Face to Face with the Mexicans/Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII.
FASTS AND FESTIVALS AND SOCIAL FORMS.
T is not my purpose in this connection to dwell upon the past history or present status of the Church in Mexico, except as it is connected with the actual lives of the people.
The propriety of blending social events, household customs, and religious ceremonies, as one subject of description, may seem questionable to the uninitiated reader. But when it is understood that the feast-days of the church are holidays for the people, and that these feast-days are numerous, and without these holidays there would be but little social life, the harmony of these subjects will be at once understood.
I have been assured by devoted Mexican Catholics, who have resided both in the United States and in Europe, that the feast-days in Mexico are, in a large measure, quite different from those observed in other countries, while they are so numerous that to a stranger it seems as if there is one for every day in the year.
The bold and uncompromising policy of Cortez left the Mexicans no alternative but to adopt the Christian religion, which was made acceptable by the soothing influences of the early missionaries.
Then, too, the striking ceremonies of the Catholic Church, with its grand language in an unknown tongue and its mysterious symbolism, rich vestments of the priests, its lights, incense, and strange, unearthly chants of the tonsured clergy, seemed to harmonize with the singular rites of the pagans, though so different in spirit.
The transition from the native ceremonies to the ritual of the Catholic Church was easy to a people who loved outward show and symbolism; and who were perhaps more attached to form and display and mystical devotion, than to spiritual elevation and humane sentiments. But these remarks apply only to the primitive races who so soon and readily adopted the purer faith taught by the Gospel, and abandoned those horrible, sanguinary rites that characterized them as pagans.
They have passed through many phases of mysterious and severe misfortunes, but still they present evidences that their ancient traditions have not been wholly lost; and at the present time dim traces of them are manifested in their religious symbols. Generations have glided by, with the tales of their sorrows, joys, and calamities; despotisms have held their iron sway; some of the most magnificent structures—relics of an art superior to our own—have passed away; another faith is theirs; but one may discern in the rites of catholicity, as practiced to-day in Mexico, a tinge of the Indian worship of the Aztecs. It is said that even recently garlands have been placed by them on the idols in the court-yard of the National Museum, and that also in the remote caves of the mountain regions the ancient deities are still secretly worshiped.
This is not strange. We may well imagine some remote wilds, where the old races still exist, with their endless legends and traditions; where the light of Christianity has never beamed. In these secluded fastnesses still dwell their old men and women, who keep the young in awe of the grim deities their forefathers were wont to worship.
The government of New Spain went on under the vice-royalty for nearly three centuries. At last the War of Independence came, and the yoke of foreign usurpation was thrown off. But the influence of the old Church was thoroughly imbedded in the hearts of the people. Mexico was free politically from a foreign power; but, nurtured in absolutism, the mastery of Church over every legal power was complete. The two elements—that of religious domination and of civil liberty—arrayed themselves against each other. The former was allied with the most powerful ecclesiastical body in the world; the latter, though few in numbers, was of untiring zeal and determination.
The wealth of the Church had so accumulated that it owned all the best property in the Republic, both in the city and country. A clerical writer of good authority estimates this wealth to have been 861 haciendas, or country estates, valued at $71,373,000, and 22,649 lots of city property, consisting of churches and convents, valued at $113,241,530—a total of $184,614,800.
Other estimates have been made giving an aggregate of the Church wealth at $300,000,000; and, regardless of the correctness of these estimates, this vast wealth was handled by the ecclesiastical body, who were in every instance able business men.
The rupture of Church and State, and their complete divorcement, came about by the ponderous weight of the former. It had gone on gathering influence and power, until, like an over-full river, it broke its bounds. The time in human economy had come when this event was a necessity.
In 1857, Comonfort issued the edict that eventually laid the Church power, strong as it was, trembling in the balance. But his policy was not completely carried out until the iron hand and fearless nerve of Juarez grasped the whole body politic, in 1867, on the fall of the empire. After which period this vast property was applied to the uses of the state and government. The cathedrals and churches were sold or converted to public uses, and by courtesy only the clergy became their occupants. Even the wearing of the clerical dress in the streets was forbidden under penalty of fine and imprisonment.
Religious parades, which had before been so imposing and magnificent, were suppressed.
Both sisters of charity and Jesuits were sent out of the country 
The civil law was upheld in every particular, even in prescribing all those holy sacraments which the Church has always held as sacredly her own.
It registers births, performs the marriage ceremony, and buries the dead. While the Church ceremony is not prohibited when desired, it is legally superfluous, and without the civil law null and void.
But with all this curtailment of power, the Church has reached a higher moral plane, and one of greater dignity. It has been purified by fire. It required the blood of a pure Indian to bring to terms this great power. It was unquestionably a bold stroke to have been made by one man, with only at first a few adherents.
The government still watches closely the movements of the Church party, which is represented by the cathedral, while the National Palace is the domicile of the liberal party.
The soldiers marching to and fro in front of the latter furnish a solemn warning that not even a bell may be rung in those grand towers, if any attempt be made to override the civil authority.
It should be, and no doubt is, the earnest desire of every Catholic that the Church in Mexico be placed on the same footing as that in the United States. At present there are many indications pointing to this end.
The November feasts, beginning with All Saints' Day, were the first of interest that I witnessed, and the brilliant capital never saw a finer inauguration of these festivities. The rainy season was ended, the atmosphere was bracing, as is always the case at that time of the year, and these happy effects harmonized with the smiling faces of the multitude, as they moved back and forth, bearing in their hands flowers as lovely and delicately tinted as though blushing from the kisses of angels.
Strains of delightful music were wafted to my ears upon the early morning air from organ and choir, and the stronger and more martial notes of stringed and brass instruments. Hundreds, even thousands, of women and children in their best clothes wended their way to the various churches. Business was suspended, even the school children having a holiday; though the public schools, fostered by the government, make no allowance for holidays in their regulations.
The Alameda, the great central figure of every outdoor social event, presented a picture that the mind loves to recall. A more enchanting scene was never opened to the appreciative eye in even the gay and beautiful realms of Fairy Land. In splendor it recalled "The golden prime of good Haroun al Raschid."
The great central pavilion was illuminated by iridescent lights, which were rendered more fairy-like and bewitching by numerous moss-draped mirrors, Chinese lanterns, brilliant growing plants, the magnificent fountain with its silvery showers, and the basin with its dainty, bright-colored fishes, streamers and flags with the national ensign, the whole making a gorgeous Oriental picture, vibrating under the modern electric light.
The Zapadores, of Exposition fame, assisted by other bands, played alternately on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays, and on special feastdays. At night grand concerts took place, which were enjoyed by the most cultured and elegant society. Occasionally benefits were given for charitable purposes.
The play of Don Juan Tenorio, that is known throughout Spain and Spanish America, comes in among the November celebrations, being placed on the boards on All Souls' Day, and is kept there as long as public taste approves.
But to return to the feast. The highest testimonials of remembrance were on that day given to the beloved dead. Every cemetery was filled to its utmost capacity with mourning relatives and friends. The humblest grave at Dolores (cemetery of the poor) was not forgotten, and at the French cemetery the scene was most impressive. The clergy celebrated mass with full orchestral accompaniment; lights burned everywhere, while the glorious tropical sunshine was shut out by the towering forest and ornamental shade trees.
Pictures of deceased friends and relatives were placed at the head-stones, while garlands, wreaths, and floral emblems encircled them, almost concealing the tomb; and as the priest passed from grave to grave, with solemn intonation and pathetic music, there were few dry eyes in that vast concourse. For whether we be in a foreign land or on our own soil, any tribute to the lost ones, even in an unknown tongue, unlooses the pent-up, silent grief of our hearts, and the pangs of to-day are those of long ago. We "weep with those who weep." Our tears are for them, and for ourselves, and for the griefs of humanity. It is a recognition of the universal brotherhood—that "touch of nature" which "makes the whole world kin."
The most touching mass that I witnessed that day in the French cemetery was celebrated before a monument that had been erected to the memory of "All the mothers and the fathers who have died in other lands, when separated from their children, who lived in far-off Mexico."
The American dead were not forgotten, and the last resting-places of the humble and unfortunate, as well as the wealthy and influential, were over-laid with lovely floral tributes.
