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The Alameda.[8]—The Paseo of Bucareli.

There are few towns in Mexico which can not boast of having an Alameda; and, as generally happens in the capital city, that of Mexico is decidedly the finest. There is no promenade of this sort in Paris. Hyde Park in London most nearly resembles it. The Alameda of Mexico forms a long square, surrounded by a wall breast high, at the bottom of which runs a deep ditch, whose muddy waters and offensive exhalation mar the appearance of this almost earthly paradise. An iron gate at each of its corners affords admission to carriages, horsemen, and pedestrians. Poplars, ash-trees, and willows bend their branches over the principal drive, and afford a leafy shade to the occupants of the carriages and equestrians for whom this beautifully level road is appropriated. Alleys, converging into large common centres, ornamented with fountains and jets d'eau, interpose their clumps of myrtles, roses, and jasmines between the carriages and the pedestrians, whose eyes can follow, through the openings in those odoriferous bushes, the luxurious equipages and prancing steeds caracoling round the Alameda. The noise of the wheels, muffled by the sand on the drive, scarcely reaches the ear, mingled as it is with the murmur of the water, the sighing of the wind through the evergreen leafage, and the buzzing of bees and humming-birds. The gilded carriage of the country and the plain European chariot are continually passing each other, and the gaudy trappings of the Mexican horses contrast strongly with the unaffected plainness of the English saddle, which wears a shabby appearance in the midst of this Oriental luxury. The ladies of fashion have laid aside for the promenade the saya and mantilla, to wear dresses which are only six months behind the last Parisian mode. Stretched in dreamy languor on their silk cushions, they allow their feet, the pride and admiration of Europeans, to remain in shoes, alas! ill fitted for them. The sorry appearance of their feet is hidden when in the carriages, through the open window of which you can only see their diadems of black hair, decorated with natural flowers, their seductive smile, and their gestures, in which vivacity and listlessness are so pleasingly blended. The fan is kept in a perpetual flutter at the carriage window, and speaking its own mysterious language. Swarms of pedestrians present a spectacle not less piquant; and the sad-colored garments of the Europeans are seen less frequently here than the variegated costumes of America.

After taking a few turns, the carriages quit the Alameda, the horsemen accompany them, and the whole crowd saunters carelessly past a strongly-grated window, which hangs over the path you must traverse before reaching a promenade called the Paseo of Bucareli.[9] One can hardly tell what hideous scenes are daily exhibited there behind this rusty iron grating, not two paces from the most fashionable promenade in Mexico: this is the window of the Mexican Morgue, where the dead bodies are exposed. Justice only displays her anxiety at the moment when the dead bodies of men and women are thrown together in one promiscuous heap on its floor, some half naked, others still bleeding. Every day there is a new succession of victims. As for the Paseo, which is close to this melancholy exhibition, its only attractions are a double row of trees, a few stone seats for the use of pedestrians, and three fountains overloaded with detestable allegorical statues. At this spot you catch a glimpse of a part of the country seen from the towers of the Cathedral; the two snow-covered peaks of the volcanoes with their canopy of clouds; the sierra shaded with its beautiful violet tints: lower down, the whitened fronts of several haciendas; and through the arches of a gigantic aqueduct you descry fields of maize, church domes and convents, almost always half hidden at the promenade hour in the mist which generally ascends at nightfall.

