There is no doubt that the Spaniards in allying themselves to the Aztecs joined themselves to a race which was lower than themselves. In the romantic attitude to the Aztecs it is often forgotten that they were cannibals and ate their prisoners of war. A race whose instincts permitted them to do that was obviously in a degraded state. It may safely be said that the Aztecs had no great future, even if Cortes had not come; they were brutal, mentally deficient and depraved, possessed of rites and customs repellent to all who possess a living God.
7. In the Marquisate of Oaxaca
Cortes was recognized and rewarded and he made a happy end of life. He overcame all the intrigues. His success, like a rising sun, triumphed over all mists and clouds and at its zenith shone over half the world. His Emperor honored him and granted to him and his heirs in perpetuity the lands of the Valley of Oaxaca with all the wealth therein contained, both potential and actual. On the strength of it the Cortes of to-day ought to be Morgans or Rothschilds. Oaxaca is one of the most golden valleys of Mexico, a marvelous place, El Dorado itself in the eyes of the first pioneers who grabbed what they could carry and lost what they could not defend.
Hernando Cortes became the "Marquis of the Valley," known commonly in Spanish annals as "the great Marquis," a title which in British history is, however, associated with a nobler man, the Marquis of Montrose.
Oaxaca, pronounced Wahahca, is some three hundred miles southwest of the capital, reached by rocky, narrow, and often precipitous trails once the secret knowledge of Indians but now followed by a railroad considered a marvel of scientific engineering. No motor road goes through—and it is adventurous going for either horseman or pedestrian. It is one of the ways to the Pacific shore, and once the capital of the marquisate is reached it is not a difficult journey on horseback to Tehuantepec or Salina Cruz, down on the quiet beaches of the Southern Sea.
It should be said that Oaxaca is now a State and that the heirs of Cortes have long since dissipated their fortunes. English and Americans now own the most valuable properties of the Valley which is recognized still as one of the richest mining districts of Mexico. Oaxaca has enriched thousands of individuals. Mexicans without doing work pathetically hope to stumble suddenly on large fortunes. The legends they preserve of hidden gold are many. The Indians especially are supposed to hold secrets which they hand down from generation to generation, of the shrines and treasures of their lost gods. As cupidity is not a vice of the pure-blood Indian this seems always conceivable. You can find out nothing by asking Indians questions. Their innocent mirthfulness under cross-examination has always been one of the most baffling matters to the Spaniard. The days of burning them alive to find their secrets has of course long passed, but the Indians told little under stress of pain. Over the slow fire their innocent mirth changed to a suffering taciturnity and that unearthly fixed gaze which showed a race that had conquered pain.
Out in this valley most of the people now are pure-blood Indians, either Zapotecs or Mixtecs, unambitious, easy-going, fruitful, and true to the soil on which they have always lived. They were never an imperial race like the Aztecs, nor revengeful like the Totonacs. They have no inheritance of ill-will, and all seem as happy as kings. Oaxaca to-day, despite the turmoil of the revolution, presents a picture of what Mexico as a whole might be if her peoples possessed the right temperament. For my part, I count the three weeks I spent in the Marquisate as the happiest in Mexico. One could easily become content to live a long while there. The people retain their national customs and are marvelously good-humored; crime is rare, pistols infrequent, and the cost of living is less than half that of the capital—you can live very well on two dollars a day—and the winter climate is perfect. The happiness of the little city is greatly enhanced by a large city square where a fine brass band plays every evening amid palms and electric lights and lilies and hanging rosy pomegranates.
The cathedral faces the Palacio, and colored stone porticos of shops face porticos of other shops. The broad efflorescent square or plaza is between. The cathedral, alas, looks like a ruin and has been taken and retaken by soldiers in many fights! The Church is too poor to repair it. I saw the "Hombre Mosca," the "Human Fly" climb its pretty façade one morning, stepping on the carved saints and patting the Infant Christ in St. Christopher's arms on his way up, and the Church was quite impotent to stop the insult, even on a Sunday when Mass was observed within. A curious contrast surely, a whole congregation on its knees listening to the sermon of an archbishop within, a hilarious crowd outside cheering the Human Fly and the brass band playing lustily. Something of the destiny of Mexico in that! But in my opinion the human flies hold the future. Sitting on the top of the Cross on the turret of the Cathedral an American acrobat called "Babe White" unfurls a flag on which is printed "Drink Montezuma Beer." Poor old Pope, dead and gone Holy Inquisition, what think you of that?
The Palacio, where I saw the Governor, Garcia Vigil, just before he left for Mexico City where he was badly shot by a hired assassin, is a fine building rendered more impressive by its Indian sentries, some of whom are extremely handsome and fine-looking soldiers. The legislative business of the State is transacted in this palacio and it occupies the whole of one side of the square. Here one may commonly see in the evenings and on Saturday morning long lines of Indians waiting for wages. On Saturday mornings the band enters the interior square of the palacio and plays while waiting for its pay.
The shops which flank the other two sides exhibit various novedades in dress and many marvelous hats ranging in price from ten to a hundred dollars. As Mexicans are more proud of their head wear than of any other part of their attire they are ready to pay fantastic prices for hats. These sombreros which are usually of felt or velour are sometimes two feet high and three feet across from rim to rim. When a little dark man puts on one of these he changes in aspect and looks like some sort of fantastic magician.