The Alameda, with its indescribable attractions, continues nightly, throughout the month, to be filled with an elegantly dressed crowd, who revel in this gorgeous and bewildering realm of beauty. The holiday look everywhere is kept up in anticipation of the most universally celebrated of all the feast-days of the country, that of the Virgin de Guadalupe—the patron saint of Mexico—which takes place on the 12th of December.
She is venerated in all Spanish-America, and the story of her mysterious appearance to Juan Diego is firmly believed by thousands of every grade and class. The most ignorant Indian may not know of the President, Congress, or machinery of government, but he is sure to be well informed as to the merits of "Our Lady of Guadalupe." No doubt the tradition with its fascinating sentiment has been the means of inducing many wandering and scattered tribes of Indians to enlist themselves in the service of the Church.
We are told that when the patriot Hidalgo placed the image of the Virgin Guadalupe on his banner, the royalists bitterly persecuted those who worshiped at her shrine; and at once stamped on their own banners the representation of the Spanish Virgin, "Nuestra Señora de los Remedios."
These two ladies, as representing the different causes, were bitter rivals throughout the War of Independence. But the native blood and determination were the stronger, and when Augustin de Iturbide became Emperor, the Indian Virgin resumed the absolute sovereignty which she this day holds. So dear is her name that thousands of children are annually christened by it.
For days before the inauguration of the festivities in honor of Guadalupe, both the capital and the highways leading to this sacred shrine were alive with people making preparations for the occasion. Platforms to be occupied by bands of music were erected at every prominent street corner, and every garden and plaza showed signs that something unusual was about to transpire.
READY FOR THE FIESTA.
Indians had tramped a thousand or more miles in order to be present. They had brought with them the various wares and products of their own labor peculiar to their respective sections, and sold them through the streets—among them many articles of rare, beautiful, and skillful workmanship.
In the Zocalo the palm huts and rush-covered booths suggested an affinity between the native Indian and the banks of the Nile, but the novelty and variety of the surroundings precluded prolonged speculation. The bazars, shaded by cypress boughs, were presided over by Indian maidens endowed with great versatility of talent and with an abundant supply of small talk for every customer. Their stock in trade was unique—Nascimientos, representing the birth of Christ, in figures of wax, candy.
AN ORCHID WITH PINK CENTER.
Everything and everybody took on a holiday look in their new clothes, which none had omitted except the Indians. The azoteas were also enlivened by thousands of people, who enjoyed the brilliant display of pyrotechnics, and every imaginable species of illumination.
A party of Americans of which I was one, with a few Mexican friends, went to Guadalupe the night before the grand fiesta was to take place. To adequately describe the scene would require the pen of a Dickens. The poor, the lame, the halt, the blind had been here congregated, as well as the hale and hearty, with their petates, vessels of pottery and other things needful for the occasion. While the architectural beauty of the cathedral was displayed, the grotesquely attired multitude was also thrown into relief.
Inside the inclosure of the church the stillness of death marked the sleeping multitude. Overcome, perhaps, by the fatigue of the long journey from their homes, hundreds of women and children slept peacefully, undisturbed by the gaze of the curious foreigners who stepped over them to enter the portals of the cathedral.
It seemed to me that hundreds of poor women, wrapped only in their rebozos, with occasionally a blanket, were asleep, and in their immovable postures transfixed to mother earth. Now and then one might be seen upon her knees, devoutly offering up the prayers of her faith, while tears stole gently down the weather-beaten faces of others. Here as everywhere, making himself conspicuous and well known, was the ever-present, insatiable papoose.
Within the cathedral, the soft tones of the organ, aided and enhanced by the youthful voices of the choristers, filled the vast temple with solemn harmony.
An indescribable multitude of worshipers had assembled there, among whom Indian women on their knees, with candles in their hands, and children strapped to their backs, moved down the grand old aisles murmuring their "Ave Marias. " A contrasting scene was presented as we passed through the great doorway on our way out. Two men—one of them very old, with a pair of green spectacles which looked as if made by a blacksmith—were deeply engaged in singing from a home-manufactured book, as I discovered by peeping over, a rude chant, without rhyme, reason, time, tune, or ending. They sang with gusto, oblivious of the interest with which we regarded them, and each utterly regardless of what the other was singing. It was the strangest duet that was ever framed—two cracked voices, in utter discord, the singers as serious as pictured saints. The faces of the men, the spectacles, the book, the rattling discord of the duet, seen and heard by the dim light of a tallow dip, flickering in the December wind, formed a woe-begone scene that should be painted by a Hogarth.
The chapel on the hill of Tepayac can be reached only by a tiresome tramp up, perhaps, two hundred steps, cut in the side of the mountain, and here we were held in unbroken admiration of the scene below. The valley, bathed in the chastened light of a glorious full moon, lay serenely at our feet and stretched beyond to its mountain limits in the dim distance. The air was sweet, balmy and refreshing, even on that mid-December night. All this was the handiwork of nature in her sublimest moods. But what a contrast when we turned to the little plaza in front of the grand cathedral and beheld the multitudinous assemblage of human beings on grand parade, in fatigue suits and undress uniforms! True, the mellow moonlight was over them, as over us; but nearer were the flare of torches; the flickering of camp-fires, by the lights of which the crowds moved about like characters in pantomime, and with the Babel of voices, the songs of the Indians, the fire-crackers and sky-rockets, suggested to us on the height, instead of a vast religious congregation, rather a demoniacal pandemonium. Now and again the swelling notes of the organ were heard above the din, but these were soon lost in the pealing of bells from the towers as they revolved rapidly in the gay lights of the national colors, until the valley was filled with their deep-toned utterances. We went down the steps and were soon lost in the variegated concourse, but our interest was undiminished. Confronted on every hand by gambling booths, tents, palm huts, and a motley multitude, cooking, eating and drinking, to open the way for our exit required the strength of a Hercules. We had glimpses of men and women in the booths who played on harp, guitar, and bandolin, and if their faces
A FEW OF THOSE WHO ATTENDED THE FEAST OF GUADALUPE.
had been carved from wood or stone, they could not have been more immobile or expressionless.
The defects, by night-time, in a picture so realistic, were concealed in a measure by the glamour of moonlight and torchlight, but the longing of unsatisfied human nature urged us to return on Sunday afternoon to take a more prosaic view of it in the broad, open daylight. It was a cruel and a crucial test. An army of beggars in rags, hundreds of children—faces unwashed, hair unkempt—sallied around, gnawing on great chunks of meat, playing in huge basins of soup, scooping up frijoles with tortillas, or screaming and fighting with the myriads of dogs. Gambling was in full force; women were cooking in every way known from the time of Adam, selling everything, screaming their prices, and, like the tireless venders they are, seldom failing to secure a purchaser. Some presided in booths, gayly lined with fruits and flowers, and danced, sang, and patronized you, while generously overflowing with pulque. The air was filled with an indiscriminate jangle of most unearthly sounds, from a variety of very earthly instruments, which, with the dust, the odor of meat cooking and the fumes from the crowd added, made us hurry along to the chapel on the hill, where a treat was in store for us. The Indians from the fastnesses of the Sierras, in the far north were to dance in their peculiar costumes.
Animated by insatiable curiosity, and anxious to witness the entire ceremonials, I pressed through the crowd of pobres to the inner circle. What a scene! The wildest, most fantastically decked beings that mortal eye ever beheld were in the inner space. The old men, adults, and boys, with their immense panaches of variegated colors that towered to startling height; their curiously wrought dresses that were strongly marked with the national colors, somewhat resembling the kilt of the Scottish highlanders; their ornamented moccasins; the women and little girls with their curious masks of coarse gauze, in black and white, crowned with immense wreaths of feathers, of every variety, intermingled with flashing tinsels, with tawdry dresses of many colors, and in fashion not unlike the kilt of the men and boys, made a scene that was grotesque and fantastic beyond description. Then the dance! They formed circles—the men on the outer circle and the women on the first inner circle—and again other circles of the younger Indians of both sexes, forming one within the other. The everlasting jangle and trum-trum of the ghastly jarana covered with the skin of an armadillo, looking like an exhumed skeleton, with the finery of flaunting ribbons floating around it, its harsh notes 
CATHEDRAL OF GUADALUPE AND THE CHAPEL ON THE CERRO DEL TEPEYAC
Having concluded the dance to the honor and glory of Guadalupe, they filed into the church chanting a low, monotonous hymn. I was the first to enter after them, followed closely by my friends. When they reached the altar, where a large picture of the Virgin was suspended, all dropped down on their knees in regular lines of fours, and began crossing themselves and murmuring their pater-nosters. Catching the spirit of the occasion, and unwilling to wound their acute religious sensibilities by the close proximity of idle sight-seers, we followed their example and knelt for a few moments. But so absorbed were the devotees, or so natural our movements, that we remained unnoticed among the worshipers.
