The Red Track: A Story of Social Life in Mexico

The causes of these revolutions are and must be ever the same in a country where the sabre rules without control, and which counts twenty-four thousand officers for an army of twenty thousand men. These officers, very ignorant generally, and very ambitious individually, incapable of executing the slightest manoeuvre, or commanding the most simple movement, find in the general disorder chances of promotion which they would not otherwise have, and many Mexican generals have attained their elevated rank without having once been present at a battle, or even seen any other fire than that of the cigarettes they constantly have in their mouths. The real truth is, they have skilfully pronounced themselves; each pronunciamiento has gained them a step, sometimes two, and with pronunciamiento after pronunciamiento, they have acquired the general's scarf, that is to say, the probability, with the aid of luck, of being in their turn proclaimed President of the Republic, which is the dream of all of them, and the constant object of their efforts.

We have said that the travellers had scarce time to conceal themselves in the bar, ere several knocks on the door warned the landlord that the mysterious guests he expected were beginning to arrive.

Ño Lusacho was a fat little man, with constantly rolling gray eyes, a cunning look, and a prominent stomach – the true type of the Mexican Ranchero, who is more eager for gain than two Jews, and very ready when circumstances demand it, that is to say, when his own interests are concerned, to make a bargain with his conscience. He assured himself by a glance that all was in order in the room, and that there was nothing to cause the presence of strangers to be suspected, and then walked to the door; but, before opening, with the probable intention of displaying his zeal, he thought it advisable to challenge the arrivals.

"¿Quién vive?" he asked.

"Gente de paz!" a rough voice answered; "open in the Fiend's name, if you do not wish us to break in your door."

Ño Lusacho doubtless recognized the voice, for the somewhat brusque response appeared to him sufficient, and he immediately prepared to draw back the bolts.

The door was hardly ajar ere several men burst into the inn, thrusting each other aside in their haste, as if afraid of being followed. These men were seven or eight in number; and it was easy to see they were officers, in spite of the precaution of some among them who had put on civilian attire.

They laughed and jested loudly, which proved that, if they were conspirators, or, at least, if they were brought to this ill-famed den by any illicit object, that object, whatever it might be, did not spoil their gaiety or appear to them of sufficient importance to render them unwontedly serious.

They seated themselves at a table, and the landlord, who had doubtless long been acquainted with their habits, placed before them a bottle of Catalonian refino and a jug of pulque, which they straightway began swallowing while rolling their cigarettes.

The door of the rancho had been left ajar by the landlord, who probably thought it unnecessary to close it; the officers succeeded each other with great rapidity, and their number soon became so great, that the room, though very spacious, was completely filled. The newcomers followed the example of those who had preceded them; they seated themselves at a table, and began drinking and smoking, not appearing to trouble themselves about the earlier comers, to whom they merely bowed as they entered.

As for Ño Lusacho, he continually prowled round the tables, watching everything with a corner of his eyes, and being careful not to serve the slightest article without receiving immediate payment. At length one of the officers rose, and, after rapping his glass on the table several times to attract attention, he asked —

"Is Don Sirven here?"

"Yes, señor," a young man of twenty at the most answered as he rose. His effeminate features were already worn by precocious debauchery.

"Assure yourself that no person is absent."

The young man bowed, and began walking from one table to the other, exchanging two or three words in a low voice with each of the visitors. When Don Sirven had gone round the room, he went to the person who had addressed him, and said with a respectful bow —

"Señor coronel, the meeting is complete, and only one person is absent; but as he did not tell us certainly whether he would do us the honour of being present tonight, I – "

"That will do, alférez," the colonel interrupted him; "remain outside the house, carefully watch the environs, and let no one approach without challenging him, but if you know who arrives, introduce him immediately. You have heard me, so execute my orders punctually; you understand the importance of passive obedience for yourself."

"You can trust to me, coronel," the young man answered; and, after bowing to his superior officer, he left the room and closed the door behind him.

The officers, then, without getting up, turned round on the benches, and thus found themselves face to face with the colonel, who had stationed himself in the middle of the room. The latter waited a few minutes till perfect silence was established, and then, after bowing to the audience, he spoke as follows; —

"Let me, in the first place, thank you, caballeros, for the punctuality with which you have responded to the meeting I had the honour of arranging with you. I am delighted at the confidence it has pleased you to display in me, and, believe me, I shall show myself worthy of it; for it proves to me once again that you are really devoted to the interests of our country, and that it may freely reckon on you in the hour of danger."

