The colonial system uniformly pursued by Spain has been widely and fatally different. The establishment of her transatlantic colonies was accomplished by the indiscriminate slaughter and plunder of the unoffending natives. Disguise it as he may, cruelty is a distinguishing characteristic of the Spaniard; and this moral phenomenon in the character of a people, certainly not destitute of noble and chivalrous attributes, may probably be traced, partly to the large admixture of Arabian blood in the Spanish population, and partly to the long enduring and paramount authority of a priesthood remarkable for its intolerant spirit, and for its savage abuse of unlimited power. This propensity to deeds of cruelty and oppression was nourished during the long contest with the Moors. Abundant evidence of it may also be found in Spain's European wars, and especially during the long and noble struggle of the brave Netherlanders against the reckless and blood-thirsty soldiery of the Duke of Alva. But the crowning atrocities of Spain were perpetrated in her American possessions, and more particularly in Mexico, the richest and most important of them all.
Assuming that the whole of Spanish America was a gift to the king of Spain from God's vicegerent on earth, the Roman pontiff, and under the plea that it was their especial duty to establish his creed, the Spaniards did not hesitate to accomplish this end by the most lawless and cruel means. Their unbounded greed of gold led to further oppressions on their part, and sufferings on that of the Indians; and even the arbitrary, and for the most part unjust, enactments of the Consejo de las Indias, a council established for the government of Spain's colonial possessions, were outheroded and overstepped by the cruel and mercenary individuals to whom their enforcement was entrusted.
Fearing the eventual day of retribution, every cunning device was practised to keep down the numbers of the unfortunate natives, and to retard the growth of their intelligence. By a royal decree, not a town or village could be founded, nor even a farm-house built, except in the vicinity of a garrison, convent, or mission. The Spaniards wanted dollars, not men, and could they have worked the rich mines of Guanaxato, Monte Real, and elsewhere, with bullocks instead of Indians, would gladly have seen the whole native population of Mexico exterminated. But when the storm, which for a time had been averted, at length burst forth, they gave a loose to their hatred of the unfortunate Mexicans. The rebellion, premature in its outbreak, and crushed in its first great effort, was carried on under various leaders, and with varying success, until it terminated in the final downfall of the Spanish rule. The massacres and cruelties perpetrated during the eleven intervening years, were beyond conception horrible; far exceeding in extent and atrocity any thing recorded in European history. The fearful night of St Bartholomew, the tortures of the Inquisition, the persecutions in the Cevennes, and later, the horrors of the French Revolution, sink into insignificance, when compared with such wholesale massacres as those of Guanaxato and Guadalajara, and with the sweeping destruction wrought by the Spaniards throughout Mexico.
"Such and such towns and villages have disappeared from the face of the earth," was no uncommon phrase in the reports and despatches of the Spanish commanders—a phrase fully borne out by facts. Prisoners, of both sexes and all ages, were murdered in cold blood, whole districts laid waste with fire and sword, until not a human being or habitation was to be seen, where previously a flourishing and numerous population existed. In a despatch of the royalist general Morillo, dated Bagota, June 1816, he stated that, in order to cut at the root of the rebellion, he had declared all persons rebels who knew how to read and write, and that such were, on detection, immediately to be put to death. Accordingly, six hundred of the most notable persons in Bagota, both men and women, guiltless of all other crimes but education, were strangled, and their bodies suspended naked from gibbets. Nothing but the weariness of the executioner and his aids, put an end to this horrid butchery.
We cannot better illustrate the state of things above referred to, than by laying before the reader some farther extracts from The Viceroy and the Aristocracy. For this purpose we will select the early portion of the second volume, previously connecting it by some brief details with the two chapters given in our last Number.