The man who played on the jarana (harana) recited prayers, the others responding. After this they sang a litany, accompanied by low moaning sounds, as if in anguish of spirit, while every eye was fixed steadily upon the patron saint in mute appeal, and tears streamed spontaneously down these bronzed and hard-used faces.
After half an hour thus spent upon their knees, they arose, and still accompanied by the strange music from the ghastly instrument, that seemed to have taken on a more unearthly character, moved backward, making a low courtesy at each step, and, as they filed out noiselessly in their strange tongue, sang in chorus: I.
"From Heaven she descended,
Triumphant and glorious,
To favor us—
La Guadalupana.
II.
"Farewell, Guadalupe!
Queen of the Indians!
Our life is Thine,
This kingdom is Thine.
III.
"Farewell, Guadalupe!
Queen of the Indians!
We who leave you to-day
Know not who may come again."
When they withdrew from the church, our party following closely, the dancing was resumed with added fervor. Before I was aware of the fact, my feet were going up and down, out and around, in imitation of the Indians, and greatly to the amusement of my friends and the spectators, some exclaiming, "Que chula! Mira la niña bailanda!" ("How pretty! Look at the child dancing!') which broke the spell, recalled me to myself, and joining my party, we went down the hill. But before we had gone down ten of the almost countless steps, one of the most picturesquely attired of all the Indians was walking by my side, making a bargain with me for the sale of his crown and feathers.
While the scene I had just witnessed had, at times, an effect to excite merriment, the contrary feeling of sadness and almost reverence prevailed. I could not but feel awe in the presence of those dark children of the wild mountains as they performed their mystical devotions and sang the rude barbaric songs that had in their tones the strangeness of another world. They were so earnest, so devout, so loving to the Mother of the shrine, and their grief so deep, when they plaintively looked on her image, and bowed in a sorrowing farewell, that they excited a sympathetic feeling in the coldest heart.
I was forcibly reminded of the lines of our great American poet, who so fully appreciated the mystery of Indian character, religion, and tradition :
"Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple,
Who have faith in God and Nature,
Who believe, that in all ages
Every human heart is human,
That in even savage bosoms
There are longings, yearnings, strivings,
For the good they comprehend not,
That the feeble hands and helpless,
Groping blindly in the darkness,
Touch God's right hand in that darkness,
And are lifted up and strengthened."
At the sacred shrine of Guadalupe, eight days after the feast has been duly celebrated by the Indians and common people, the wealth, beauty, and fashion of the capital wend their way thither to tender their renewed obligations to the patron saint.
I was a guest at a sumptuous celebration in honor of the Señora Doña Guadalupe Bros, who invited me to participate in the ceremonies and festivities of her dia de santa.
At seven o'clock in the morning mass was celebrated in the chapel, with the administration of the Holy Communion, followed by an impressive sermon from the young cura of the church of Santa Vera Cruz—Daniel Escobar. A full orchestra dispensed the sweet and solemn strains of Mozart.
Many distinguished society people were there, among them the wife and daughters of General Corona. The ladies all wore black dresses with lace mantillas.
The numerous lighted tapers were gifts from foundling and orphan institutions, of which the Señora Doña Guadalupe is a benefactress. All were deeply moved by the solemnity of the services, the more evidently so that their noble hostess and relative was weak and infirm in health.
After mass a light breakfast was served in the grand dining-room consisting of coffee, chocolate, and breads in great variety. The sumptuous and elaborate dinner took place at three o'clock in the afternoon. The orchestra in the corridor, supplemented by the singing of birds in the aviary, filled up the pauses with sweet sounds. Covers were laid for a hundred guests, the élite of society, among them many of the most distinguished men in Mexico—writers, orators, statesmen—including Altamirano and the venerable Guillermo Prieto.
In the evening a brilliant ball was given in the sala grande, and for several days dinners and balls and general rejoicings followed. The gifts received by the Doña Guadalupe were numerous and elegant, and had the additional charm, in most instances, of being useful, handwrought articles of every imaginable kind. One chair alone, the gift of Doña Josefina, had required six months to embroider.
General Palacio and wife, the noble Josefina, gave their aunt a funcion particular, in the way of a theatrical performance in the house, which was again a brilliant affair. Three short plays were presented, a melodrama, a tragedy, and a comedy.
The players were amateurs, friends of the family, and acquitted themselves admirably. I was particularly impressed by the talent displayed by a young comedian, Francisco Cardona, who continually brought down the house with his hits on the times.
The feasts of Guadalupe at Morelia were unusually brilliant. Thousands of the faithful attended the matins in the cathedral. The houses were decorated and the pyrotechnical display was very fine. At sunset, and as soon as the bells chimed, an allegorical car, representing the apparition of the Virgin of Guadalupe, started through the principal street from the portico of the cathedral toward the San Diego Church, followed by great crowds. Fireworks crossed the sky, giving it the appearance of a dome of fire.
In Queretaro these feasts were equally splendid. The city was converted into a great garden. Triumphal arches spanned the streets. 
BITS FROM GUADALUPE.
A Mexican Christmas is very unlike one in the United States. No merry jingle of sleigh-bells is heard in this sunny land where the rigors of winter are unknown, and the few lofty peaks, where alone snow is ever seen, would hardly tempt the most adventurous tobogganist.
As there are no chimneys, Santa Claus is deprived of his legitimate and time-honored entrance into households, so the delightful and immemorial custom of hanging up stockings is unknown to Mexican children. But perhaps they enjoy themselves quite as much after their own fashion as ours do. One circumstance in their favor is the long-continued celebration, which, beginning on the evening of the 17th of December and continuing till New-Year's Day, is one long, delightful jubilee.
The celebrations in honor of Guadalupe extend from the 12th until the posadas, or nine days' festivities. The last prayers on the lips of the faithful and the last tones from organ and choir in praise of the patron saint, hardly die away ere the Christmas rejoicings begin.
The word posada signifies an inn, and the whole observance is a relic bequeathed by the Spaniards. The celebration is limited almost exclusively to the capital and the larger cities, and may be considered more as a social feature than belonging specially to the Church—though really combining the elements of both.
It is a reminder of the Nativity, based on the Gospel narrative, but with additions. When Cæsar Augustus issued the decree that "all the world should be taxed," the Virgin and Joseph came from Galilee to Judea to enroll their names for taxation. Bethlehem, their city, was so full of people from all parts of the world that they wandered about for nine days, without finding admittance in either hotel or private house. As nothing better offered, they at last took refuge in a manger, where the Saviour was born.
The first act of the posada represents the journey of the Virgin Mary and Joseph from Nazareth to Bethlehem, and the difficulties they experienced in finding shelter. The family and invited guests march in procession through halls and around corridors, holding in their hands lighted tapers and singing solemn litanies. Before the procession, the figures of Mary and Joseph are borne along by servants or young boys. Each door they pass is knocked upon, but no answer or invitation to enter is given, and so the procession continues to move around, singing and knocking, until, at last, a door is opened, when they all enter and mass is said and hymns are sung with all possible solemnity, after which the other interesting features of the posada are presented, as hereafter related. Sometimes a burro is introduced to represent the faithful animal that carried the holy family in their journeyings.
All over the city is heard the litany of the posadas, sung in a hundred homes, as the pilgrimages wind in and out of the rooms and round the improvised shrines. Venetian lights hang in the patios, and fireworks blaze skyward in every direction. One of the most interesting features is the infantile resort set up in the southern part of the plaza. The Zocalo is a bewitching place; lights flash through the branches of pine and cypress, and the place is alive with children of the first families of Mexico.
