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, señor," 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 señorita, 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.
| THE FAMOUS MEXICAN "RURALES," OR RURAL MOUNTED POLICE. |
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 bridón!
Y retumba sus entrañas la tierra
Al sonoro rugir del cañón!"
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!"
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