The five-and-twenty young noblemen who witnessed the treasonable dramatic performance described in the second chapter of the book before us, are sentenced, as a punishment for their offence, to serve in the army under Calleja, the captain-general of Mexico. This is announced to their parents, who are all Creoles of the highest rank, at a drawing-room held by the viceroy Vanegas, where we are introduced to a certain Count San Jago, who, as well on account of his wealth and influence, as by his high qualities and superior intelligence, ranks first amongst the Mexican nobility, and enjoys great consideration at the viceregal court. His nephew, Don Manuel, and his adopted son, the Conde Carlos, were among the spectators of the pasquinade in which King Ferdinand's private pastimes had been so cuttingly caricatured, and they are included in the sentence passed on all those who have thus offended. This sentence excites great indignation amongst the Mexican nobility, who see in it a gross violation of their fueros or privileges. There is no option, however, but obedience. The Count San Jago, who ardently desires the freedom of his country, and even maintains a secret understanding with some of the rebel chiefs, rejoices in the punishment awarded, deeming that the introduction of these young men into the army may pave the way to Creole ascendancy. The immediate expulsion of the Spaniards from Mexico is not desired by him, or by the majority of the Creoles, as it would throw the chief power into the hands of the Indians and castes, who are totally unfitted to wield it. The count procures a captain's commission for Carlos, and would willingly do the same for his nephew; but Don Manuel, although a Creole by birth, is a Spaniard in heart, despises his own countrymen, and resolves to proceed to Spain and take part in the struggle against the French. An attachment has existed between him and the Countess Elvira, sister of Carlos; but this has recently been succeeded, on the side of Manuel, by a violent passion he has conceived for the viceroy's sister-in-law, Donna Isabella, a haughty beauty, who only encourages the young Creole so far as it accords with the views of Vanegas, some of whose designs would be promoted by the absence from Mexico of the Count San Jago's nephew and heir. Blinded by his passion, Manuel obeys the impulse artfully given to him by Donna Isabella, resists the remonstrances of his uncle and the tears of Elvira, and insists upon proceeding to Spain, which his imagination paints as the fountain-head of chivalry and heroism. Count San Jago sees through his motives, but does not choose to constrain his inclination; and Manuel sets out, with a train of attendants befitting his rank, for the sea-coast, where he is to embark for the mother country. His adventures upon the road form a striking episode, to a certain extent independent of the rest of the book, and with which we will continue our extracts.
Chapter the Eighteenth.
| "What are you That fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers?" Cymbeline. |
About a day's journey from the capital, rises that mighty chain of mountains called the Sierra Madre, which, after connecting the volcanoes of Mexico with those of Puebla, takes an inland and northerly direction, hiding within its bowels, near Monte Real and Guanaxato, that boundless mineral wealth which excites so strongly the wonder of the naturalist. The most important mountains of Mexico are portions of this chain, which gives to that country a character so original, so wildly picturesque and truly sublime, yet so cheerful and smiling, that the eye of the beholder ranges with alternate rapture and surprise from point to point of the immense landscape, vainly endeavouring to comprehend in one frame the wonderfully-contrasted materials of the picture before him.
The flanks of these mountain ridges are thickly clothed with lofty oak and pine, while the dwarf oak and the mimosa cover the shoulders; and their rocky summits, bare of all vegetable life, are composed of granite and porphyry. Terrific craters yawn on every side of these sombre dark-brown masses, which appear to be still teeming with those tremendous revolutions, that have given to this country its remarkable configuration. Luxuriant crops of wheat and maize cover the mountain slopes; the lower levels delight the eye with the endless variety and brilliant colours of their exotic plants; while, still lower, the tough agave darts forth its sharp and giant leaves, like so many sword-blades, and the plains are intersected by vast barrancas,[31] exhibiting that wonderful opulence of tropical fertility, which is ever at work in their deep and shady hollows. From these ascend the roar of rushing streams, invisible to the eye, but mighty in their influence; every slope they wash yielding a prodigality of vegetable ornament, which the most glowing fancy would find it difficult to paint. The flowering shrubs are linked together and covered by numberless creepers, studded with brilliant blossoms, forming continuous garlands of flowers, which climb on the roots to the crown, and conceal thousands of conzontlis, cardinal birds, and madrugadores, within their shady recesses.