The breaking of the piñate is the chief sport of the posada. The piñate is an oval-shaped, earthen jar, handsomely decorated and covered with bright ornaments, tinsel, gay flowers, and flaunting streamers of tissue paper. The common people are experts in the manufacture of these curious objects, and when a vender of them is seen perambulating the streets, it is worth while stopping to examine his stock in trade. There are turkeys, horses, birds, monkeys—in fact, every beast, bird or fowl of the air that is known. In addition, there are children almost life-sized, and even brides, with the trained dress, veil and orange blossoms. But oh! the hapless fate of these earthen brides! They are soon beaten and smashed into atoms by the fun-loving crowd.
The holy figures are left in the chapel after the litanies are ended, and then, either in the patio or a room selected for the purpose, the fun of breaking the piñate begins. It is suspended from the ceiling, and each person desiring to take part is, in turn, blindfolded.
HIS STOCK IN TRADE OF GAY PIÑATES.
Armed with a long pole, he proceeds to strike the swinging piñate. Often a dozen people are blindfolded before the final crash comes, and the dulces go rattling over the floor. Then such racing and chasing!
The first posada that I attended was impromptu without the procession, litany, or Mary and Joseph; the piñate was a monkey, and my young Mexican friends insisted I should be the one to break it. Being duly blindfolded, and armed with a long pole, while the crowd of Spanish-speaking people looked on, asserting that I could and would not fail in the effort, I set confidently about my task. But no sound came of broken crockery or falling dulces.
The rule was, that every one should have three trials. After the third stroke imagine my chagrin, when the handkerchief was removed, to see the monkey above my head, slowly descending, grinning and wriggling his tail. A wild and clamorous burst of laughter went up when I discovered the trick. They insisted that I should have another stroke at his monkey-ship; so, acting on the rule, "If at first you don't succeed," blindfolded and pole in hand, I advanced, and, with one vigorous stroke, shivered it, amid shouts of laughter and rounds of applause. No dulces were ever so sweet to me!
A happy event for me was an invitation from General Palacio's household to attend the posadas in their house, affording me the opportunity of witnessing a distinctively national custom in all its true elegance.
Mary and Joseph were represented by two wax figures, placed upon a flower-wreathed, moss-embowered vehicle, made for the purpose, and propelled by an enthusiastic youth. The procession, consisting of the family and invited guests, formed on the corridor, which had been profusely decorated for the occasion. The posada began with the singing of a hymn, in which all participated with due solemnity. We marched around the corridor, with candles in our hands, preceded by the images, knocking at a door each time, but were always refused admittance by some one inside the rooms. At last we knocked at the chapel door, where we sang a petition, as if Mary and Joseph themselves were imploring admittance. Questions from within called forth the natural responses from the wayfarers without, who sang, "The night is cold and dark, and the woman who seeks a night's lodgings is the Queen of Heaven, having not where to lay her head."
The door at once opened, the weary pair entered, and the procession moved into the chapel singing a ringing anthem, which to me had the spirit of our ever-familiar "All hail the power." The litany and prayers followed, after which we went down stairs to the theater, where the fun and merrymaking began in earnest, leaving Mary and Joseph alone in the chapel.
Once seated in the theater, two of the gentlemen guests, dressed in the uniforms of gens-d'armes, presented themselves, bearing silver trays—one loaded with brilliant badges in the national colors, and the other with handsome finger rings, ornamented with settings of various stones. These badges and rings were passed to each guest with the most courtly grace by the pompous, sham gens-d'armes, who could ill conceal a smile on their sober faces. My ring was of seed-pearls and sapphires.
A long chit-chat followed, as we adorned ourselves with badges and compared rings. The ladies were seated in a circle, and the men passed around in groups, or singly, and all being acquainted, the liveliest sallies and repartee were heard on every side, and good humor and mirth to overflowing filled every heart.
At length a bell rings, the curtain rises, and an enchanting scene greets our wondering gaze: a vine-embowered stage covered with a wealth of tropical plants and flowers; mossy grottoes, sparkling fountains and mimic cascades, which seem a part of nature's own handiwork; ornaments of precious metals wrought in most elaborate patterns, gorgeously attired characters; all under the blaze of the dazzling lights, form a scene which might have been produced by the Genii of Aladdin's Lamp.
Two gentlemen in costumes of the time of Louis XIV., richly overlaid with gold and silver embroidery, were discovered. One was dressed in blue coat, with white knee-breeches, while the colors of the other were pink and cream color. Both wore flowing, curled wigs. They stood on opposite sides of a richly carved table, on which was a glittering display of magnificently wrought silver, comprising not only the plate of the Palacio family, but also the service presented by the Emperor of Austria. Two servants dressed as pages in satin suits, wigged and powdered, stood near the cavaliers, and with profound respect presented salvers loaded with fruits and flowers. The tableau was broken by the cavaliers and pages passing down from the stage and serving each guest with liqueurs and wines in tiny glasses, and delicious sweets prepared in the household.
This posada sprang from the fertile brain of the General himself, and all the actors therein were members of the household and invited guests. He proved himself an adroit "stage manager," as few of the participants knew the extent of the varied and humorous programme.
Two young ladies of the household, dressed as nuns, then presented us with those curious and grotesque rag dolls—the invention of the natives—almost as large as real babies.
We had scarcely recovered from the effects produced on our risibles by the dolls, when the gens-d'armes entered bearing trays. On one, dainty little parcels were arranged, tied up most artistically in bright-colored silk handkerchiefs. The other contained lovely bouquets and boutonnières, and cornucopias of what we supposed to be sugar plums, but on our opening them proved to be hair-pins! The silken bundles enveloped the homely peanut and tojocotes, the most insipid fruit in Mexico.
Thus did our genial host keep us constantly amused and entertained with his rapid and ingenious transitions from the grand and gorgeous to the mirth-provoking and ridiculous.
One of the elegant courtiers who figured upon the stage, came to me at this moment stating that in the patio there was another posada of a still more interesting nature, and he wanted me to witness it. We there found assembled a crowd of excited children with the servants of the household, in addition to those who came with the guests, all eagerly enjoying the sport of breaking the piñate, which was in the form and about the size of a five-year-old girl. This figure was clothed in a white dress of some diaphanous material decked with tinsel; long black hair, plaited and tied with ribbon, hung down her back. Suspended by wires she swung in mid-air, calmly unconscious of the severe castigation in store for her. I was politely invited to join in the drubbing, but all my efforts failed to demolish her. When she finally became dismembered, I was presented with the legs to take off as souvenirs of the occasion.
On our return to the theatre we heard in the distance a peculiar music. As it approached, the unusual sounds were accounted for by the appearance of a band of forlornly dressed Aztecs with their ancient musical instruments, followed by a train of attendants of the same race. In the rear came a hand-wagon laden with boxes of bonbons, fruits and sweets. When this singular band entered the brilliantly illuminated theater, the contrast excited boundless merriment. Our host appeared at the door and was greeted with shouts, when he entered and made a humorous little speech. The Indians continued their ear-splitting strains in stolid impassivity, apparently quite unconscious of the grandeur of their surroundings. To look on their emotionless and expressionless faces would extract a smile from an Egyptian mummy.
At this juncture General Palacio whispered in my ear that very soon he intended to give an entertainment mas serio (of a more dignified nature), in order that I might witness in his own house every form of social life known to the capital. The Velada Literaria mentioned in the chapter on Mexican Literature, will give some idea of the elegance of this convivial reunion.
The scenes were interspersed with dancing, and now the witching strains of the danza again rose from the orchestra, and away went the gay señoritas and caballeros, responsive to its intoxicating measures.
This ended, again the curtain rose and our eyes were greeted by the representation of statuary by several of the gentlemen guests. Their superb physique, clad in stockinet, posed in the most graceful manner, imitated to perfection the sculptured forms of the {{w:Dying_Gaul|Dying Gladiator]], Brutus and the Conspirators, and many other classic and historical groups.
A señorita then entered, dressed in one of the prettiest costumes of the country, called La china Poblana[1] Nothing could have
been more striking and brilliant or more becoming to her dark, rich beauty. A bright crimson skirt, embroidered with white, reached partly to the waist, where it was supplemented by an upper portion of green. The bodice was simply a white chemise, exquisitely wrought, leaving neck and arms bare. Around her form was twined in graceful fashion a silken rebozo, combining in its gay stripes the national colors which marked the rest of her costume. Green slippers were on her dainty feet, and white silk stockings showed to where the petticoat began below the knee. She was a harmony in red, white, and green—a patriotic symphony.
