Aztec Land, Maturin Murray Ballou [always you kirsty moseley .TXT] 📗

though it is extremely dry. The atmosphere is, in fact, so devoid of moisture that food or fresh meat will dry up, but will not mould or spoil, however long it may be kept.

On the left of Chapultepec lies the attractive suburban village of Tacubaya, already referred to, where the wealthy citizens of the capital have summer residences, some of which are really so elegant as to have a national reputation. These are thrown open to strangers on certain days, to exhibit their accumulation of rare and beautiful objects of art, and the luxuries of domestic life.

As we left Chapultepec by a narrow road winding through the remnant of a once vast forest, attention was called to the ancient inscriptions upon the rocks at the eastern base of the hill near the roadside. They are in half relief; and, so far as we could decipher them, they seemed to be Toltec rather than Aztec. They are engraven on the natural rock, and are of a character quite unintelligible to the present generation. For years these were hidden by the dense undergrowth, being on the edge of the plain, near the spot where the Americans clambered up the steep acclivity when they stormed the castle. The shrubbery has now been cleared away so as to render them distinctly visible.

Toluca, the capital of the State of Mexico, is easily reached by a narrow gauge railway, being less than fifty miles from the national capital. It is a well-built and thriving town, containing about twenty-five thousand inhabitants, more or less, and situated at an elevation of about eight thousand and six hundred feet above the sea. The municipal buildings and state capitol, all modern, are thought to be the finest in the republic. They face upon a delightful plaza, the almost universal arrangement in these cities. Beyond the valley of Toluca, which is larger than that of Mexico, are others as broad and as fertile, all of which are watered by the Rio Lerma. The trip hither from the national capital leads us through some of the grandest scenery in the country, as well as taking us over some of the most abrupt ascents in Mexico. The districts through which the road passes nearest to the city are mostly given up to the cultivation of the pulque-producing maguey. These plantations are of great extent, being arranged with mathematical precision, the plants placed ten feet apart in each direction, in fields of twenty or thirty acres. The very sight of them sets one to moralizing. Like the beautiful but treacherous poppy fields which dazzle one in India, they are only too thrifty, too fruitful, too ready to yield up their heart's blood for the pleasure, delusion, and ruin of the people. We are all familiar with the broad, long, bayonet-like leaf of this plant, which is to be seen in most of our conservatories, known to us by the name of the century plant, and to botanists as the _Agave Americana_. It rarely blooms except in tropical climates. Indeed, it is best known with us at the north as the century plant, a popular fallacy having become attached to it, that it blooms but once in a hundred years. Hence the name which it bears in New England. When the juice is first extracted it is sweet like new cider, and is as harmless; it is believed to possess special curative properties for some chronic ills that flesh is heir to, but fermentation sets in soon after it is separated from the plant, and the alcoholic principle is promptly developed. We were told at the city of Mexico that the government treasury realizes a thousand dollars each day as a tax upon the pulque which is brought into the capital from various parts of the country, and that the railway companies receive an equal sum for the freight.

There are two kinds of maguey: the cultivated plant from which comes pulque, and one which grows wild in the desert parts of the country. From the latter is distilled a coarse liquor which is highly intoxicating, called mescal. This is a digression. Let us speak of our journey to Toluca. If this very interesting city did not possess any special attraction in itself, the unsurpassed scenery to be enjoyed on the route thither would amply repay the traveler for the brief journey. At about twenty miles from the city of Mexico, it is found that we have risen to an elevation of eleven hundred feet above it, from which point delightful views present themselves, embracing the entire valley, its various thrifty crops distinguishable by their many hues; here, yellow, ripening grain; there, the blue-green maguey plant; and yonder, wide patches of dark, nutritious alfalfa; together with irrigating streams sparkling in the sunshine, enlivened here and there by groups of grazing cattle. Now an adobe hamlet comes into view, the low whitewashed cabins clustering about a gray old stone church. Creeping up the mountain paths are long lines of toiling burros, laden from hoofs to ears with ponderous packs, and on the dusty road are straggling natives, men and women, bearing heavy loads of produce, of wood, pottery, and fruit, to the nearest market; while not far away a ploughman, driving three mules abreast, turns the rich black soil with his one-pronged, one-handled plough. Villages and plantations are passed in rapid succession, where scores of square, tower-like corn cribs, raised upon four standards, are seen adjoining the low, picturesque farmhouses.

