At the time at which the action of the book now before us commences, namely, upon a carnival day of the year 1812, Morellos had marched into the vicinity of Mexico at the head of his little army. The principal leaders of the patriots, Vittoria, Guerero, Bravo, Ossourno, and others, had placed themselves under his orders; and the moral weight of his name seemed to be at last producing what had been wanting since the death of Hidalgo—namely, that unanimity in the operations of the patriots, and that degree of discipline amongst their troops, which were calculated to gain them the confidence of the nation.
The first two chapters of the "Viceroy" are of so striking a nature, and give such strange and startling glimpses of the state of Mexican society and feeling at that period, that, with some slight abridgement, we shall here translate them both.
Chapter the First.
"'Tis known, at least it should be, that throughout
All countries of the Catholic persuasion,
Some weeks before Shrove Tuesday comes about,
The people take their fill of recreation,
And buy repentance, ere they grow devout,
However high their rank, or low their station,
With fiddling, feasting, dancing, drinking, masking,
And other things which may be had for asking."
Byron.
The siesta was over; and the profound stillness in which the capital of New Spain had been buried during the preceding two hours, was suddenly broken by the hum of innumerable voices. The noise, which commenced in the suburbs, extended itself rapidly, and increased almost to a roar, scaring away the gallinazos and other birds of prey, that were as usual seeking food in the streets and squares of the city of Mexico. Thousands of the inhabitants arose from their resting-places under the porticoes of houses, churches, and palaces, or hurried forth from the great bazar, eager to celebrate the carnival with that boundless mirth and license by which Roman Catholic nations seem to console themselves for the fasts and privations that are to succeed it.
The variety of the costumes in which the maskers had arrayed themselves was endless, while the profanity of some of them was no less remarkable. Here might be seen a gigantic tenatero, or porter, in a sergeant's jacket, and with the enormous cocked hat of a Spanish general upon his head, a globe and sceptre in one hand, in the other a pasteboard cross, strutting proudly about in the character of the Redeemer of Atolnico;[7] while around him a party of Indians, Zambos, and Metises, metamorphosed into Apostles, Pharisees, and Jewish women, performed dances of very questionable propriety in honour of their divine master. In another place, Adam and Eve were incessantly driven out of Paradise by an angel with a flaming sword—the three figures resembling very much the same persons, as they used to be represented in the halfpenny woodcuts of the past century. Beside them, Dios el Padre led off a dance to the sound of a cracked guitar, which St Cecilia was twanging as an accompaniment to the nasal melody of the gangaso;[8] and a little further on, the child Jesus, mounted on a jackass, was flying into Egypt, and squirting, as he went, streams of water into the open windows of houses, and into the faces of the passers-by. Mingled with the mummers were crowds of loathsome léperos; and again, amongst these might be seen numerous groups of perfumed dandies and elegantly dressed ladies, who contrasted with the throng of Indians as swamp-lilies do with the filth and corruption of a pestilential marsh. In spite of the broad sunlight, rockets were going off on all sides, to the great amusement of the Indians, who burst out into screams of wild delight each time that one of the fiery missiles caused alarm and confusion amongst the gaily attired dames who thronged the balconies, and gazed down from their windows upon the motley scene. The contrast of all this movement and uproar with the silence and solitude that had reigned so few moments before, was startling. It was as if the earth had suddenly opened and vomited forth the thousands of Mulattoes and Zambos, Indians, Metises, and Creoles,[9] that now sang, danced, chattered, screamed, and shouted—doing their utmost worthily to play their part in the time-honored saturnalia of the Romish church.
Differing from the custom of more refiled, although perhaps not more enlightened, countries, only a very few of the numerous parties of maskers seemed to aim, by their costume or action, at a satire on the follies, foibles, or occurrences of the times. Now and then, however, an exception was to be met with; and this was especially remarkable in a group which it becomes necessary here to describe.
It consisted of twelve persons, the majority of whom were fantastically attired in the national costumes of the various Indian tribes. These were grouped round a carro, or two-wheeled cart in so picturesque a manner, that it was easy to see that their performance had been preconcerted and rehearsed. They wore symbols of mourning, and seemed acting as pall-bearers and followers of a funeral; while upon the cart itself were two figures, in which the horrible and the comic were blended after a most extraordinary fashion. One of them was a Torso, from whose breast and headless neck, and on the stumps of his arms and legs, blood was incessantly dropping, and as fast as it dropped, it was greedily licked up by several persons in Spanish masks and dresses. The mutilated form seemed still to have life in it, for it groaned and gave out hollow sounds of agony and complaint; at the same time struggling, but in vain, to shake off a monster that sat vampire-like upon its body, and dug its tiger claws into the breast of the sufferer. The aspect of this monster was as strange as that of its victim. It had the cowl, and the sleek but sinister countenance of well-fed Dominican friar; on its right hand was fixed a blazing torch, on its left stood a dog that barked continually; its head was covered with a brass basin, apparently meant to represent the barber helmet of the knight of La Mancha. From the shoulders of the figure protruded a pair of dusky wings, not unlike those with which griffins and other fabulous monsters are represented in old books of heraldry; its back was terminated by the tail of the coyote, or Mexican wolf; while the claws with which it seemed digging into the very bowels of the Torso, were those of caguar or tiger.
This singular pageant passed through the Tacuba street into that of San Agustin, thence through the Plateria and the Calle Aguila into the quarter of the city known as the Trespana, where it came to a halt before the hotel of the same name. During this progress, the crowd of Indians, Metises, and other coloured races, had been augmented by numerous parties of Creoles; while the Spaniards contented themselves with gazing distrustfully at the procession from the windows of their houses. The strange group was now surrounded by thousands of Zambos, Creoles, Metises, and Indians, presenting a variety and originality of costume, physiognomy, and colour—a contact and contrast of the most costly and sumptuous habiliments with the meanest and most disgusting rags, such as it would be in vain to seek in any other country than Mexico.
Amongst the most elegantly dressed of those whom the enigmatical masquerade attracted, was a young man, of whom it would have bee difficult to say to what race he belonged. His face was covered by a closely-fitting silken mask, in which every hue of the rainbow was blended, but which, nevertheless, was adapted so admirably to his features, as at first to leave the spectators in doubt whether it were not the real colour of his skin. He skipped airily out of the fonda of Trespana into the street, cast a keen but hasty glance around him, and then began to make his way through the mob that surrounded the pageant. There was a nameless something in his manner and appearance that caused the throng to open him a willing passage towards the object of general curiosity.