She held one end of a long pole, while a friend, also in national costume, held the other. Dozens of pretty little baskets decked off with gay ribbons were suspended from the pole. Each guest was given one, nobody suspecting its contents, until a live chicken made its presence known by fluttering in its futile efforts to escape.
THE PRETTY CHINA POBLANA.
At that moment General Palacio appeared at the door, when the company greeted him with much applause, singing out, "Long live Riva, Riva Palacio!"
The next scene revealed to us a single carved column, surmounted by a richly ornate capital. It seemed singular, and we wondered what it meant after the splendid scenes we had just witnessed. Suddenly, as by magic, a swarm of mocking-birds emerged through the top of the column, each decorated with ribbons of the national colors, and fluttered through the hall.
Little shrieks of delight went up from the ladies, and all eagerly pursued the frightened birds, making captures. Order being restored, we turned our eyes again to the stage to behold the mysterious column slowly opening, revealing to our astonished vision exquisite articles of vertu, bric-à-brac, curios, and magnificent ornaments of every description, all glittering against a crimson background. These were distributed as regalos to the guests.
The entertainment closed with a grand finale. Upon the stage were assembled in one heterogeneous but effective tableau, gentlemen of the court, nuns. La bonita china Poblana, pages, flowers, silver, grotto, and, in the background, our genial host. This was the prelude to a recherché collation in the comedor grande.
Dancing was kept up until sunrise, but those of us who reluctantly withdrew were gently reminded by our host that we were expected to carry home our chickens.
On that glorious Mexican, moonlit night, with all our bundles, regalos, and chickens squawking at every step, we must have looked like the remnant of a Mardi Gras procession, as our figures were thrown full length on the broad street in exaggerated silhouette.
Posadas on so grand a scale are given in comparatively few houses. But the litanies, wax figures and procession are generally a part of the programme, varying according to means or taste.
Every night for more than a month, and for a month longer, at regular intervals, in this hospitable mansion, entertainments of various kinds were given—grand balls, dinners, and brilliant theatricals. My invitations were as numerous as the entertainments, where, whenever possible, I found myself, ever at home, an honored guest.
In rural districts, where posadas are not given, one of the chief Christmas recreations is the pastorela. This signifies an idyl, and is used symbolically to represent the announcements of the birth of Christ to the shepherds. A little girl dressed in white, with wings attached to her shoulders, represents the angel, while the shepherds are furnished with crooks, with which they beat time to their chanting. The infant Jesus, represented by a doll, is rocked in a cradle or swung from the ceiling, and on Christmas eve is baptized, the godfather and godmother being selected from the company.
This pastoral is much in use on the Rio Grande frontier, where there is a dearth of amusement, and generally among the plainer population. When practiced by the wealthy, it is enlarged upon until it assumes grand proportions. The pastorela begins sometimes a week or more before Christmas.
The Feast of the Epiphany, known in Mexico as the Fiesta de los Tres Reyes (Feast of the Three Kings), which comes on the 6th of January, has connected with it an interesting social event. This is known as the Bailé de los Compadres. It is not so commonly observed now as formerly, but is none the less interesting.
A coffee cake is made, in which is placed a bean, and at the dinner which follows mass on that day this cake is placed under a napkin and then cut by some one of the guests. The one who gets the bean is known as king; if a woman, queen. If the former, he drops the bean into the glass of the lady whom he selects as queen. If a lady gets the bean, the same process is gone through, with the difference of sex in the selection. They embrace à la Mexicano, becoming at once compadres. The king makes the queen a present, and must also give a ball within the month of January.
At the ball the names of all the ladies are put into a hat and the gentlemen draw. The lady whose name the gentleman draws becomes his compadre for the evening, and much merriment follows.
El Candelario, or the feast of Candlemas, comes on the 2d of February. It commemorates the purification of the Virgin, and is the occasion on which the candles are blessed and consecrated, to be used the ensuing year, in extreme illness, death, earthquakes, and thunder-storms.
The day is celebrated at Tacubaya in a novel way. The streets are filled with gambling booths, where all kinds of games of hazard are played by the common people; not only by the men, but women also of every age yield to this fascinating pastime.
On the 5th of February the Church celebrates the death of Mexico's only martyr, San Felipe de Jesus. He was martyred in China, and his baptismal urn stands in a wooden frame in the cathedral beside the tomb of the Emperor Iturbide.
The carnival season comes with its throngs of gay, promiscuous maskers, but without a representation of our King Comus. Some of these are said to represent the spies sent out by Herod in search of Christ; if so, they seem to enjoy themselves amazingly.
Lent is duly observed, especially by ladies, who perambulate the streets dressed in black, on their way to and from church. At this time the Zocalo has two of its sides adorned with booths and rustic tents, in which various delicious drinks are sold by captivating Indian maidens. In accord with the season fewer toys are sold in the streets, but as the people pass they halt to partake of a drink of aqua de chia, aqua de pina and orchata.
On Palm Sunday large quantities of palm, plaited in every imaginable form and tied with ribbons, are taken to the church and blessed. They are then placed on the iron rods outside the windows to protect the house from lightning or any other dread calamity.
During Holy Week, bells, organs and choirs utter not a sound, the stores are closed, and the world has a holiday. On Holy Thursday it is customary for both ladies and gentlemen to turnout in their new suits. The ladies appear in handsome toilets, the result of weeks of labor for the dressmakers, while the gentlemen display a corresponding industry on the part of the tailors.
Good Friday sees an entire change. The whole republic is in mourning, and the smiling faces of yesterday are superseded by downcast eyes and sober mien, as the vast concourse of people pass silently on their way to church.
In the afternoon is celebrated the feast of the Tres Caídas (Three Falls), which commemorates the three falls Christ suffered on his way to Calvary. After each fall the priest preaches a short sermon. Then follows the ceremony of the Tres Horas (Three Hours), when the scenes of the Crucifixion are represented in pantomime and with effigies. On the evening of the same day there is a service called pesame, a visit of condolence to the Virgin on the death of her Son.
The last day of Holy Week, Sabado de Gloria, or Saturday of Glory, is devoted to the death and disgrace of Judas. Effigies of the traitor are hung all over the streets, and, being filled with powder, burst as they fall to the ground. This catastrophe is celebrated by the rattling of myriads of matracas, wooden rattles, that make the head ring, mingled with the shouts of the populace.
Numerous and grotesque paper effigies hung across many of the most prominent streets, and the Judases, filled with bamboos of powder, were tied to the balconies, roofs of buildings, and lamp-posts. Many of them had silver coins pasted upon them, representing the thirty pieces of silver for which Judas sold Christ. When the Judases burst, the eager crowd gathered up the coins and then proceeded to tear into shreds the effigies, in order to avenge the treachery of Judas.
On the 16th of April, the annual Fiesta de las Flores (Floral Festival) is inaugurated on the Viga Canal. None of the feasts of the capital affords more pleasure to its citizens. The paseo is deserted, while the boulevard beside the Viga is enlivened with hundreds of elegant equipages filled with the élite of the capital, as well as pedestrians and horsemen, who repair thither to witness the festival of the Indians. The canal itself is literally overspread with boats large and small, some with a covered space in the middle and a deck at each end, all manned by swarthy Indians. Indian women and girls in their well-befitting costumes, with wreaths of poppies on their heads, and garlands around their necks, guitar in hand, sing in every imaginable key the madrigals of their people, dancing as they go. On the shore the best bands play, and the same scene of animation is presented for days.
The 24th of June is the Fiesta de San Juan Bautista (St. John the Baptist), the patron saint of all bathers. This is a day on which the Catholic world of Mexico bathes and puts on clean clothes.
Small boys dressed up as miniature soldiers, with imitation swords and guns, parade the streets, making an animated scene. It is a holiday that any mortal who cares for St. John may enjoy inexpensively.
A legend received by the common people has it that ablutions made in honor of the Herald of the Saviour "give beauty to the maiden, vigor to the matron, and freshness to the old maid."
Regardless of the truth of this, the bathing establishments everywhere are liberally patronized on this day. Such pushing, jostling, screaming, and lofty tumbling as these devotees of St. John do, is enough to call forth tears from the Mexican Mars.
