IN TLAXCALAN TOWNS
(1900)
A street-car line, running for most of the distance down hill, connects Santa Ana with Tlaxcala, the towns being separated by seven miles. When making this little journey to Tlaxcala in January, 1897, we noticed in the car with us, a stout, purely indian man, who seemed anxious to engage us in conversation. Knowing a few words of English, he was particularly anxious to practice them. He called our attention to the various villages, streams, and mountains in the country through which we were passing, and took delight in analyzing the native names and explaining their meanings. When we were returning in the afternoon, we met a gentleman who had been in the same car with us in the morning, and we inquired regarding our indian acquaintance. He told us that he was a full-blooded indian, whose native tongue was Aztec, and who lived in Santa Ana. Being the child of poor parents, the state had assisted in his education; he was now studying law in the city of Puebla. He was also a musician, and on this occasion had been upon his way to a public appointment, where he was to sing.
Later, in Puebla, we called upon this gentleman, whose name we found was Quechol, meaning a bird with a crooked neck, perhaps a flamingo. He was interested in our study, and said we ought some time to visit the indian towns of his people upon the slopes of Malintzi. In January, 1900, having been delayed in our plans, we decided to spend a few days in Tlaxcala, and secured his company. Our preparations were made at Santa Ana; at the home of his parents we were hospitably welcomed, and chocolate and bread were furnished, before we started on our journey. While this refreshment was preparing, we visited the old church, in front of which stood an aged cypress tree, hung with gray moss and blazing with red flowers. We also entered some of the houses, where, on domestic looms, the serapes for which the town is famous are manufactured. We visited also a private school for girls, established by a Señor Barela, who is noted as the first to introduce the industry of weaving wool into this community. While the memory of this gentleman is held in high esteem by this people, that of his wife is by no means savory. It seems that she was an avaricious, vain and selfish woman, with no sympathy for his schemes for the betterment of the people. Her feeling was well known, and she died heartily hated by all. When the time came for her burial, the grave was prepared, and her body placed within it. But the earth twice refused to receive the corpse. It was then carried to to the Sawapa, near by, and thrown into its waters. The stream overflowed its banks, and tossed the body upon the ground; again the effort was made to thus dispose of it, but again it was thrown upon the shore. It was then suggested that it be carried to "the Cuezcomate," an extinct geyser-crater, famous through all the country, and popularly believed to be the mouth of hell; when the body was thrown into this opening, it is said the devils were seen to swarm upward to receive it.
It was almost noon as our little party started on foot in the direction of Malintzi. Our indian friend, his brother, a white friend, our photographer, our Mexican boy and ourself, made up the party, and we were followed by three mozos on foot carrying supplies of food. We struck out over a sandy plain, where the foot sunk deep into dry sand, until we finally reached a well-built wall of stone, considered in the district a notable piece of engineering. It was constructed to turn the course of a little stream which, in times of flood, has frequently done damage to the town. From here, our trail led us on through the sandy pine-scrub, broken now and then by narrow gullies, called barrancas, with almost vertical sides. In every case, we were obliged to descend into these gullies and climb out upon the other side. After one and a half hours of walking we reached the village of San Pedro, where we stopped for dinner. The two Americans accompanying us lay down upon the ground, completely tired out, and were fast asleep within five minutes. Manuel assisted the local cook in preparing dinner, while we talked with visitors until the meal was ready. The houses of San Pedro are well constructed of stone, set in adobe, and have well-thatched roofs. The granaries, or cuezcomates, are of unusual size and well built. They range from six or eight feet in height to twelve or more, and are shaped like great urns, open at the top, which is protected by a thatch, generally two-pitched. The temascals were also unusually well built of stone, and frequently were neatly covered with white plaster. Soon after leaving San Pedro, in the afternoon, we came upon two indian boys digging in the ground. Inquiring what they were doing, we learned that they were hunting honey-ants, and in a moment our whole party was engaged in the same operation. These ants were found some inches below the surface, either singly, or in roundish holes containing half a dozen or more; the abdomen was swelled until it was as round as a pea and as large as a fair-sized currant, and was filled with honey. To get the sweet liquid, one takes the insect by the head or forward body and pressing the honey bag sucks out the contents. It is sweet and rich, with a little twang, as if fer mented, and people in the district call it honey-wine. Three quarters of an hour brought us to San Francisco, though we had to go down and up two large barrancas before we reached the town. It was almost sunset when we arrived. Sitting down before the town-house, we sent for the agente. Soon after our arrival the church-bell rang furiously, and the din and clangor was kept up a long time. While waiting for the official, supper was prepared, though we had had some difficulty in arranging for it, and were in doubt as to where we were to spend the night. Before supper was ready, a motley crowd poured into the room in which we sat. One large fellow carried a great sword strapped at his side, another bore a short sword, another a knife, another a large and ancient gun. Probably there were other weapons not in sight. This group of indians was the agente and his guardia. We were objects of suspicion, and much argument, and an abundant supply of huitzatl—strong drink—were necessary, before we secured permission to spend the night at the house where we were to have supper. No sooner had this company withdrawn and supper been eaten, than we prepared for bed. One wooden bed, with a mat of rushes, served for Señor Quechol and myself. A second mat, laid on the floor, formed the bed for our four companions. In the morning, we took a walk to Akxotla, where we wished to see an ancient painting. Here we encountered greater suspicion than before, and, after wasting the greater part of the day, accomplished nothing. It is true an indian made a camalpa for us. This is a stringed musical instrument; though the name is Aztec, it is unlikely that it was known before the coming of the Spaniards. Quechol says the word means mouth-harp, coming from the Aztec cam, mouth, and the Spanish harpa, harp. We returned to San Francisco for our dinner, and at four o'clock again started on our journey.
