Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 57, No. 355, May 1845

"Folly! d'ye call it?" he repeated.

"Yes, folly," laughed his wife; "I would style the Zambo 'your majesty,' if I wanted him." And she went on with her smoking and swinging. The Spaniard took a fresh cigar out of the mulatto's box, lit it, and soon enveloped himself and his cocked hat in a cloud of vapour.

The truce between the contending parties lasted several minutes, during which the Spaniard sat up in his bed without any other clothing than a flannel shirt and the cocked hat aforesaid, and his lady lay quiescent in her hammock. She was the first to break silence.

"Matanzas, you are an old fool," cried she, "and if I were Don Toro" —

"Don him no Dons!" interrupted her husband. "He has no right to them. Ah! oh!" groaned the suffering wretch. "No, never will we give to a miserable Zambo the title of Señor; we, whose ancestors were at the fight of Roncesvalles. And the dog expects that we should stand up on his entrance, as before a viejo Cristiano, and greet him as Señor!"

"The standing up might be dispensed with," rejoined the lady, "seeing that you are not able to do it."

"We call the Zambo Don!" reiterated the Spaniard, "and stand up on his entrance! Madre de Dios, what insolence! No, Señora, that shall never be," continued he with much solemnity. "By the Virgen de los Remedios, and the most excellent Sant Jago, that shall never be! Were we a thousand times as ill, and this Zambo could cure us by the mere touch of his staff, as Señor Don Moses did the Israelites – Doña Anna," said the man, with an assumption of immense dignity, "we would rather die a thousand deaths that call the Zambo Señor, or stand up before him. We are a viejo Cristiano, y basta! Enough! I have spoken."

During this declaration of his principles, the Spaniard's cigar had gone out; he lit another, pressed down his huge cocked hat deeper upon his forehead, took a long cross-hilted dagger from the wall, with the words, "Ven, mi querida Virgen!" and kissing the sacred emblem, laid it before him. Husband and wife had quarrelled themselves weary, and now remained silent.

The dispute seemed to have excited no interest in the saloon and mirador, where the young ladies were still lounging, yawning, and smoking; their features wearing that disagreeable relaxed expression which is frequently to be observed in the countenances of Mexican women. A moment, however, was sufficient to change the scene. The Señorita Ximene had gazed awhile, with the drooping underlip and careless glance of indifference, upon a number of persons who were coming up the Tacuba Street, and who, to judge from their garb, were for the most part members of the cinco gremios, the five guilds or handicrafts. On a sudden, however, her eyes lost their vague and languid look, and became fixed and sparkling; her lips were protruded as if inviting a kiss; her hand was extended, her mantilla fell, as of itself, into graceful folds – it was but an instant, and the damsel was completely transformed. Her two companions had scarcely remarked this change, when they in their turn underwent a like metamorphosis; their countenance became all animation, their manner fascination itself; they were no longer the same beings.

"Don Pinto y un superbo hombre!" whispered Ximene.

"Quien es? Who is it?" asked Celestine.

"No sé," replied the other two.

The whispering and commotion in the balcony had roused Doña Isidra from her state of indolent apathy. Her hair was already tressed and knotted; she now hastily slipped on a gown, darted through the folding-doors out upon the mirador, and clapped her hands together, uttering the words, "Venid, venid, querido!" Then tripping back into the saloon with her three companions, they all four seized the cords of variegated silk that hung down, as already mentioned, from the centre of the ceiling, which was full fifteen feet high. The waiting-maid had just had time to slip on Doña Isidra's basquina, and fasten her mantilla on the crown of her head, when the door opened, and Don Pinto, accompanied by another cavalier, entered the room.

