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

saved his life from immediate peril, finally guiding his footsteps to a victorious consummation of his most ambitious designs. Cortez owed more of his success to her than to his scanty battalions. If nothing else would serve to stamp his name with lasting infamy, the infernal torture which he inflicted upon the ill-fated Guatemozin, for the purpose of extorting information as to the hiding-place of the imperial treasures, should do so. The true record of the life of Cortez reads more like romance than like the truth. This is not perhaps the place to refer to his private life, which history admits to have been perfidious. Landing on the continent with a band scarcely more than half the number of a modern regiment, he prepared to traverse an unknown country thronged with savage tribes, with whose character, habits, and means of defense he was wholly unacquainted. We know that this romantic adventure was finally crowned with success, though meeting with various checks and stained with bloody episodes, that prove how the threads of courage and ferocity are inseparably blended in the woof and warp of Spanish character.

Just above the town, on the hillside, is the ancient convent of San Francisco, which contains over one hundred paintings more than two centuries old. The old church of San Francisco, close at hand, dates from a period, three hundred and seventy years ago, when Mexican history often fades into fable. The approach is over a paved way, and through a road bordered by a double row of old trees, which form a gothic perspective of greenery. The convent now serves in part for the purpose of a military barrack, before which stand a few small cannon so diminutive as to have the appearance of toys. A few soldiers lounged lazily about, and some were asleep upon a bench. Probably they were doing guard duty after the Mexican style. On the hillside above the church of San Francisco is a modern church, and beyond it a Campo Santo.

This gray old church, the oldest in Mexico, is certainly very interesting in its belongings, carrying us in imagination far into the dim past. "The earliest and longest have still the mastery over us," says George Eliot. This was the first church erected by the Spaniards in Mexico, and was in constant use by Cortez, who, notwithstanding his heartless cruelty, his unscrupulous and murderous deeds, his gross selfishness, faithlessness, and ambition, was still a devout Catholic, never omitting the most minute observances of church ceremonies, and always accompanying his most questionable deeds with the cant phrases of religion. The roof of the church of San Francisco is a curiosity in itself, being upheld by elaborately carved cedar beams, which were imported from Spain. In a side chapel is preserved the original pulpit from which the Christian religion according to the tenets of the Church of Rome was first preached in the New World, and also the stone font in which the native Tlaxcalan chiefs were baptized. The defacing finger of Time is visible on all perishable articles. One or two of the mediaeval paintings were scarcely more than tattered, drooping canvas, presenting here and there a shadowy human figure or a clouded emblem. We were shown a series of religions vestments, said to have been worn by the first officiating priests in this ancient church; but we instantly realized that they could not be so old, for such articles would long ago have become too frail to hold together, whereas these were exposed upon an open table, and were freely handled by any one who chose to do so. They were of a light, thin texture, silk and satin, and elaborately trimmed with gold and silver lace.

One is shocked on observing the roughly carved figures of bleeding saints and martyrs, with crucifixion scenes and mangled bodies, suspended from the walls of the church. "The repulsive and ghostly images, paintings, and mechanical contrivances, common in the small towns and villages, are mostly banished from the capital and other large cities," says Hon. John H. Rice, in "Mexico, Our Neighbor," "in obedience to the demands of a more decent civilization. They are used, however, where most practicable (representing the crucifixion and diverse rites and ceremonies of the church), to hold in awe and superstitious thralldom the weak and untutored minds of the degenerated children of the republic; and so to extort from them the last dregs of their poverty-stricken purses."

The prevailing style of this Tlaxcalan church, as well as that of the churches generally which we visited throughout the country, is of the Spanish Renaissance. Puebla, Guadalajara, and the city of Mexico contain cathedrals which will compare favorably even with those of continental Spain, where the most elaborate and costly religious edifices in the world are to be seen to-day. The plans of all these churches came originally from Spain, and builders from thence superintended their erection. The parish church of Tlaxcala, situated on a street leading from the plaza, has a curious facade of stucco, brick, and blue glazed tiles. In this edifice was seen an interesting picture representing the baptism of the Tlaxcalan chiefs already referred to. This was an event which was of local importance, perhaps, at the time, but which is without a shadow of interest to-day, though it is duly emphasized and repeated by the guides. The dome of the church was destroyed by an earthquake so late as 1864. Near this church are the ruins of a chapel, the facade of which is still standing, and on which are displayed the royal arms of Spain.