At Dos Rios (Two Rivers), half-clad, gypsy-looking women and young, nut-brown girls besiege the passengers to partake of fresh pulque, which they serve in small earthen mugs. Two stout engines are required to draw us over the steep grade. The highest point reached is at Cima (The Summit) twenty-four miles from the city of Mexico, and ten thousand feet above the level of the sea. This is the most elevated station in the country, seriously affecting the respiration of many of our party. Indeed, any considerable exertion puts one quite out of breath at such an altitude. The conductor of the train was an American, who had been engaged upon this route for a year and more; but he assured the author that he was as seriously affected by the great elevation as when he first took the position. It was observed, however, that the natives did not seem to experience any such discomfort.

From Cima we descend the western slope of the ridge by a series of grand, abrupt curves through the valley of San Lazar, after having thus crossed the range of mountains known as Las Cruces. The white-headed peak of the Nevada de Toluca, over fifteen thousand feet in height,--the fourth highest peak in Mexico,--is long in sight from the car windows, first on one side of the route and then on the other, while we pass over the twists and turns of the track to the music of rippling waters escorting us to the plains below. Mountain climbers tell us that from the apex of this now sleeping volcano the Pacific Ocean, one hundred and sixty miles away, can be seen. It is also said that with a powerful field-glass the Gulf of Mexico can be discerned from the same position, at a much longer distance. Baron von Humboldt tells us that he ascended this peak in September, 1803, and that the actual summit is scarcely ten feet wide. It occupied this indefatigable scientist two days to make the ascent from Toluca and return.

But let us tell the patient reader about Toluca itself. The streets are spacious, well-paved, and cleanly. A tramway takes us from the depot through the Calle de la Independencia, on which thoroughfare there is a statue of Hidalgo, which by its awkward pose and twisted limbs suggests the idea of a person under the influence of pulque. At the hotel Leon d'Oro, an excellent and well-served dinner was enjoyed, and it is spoken of here because such an experience is a _rara avis_ in the republic of Mexico. Among the numberless churches, a curious one will long be remembered, namely, the Santa Vera Cruz, the facade of which very much resembles that of a dime museum, having a lot of grotesquely-colored figures of saints standing guard.

Toluca, notwithstanding its appearance of newness, is really one of the oldest settlements in the country, dating from the year 1533. Activity and growth are manifest on all sides. There is a spacious alameda in the environs, but it is not kept in very good condition. The town has two capacious theatres, and a large bull-ring, which is infamously noted for its many fatal encounters. The bull-ring and the cockpit are two special blots upon this otherwise attractive place,--attractive, we mean, as compared with most Mexican towns. Cock-fighting is the favorite resort of the amusement seekers, and in its way is made extremely cruel. One of the two birds pitted against each other must die in the ring. This and the hateful bull-fight were introduced by the Spanish invaders of Mexico centuries ago, and are still only too popular all over the land. In the cities one frequently meets a native with a game-cock under each arm, and at some of the inland railroad stations they are tied in long rows, each by its leg, and out of reach of the others, so that purchasers can make their selection. It must be a very small town in Mexico which does not contain one or more cockpits, not only as a Sunday resort for amusement, but also as a medium for the inveterate gambling propensities of the native people.

Here, also, there is the usual profusion of Roman Catholic churches, but there is nothing remarkable about them. A couple of miles west of the city is the church of Nuestra Senora de Tecajic, in which is exhibited a "miraculous" image which is held in great veneration by the credulous Indians. It is a picture painted on coarse cotton cloth, and representing the assumption of the Virgin. This is an ancient shrine, and has been in existence over two hundred years.

Near Toluca is an extinct volcano, the crater of which forms a large lake of unknown depth, the water being as cold as ice.

The city supported several notable convents previous to the confiscation of the church properties, which are now utilized for schools, hospitals, and public offices. One educational establishment, the Instituto Literario, is perhaps the widest known institution of learning in Mexico, and has educated most of the distinguished men of the country. It may be called the Harvard College of the republic. The edifice devoted to the purpose is a very spacious one, and besides its various other departments, it contains a fine library and a museum of natural history, together with a well-arranged gymnasium.

Toluca has the best and largest general market which we saw in Mexico. It is all under cover, and each article has its appropriate place of sale, meats, fruits, vegetables, fish, flowers, pottery, baskets, shoes, and sandals. It was a general market day when we chanced to be upon the spot, and the throng of country people who had come in to the city to dispose of their wares could not have numbered less than a couple of thousand. Such a mingling of colors, of cries, of commodities! The whole populace of the place seemed to be in the streets.

We chanced to see in the patio of a private dwelling-house at Toluca a specimen of that little tropical gem, the coral-tree, a curious and lovely freak of vegetation, its small but graceful stem, six or seven feet in height, being topped above the pendent, palm-shaped foliage with a prominent bit of vegetable coral of deepest red, precisely in the form of the Mediterranean sea-growth from which it takes its name. A pure white campanile with its inverted