The public is entertained with as much freedom as though it were a bull fight, and it shows a generous appreciation in long and continued applause. In one tank one hundred and fifty or more bathers may be seen at once, throwing themselves head first, diving and swimming, or standing half submerged, or perhaps jumping from the spring-board.
To all these gyrations add the screams of the multitude, the shrieks of the bathers, and the people on shore selling a thousand and one articles beneath the rays of a scorching sun, to complete the scene. Though many pursuits and avocations are carried on, the dominating and supreme desire of the crowd is to get wet.
This feast of water costs but a real, and on that day the populace shows its appreciation of the opportunity for so insignificant a sum to be made wet from crown to sole.
Superb masses, probably not surpassed anywhere in the world, are celebrated for the dead. A very grand occasion of this kind was when the Spanish Colony honored their dead king at the Profesa Church. This was the most imposing church service that I witnessed. The interior attested the faultless taste of the decorator. An immense catafalque stood in the center with white and silver drapings. The bust of Alphonso was wreathed in immortelles, the whole surrounded by the arms of Spain. Columns were draped with black and great black streamers were suspended from the dome and gracefully festooned from the altars. Wax candles of remarkable size and length were lighted all around and throughout the church, while clouds of incense floated over all. Each one in the large congregation was provided with a candle two feet in length. The music, both orchestral and choral, was grand. Chairs were provided for all, and the floor was handsomely carpeted. The best of society was represented, and I never saw a more elegant assemblage, all in deep black. President Diaz with his cabinet occupied seats near General Jackson and his friends, so there was a commingling of nationalities as well as of tears on that day.
Funeral cards are elaborate both in style and diction. The following will give an idea of the forms in general use:
"Died yesterday at half-past twelve, Señorita Dolores Garcia. Her mother, brothers, and relatives, in informing you of this sad event, beg that you will lift your prayers to the Eternal for the repose of her soul, and be kind enough to attend her funeral, which will take place to-day at four o'clock at the Church of Santa Vera Cruz."
The sending of cards or letters of condolence follows, as a matter of course, and where families have an extensive circle of acquaintances, every day in the week finds them writing to their afflicted friends.
Below will be found another still more poetic in its language, which was sent me upon the death of the gentleman named, who was the father of Señor Alberto Bianchi, the well-known author and journalist:
A la sombra del árbol santo de la Cruz, ayer á las ocho de la noche, voló al seno de su Criador el alma del
SR. D. ALBERTO BIANCHI
( PADRE).
Sus atribulados hijos piden para él oraciones á la piedad de sus hermanos en Jesucristo.
(Translation.)
Under the shade of the holy tree of the Cross, yesterday at eight o'clock at night, ascended to the bosom of his Creator, the soul of
SR. D. ALBERTO BIANCHI
(FATHER).
His afflicted children ask for him prayers from the piety of his brethren in Jesus Christ.
The wearing of mourning is universal, not only for near relatives, but also for friends. A young lady dies, her companions don the somber garb for thirty days; if the father or mother of the girl should die, it is worn for fifteen days. By this time some other relative or friend may die, when the custom is again in force, and may be indefinitely prolonged. During all this time they seclude themselves from society. On visiting a house of mourning, likewise, custom prescribes a black dress; and for these ever-recurring occasions mourning costumes are an essential part of every lady's wardrobe.
Ladies do not attend funerals, but visits of pésame (regret) are made immediately after death, and for nine days those who cannot call send letters or cards of condolence.
The national feasts are those of the 16th of September and the 5th of May. Differences of opinion may exist upon every other subject; but on those days, the former recalling the grito (call) of Hidalgo for Independence, and the latter the victory of the Mexicans over the French at Puebla, all hands and hearts are united in giving them a fitting and enthusiastic welcome.
Courtship is something of a serious matter as undertaken under Mexican auspices. The probation may extend from five to ten years, or may even exceed that of Jacob, and at the end of this period the devoted Romeo has perhaps never entered the house—possibly not even spoken to his Juliet. Patience is a virtue all possess; and as time is of no consequence, they content themselves with waiting for something in the future. The lover walks slowly back and forth before her house for hours at a time, days and nights alike. Perhaps it is from this fact that he assumes the unromantic appellation of haciendo el oso (playing the bear). He may also play the bear on horseback, and his "ladye faire" knows by intuition when he will pass, and, securely screened from public gaze remains behind the curtain on the balcony and merely shows her head or salutes him with her finger-tips. She goes to church or on the plaza, sure that he is not far away, and though they do not speak, a glance or smile each day is worth a life-time. But frequently tiny billets doux find their way to the angel upstairs, by means of strings, and the family is none the wiser.
LOVE-MAKING FROM THE BALCONY.
I remember to have seen one young man "playing the bear" until my deepest sympathies were enlisted in his behalf. Day by day he repaired to the same spot, on the corner of the street opposite my window, at No. 6 la Primera de la Providencia. For months the trying business had gone on, until he was reduced to a mere skeleton, and his hollow eyes had that expectant expression which marks the victim of love in Mexico. So interested was I that I determined to know something of the fair creature to whom the luckless swain was yielding up his mental, moral and physical strength.
The father of the girl was so much opposed to the match, the young man being only a medical student, he forbade his going nearer than two squares of the house.
Having seen the effect of "playing the bear" on this lover, I was curious to see how the girl sustained the ordeal. Directed by his fixed and steady gaze upon the house, I found her standing on the balcony with only her head visible. Her eyes were fixed on him, and now and then the dainty little hand made motions towards him. After a few months thus spent, the poor fellow disappeared from the corner, which was perhaps the end of their love-making.
I was told by several English-speaking Mexicans that the larger proportion of the young men of the country greatly prefer "playing the bear" from the sidewalk, to entering the homes of the señoritas, even if permitted by custom.
I witnessed the opposite of this in the case of a young Mexican girl who had been reared by an American sister-in-law. Lupe was pretty and attractive, and naturally at an early age was the recipient, from the young men who had come within sight of her, of numerous bearish favors; but two of them, Fernando—— and Julio——; became more deeply enamored than the rest; but the sister was determined there should be no "playing the bear," so she invited the young men to call at the house. I have seen as many as ten or twelve in her parlor in one evening, all animated and interested—each one being only too pleased to take his turn at a few moments' conversation with the señorita.
But a dénouement, quite unexpected, came. One of the young men who had become desperately enamored of the girl, found he had a rival in one of his friends. A dispute arose, some of the boys espousing one side and the remainder the other, until bloodshed seemed inevitable. No case in chancery ever required more skillful diplomacy than this, calling for the good offices of at least half a dozen outside friends to adjust the matter and prevent a catastrophe. The rupture between the boys was never healed, but neither of them won the señorita. So, after all, perhaps it is better that they should have "bear playing" in order to win their wives. I confess that after witnessing these love affairs I was for once, as our latter-day politicians say, "on the fence," and quite as ready to fall on the "bear side" as on that of our less conventional, more modern love-making.
A Mexican lady related to me a method of courtship somewhat different. A señorita is sometimes made aware of the interest a young man takes in her, by being continually followed when walking along the street. In the course of time he writes a letter which he leaves with the portero, and it is always necessary to enlist the interest of these men by the bestowal of a little cash. She pays no attention to his first letters, but after a while she may perhaps notice his advances. He goes to the house each day and finds out her movements from the portero, governing himself accordingly. At last, accompanied by a responsible friend, he makes bold to call on the father and asks her hand in marriage. Then the father asks the girl if she is willing to marry the young man. She replies she cannot say until she has met him. When at length he calls, every member of the family, and even the servants, have the privilege of being present. After this, he is the novio oficial (accepted lover), but even if the marriage be postponed six months or as many years, he is never left alone for a moment with his fiancée.
Once admitted as novio oficial, it may be imagined that the fervor of his devotion will find vent in many lover-like expressions. As indicative of their warm, poetic imagination and passionate Southern nature, I append a few of the most characteristic of these phrases as used by both sexes:
|
The señorita is not intentionally, or by nature, a flirt. She would scorn to inveigle in her meshes the affections of her admirer. But, in addition to her irresistible eyes, there are certain little social and toilet graces which she unconsciously employs in a most expressive manner that never fail to bring him to her feet.