On the evening of the day on which I had witnessed the bull-fight, I found myself in a crowd of idlers who ordinarily cover the space between the Paseo and the Alameda. It was twilight; the lamps were about to be lighted, and pedestrians and carriages were severally wending their way homeward. It was Sunday. Noisily repeated by the numerous bells of the churches and convents, the toll of the Angelus rose high above the murmur of the crowd, of which one portion respectfully paused, while the other made its way like a torrent that nothing could resist. The last gleams of departing day glimmered through the grate of the Morgue, and lighted up feebly the victims who were lying promiscuously on the slabbed pavement, stained here and there with large patches of blood. Women, uttering the most piercing cries of sorrow, returned to the rusty grated window, though again and again pushed back by the soldiers. Their cries attracted the passers-by; some pitied them; others contented themselves with peering curiously in their faces. Kneeling before the grated window, his head uncovered, and the bridle of his richly-caparisoned horse in his hand, stood a man praying devoutly. From his costume you could easily see that he belonged to that opulent class of inhabitants of the Tierra Afuera, who disdain both the fashions and ideas of Europeans. His picturesque costume harmonized well with his manly and noble features. Above the right eyebrow of the stranger extended a long narrow scar. It was doubtless the handsome young cavalier whom Perico had that very morning described to me. Was he thanking God for preserving him from danger, or for loving and being loved? The question remained doubtful; besides, the emotions which gave rise to these conjectures were suddenly interrupted. Startled by the noise of the carriages, a refractory horse struck violently against a ladder, on the top of which a sereno (watchman) was lighting a lamp suspended from the walls of the barrack of La Acordada. The sereno fell from a height of fifteen feet, and lay motionless on the pavement. It would be easy to describe the feelings of the unfortunate horseman when he saw the poor fellow lying unconscious, and perhaps dangerously injured; for the cavalier, I must own, was myself; but I prefer telling what followed.

Every one is well aware of the benevolent feelings of the populace of great towns toward those who have the misfortune to be guilty of such sad accidents. It is impossible, however, to have an exact idea of the spirit of such a populace, in Mexico especially, toward a foreigner, which is there synonymous with a national enemy. Hemmed in, in spite of his mettle, amid a dense crowd of léperos, who were deliberating only what sort of punishment to inflict on the unhappy author of such a calamity, my horse was of no use to me. I could not help envying for an instant the fate of the sereno, insensible at least to the rude hustling of the crowd, who mercilessly trod him under foot. Fortunately, chance sent me two auxiliaries, on one of whom, at least, I was far from reckoning. The first was an alcalde, who, escorted by four soldiers, made his way through the crowd, and told me that in his eyes I was guilty of having caused the death of a Mexican citizen. I bowed, and said not a word. In compliance with the magistrate's orders, the still inanimate body of the sereno was placed on a tapestle (a kind of litter), always kept at the barracks for similar accidents; then politely inviting me to dismount, the alcalde ordered me to follow the litter on foot to the palace, which was not more than two paces from the prison. It may be supposed that I took good care not to comply at once with this invitation, and attempted to demonstrate to the alcalde that the exceptional case in which I stood nowise warranted such a procession. Unhappily, the alcalde was, like all his class, gifted with strong obstinacy, and replied to all my arguments only by insisting on the respect due to custom. I then thought of seeking among the spectators some one who might be security for me, and, very naturally, my eyes sought the place where I had seen the cavalier, who had, at first sight, inspired me with such interest; but he had disappeared. Was I then to be compelled to submit to the odious formality required by the alcalde? Chance at this moment sent me the second auxiliary of which I have spoken. This new personage, who interposed between me and the alcalde, was very jauntily dressed in a cloak of olive-colored Queretaro cloth, the skirt of which, thrown back, almost entirely hid his face. Through the numerous rents in his cloak appeared a jacket as dilapidated as his upper garment. Having, with great exertion, got through the crowd as far as the alcalde, this personage passed his hands through one of the holes in his cloak, and was thus able to touch the remains of a hat which covered his head without disarranging the folds of his cape. He courteously uncovered, while a few cigarettes, a lottery ticket, and an image of the miraculous Virgin of Guadaloupe remained sticking in his long black hair. I was not a little surprised in recognizing in this respectable townsman my friend Perico, whom I believed dead, and on the eve of being buried.

"Señor Alcalde," said Perico, "this cavalier is right. He committed the murder involuntarily, and he should not be confounded with ordinary malefactors; besides, I am here to become security for him, for I have the honor of his intimate acquaintance."

"And who will be security for you?" asked the alcalde.

"My antecedents," modestly replied the Zaragate, "and this cavalier," added he, pointing to me.

"But if you become security for him?"

