Indians in various tribal costumes, mostly picturesque and all dirty, patter through the square with loads of provisions or babies. As no stoves or fireplaces exist, the charcoal man’s loud “Carbosiú!” (Carbón, señor!) resounds through the streets. So does the plaintive cry of the water-carrier, bending under his great earthen jar, for the houses are all supplied from a few public fountains, the termini of aqueducts. “Orchata, lemon, pineapple, tamarind!” calls out a shrill voice; “What will you take, my darling? This way for refreshment:” and we see a good-looking girl in a short skirt expanded wide with hoops, her arms bare and her bodice cut low enough for a ball, selling “temperance” drinks. Here is a dingy cell stuffed with chin-basins, razors, dental implements, boxes of pomade, a guitar, a fighting-cock tethered in a corner, and sundry pictures of saints, parrots and battles; and there a cigar shop with a slender, black-eyed girl behind the counter, bold enough and handsome enough, even without the red rose in her hair, to tempt St. Anthony. Observe the evangelista, or public letter-writer, with two quills and an inkstand ready on his little desk under a canopy of straw matting; and observe, too, that lépero with his back against a donkey’s pannier, robbing the pannier while he pretends to be buying a knife.[8]
Priests in long shovel hats; lousy soldiers in ragged, ill-fitting uniforms; gaudy officers chatting and smoking; jugglers with snakes and balls; cynical dandies retailing love affairs; half-naked léperos in the corners sleeping off their pulque; lottery venders with long strings of tickets; sellers of flowers, toys, candy, glass, wax-work, mock jewellery, cheap cutlery, and a thousand other things; closed carriages taking ladies to church; more beggars and still more—these and many other sights keep us too busy for reflection; but we cannot help noticing that seven out of ten persons are social drones or parasites, and that vice of one sort or another dims the face and weakens the step of almost every one. Suddenly a light bell tinkles, and the crowd is instantly grave and still. “God is coming,” they whisper, or in other words the viatic is going to a sick man. A coach drawn by two mules and followed by a dozen slovenly friars holding lighted candles and chanting, comes slowly down a street. All uncover and kneel, and we must do likewise or very likely get a pummelling.[8]
This reminds us of duty; and, electing the cathedral in preference to sixty other churches, we enter. Before us is a great throng, chiefly women and léperos, of most devout worshippers. The finest ladies in the city are here, dressed all in black, with no ornaments except a silk mantilla, edged with lace, and a high tortoise-shell comb; and they kneel humbly beside the drudge or the beggar. The church itself—designed in the Spanish style, which places the choir in the middle of the nave and a balustraded walk between that and the great altar—with a cloud of incense filling the air and many hundreds of candles gleaming murkily from the shrines, is most mysterious and impressive. The gorgeousness of the sacred ornaments amazes us. Literally tons of silver are in sight; gold, precious stones and gems abound; and magnificent vestments try to hide the vulgar priests. But the splendor is oppressive, and the stench of the léperos intolerable; let us return to the light of day.[8]
All the streets are laid out at right angles, and most of the houses that line them are in two stories, of which the lower one is reserved for horses, carriages, servants, cows and storage; and the walls, built of rough stone, are very thick. The outside is usually frescoed in white, orange, blue, red or pale green, and often adorned with pious verses or biblical texts. Entering the big double gateway, we find ourselves in a courtyard, upon which doors and grated windows open; and we observe that a covered balcony of wrought iron or possibly bronze, reached by a central stairway and giving access to the rooms of the second story, is built round it. In many courtyards there are flowers and a fountain, and sometimes there are trees. Occasionally we find what looks like a grandee’s residence, for Mexico was called in the Spanish time a city of palaces, and some of these residences, built of superior stone, equipped with gilded balconies and stairs, adorned with artistic sculptures, and perhaps decorated with Dutch tiles in blue and white, have survived in a fair condition the ruin of fortunes and the disappearance of titles; but at their best they were always imperfect, reminding one of the golden image with clay feet, and now most of them are dilapidated.[8]