This first portion of the colonel's speech was drowned in applause, as was only fitting. This colonel was a man of about forty years of age, of herculean stature, and looking more like a butcher than an honest soldier. His cunning looks did not at all inspire confidence, and every step in his profession had been the reward of an act of treachery. He was a most valuable man in a conspiracy on this account, for being so old a hand at pronunciamientos, people knew that he was too clever to join a losing cause; hence, he inspired his accomplices with unlimited confidence. After allowing time for the enthusiasm to calm, he continued —

"I am pleased, señores, not at this applause, but at the devotion you so constantly display for the public welfare. You understand as well as I do that we can no longer bow our necks beneath the despotic government that tyrannizes over us. The man who at this moment holds our destinies in his hands has shown himself unworthy of the mandate we confided to him; by failing in his duties towards us, he has liberated us from the oath of obedience we took to him. Human patience has its limits, and the hour will soon strike for the man who has deceived us to be overthrown."

The colonel had made a start, and would probably have continued his plausible speech for a long time in an emphatic voice, had not one of his audience, evidently wearied of finding nothing positive or clear in this flood of sounding words, suddenly interrupted him —

"That is all very fine, colonel," he said, "Rayo de Dios! we are all aware that we are gentlemen devoted, body and soul, to our country; but devotion must be paid for, cuerpo de Cristo! What shall we get by all this after all? We have not assembled here to compliment each other; but, on the contrary, to come to a definite understanding. So pray come to the point at once."

The colonel was at first slightly embarrassed by this warm apostrophe; but he recovered himself at once, and turned with a smile to his interrupter —

"I was coming to it, my dear captain, at the very moment when you cut across my speech."

"Oh, that is different," the captain answered; "pray suppose that I had not spoken, and explain the affair in a couple of words."

"In the first place," the colonel went on, "I have news for you which I feel assured you will heartily welcome. This is the last time we shall meet."

"Very good," said the practical captain, encouraged by the winks of his companions, "let us hear first what the reward is."

The colonel saw that he could no longer dally with the matter, for all his hearers openly took part with their comrade, and murmurs of evil augury were beginning to be audible. At the moment when he resolved to tell all he knew, the door of the inn was opened, and a man wrapped in a large cloak quickly entered the room, preceded by the Alferez Don Sirven, who shouted in a loud voice —

"The general. Caballeros, the general."

At this announcement silence was re-established as if by enchantment. The person called the general stopped in the middle of the room, looked around him, and then took off his hat, let his cloak fall from his shoulders, and appeared in the full-dress uniform of a general officer.

"Long live General Guerrero!" the officers shouted, as they rose enthusiastically.

"Thanks, gentlemen, thanks," the general responded with numerous bows. "This warm feeling fills me with delight; but pray be silent, that we may properly settle the matter which has brought us here; moments are precious, and, in spite of the precautions we have taken, our presence at this inn may have been denounced."

All collected round the general with a movement of interest easy to understand. The latter continued —

"I will come at once to facts," he said, "without entering into idle speculations, which would cause us to waste valuable time. In a word, then, what is it we want? To overthrow the present government, and establish another more in conformity with our opinions and, above all, our interests."

"Yes, yes," the officers exclaimed.

"In that case we are conspiring against the established authority, and are rebels in the eyes of the law," the general continued coolly and distinctly; "as such, we stake our heads, and must not attempt any self-deception on this point. If our attempt fails, we shall be pitilessly shot by the victor; but we shall not fail," he hastily added, on noticing the impression these ill-omened words produced on his hearers; "we shall not fail, because we are resolutely playing a terrible game, and each of us knows that his fortune depends on winning the game. From the alférez up to the brigadier-general each knows that success will gain him two steps of promotion, and such a stake is sufficient to determine the least resolute to be staunch when the moment arrives to begin the struggle."

"Yes, yes," the captain whose observations had, previous to the general's arrival, so greatly embarrassed the colonel, said, "all that is very fine. Jumping up two steps is a most agreeable thing; but we were promised something else in your name, excellency."

The general smiled.

"You are right, captain," he remarked; "and I intend to keep all promises made in my name – but not, as you might reasonably suppose, when our glorious enterprise has succeeded. If I waited till then, you might fear lest I should seek pretexts and excuses to evade their performance."

"When then, pray?" the captain asked, curiously.

"At once, señores," the general exclaimed, in a loud voice, and, addressing the whole company, "I wish to prove to you that my confidence in you is entire, and that I put faith in the word you pledged to me."

Joy, astonishment, incredulity, perhaps, so paralyzed his hearers, that they were unable to utter a syllable. The general examined them for a moment, and then, turning away with a mocking smile, he walked to the front door, which he opened. The officers eagerly watched his movements, with panting chests, and the general, after looking out, coughed twice.

"Here I am, excellency," a voice said, issuing from the fog.

"Bring in the bags," Don Sebastian ordered, and then quietly returned to the middle of the room.

Almost immediately after a man entered, bearing a heavy leather saddlebag. It was Carnero, the capataz. At a signal from his master, he deposited his bundle and went out; but returned shortly after with another bag, which he placed by the side of the first one. Then, after bowing to his master, he withdrew, and the door closed upon him.