The most effectual and indispensable toilet accessory is the fan. Of every size, style, and color, it is often an expensive item in a fashionable lady's outfit. When manipulated by the fair owner— opened wide and waved in graceful challenge, raised to eyes or lips in witching coquetry, or even when peacefully folded in jeweled fingers—its language is varied and expressive.
Great care and attention is bestowed upon the pañuelo (handkerchief), which plays, too, an important part, second only to that of the fan.
For a young man of moderate means, matrimony is a serious undertaking. He not only furnishes the house and home, but the bridal outfit as well. But in some of the wealthier families parents furnish the greater part of the latter themselves, restricting the purchases of the groom elect to perhaps the bridal dresses, the jewels, and other accessories. An ivory-covered prayer-book is an indispensable offering from the groom. The bridal tour is one expense from which he is now exempt, but as facilities for travel increase, perhaps in the near future, this item may be added to his already long list of expenditures. I believe the event of matrimony is no less troublesome than the long and tedious courtship. The war of reform made three marriage ceremonies necessary. Two months before, the young people must register at the cathedral, giving date of birth, in what city or country, vocation, etc., whether widow or widower. After this, the priest registers the same at the civil office, and their intentions must be placed on a bulletin board outside the office for twenty days. For five Sundays the priest publishes the bans. After this, accompanied by the notary public, he goes to the house of the bride, where she is asked if she acts of her "own free will and accord," and other necessary questions are put with as much freedom as though the subject were a transfer of real estate. A few days prior to the church wedding, the judge of the court, accompanied by six witnesses, the priest being one, performs the civil marriage. The dress worn on this occasion is presented by the groom.
I witnessed a church wedding at "Santa Brigida," and the Mexican ceremony is a pretty one. The groom passed many coins through the hand of the bride, indicating that she is to handle and control the household funds. They knelt at the altar with lighted candles in their hands, emblematical of the Christian faith, and a silken scarf was placed around their shoulders, after which a silver cord was put around their necks, and the ceremony was complete.
An American who contracts marriage in Mexico, regardless of faith or creed, must have three ceremonies—two in Spanish, and one more in either English or Spanish. This is the invariable rule even when marrying his countrywoman. He must, besides, make public notice of his intention by having it announced on a bulletin board for twenty days. He may evade or escape the latter by the payment of a sum of money—it is said from $60 to $150; but in any event, he must have resided one month in the country. The three ceremonies consist of a contract of marriage—civil marriage, the only one recognized by law since 1858—and the church service, which is not compulsory with Americans, and may be celebrated in their own homes. The first two must take place before a judge, and four witnesses, at least, including the American Consul. The contract of marriage includes a statement of names, ages, lineage, business, and residence of the parties. The ceremony of the civil marriage—the legal one—is always in Spanish.
The length of time required for the completion of one of these marriage arrangements may be from one or two days to three months, as the parties understand facilitating such matters. But once such a knot is tied, it would be a difficult task to have it loosened by even the expert fingers of a Chicago lawyer.
Weddings are not generally widely announced. Intimate friends are invited to the marriage in the church, and afterward participate in the festivities that follow at the house. After the wedded pair are established in their own home, they send cards which read:
"Tirso Calderon y Julia Hope
tienen el honor de participar á Vd. su enlace, y se ofrecen a sus ordenas en la casa, numero 6 a de la primera Providencia" ("have the honor to inform you of their marriage, and their house as above mentioned is at your service"). In other words, you are considered a friend of the newly-wedded pair, and they will be happy to see you in their house.
Cards announcing a birth are thus expressed:
"Tirso Calderon y Señora
tienen el gusto de participar á Vd. el nacimiento de su hijo, y lo ponon a sus ordenes" which means, in few words, that this gentleman and his wife have the pleasure of announcing the birth of their son, and place him "at your orders." Baptism occurs within ten or fifteen days after birth, and, as is customary in the Catholic Church, children bear the name of some saint. Birthdays are not noticed, but the celebration of the dia de santo, or day of the saint for whom the child is named, is the most important event in his life. Cards are sent announcing the baptism thus:
having a seal upon it, either of ten cents in silver or a one dollar gold piece.
When ten or fifteen days old the infant is taken in charge by the padrinos (godfather and godmother), and after much elaborate preparation is carried to the church and baptized. These godparents are called comadre and compadre by the child's parents, in preference to their legitimate names.
The names of children of both sexes are identical, by simply changing the termination of a or o, and often even this is not done. José Maria is the same for both, but Pomposa is the feminine for Pomposo.
Within a reasonable time a great dinner follows, at which many handsome gifts are displayed for the young innocent. Cards of congratulation are sent, if nothing more, but more frequently it is some delicious article of food or drink, or a piece of jewelry.
Social usages show no signs of change or relaxation, even with the advancement so manifest in every other direction. Many of them may seem formal and useless—based on the tedious Spanish etiquette—but they are not without charm as well as meaning; and in comparison with our own rather free and informal ways one might wish that a happy medium might be found. Many of the customs are admirable; and always the culture, ease, kindliness, and elegance with which they are observed must commend themselves to our brisk, business-loving and energetic countrymen.
Those agreeable features of American and English home life, informal luncheons, teas, and the unceremonious happening-in of a few friends to a "feast of reason and a flow of soul," or perhaps games and music, and whatever else may be, are wanting among the Mexicans. The merenda, a mid-afternoon luncheon, which takes place after the siesta, consists of a cup of chocolate or coffee with some sort of fancy cake or bread. It is the only small social feature of every-day life, and a friend may drop in and partake of it without ceremony. But they are happy in their own way, and a departure from it would be rather painful than otherwise. The love for pomp and ceremonious display leads them to discard simple and unostentatious entertainments, which makes a narrow limit to their social existence. Hence, if the wealthy indulge but seldom, those of less means, being unable to cope with them, though in comfortable circumstances, abstain from any, except on occasions of domestic festivals—christenings or weddings. But there are many smaller hospitalities which always prove acceptable. One is scarcely seated before being asked to have something, and generally delicious chocolate is served sin ceremonio.
A high estimate is placed on dress and external appearance. The taste for rich and gorgeous clothing belongs to them by heredity—Montezuma himself giving an example. We read of his mantle of the plumage of rare and brilliant-hued birds, his gold-embroidered clothing, that "his half boots were set with jewels, their soles being of solid gold;" and that he always allowed four days to elapse between the wearing of each suit.
In these latter days the taste displays itself in every way to be imagined, and they judge others from their own stand-point. Quickly is the dress of a stranger summed up, even before an impression has been made as to his face, being able to give a minute description of his clothes, even to the pocket-handkerchief and shoes, two articles of dress in which every Mexican takes pride.
To enter the higher strata of society, one must give external proof of his fitness by his dress. After this, his merits are duly weighed. The first appearance of a stranger, both in dress and manner, makes his future position. I have often been amused at seeing the very dignified and quiet manner in which the inspection is made, the distinguished invited guest never for a moment supposing himself a subject of scrutiny. But however incorrectly he may speak the language, under no circumstance will he encounter a smile, and he is kindly assisted in mastering its many difficulties.
The last decade—the period of railways—has marked a new era in dress, for even in the smaller cities and towns the people are leaving off to some extent the ancient styles of their progenitors and are donning the newer modes. The old-fashioned silks that stand alone, the laces and shawls, worthy heirlooms, have been relegated to the silent shades. Even the black lace mantilla is no longer used except for church. On Sunday mornings in the alamedas of all cities, hundreds may be seen, but the graceful devotees have already attended morning mass, and now the assembled sight-seers may view them in the national mantilla.
Later in the day, and on all other occasions, Parisian hats are worn. But the señorita is never so charming, so fascinating, so haloed by mystical romance, as when her glossy tresses are crowned with the graceful mantilla.
No people on the continent indulge more in the luxury of fine clothes than those of the Mexican capital. Here the votaries of wealth and fashion receive their toilets direct from Paris, from the king of dressmakers, M. Worth; while the men are fully up to the standard of either Europeans or Americans.
