Nothing better illustrates the stature of these people than the death of an American. He was a conductor, and the railroad employees determined to give him an orthodox Christian burial, but no coffin could be found long enough, so he was put into one with both ends knocked out. Then came the inspection, and official announcement and permit, and enough red tape to consume two whole days and all the patience of the American colony, and involved enough writing to have chartered the city.
All cemeteries are reached by mule car; and for those who cannot afford a hearse, a funeral car and as many empties as are needed, are always to be had. The funeral car is painted black or white, with a raised dais to support the coffin, and in a sweeping gallop the cortege is soon at the cemetery gates on schedule time.
All head-boards and grave-stones are embellished with the ominous black letters R. I. P. They tell me that is Latin for “May he rest in peace;” but I think they ought to add, “For five years.”
The cathedral in all Mexican cities is the one place of attraction. The one here was used as a powder magazine during the Mexican war, and the walls still bear the grim ear-marks of cannon balls.
The finest church here is Nuestra Señora del Roble, which is old, but seems never to be finished, and thereby hangs a tale.
No church property is taxable here until it is finished, so the astute priests rarely finish one. There are churches here whose foundations were laid three hundred years ago, and as you stand in the grand nave, bits of stone falling around you will be the only evidence of the workmen two hundred feet above.
The stone used is almost as porous and as light as chalk, and responds readily to the chisel for ornamentation, but hardens on exposure. These building blocks are nearly always two feet square, and are built into the wall rough, and with scaffolding built around; the stone-mason, with mallet and chisel, will work for years, creating an ornamentation that is a joy and beauty forever. Patience here is a cardinal virtue, and time has no value whatever, and to their credit, be it said, that these decoraters are artists, and their work is beautiful. A man will begin work on a hundred year job with as much sang-froid as though it was to last a month.
A workman will take an intricate pattern of wall-paper, and, with a paint-pot and brush, will spread that design over ten thousand square yards of surface, and at a distance of ten feet you cannot detect his work from genuine wall-paper. The perspective is so deceptive in one church in Monterey, that you almost run into the rear wall before you are aware that the long aisle is a painted one. You must stand or kneel in the churches, as no seats are provided. One church in Puebla is the only exception. Most of the churches are bedizened with cheap gew-gaws and tinsel, which gives you an impression of a child’s playhouse.
The church of San Francisco is the oldest in town, and its bells were cast in Spain.
A large painting in there which is meant for the piece de resistance, represents Christ with a Spanish fan in his hand, and the Madonna draped in a Spanish cloak of the vintage of 1520. Another represents the Shepherds with violins in their hands looking at the Babe in the manger.