The damsels were now picturesquely beautiful. No trace was visible of the dull apathy which, but two minutes before, had seemed to weigh them down. The yellow tint of their cheeks had become a glowing carnation; the thick-lipped, half-open mouth was closed with an arch expression, the eyes flashed fire; all was grace and seduction. The fascinating basquina, embellishing the full round form, and reaching down to the knees; beneath it the petticoat of light blue silk; the elegant folds of both garments, and the indescribable play of the mantilla, now half veiling, then revealing, the speaking, love-glancing eyes. It was an enchanting group, which acquired additional grace when joined by the two cavaliers, in their characteristic Mexican costume, embroidered jackets, and short cloaks. The girls bounded forward to welcome Don Pinto and his companion, a handsome young Creole; and with a "Venid, venid, senores!" offered them the two remaining cords. A hasty pressure of the hand, an ardent glance, and the dancers stood ready to begin.

"The Chica of Yucatan," whispered Don Pinto.

The maidens were all fire, glowing with eagerness. An Indian girl took up the guitar, and began to play the dance that had been asked for, accompanied by another on the Mexican instrument already described, which yielded tones hollow and tremulous, but yet melodious, somewhat resembling those of an harmonica. The dance commenced with a slow gliding step, the dancers holding the ropes with one hand, while with the other the ladies coquetted their mantillas. It was impossible to behold any thing more fascinating than their movements, as they glided past each other, their eyes flashing, mantillas waving, their full and graceful forms exhibiting the most enchanting contours. Presently the step changed, the movements became quicker, ladies and cavaliers more animated, crossing, circling, winding, quite unembarrassed by the cords, which they still held, and which, as they trode the complicated mazes of the dance, gradually formed themselves into a sort of network. As the ropes grew shorter, the movements of the dancers became necessarily more circumscribed, until at length the completion of the net brought them together into one panting, glowing, voluptuous group. For an instant they remained motionless, and the music ceased; but then again commencing, they retraced their steps through the complicated mazes of this most singular of dances, until the network they had so skilfully interwoven, was as skilfully and gracefully disentwined.

Y basta! as Don Matanzas says; for we cannot allow ourselves to follow our author any further in his somewhat glowing description of Mexican dances, the license of which appears to be in accordance with the unrestrained morals and manners of the people. We return then to Don Manuel, who cannot get over his remorse at having, under the influence of a generous but fleeting impulse, assisted the rebels against the troops of his rightful sovereign; and as his free-agency is in no way restrained by Gueréro, he leaves the patriot army and repairs to Mexico. Whilst endeavouring to obtain an interview with the viceroy's sister, Doña Isabella, he is discovered, apprehended, and thrown into one of the subterranean dungeons which extend under a considerable portion of the viceregal palace. On discovering the name of the prisoner, the viceroy, in pursuance of his designs on the immense wealth of the Conde de San Jago, resolves to make away with this, his nephew and heir. The great power and influence of the count, his popularity in Mexico, a popularity which is in some degree shared by his nephew, compel the viceroy to proceed with extreme caution in carrying out his design. While deliberating as to the best means to be employed, one of Don Manuel's servants, named Cosmo Blanco, is brought in a prisoner, and this circumstance suggests a plan to the plotting viceroy and his secretary and creature, Don Ruy Gomez. The servant is put out of the way in a dungeon, and his arrest not registered, while Don Manuel, under the name of Cosmo Blanco, is brought before a sort of arbitrary tribunal, which sits in the vaults adjoining the prison. Despairing and half frantic, the unfortunate young nobleman takes no note of the name under which he is arraigned, confesses all the charges brought against him, and implores that the punishment, which he acknowledges himself to have merited, may be immediate. He is condemned to death; but, before the sentence can be executed, his real name gets wind, and great alarm is excited even amongst the very judges and officials who have had to do with his capture and condemnation, as to what the consequences of his death may be. Already have two of the alguazils who apprehended him, been stabbed in the open street; there is a rumour and a murmur throughout the city of Mexico, which bodes no good. Nevertheless the viceroy holds firm, trusting to his Spanish bayonets to keep down rebellious demonstrations, and to his assumed ignorance of Don Manuel's identity to bear him harmless with Count San Jago. It is a critical time; the hour appointed for Manuel's death draws near; the Count, apparently unaware of his nephew's peril, has made no visible effort to rescue him; when, by a boldly devised and rapidly executed scheme, which several Spanish officials are induced by their fears either to aid or connive at, the viceroy's secretary, who has been commissioned to witness the secret execution of Don Manuel, is deceived, and the young Creole's life saved. We will extract the chapter in which this occurs, and the one that precedes it. The action of them both passes in the prisons beneath the viceregal palace.

