As I have seen it, the whole thing is a whited sepulcher. I mingled with ten thousand French on July 14 when they celebrated the fall of the Bastile, and sang with them the Marseillaise, not because I was French, but because it was an effort and a successful one of establishing individual freedom; and it pleased me, and I wondered when I might join with Mexico and help them sing La Golondrina and celebrate the Fall of Guadalupe.
Old Cato’s climax in his Roman speech-making could well be paraphrased for the nineteenth century, and when thinking of the incubus of Mexican progress, would fit well with a change of one word when we say:
“Carthago delenda est.”
CHAPTER IX.
PUBLIC BUILDINGS.
WHERE once stood the Palace of Montezuma, now stands the national Palace. It occupies the entire eastern side of the Plaza Mayor, with a frontage of 675 feet, and was built in 1692. It is open to the public all day long.
On the ground floor of the plaza front are the barracks. On the second are the President’s chambers and those occupied by the Spanish Viceroys and the Austrian usurper, Maximilian.
At the extreme front is the Ambassadors’ Hall, so long that the President at one end in his chair of state seems but a pigmy, and so narrow that three persons with outstretched hands can touch either wall. The idea of spacious halls seems never to have entered the Mexican’s head. Huge buildings they have, but they are only a succession of rooms whose dimensions depend upon the usual length of building timbers, which is never over twenty feet. It seems easy to connect the joists on supporting pillars and enlarge the room, but, “We have always done this way.” So the Ambassadors’ Hall has a probable length of 300 feet, and an actual width of about twenty.
At the Southern end is a raised dais where the President presides; at the other, under a canopy are two magnificent state chairs. One was the property of Cortez, and has his name on the back in pure gold, and the date 1531. It is in excellent repair, since its construction was entirely of metal covered with brocade, and one might doubt its antiquity were not the ear marks of old Spain everywhere visible in all its workmanship, even in its coat-of-arms. The other is covered entirely with pure gold and is the chair of state of the President, and must be worth $20,000 if appearances comport with the actual value of gold. Just opposite this chair is a painting fifteen by thirty feet, depicting the great battle of Puebla when President Diaz first won his spurs in defeating the French army. An old grizzled veteran who fought in the battle will point out the notables in the picture, not omitting his own which stands to the left of the President.