"Well, I become security for this cavalier—he is security for me; you have, therefore, two securities for one, and your lordship could not be better suited."

I confess that, placed between the justice of the alcalde and the offensive protection of Perico, I hesitated an instant. On his side, the alcalde seemed scarcely convinced by the syllogism which Perico had enunciated with such barefaced assurance. I thought it best, then, to finish the debate by whispering to the alcalde my address.

"Well," he replied, on retiring, "I accept the security of your friend in the olive cloak, and will go immediately to your house, where I hope to find you."

The alcalde and his soldiers walked away; the mob remained as compact and threatening as before, but a shrill whistle and two or three gambols played by Perico soon caused him to be acknowledged by the people of his caste, who eagerly made way for him. The lépero then took my horse by the bridle, and I quitted this scowling rabble very uneasy about the termination of my adventure, and much depressed at the unfortunate event of which I had been the innocent cause.

"How comes it that I find you in such good health?" said I to my guide, when I had recovered a little my presence of mind. "I confess I thought your affairs in this world were forever wound up."

"God wrought a miracle specially for his servant," returned Perico, and he devoutly raised his eyes to heaven; "but it appears, señor, that my resurrection displeases you. You can conceive that, in spite of my strong desire to be agreeable to you—"

"Not at all, Perico; by no means; I am delighted to see you alive; but how was this miracle brought about?"

"I don't know," gravely replied the lépero; "only I was resuscitated so quickly as not only to resume my place among the spectators of the fight, but even to attempt another ascension. I had just been confessed and received absolution, and it was a capital opportunity for risking my life without endangering my soul. I wished to profit by it, and it brought me good fortune; for this time, although the bull gave me another pitch in the air with his horns, I fell on my feet, to the great delight of the public, who showered reals and half reals upon me. Then finding myself, thanks to you especially, with a tolerably well-lined purse, I thought it my duty to satisfy my love for dress; I went to a baratillo, and purchased this garb, which gives me quite a respectable appearance. You saw with what consideration the alcalde treated me. There is nothing like being well dressed, señor."

I saw clearly that the fellow had done me once more, and that his pretended agony, like his confession, had been only simulated for the purpose of getting more money out of me. I must confess, however, that my anger was disarmed at this moment by the comic dignity with which the lépero strutted about in his torn cloak all the time he was holding forth in this strange way. I determined to rid myself of company that was becoming troublesome to me, and said to Perico, with a smile,

"If I reckon accurately, your children's illness, your wife's confinement, and your own shroud have cost me little less than a hundred piastres; to release you of the whole debt will, I would fain hope, be a sufficient reward for the service you have rendered me. I will therefore return home immediately; and I again thank you for your kindness."

"Home, señor! What are you thinking about?" cried Perico; "why, by this time your house will be in the hands of the soldiers; they are seeking you among all your friends. You do not know the alcalde you have to do with."

"Do you know him, then?"

"I know all the alcaldes, señor; and what proves how little I deserve the surname bestowed upon me is, that all the alcaldes do not know me; but of all his fellows, the one in pursuit of you is the most cunning, the most rapacious, and the most diabolical."

Although I felt that this portrait was exaggerated, I was for a moment shaken in my resolution. Perico then represented to me, in very moving terms, the happiness his wife and children would receive by seeing their benefactor indebted to them for a night's lodging. Having a choice between two protectors equally disinterested, I allowed myself to be convinced by the one whose rapacity seemed most easily satisfied; I decided upon once more following the lépero.

Meanwhile, night came on; we traversed suspicious lanes, deserted places, streets unknown to me, and shrouded in darkness. The serenos (policemen) became more and more scarce. I felt myself hurried away into the heart of those dreadful suburbs where justice dares not penetrate; I was unarmed, and at the mercy of a man whose frightful confession I had just heard. Hitherto the Zaragate, I must confess, in spite of his crimes so unblushingly avowed, did not seem to me to stand out in glaring relief among a people demoralized by ignorance, want, and civil wars; but at that hour, amid a labyrinth of dark lanes, and in the silence of the night, my imagination gave fantastic and colossal dimensions to his picaresque figure. My position was a difficult one. To leave such a guide suddenly in this cut-throat quarter was dangerous, to follow him not less so.

