As to the women of the peones, their dress is generally sombre-hued and modest. No scarlet blanket covers them, but a blue reboso, or shawl, which is generally placed over the head in lieu of a hat. The women of the poorer classes accept, with what to the foreigner seems almost a pathetic resignation, the style of dress which custom has dictated to their class. There is no aping of the rich in their attire. Whether it be the fine lace mantilla or the Parisian hat which the far-distant-from-her señorita wears, as in temple or plaza she takes her dainty way, or the pretty frock or delicate shoes, the poor woman of the peon, or the mujer of the petty shopkeeper, casts no envious glance—but no, that would not be true! She casts them, but she will not strive to imitate. Is there not some virtue in such non-emulation, or is it but the spirit of a deadened race? Yet this rather sombre and unattractive apparel is found more among the peon class; the Indian girl in some parts of Mexico—as at Tehuantepec—wears a handsome native costume, derived from Aztec days, at holiday time.
| NATIVE WOMEN OF TEHUANTEPEC: ORDINARY DRESS AND CHURCH-GOING COSTUMES. |
The reboso, or shawl, is a useful article of clothing of the women of this class. We shall meet her trudging along dusty roads or over steep mountain trails, sad-faced and patient, with her baby slung behind her in a reboso tied round her waist; or possibly she has utilised it to collect some scanty leña, or firewood, from among the dry scrub of the arroyo, just as her man uses his serape as a universal hold-all on occasions for potatoes, maize, or other articles which he has purchased at the village market.
The complexion of the Mexican peon class is generally exceedingly dark, approaching coffee-colour, although they have, of course, no strain of African blood in their composition. But the types of faces vary much for different parts of the country—due to the numerous distinct races. Some purely aboriginal faces are almost clear-cut and attractive, especially among the women. The peon women, too, are often soft and pretty, and attract, and are attracted, by the foreigner. Near the lines of the railroads the progeny of Mexican women—Anglo-Saxon in type—are often seen!
The Mexicans, peones and Indians, have a remarkable aptitude—like those other peoples of aboriginal blood in America, as Peru—for making things by hand which require care and patience. The exquisite figures with delicately carved features and dress, pottery, woven material, as mats and pouches, straw (and Panama) hats, and so forth, are such in delicacy and texture as it is improbable could be made by the workmen of Europe.
Indeed, the elements of care and patience are much developed among these semi-civilised peoples. A Mexican peon will not miss his way on the plains or in the mountains—the least indication will serve his recollection of the route, and, indeed, it is not necessary to enlarge upon the aborigine's natural science of woodcraft. Moreover, the peon will carry any delicate object—a theodolite or barometer, or other scientific instrument, for example—with such care over the roughest and most precipitous places that it will never be injured, and where in similar situations, the clumsy European or American would inevitably bring it to disaster.
The Mexicans are dexterous in pottery-making, and they fashion great ollas to a wonderfully symmetrical form without other appliance than that of a small wooden paddle or beater, with which the red earth-mortar is shaped and patted into form. This method, indeed, dates from Aztec time, when there was no potter's wheel. They are sun-dried first and then baked. The makers of these, or the vendors, carry numbers of them about bound up in crates, a huge load on their backs; and as they are much in demand, the women rush out of their houses eager to purchase, as the olla-carriers enter the villages. These huge pots are mainly used for carrying water from the spring, and with a reboso or shawl as a pad upon their shoulder or their head, the women walk gracefully along with their heavy burden of the necessary water-supply, at morning or evening.
The peon is ever ready to exchange work for play, or indeed to shelve the former altogether at times, and the numerous feast-days—the dias de fiesta—which are the despair of the foreign employer of labour in Mexico, fall in well with this disposition. The spectacle of the bull-fight appeals greatly to him, ever the national sport. Even in the small villages and haciendas, remote from the capitals, bull-fighting is the favourite sport, and local toreros from among the middle-class young men of the place enter the arena to display their valour. A bull-ring is easily made in the plaza, or a corral or courtyard, and young bulls, sometimes with their horns blunted to render the pastime less dangerous, are harried about the improvised arena in the usual style, the picadores, bandilleros and capeadores all taking up their office in approved style. The sport tries the mettle of these aficionados, as the amateur bull-fighters are termed, and many, considering discretion the better part of valour, promptly retreat and hurriedly climb the barrier as the angry bovine makes his entrance to the ring. As a rule, however, the young Spanish-Mexicans show a bold front to the animal. Is this not the sacred and national sport of the land of their forefathers? Does not the sangre española run in their veins? None so low as to turn before a bull, or if he does the howls of the peon spectators who line the walls will make him blush for shame.
In such a scene I found myself on one occasion. A remote hacienda, and bull-fight, of aficionado nature, inaugurated in honour of some occasion of birthday or other anniversary of the proprietor, whose guest I was. Some lively bulls were performing in the arena, and more than one ambitious amateur bull-fighter had retired the worse for his temerity. "Señor," said one of the guests turning to me, "doubtless you would like to try your hand!" The idea met with instant approval by the others present, and the word went round that the inglés was to enter the ring. I confess the invitation did not appeal to me. The bull at that moment occupying the arena had already drawn blood from one of his tormentors, who was outside repairing his injuries, and the animal stood in the centre of the space, lashing his tail and throwing earth over his shoulder after the manner of his kind, what time he wrathfully eyed the audience. My host—he was a Spaniard, a large landowner—possibly seeing some disinclination reflected on my face, interposed: "There is no shame in refusing," he said. "It is not to be expected that an Englishman knows anything about this sport." But the ladies of the party looked, I thought, disappointed, and the peones around the walls were already shouting my name, and calling upon me to "entrar"! This would never do. "Señores," I said in the most grandiloquent Spanish I could muster, "you are much mistaken if you think an Englishman is any more afraid of a bull than a Mexican or a Spaniard"; and, taking a proffered pair of banderillas, I descended from the platform and entered the arena.