It was after five before we reached San Bartolome. As we drew near the village, we saw a magnificent double rainbow, brilliantly displayed upon the eastern sky against a cloud of almost inky blackness. Looking westward, as we entered the village, we saw the sun setting in a sea of gold, between Popocatapetl and Ixtaccihuatl. Watching this magnificent sunset, we sat down before the old church, and almost instantly a crowd gathered to see what the strangers might want. Don Romualdo, in wandering through the village, found a temascal in use, and hurrying to us, led us to see the method of its use. It is a dome-shaped structure, with an entrance so low that one must crawl upon his hands and knees in entering; it is a sweat-bath, used for cleanliness and health. A quick fire, built inside, heats it thoroughly, after which water is thrown upon the hot stones to produce steam. Four persons, of both sexes, were in the one in question, taking a sweat-bath. When we returned to our companions, sitting before the church, an indian of the village, accosting Don Romualdo, claimed to know him; he also claimed my acquaintance, and reminded me that he had been one of the subjects I had measured two years before in Tlaxcala. A score or more of natives had gathered, in the moonlight, around our party. Having heard some indians singing, we tried to get these to sing some native songs. Only after Louis and Frank had sung some English songs, which were well received, were we able to hear Aztec songs in exchange. After a long delay, we were taken to the schoolhouse for supper and the night, and spent the balance of the evening in taking down a native song, The Tlaxcalteca, and witnessing a dance which accompanied it. A bed was made up for the party by putting various benches and tables together.
TLAXCALAN HOUSE WITH TEMASCAL.
THE MAPAHO IN USE; SAN JUAN ZAUTLA
Most of the following day was spent in visiting in the village, purchasing idols and in making notes on life and customs; at four o'clock in the afternoon, we set out for Ixcotla. Near sunset we reached the house of Quechol's uncle, old Isidro. Almost eighty years of age, he was straight and lithe as a man of thirty. His house and all the lesser buildings of his place were excellent and in fine condition. A flight of steps led to the flat roof, from which we watched the sunset. In the yard, were half a dozen hives for bees, made from the stocks of the maguéy. The old man was rich, and owned other houses, but he lives alone, his wife being dead and his daughters married. He is a master of the Aztec, and uses it in its most poetical and figurative style. He does not speak like common men, but his conversation abounds in metaphor and flowers of speech. When once one spoke to him of his lonely and solitary life, he said, "Alone and solitary! No, we are three! There are here myself, my good angel, and my bad angel. I am never alone." Isidro knows all the boundaries of the fields, and can trace all the titles, and is frequently appealed to in land disputes, and even in law cases, is summoned to give testimony. He received us heartily, offered cigarettes and ordered supper. To refresh us, he broke fresh leaves from the orange-tree and steeped them in hot water, sweetening with sugar. After supper, good beds were made upon the floor, with plenty of mats and blankets.
We had hardly risen in the morning, when the village was thrown into great excitement by the appearance of a band of soldiers. They had come to arrest a young man supposed to be a leader in the local opposition to Governor Cahuantzi. This opposition was just at fever heat; the election was approaching, and a fierce effort was being made to oust the governor. Forty-four towns were in open rebellion, among them, all of those which we had visited. There had been new laws passed regarding land and taxes; these had been resisted. The governor had threatened to send engineers to make new surveys, and to bring land-titles into question. The suspicion and distrust which we had met were doubtless, in large part, due to these measures, and the fear that we were government spies. So great was the discontent, and so openly expressed, that it was said that on the Saturday preceding, in the Plaza of Tlaxcala itself, there was a riot, with cries of derision and contempt, and firing of guns upon the palace. We were told that the nearest haciendero, who was friendly to the governor, was marked for assassination and would be killed within the next few days.