But the gentleman of ease and wealth, supported by the profits of his landed property, is one thing when in the city, clad in European dress, and quite another on his hacienda arrayed in the native garb he so delights in. The swarthy complexion takes on a different cast enhanced by color. The suit of cloth or buckskin, trimmed with a profusion of flashy silver ornaments, a red sash about the waist and full, loose tie at the throat, a gayly bedecked though very heavy sombrero, all go to make up a costume eminently becoming to the dark beauty of the wearer.
HACENDADOS.
Mounted upon his gorgeously caparisoned steed, whose equipments sometimes cost thousands of dollars, he presents a striking picture of a "gay cavalier."
No more charming feature exists in Mexican life than the brilliancy and variety of color in the costumes of the hacendado. The effect of this picturesque attire is most pleasing, not only from its intrinsic beauty, but also for the novelty to English and American eyes, accustomed only to dull, conventional garments worn alike by all our classes. May the hacendado never change his colors!
Sisters have a fancy for dressing exactly alike, so that not a button, hook, or article of jewelry varies. I have counted in one morning six of them promenading arm and arm and talking in a low, confidential manner.
The prevailing style of dressing the hair is the plaited coil low upon the neck and the crimped bang across the forehead. But fashionable society belles have long since adopted the more modern high coif. The men universally appreciate the value of exposing the entire brow, consequently their hair is invariably arranged à la pompadour.
Mexican gentlemen manifest their appreciation of feminine beauty by gazing intently at ladies whether in the Alameda or at the theater. This custom, which would be generally resented as impertinent by our fair ones, is there well understood and accepted, as it is meant—a flattering tribute to their charms. Between acts at the theater or opera the men rise to their feet and with leveled glasses pay admiring homage to the señoritas whose dark-eyed beauty has attracted their attention. The pretty language of the fan then comes into admirable play, and the maidens nod gently to each other in appreciation of the gallantries of these knights, and with blissful memories to carry away, the evening ends happily for all.
It has been said that the gallantry of these caballeros is rather wearisome and tedious, but I scarcely imagine that any lady of refinement could feel herself otherwise than honored at being the recipient of their courtly attentions. They are punctilious to the last degree in observing the most insignificant courtesies of daily life. If ascending a stairway accompanied by a lady, she always takes his arm, and in descending he precedes her a step or two, holding firmly her hand so as to avoid a misstep. This attention is even offered to strangers with as much naturalness and with far more regularity and promptitude than our own countrymen relinquish to us a seat in the streetcar.
In saluting ladies, gentlemen still observe the Spanish form, "A los pies de usted" ("at your feet"), the response to which is "Beso á usted la mano" ("I kiss the hand to you "). And in closing a letter they always add "B. S. M."—"Beso sus manos" ("I kiss your hands").
A few current complimentary phrases in society are: "Tan hermosa como siempre" ("As charming as ever"): "Es Vd.[2] muy simpática" ("You are very captivating"); "Soy su mas humilde servidor" ("I am your most humble servant"); "Puedo tenor el gusto de bailar con Vd. esta pieza?" ("May I have the pleasure of dancing this piece with you?") To this last remark the answer generally is, "Si, señor, con mucho gusto" (" Yes, with much pleasure"). Not to be outdone, the gentleman replies, "El gusto es para mi—cuanto honor, señorita!" ("The pleasure is mine—what honor, Miss").
On retiring from a visit, as long as in sight, the salutation with the hand, the bow, the "A los pies de usted, señorita" are continued, until one feels as if transported to the days of chivalry.
All Mexican cities have their social organizations, which on one evening in each month give a handsome ball that is attended by the élite of society. With all their tropical embellishments, growing plants, and sparkling water from the fountains in the patio, singing birds, brilliant flowers, and salons of grand proportions and magnificent furnishings, added to the elegant costumes of the guests, it makes a delightful event in the lives of the people and an enviable one for the stranger.
But dancing is an inherited accomplishment with the native Mexican, the younger members of society learning from those more experienced in the ways of the world. Grace and ease of movement are inseparable in the Mexican make-up, but nevertheless as a rule they do not dance as gracefully as one would expect. Teachers of Terpsichorean art have not, from some cause, with their divine talents, penetrated that country. But unquestionably they will follow in the wake of railways and other attendant comforts and perhaps give a strong contest for precedence over the time-honored customs.
The danza is the most distinctively national of all the dances, and bears a strong resemblance to the Habanero, as known in Cuba. Its slow and rather pathetic music, played by native musicians on national instruments, renders this dance fascinating to both natives and strangers. The latter find some difficulty in catching the time, but a little practice soon makes them perfect.
Beyond all things it is a boon to the Mexican lover, for it is only when treading its slow, dreamy measures that he can without restraint convey to the dark-eyed darling of his heart the thousand tender utterances that glow afresh at every motion. They can with propriety dance together every danza on the evening's programme and excite no comment.
The danza, though resembling in some respects our waltz-quadrille, differs greatly from it in many essential features. The "sets," if they may so be termed, consist of but two couples. The first figure is a "ladies' change;" next, the lady with her right hand on the gentleman's left shoulder and his arm around her waist, the couples balance four times to each other; then, joining hands, they again balance, go partly round a circle, then back again, after which they waltz away. This waltz may be continued ad libitum, the waltzers pausing at any moment in their revolutions to go through the same graceful maneuvers with any other couple similarly disposed. They generally make a point of not dancing twice with the same couple during one danza.
In a country so favored by climate, the stranger is early impressed by the limited amount of outdoor amusements in which the women participate; in lawn parties, picnics, or riding they rarely indulge. The men are understood, of course, to ride almost unceasingly, but señoritas, though graceful equestriennes, seldom do. At the capital riding is more frequent than elsewhere, and some of the most bewitching beauties—whom Hebe herself might envy—I saw on horseback enjoying the lovely environs of Mexico.
I recall a gay party of twelve señoritas near Tacubaya, ambling along on the broad avenues lined with great trees which stretched out their friendly arms to ward off the scorching rays of the sun. With navy blue and plum-colored habits, big white straw sombreros, their horses handsomely equipped after the fashion of the country, they made a striking picture. Two brothers and three mozos attended them, and they laughed and had a good time. The tamalada is an outdoor diversion somewhat corresponding to our picnics. It usually occurs in the afternoon, in some quiet wood or beautiful garden, and begins with dancing, which is kept up throughout the afternoon and evening. The refreshments are tamales, after which the entertainment is named—atole de Ieche and chongas. The latter is simply sliced bread with piloncilla (syrup made from brown sugar) and grated cheese thickly spread over each piece, the whole arranged in pyramid form, and is a most delicious dish. A dia de campo (day in the country) with a gay tamalada party, is a most agreeable recreation. Pity that it occurs so rarely!
One of the most brilliant national and social events at the capital in which I had the pleasure of participating was the annual distribution of prizes, on the night of January 30th, to the cadets of the Military Academy, at Chapultepec.
The National Theater, where it took place, was gorgeously decorated with banners, streamers, and military emblems. Flowers were everywhere—wreathing the cannon which lined the entrance, surrounding trophies of war, combining with the white moss of Chapultepec and dark evergreens, in festoons from light to light—even cannon-balls reposed on them and bayonets were converted into bouquet-holders.
In the patio electric lights, in the form of stars, shed their white radiance over the scene and mingled with the lights from a thousand Chinese lanterns and Venetian lamps which swung between the flagdraped and flower-wreathed pillars.
The main entrance was lined with soldiers who, with the cadets, presented arms when President Diaz, accompanied by members of the Cabinet, entered and passed through to the great stage reserved for the presidential party and high army officers.
The interior of the theater presented a grand spectacle; every column was covered with national colors arranged diagonally; flags of all sizes and the ensign of the Republic were draped artistically on the walls and hung from every available point. Three hundred gay and gallant cadets were ranged with military precision on either side the grand aisle, forming a guard of honor, themselves the motive and main feature of the occasion.
Boxes were filled with people prominent in fashionable and public life, a central one being reserved for Madame Diaz. An excellent orchestra and pupils from the Institute for the Blind furnished the music.
The prizes were handed to the cadets by the President.
In the literary exercises poems appropriate to the occasion were read by Juan A. Mateos and Anselmo Alfaro, but the most noted was the official address delivered by the "Poet Laureate" of the Republic, Guillermo Prieto.
It would be a graceful compliment for the students of Chapultepec Military Academy to be invited to participate in our competitive inter-State or national drills.