general curriculum; the College of Jurisprudence, devoted to law and sociology; the Medical College, to medicine and kindred subjects; the School of Engineering, whether civil, mining, electrical, or all other branches of that profession, which is looked upon as a very important one; School of Agriculture; School of Commerce; School of Fine Arts; Conservatory of Music; Schools of Arts and Trades, for boys and girls respectively; Normal Colleges, for men and women respectively. All these educational institutions are supported by the Federal Government in the capital, by which it is seen that the Mexican nation is holding forth good opportunity to its citizens for acquiring knowledge. Notwithstanding these facilities the education of the lower classes proceeds but slowly, and at present less than 13 per cent. of the entire population can read and write. It is to be recollected, however, that the great bulk of the population consist of the peones and the Indians, and the conditions of the life of these render the acquisition of education by them often impossible. Knowledge cannot else but slowly unfold for the indigenous peoples of Spanish-America, weighed down as they are by conditions of race, caste, and inherited and imposed social burdens.



Prominent among the literary, scientific, and art institutions of Mexico City are the Geographical Society, the oldest of all, founded in 1833; the Geological Society; the Association of Engineers and Architects; Society of Natural History; the five Academies of Medicine, Jurisprudence, Physical and Natural Science, Spanish Language, Social Science, respectively; also the Antonio Alzate Scientific Society and the Pedro Escobedo Medical Society. Of museums and galleries are the Academy of San Carlos, with fine specimens of European and Mexican art, among the former of which are works by Velasquez, Murillo, Ribera, and others attributed to Rubens, Leonardo da Vinci, Van Dyck, &c. The National Museum, which was founded in 1865, is an important and interesting institution, in which are preserved the famous archaeological and ethnological objects and collections illustrative of prehistoric Mexico. It was founded in 1865, and attracts Mexican and foreign visitors to the annual number of nearly a quarter of a million. The famous prehistoric Calendar Stone is preserved here.[30] There are various other museums devoted to special subjects. Of libraries, the Biblioteca Nacional ranks first—a handsome building with 365,000 volumes for public use. The building is a massive stone structure, and was originally built for a church. A garden surrounds it, and upon the stone pillars of the enclosure are busts of Mexicans and Aztecs famous in history, as Ixtlilxochitl, Tezozomoc, Nezahualcoyotl, the king-poet; Clavijero, the historian, and others. Other libraries are maintained by various museums and professions.

[Footnote 30: Also the Aztec sacrificial stone.]

There are some sixty or more Catholic churches in the city, and numerous other buildings formerly of ecclesiastical purpose. Most of these were built during the colonial regime, the Spanish Renaissance being the prevailing style. Several Protestant places of worship exist—religious observance being absolutely free—and these include Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Methodists, Baptists, and others. The religious census, made in 1900, of the whole of the Republic gave thirteen and a half million persons declaring themselves as Catholics, about 52,000 Protestants, 1,500 Mormons, 2,000 Buddhists, and about 19,000 who made no statement of religious faith.

There are some twelve hospitals, asylums, and kindred establishments for the afflicted, in the capital or Federal districts, as public charities, and eight of a private nature, including the benevolent societies and hospitals of the various foreign colonies, as the Americans, Spanish, and others. Among the semi-charitable or benevolent institutions must be mentioned the famous Monte de Piedad, or National Pawnshop, which, as its name implies, carries on the business of such for the benefit of poor people, who thus avoid the usurious rates of interest of private pawnbrokers. This worthy institution was founded in 1775, by Terreros, Count of Regla, of mining fame, and during a single month of 1907 the establishment and its branches loaned money to the people against articles to the amount of nearly half a million pesos. Of penal establishments the Penitentiary, opened in 1900, at a cost of about two and a half million pesos, ranks first. It has a strict scientific regime for its inmates, with more than seven hundred cells for convicts and others.

Some of the public buildings are good types of structure of the colonial period. Among these is the Palacio Nacional, spacious and massive, but monotonous and plain in its outward appearance. Here the Government business is transacted, and this edifice occupies a whole side of the Zocalo, or Plaza de Armas, with a long arcade of the characteristic portales, or arches, facing the square, above the footpath. It is of historic interest, having sheltered nearly all Mexican rulers from Montezuma onwards, Cortes, the viceroys, Iturbide, Maximilian, and all the Presidents in succession. The Palacio Municipal is a somewhat similar structure also facing the plaza, and not far away is the handsome building known as Mineria—the School of Mines—which was founded by royal edict in 1813. This building, unfortunately, has subsided somewhat into the soft subsoil. Within its spacious hall an enormous meteorite confronts the view, brought there from a distant part of the country, entire. The Geological Institute is another public building of kindred nature. The famous Castle of Chapultepec, embowered in its cypresses, and surrounded by its handsome park, is at a distance of two miles away along the Paseo de la Reforma, before described, and serves both as a summer residence for the President and as a military academy. Around it is a public park. Here it was that the heroic incident of the American War took place, of the young Mexican military cadets and the national standard, which has been touched upon in the historical chapter. A monument is erected here to their memory. A new post-office was opened in the capital, in 1907, at a cost of three million pesos, to cope with the growing postal business of the Republic. Among the numerous public squares and gardens of the city is the Alameda, dating from the time of Spanish rule. Six theatres of good class and other minor ones attest the play-going inclinations of the Mexicans, and a grand opera-house is in course of construction out of the national exchequer, which is designed to bear comparison with that of Paris. The Governments of Mexico, like those of Spanish-America generally, consider it a natural part of their function to support popular amusements of a refined nature. The foreigner might feel called on to remark that this laudable motive might well be brought to bear upon bull-fights, lotteries, and other institutions of a kindred nature! The chief evil of the bull-fight is that it keeps alive the love of the sight of bloodshed, which is naturally too strong in the Mexican peon without artificial stimulation, and its brutalising tendency must go far to offset the good effects of education and musical entertainment. As for the lotteries, they constitute a bad moral; the petty gambling and principle of hoping to obtain something for nothing is evil, and they are banned by all truly civilised nations.