Chapter the Forty-First

"I'll see if his head will stand steadier on a pole or no: – Take him away, and behead him." —King Henry VI.

Don Penafil, alcalde of the right worshipful cabildo or town-council of Mexico, was in the act of raising a glass of sangaree to his lips, when the chief alguazil entered the vault and informed him that his excellency the Oidor of the Audiencia wished to speak with him. Setting down his glass, he looked searchingly at the messenger.

"His excellency wishes to speak with us? Shall be at his service as soon as we have finished with this rabble. Will cut it short; Don Ferro," added he to his coadjutor, who was busily writing, "how far have we got?"

"No. 4," answered the escribano.

"Bring up No. 4," growled a voice at the further end of the vault, and a hoarse laugh was heard, although the person who uttered it still remained invisible. The lower part of the vault was gloomy, being only lighted by glimmering lamps that hung on either side of a pillar, and shed a misty imperfect gleam over surrounding objects. In various recesses, dark figures might be seen lurking in the gloom, as if they shrank from observation. Some of them were lying stretched upon stone benches, wrapped in sheep-skin garments, and snoring loudly. Here and there, iron hooks protruded from the massive walls, over which the damp was trickling in thick heavy drops. The whole aspect of the place was dismal and terrible. On the upper portion of the vault, which was raised a couple of steps above the lower part, from which it was separated by a bar, more care had been expended. It was wainscoted, the floor was covered with mats, and furnished with cushioned chairs. Its appearance, however, was still rude enough, but by no means out of keeping with that of the two hard-featured and surly officials by whom it was occupied.

During the pause that ensued after No. 4 had been called out, the chief alguazil held a brief conversation with the alcalde, the effect of which seemed to be greatly to increase the impatience of the latter.

"Muerte y infiernos!" exclaimed he violently.

"Vengo! vengo!" replied a voice, accompanied by the rattle of chains, and then, supported between two grim-looking executioner's aids, an enfeebled and wretched object was dragged forward, and placed at the bar.

"Your name is Andres Pachuca?" asked the alcalde sharply.

The prisoner, a youth some twenty years of age, gave no answer.

"Is it so, or have you lost your tongue, perchance?" demanded the alcalde in an angry tone.

"He had tongue enough in the fonda of Trespana," snarled a voice from the background, "when he proposed the health of the accursed Morellos."

"You hear the charge," said the alcalde, too lazy to repeat it himself, and converting the words of the police spy into a formal accusation.

"Señor, for the sake of God's mother, have mercy!" cried the culprit beseechingly. "I was misled."

"So were eighty thousand others," was the surly answer. "Write down his confession, and away with him to the Acordada."

"Above or under ground?" asked the escribano.

"Wherever the maestro has room," replied the alcalde. "No. 5."

The knees of the unfortunate youth smote together, and he fell down as if he had received a sudden and stunning blow.

"Do not be a fool," growled one of the executioner's assistants with a horrid laugh. "You drank Morellos' health in sherry and sangaree; you can drink it now, for a change, in fresh Tezcuco water; it is a trifle saltish as you know, but there is soft lying in it, at least if the snakes and lizards will leave you alone. That is to say, if you get into one of the lower cells, where many people have lasted half a year. If you give the maestro fair words – gold and silver words, mind ye – he will only put you the fifty pound chains on, and it will be nearly a fortnight before they begin to cut into your flesh."

