CHAPTER X IN THE LAND OF THE AZTECS I beheld The imperial city, her far circling walls, Her garden groves and stately palaces, Her temples mountain size, her thousand roofs, -Madoc, 1, 6. FROM El Paso, Texas, on the Rio Grande, the run to Mexico City is twelve hundred miles. For a thousand miles the Mexican Central passes through an alkali desert, frightful in the desolation of its solitude and its pitiful sterility. For forty hours not a solitary tree was to be seen, nor blade of grass to cheer us. We shipped volcanic dust in bucketfuls, and when at last we entered the valley of Mexico, by brush and whisk we began to unload the real estate presented to us by the Mexican Central on the way. At Zacatecas all nature changed; around and towards us sloped the volcanic hills hoary with age, and worn with æons of time, atmospheric erosion and innumerable downfalls of sub-tropical rains. We passed through two hundred miles of a floral and vegetable paradise. Herds were browsing hoofdeep in the rich alfalfa grass; picturesque villages dotted the valley, and hundreds of acres of the maguey plant, from the juice of which pulque is distilled, added to the variety of the landscape. Pulque is the national drink of Mexico. The maguey plant is cultivated in fields, holding from three hundred and sixty to seven hundred plants. When extracted the liquid is like green water in appearance, and is odourless and tasteless. In a few hours it begins to ferment, and has the appearance of milk. The plant takes about eight years to mature, and produces for about five months, during which it yields three hundred and sixty gallons of pulque. From this plant is also distilled the alcoholic drinks, tequila and mezcal. In many of its features Mexico is unlike any city in the world. Its climate is superb. Its splendid parks, alamedas and gardens, its magnificent churches and palaces, the museums and galleries of paintings and statuary, the historic cathedral, the brown races, offspring of Spaniards and Mexican tribes, the strangely picturesque costumes and the dwarfed and tawny complexioned Indians who silently appear and disappear on the streets like apparitions, separate Mexico from all other cities and place it in a class by itself. The centre of activity in Mexico City is the Zocalo, the most interesting and historic spot in the valley of Mexico. It is the soul of the capital-a beautiful, oblong square upon which no less than nine of the principal streets of the city focus, all the street car lines converge, and crowds of loafers, strangers and busy people gather at all hours of the day and well into the night. Surrounded by the principal public buildings, it has been the scene of the most important events in Mexican history. All the riots and public demonstrations take place in the Zocalo. Here the wandering Aztecs saw in the heavens, in 1312, the cross, the symbolic sign of promise. Here, where now stands the great cathedral, they built their first temple, the colossal pantheon-Teocalli, they called it-where thousands of prisoners were sacrificed to the war god. Everybody passes there at least once, and often several times a day. If you want to meet a friend, all you have to do is to wait in the Zocalo and he will be sure to turn up sooner or later. Standing in the centre of the plaza, you are surrounded by historic monuments. Directly in front are the towers of one of the greatest cathedrals in the world. The east tower marks the western boundary of the Aztec temple dedicated to the god Tlaloc. To the right is the National Palace built on the site of the home of Montezuma. To the left is the City Hall, where once stood the Aztec Hall of Assembly. The Zocalo is always full of peddlers, beggars, and pickpockets, and here let me add that the Mexican pickpocket takes no back seat from any man of his profession in the world. He is, as Horace says of the poet, born, not made. He comes, and, like a ghost, disappears, and your watch vanishes with him. As a sleight-of-hand artist he has no equal on the continent of America. He is well-dressed, inoffensive, noiseless, and when he touches you there is no sensation. The Thieves' Market is one of the sights and institutions of the city. Two blocks west of the Zocalo is a large square filled with booths, hucksters' shops, and stalls. This is the Thieves' Market, where the dishonest servant may dispose of his petty thefts, and the sneak thief who has "swiped" an umbrella may find a purchaser and no questions asked. The expert pickpocket never enters the precincts of the Thieves' Market; he disposes of his spoils by private sale or at the Monte de Piedad, the national pawnshop. This institution occupies a large space on the western side of the plaza, opposite the cathedral, where once stood the great palace of Montezuma, where the unhappy emperor was taken by Cortez. After the conquest Cortez made the palace his headquarters. The pawnshop was founded in 1776 by Pedro Romero, Count of Regala, and owner of the famous mines of Real Monte. His idea was to open a place where any one could borrow money at a very low rate of interest and be saved from the usurious charges of pawnbrokers and money loaners. He endowed it with $300,000. So low are the charges that it is really a boon to the people. When the trifling interest is not paid the articles are sold, and whatever remains over from the fixed charge is returned to the original owner. It is an immense establishment, one of the most noted institutions of Mexico, and has survived many seasons of financial depression. A few minutes' walk from the Zocalo brings you to the Alameda, the Queen's Park of Mexico City, a masterpiece of landscape gardening. I know of nothing of the kind in America to compare with it. There are only forty acres, but these acres represent the application of Mexican art to the development of natural resources. The metallic castings of mythological designs, the bewildering variety of flowers, ferns, giant palms, and tropical plants, the glorietas-circular spaces with fountains in the centre-the cypress-rimmed promenades converging to a common centre, and the perfume of southern roses tempt one to return again and again to this terrestrial paradise. On Sundays and feast days it becomes a theatre of a most brilliant and fashionable assemblage. Bright coloured awnings are raised over the wide walks, chairs are placed on both sides, and at twelve o'clock the crowds begin to gather. A military band lends éclat to the occasion, and at one o'clock the promenades are a kaleidoscope of moving colours. There are many fine streets in this city, though they are not all Mexican. It resembles Brussels more than any ot ser city, and while it is not laid out on any particular plan one may easily find his way through it. One has to go into the narrow, crooked streets or visit the huge markets to find the real Mexican characteristics. Unfortunately the private residences now going up are built upon plans similar to those of Paris, and there are long blocks of apartment houses arranged upon the French plan. However, the palatial residences of the wealthy Mexicans of the past were built to last, and Mexico |