Leaving at ten next morning, we skirted Santa Ana, and, having passed through San Pablo, came out upon the banks of the Sawapa. This pretty stream has reputed remedial power, and in May hundreds of people bathe in its waters, to protect themselves against small-pox. As we crossed the great stone bridge, we met a drunken indian who attached himself to our party. Between him and the Mexican members of our party, there arose hostility and an exchange of angry words. To us, personally, he was maudlinly affectionate and respectful. Finally, shaking him off, after climbing a considerable height, we stopped at Belen for a noonday rest and lunch. Dinner having been ordered, we seated ourselves in the shade, when our drunken friend again appeared upon the scene, and in great excitement, begged me to move, as it was certain death for a heated and perspiring person to sit in the shadow of a Peru tree. So persistent was he, that Quehcol and Manuel lost all patience, and ordered the local officials to arrest him.
About the middle of the afternoon we were again upon the road; having passed the bare, fortress-like church of San Mateo, and descended a long hill, toward evening we crossed a fine bridge over a gorge of black basaltic rock, and shortly reached Santa Maria Atlihuitzia, where we planned to spend the night. Here is a fine old church, with a façade absolutely covered with elaborate carving; a square tower rises at one corner. The great altar is a magnificent piece of carving and gold work; the windows are set with thin slabs of onyx. Within, near the church-door, are two paintings representing the scene of mayrtrdom for which the town is famous. These pictures are ancient, and represent some interesting details of indian life at the time of the Conquest. The head-dress and mantle of feathers worn by the old chieftain, the dress and hair-dressing of his wife, war weapons and buildings are all shown. Here, in 1527, the boy Cristoval, child of the great chief Acxotecatl and his wife Apalxitzin, was killed by his father because he would not renounce Christianity. The little lad was only thirteen years of age, and had been trained by Spanish priests. He was the proto-martyr of the new world, and the story of his martyrdom and the early church in Tlaxcala, have been charmingly narrated by Mendieta. Close by the church stand the ruined walls of the monastery, impressive for their massive construction and the enormous space which was enclosed. It was dark before we finished the examination of these quaint and interesting old buildings, and we were glad enough to go to the house of the secretario, where we found good beds and elaborate furniture. In the room where we were to sleep there was a nacimiento, made in connection with the Christmas season. The table was covered with little landscapes, scattered over which were figures of many kinds, including a group of San Jose, Maria, and the infant Christ.
Santa Maria is purely mestizo. In the morning, finding breakfast somewhat slow, we started for a walk, and passing by the old church, came shortly to the spot where the boy martyr was killed. From here we descended, over a long slope of gray tufa, to a pretty stream flowing through black basalt. The rock is hard and shiny with cells or air-bubbles scattered through its mass. Close by the water's edge we were shown some curious impressions, on the nearly level surface of the rock, which were said to be the imprints of the knees of the Holy Virgin as she knelt here to wash clothes in the brook; there are also grooves made by the Virgin's fingers as she scrubbed the clothing on the rock; by the side of these impressions are two hollows, marking the spot where the Holy Child sat with its mother as she worked. On the rock behind is the impression of a mule's foot. Formerly there were two of these impressions, but in 1888 a tornado broke away the mass of rock, on which was the other impression. Just below this place the stream leaps in a pretty cascade which, with its white foam, contrasts strikingly with the black rock. The trail followed by Cortez on his way from Vera Cruz to Tlaxcala was pointed out to us and we were told that Atlihuitzia in those days was an important city, numbering five thousand solteros (unmarried men). On the way back to the village, we visited the arbol huerfano—orphan tree—a cypress, so called because it is the only tree of its kind in this district. Quechol says that a long line of such trees, at a distance of several leagues apart, was planted by the Spaniards, and he and the villagers mentioned a number of them in different places. Passing once more by the spot of martyrdom, a white capulin was pointed out, as being the very tree represented in the picture of the killing.
It was now almost ten o'clock and we found breakfast waiting. At Quechol's request, it was a purely Mexican meal, consisting of Aztec dishes. We had tamales, atole, and, for the first time, champurado. The latter is atole—corn gruel—mixed with chocolate, and is really an excellent dish. After breakfast, we left our friends of Atlihuitzia and hastened back over the same road past San Mateo, Belen, San Pablo, and Santa Ana. The way was long and the sun was hot, but the road was beguiled with many stories regarding the places that we passed, for the whole state of Tlaxcala abounds in legend.