Here is a gambling place, well filled; but it is only the usual monte, and if we care to watch a game, there will be something like a thousand more opportunities. Already, people are making for the bull-fight; but the upper classes mostly ignore that sport, and we may well follow their example. On the other hand let us drop in at the cock-pit. “Hail, immaculate Mary, the cocks are coming!” the herald is proclaiming. On the benches one may see the most delicate and fashionable young ladies of the city as well as the sharpest gamblers, and everything is quiet and orderly. But a glance is enough; and now as the “quality” will soon have dined, we will stroll on past the stately trees of the Alameda to the New Promenade, and be ready for them.[8]
Here, every afternoon at about five o’clock, and especially on Sunday, may be seen the Mexican élite. About a thousand carriages are in line to-day, many of them heavy, grand affairs from Europe, but some very antiquated and shabby, for the lady, however poor, must have a carriage of some sort. Here one sees the fair sex at their best. Clad in the most sumptuous and brilliant costumes they can possibly obtain and well covered with diamonds—for everybody above the rank of a lépero has diamonds—they sit up straight and handsome, and many of them look almost regal. More horses than mules are to be seen, and many of them have been imported. Guided by postilions instead of drivers, the carriages roll sedately along with an exchange of mutual salutes but not a word of conversation, and after a turn or two draw up and stop side by side, so that the ladies may review some four or five thousand cavaliers, who now ride past.[8]
Each gallant, without appearing to notice the carriage of his choice, pays court to an adored occupant of it by a special show of grace and horsemanship as he goes by. Small fortunes in silver and gold are lavished on the equipment of the steed, and the cavalier is resplendent in his tightly fitting trousers, short jacket, huge sombrero, gilded spurs, silver buttons, silk braid and gold lace. For us the impression is impaired considerably by his manner of riding, for he leans forward, puts barely his toes into the stirrup, and carries his heels far back; but he can ride very showily after all, curvetting and prancing, and the Mexicans are fully satisfied that no other horsemen in the world are their equals.[8]
The promenade over, all go to the play—not that anybody of fashion cares for it, but because that is the style, and few have any other way to pass the time. Let us have a look ourselves at the principal theatre, which travellers have pronounced—after one at Naples—the finest edifice of the kind. It accommodates more than eight thousand persons, and the rent of the best boxes is about $3000 a year. But almost every man and many of the women appear to be smoking; one can hardly see the actors; the noise of conversation is distracting; and as we are not adepts in the play of glances and fans which keep so many ladies in the boxes and so many gallants in the pit fully occupied, we shall find it pleasanter at the British legation ball. Allons! Why, what a clangor the church bells are making! To be sure that opens the gates of purgatory for a while and gives the inmates a respite, but it certainly bears rather hard on the living.[8]
While by nature the most sociable of people, the Mexicans are the least so in practice, wrote an American minister at that capital. This is partly because many of social rank now lack the means to entertain, and partly because society is cut up by intrigues, jealousies and bitter memories; but at a foreign legation one has no expenses, and all meet on neutral ground. As we enter, everything seems fine and even brilliant. Diamonds are in profusion again, and the lustre of the great pearls matches them. But in Mexico it is never wise to look closely, for gross imperfections are sure to be discovered; and here, as we soon observe, the gowns are not really in style, and the musicians are only unshaven, half-blind, tatterdemalion scrapers.[8]
However, the people are what we care for, and they are certainly most interesting. Again we see the dignified ladies; they move now, and with a decided though rather ponderous grace. Conversation is not their forte, for they seldom read and never think; but all have beautiful eyes, teeth and hair; all have small hands and feet; and all are amiable, sincerely kind and by no means wanting in tact. The older ones appear stout and rather phlegmatic, it is true, but those of an earlier age are often fascinating. Look for instance at the girl under the chandelier, plainly all sentiment and senses, not really tall but slender enough to appear so, with a profile of carved ivory, pale cheeks just warmed with crimson, large, dark, languorous eyes, and a voluptuous figure disguised with no stays; and all this poised seemingly on the toe of a dainty satin slipper. What matters it if she and the rest of the ladies passed their day in gazing idly out of windows, smoking, nibbling sweetmeats and chattering trifles, and did not put on their stockings or do up their hair until dinner-time?[8]