Regarding the dwellings of the poorer classes of this region, as well as of the country generally, they are of the most miserable character, wanting in nearly all the requirements of health and comfort. They consist of adobe-built cabins, wherein the people live, eat, and sleep upon the bare ground, without light or ventilation, except that which comes in through the open door, and where drainage of any sort is not even thought of. Mud cabins on the bogs of Ireland are not poorer places to live in. In the warmer regions, the common people live in mere huts of cane, consisting of a few poles covered with dry plantain leaves, palms, or cornstalks, made into a thatch by braiding and twining them together. A mat woven of dried husks and laid upon the ground forms the only bed. Neither chairs, tables, nor benches are seen in these cabins,--they are unknown luxuries. In the more tropical regions of the country, the cabins have no sides, the thatched roof coming down to near the ground, thus forming only a screen from the rain during the season of the year when it falls. A sort of instinct causes the common people of the tropics to seek some sort of shelter from the stars when they sleep; but half the Indian population of Mexico do not see the inside even of an adobe cabin from one year's end to another. The universal food depended upon to support life, besides the wild fruits, is the preparation of corn called tortillas, and a few vegetable roots. The grain is pulverized by hand between two stones, made into a paste or dough, and eaten half baked in thin cakes. We are, of course, speaking of the poor Indian people, but they form probably two thirds of the population, especially in the rural districts. These natives make their own fermented liquor. On the coast it is what they call palm wine, and rum from sugar-cane; on the table-land, it is pulque, from the maguey plant,--their delight and their curse. After the maguey has yielded its sap to the last quart, and begins to wilt, there appears in the stalk a nest of white caterpillars, which the Indians consider to be a great luxury, and which they eat with avidity, besides which the roots of the exhausted plant are boiled and eaten, possessing considerable nutritive properties. The native people of New Zealand exhibit a similar appetite. When the trunks of the tall kauri trees, which have been uprooted by storms, have lain so long upon the moist ground that they begin to decay, a large worm breeds in the decomposing wood; these, when arrived at maturity, are eagerly grubbed for and devoured by the Maoris. Our ideas of what constitutes proper food for human beings are governed by very arbitrary rules. The Chinese consume dogs, cats, and rats; the Japanese and Africans are fond of monkey flesh; the Parisians often eat horse-meat from choice; while some of the South Sea Islanders have still an appetite for human flesh. The London gourmand revels in snails, and the New Yorker demands frogs upon his bill of fare. Is the New Zealander so very exceptional in his fancy for wood-worms? Green goose and broiled chicken are among the delicacies of our table, and yet there is scarcely any sort of foul garbage which they will not consume as food. Why is their flesh considered more delicate than any other?

The better dwellings of Tlaxcala are nearly all adobe houses, standing in a rough, hilly region on the eastern slope of the mountains which inclose the valley. It is difficult to conjecture what possible industry keeps the place alive, for, though interesting to the thoughtful traveler and the scientist, it has no visible business activity beyond the exhibition of the antiquities to which we have referred, but seems to smoulder in a sort of moss-grown, picturesque decay. The seats of the old, half-forgotten, and neglected plaza were occupied by groups of idle natives, who regarded us with a dull, sleepy interest. A few laden burros passed through the streets bearing charcoal, wood, or bags of grain, and others with high panniers of straw lashed in compact form. They carried their noses close to the ground, picking up any edible object--banana skins, orange peel, bits of garbage, and similar scraps. This small creature which carries such enormous loads seems to eat anything, no matter how little nutriment it contains, and, strange to say, keeps in good flesh. The single candy shop under the arches beside the plaza did a lively business with our party while we remained, its members having suddenly developed a marvelous appetite for dulces. Bright-eyed boys and girls, with a paucity of clothing and any amount of good looks, met us at each turn with hands extended, and a cry of "Centavo, centavo!"

It was to Tlaxcala that Cortez and his small band of followers retreated when the natives of the valley of Mexico rose and in desperation drove him from their midst. Here, after some months devoted to recuperation and being joined by reinforcements from Cuba, he prepared to lay siege once more to the Aztec capital. Part of this preparation consisted in building a number of small, flat-bottomed boats in pieces, so that they could be transported over a mountainous district, and put together on the shore of Lake Texcoco, thus enabling him to complete the investment of the water-begirt city. It sounds ludicrous in our times to read of the force with which the invading Spaniards laid siege to a nation's capital. His "army" consisted of forty cavalrymen, eighty arquebusiers and cross-bowmen, and four hundred and fifty foot-soldiers, armed with swords and lances, to which is to be added a train of nine small cannon, about the size of those which are carried by our racing yachts of to-day for the purpose of firing salutes. Of course he had a crowd of Tlaxcalans with him, the number of which is variously stated, but who could not be of much actual use. More than one of these veracious Spanish historians states the number to have been one hundred and twenty thousand! So large a body of men would have been a hindrance, not a help, in the undertaking. Cortez neither had nor could he command