"Where the devil do you live?" said I. The lépero scratched his head in answer. I asked him again.

"To say the truth," replied he at last, "having no fixed abode, I live a little every where."

"And your wife and children, and the night's shelter you offered me?"

"I forgot," replied the Zaragate, imperturbably; "I sent away my wife and children yesterday to—to Queretaro; but as for a lodging—"

"Is that at Queretaro also?" I asked Perico, discovering, when too late, that the wife and children of this honorable personage were as imaginary as his abode.

"As for shelter," added Perico, with the same impassible air, "you shall share that which I can procure for you, and which I find when my means won't admit of paying for a night's lodging, for heaven does not send us every day bull-fights and such like windfalls. Stop," said he, pointing with his finger to a glimmering light at a distance, which was reflected on the granite pavement; "that is perhaps what we are seeking for."

We advanced to the light, and soon perceived that it came from the lantern of a sereno. Wrapped in a yellow cloak almost as ragged as Perico's, the guardian of the night, squatted on the pavement, seemed to follow with his melancholy gaze the large clouds which flitted across the sky. At our approach he still kept his indolent position.

"Halloo! friend," said the Zaragate, "do you know of any velorio (wake) in this neighborhood?"

"Of course, a few cuadras from here, near the bridge of Eguizamo, you will find one; and if I did not fear some round of the Señor Regidor's, or found some good fellow to don my cloak and take care of my lantern, I would go with you to the entertainment myself."

"Much obliged," said Perico, politely; "we will profit by the information."

The sereno cast a look of astonishment at my dress, which was singularly out of keeping with Perico's.

"Gentlemen like that cavalier are little in the habit of frequenting such meetings," said the man of the police.

"This is a special case; this señor has contracted a debt which obliges him to spend the night elsewhere."

"That makes all the difference in the world," said the sereno. "There are some debts that one likes to be as long in paying as possible." And, hearing a church clock strike at a distance, the night-watch, troubling himself no more about us, cried out in a doleful tone, "Nine o'clock and stormy weather." He then resumed his former attitude, while the distant voices of the serenos answered him in succession through the silence of the night.

I resumed my melancholy march behind Perico, followed by my horse, which I led by the bridle, as, by the police regulations of Mexico, no one is allowed to ride through the streets after Angelus has rung, and I was unwilling to try another fall with the alcaldes. Shall I confess it? My curiosity was roused by the words of my guide, and I decided at this moment not to separate from him. I wanted to know what a velorio was; and this love of novelty, which finds so many opportunities of satisfying itself in Mexico, once more made me forget my troubles.

We had not walked ten minutes, till, as the sereno had told us, we came to a bridge thrown over a narrow canal. Some dilapidated houses bathed their greenish bases in the thick muddy water. A lamp which burned dimly before a picture of the souls in Purgatory threw its livid reflex on the stagnant water. On the terraces the watch-dogs bayed at the moon, which was sometimes hidden, sometimes fringed only by a movable curtain of clouds, for it was the rainy season. Except those doleful sounds, all was silent there as in the other parts of the town that we had traversed. The windows in the first story, brightly lighted up opposite the picture of the souls in Purgatory, were the only things remarkable in this double row of melancholy-looking huts. Perico knocked at the door of the house with the illuminated windows. They were rather long in coming; at last the door half opened, one of the leaves being fastened as usual by an iron chain.

"Who is there?" said a man's voice.

"Friends who come to pray for the dead and rejoice with the living," said Perico, without hesitation.

We entered. Lighted by the porter's lantern, we passed through a porch and entered an inner court. The guide pointed out to Perico an iron ring let into the wall. I tied my horse up by the bridle; we ascended some twenty steps, and I entered, preceded by Perico, a room tolerably well lighted up. I was at last going to learn what a velorio was.