With such consolations was the wretched prisoner dragged out of the vault, while another, designated as No. 5, took his place. He was also a young man, apparently not much over twenty.

"Elmo Hernandez," resumed the alcalde, "you are accused of having cursed his excellency the viceroy, and of having uttered cries of 'Maldito Gobierno,' and 'Maldito Gachupin,' and of 'Mueran los Gachupinos,' in the quarter of the Trespana. You also shouted, 'Abajo con la Virgen de los Remedios.'[19 - La Virgen de los Remedios was the especial patroness of the Spaniards in Mexico. Her picture was found by one of Cortes' soldiers, and she proved herself on various occasions a warm partisan of the Spaniards. During the fight of Otumba, she was seen to hover over the Spanish troops and scatter dust in the eyes of the Indians. In other battles she also fought against the Mexicans. The Spaniards, out of gratitude, built her a chapel. Suddenly, however, to their exceeding sorrow, her portrait disappeared. Half a year elapsed, and then an Indian, in stripping an aloe plant, found the picture between leaf and stem. It was carried in triumph, and so grateful did the Virgin show herself for this attention, that she sent an abundant rain, which happened just then to be greatly needed. In consideration of the innumerable miracles she had wrought in their favour, the Spaniards chose her for their patroness, and gave her the command of their armies. She struggled valiantly against the Virgin of Guadalupe, whom the Mexicans had elected to be their leader.The original and miraculously discovered picture of the Virgin of Guadalupe is preserved in her magnificent church, two leagues from Mexico. It is on coarse bast, canvass made up of the fibres of the agave, but in a magnificent frame, and was found soon after the conquest of Mexico on a barren hill, by an Indian whom strains of heavenly music attracted thither. The Indian related the circumstance to the archbishop, who refused to credit it; whereupon the discoverer repaired to the hill a second time, and saw the harmonious picture lying amongst a heap of roses. It spoke to him, and commanded him to return to the archbishop, which he did, and now found him as eager to believe as he had before been incredulous. The prelate greeted the picture with the title of Our Lady of Guadalupe; a chapel was built, and this Virgin was finally promoted to be patroness of Mexico. Her complexion being of a brown colour, she was considered to watch more particularly over the aborigines.When Hidalgo, after raising the standard of revolt, was excommunicated by the archbishop, and in danger of being abandoned by his followers, he had the fortunate idea of placing himself and his army under the guardianship of the Virgin of Guadalupe. An enormous banner was got ready, with a painting of that Virgin upon it; she was declared field-marshal and general-in-chief, pay allotted, and obedience sworn to her. She held her appointment for fourteen years – till 1824.] Crimes both against the state and the holy Catholic church. What can you say in reply to these accusations?"

"Señor," replied the prisoner, who was violently agitated, "I have seen my own sister forcibly compelled to wed the sub-lieutenant Garcia, my estate wrested from me, my sister's health and happiness ruined by the ill-treatment and excesses of her husband."

"Lieutenant Garcia is a Spaniard, a viejo Cristiano; and if your sister – but enough, you are a Creole and a malecontent."

The young man ground his teeth, but said nothing.

"You are a malecontent," repeated the alcalde. "A malecontent has a discontented disposition, and a discontented disposition is a rebellious one, and he who has a rebellious disposition is a rebel. Write it down, Don Ferro."

After coming to this just and logical conclusion, the alcalde took a draught of sangaree, and then again turned to the escribano.

"In the Cordelada – under ground – chains of the second class."

"You have thirty pounds more to carry," whispered a jailer to this new victim. "Eighty pounds at the least. You may say your prayers, for an inferniello will be your portion."

The prisoner gnashed his teeth, and shook his fetters with impotent rage. He was instantly led away.

"Cursed rebel!" growled the alcalde after him.

"The rest are all gente irracionale," observed the escribano.

"So much the better – Nos. 12 to 21," cried the alcalde.