The general opened the bags, and a flood of gold poured in a trickling cascade on the table; the officers instinctively bent forward, and held out their quivering hands.

"Now, señores," the general said, still perfectly calm, as he carelessly rested his arm on the pile of gold; "permit me to remind you of our agreement; there are thirty-five of us at present, I believe?"

"Yes, general, thirty-five," the captain replied, who seemed to have appointed himself speaker in ordinary for self and partners.

"Very good; these thirty-five caballeros are thus subdivided: – ten alférez, who will each receive twenty-five ounces of silver. Señor Don Jaime Lupo," he said, turning to the colonel, "will you be kind enough to hand twenty-five ounces to each of these gentlemen?"

The alférez, or sub-lieutenants, broke through the ranks, and boldly came up to receive the ounces, which the colonel delivered to each of them; then they fell back with a delight they did not attempt to conceal.

"Now," the general continued, "twelve captains, to each of whom I wish you to offer, on my behalf, Don Lupo, fifty ounces."

The captains pocketed the money with no more ceremony than the alférez had displayed.

"We have ten tenientes, each of whom is to receive thirty-five ounces, I believe?"

The tenientes, or lieutenants, who had begun to frown on seeing the captains paid before them, received their money with a bow.

"There now remain three colonels, each of whom has a claim to one hundred ounces," the general said; "be kind enough to pay them, my dear colonel."

The latter did not let the invitation be repeated twice. Still the entire pile of gold was not exhausted, and a considerable sum still remained on the table. Don Sebastian Guerrero passed his hands several times through the glittering metal, and at length thrust it from him.

"Señores," he said, with an engaging smile, "about five hundred ounces remain, which I do not know what to do with; may I ask you to divide them among you, as subsistence money while awaiting the signal you are to receive from me."

At this truly regal act of munificence, the enthusiasm attained its highest pitch; the cries and protestations of devotion became frenzied. The general alone remained impassive, and looked coldly at the division made by the colonel.

"When all the gold had disappeared, and the effervescence was beginning to subside, Don Sebastian, who, like the Angel of Evil, had looked with a profoundly mocking smile at these men so utterly under the influence of cupidity, slightly tapped the table, to request silence.

"Señores," he said, "I have kept all my promises, and have acquired the right to count on you; we shall not meet again, but at a future day I will let you know my intentions. Still be ready to act at the first signal; in ten days is the anniversary festival of the Proclamation of Independence, and, if nothing deranges my plans, I shall probably choose that day to try, with your assistance, to deliver the country from the tyrants who oppress it. However, I will be careful to have you warned. So now let us separate; the night is far advanced, and a longer stay at this spot might compromise the sacred interests for which we have sworn to die."

He bowed to the conspirators, but, on reaching the door, turned round again.

"Farewell, señores," he said, "be faithful to me."

"We will die for you, general," Colonel Lupo answered, in the name of all.

The general gave a final bow and went out; almost immediately the hoofs of several horses could be heard echoing on the paved street.

"As we have nothing more to do here, caballeros," the colonel said, "we had better separate without further delay; but do not forget the general's parting recommendation."

"Oh, no," the captain said, gleefully rattling the gold, with which his pockets were filled. "Don Sebastian Guerrero is too generous for us not to be faithful to him; besides, he appears to me at the present moment the only man capable of saving our unhappy country from the abyss. We are all too deeply attached to our country and too devoted to its real interests, not to sacrifice ourselves for it, when circumstances demand it."

The conspirators laughingly applauded this speech of the captain's, and after exchanging courteous bows, they withdrew as they had come; that is to say, they left the inn one after the other, not to attract attention. They carefully wrapped themselves in their cloaks, and went off in parties of three and four, with their hands on their weapons, for fear of any unpleasant encounter.

A quarter of an hour later, the room was empty, and the landlord bolted the door for the night.

"Well, señores," he asked the two strangers, who now left the hiding place in which they had been crouching for upwards of two hours, "are you satisfied?"

"We could not be more so," replied the one who had been the sole speaker hitherto.

"Yes, yes," the landlord continued, "three or four more pronunciamientos, and I believe I shall be able to retire on a decent competency."

"That is what I wish you, Ño Lusacho, and, to begin, a thing promised is a thing done; here are your ten ounces."

CHAPTER XI.

THE PASEO DE BUCARELI

Mexico is a country of extensive prospects and magnificent views; and the poet Carpio is right when he says enthusiastically, in the poem in which he sings the praises of his country —

"Qué magníficos tienes horizontes!"

In truth, the prospect is the first and greatest beauty of Mexico.

The plateau of Mexico is situated exactly in the centre of a circle of mountains. On all sides the landscape is bounded by admirable peaks, whose snowy crests soar above the clouds, and in the golden beams of the setting sun they offer the most sublime pictures of the imposing and grand Alpine nature.

In the general description we attempted of Mexico we omitted to allude to its promenades, of which we intended previously to give a detailed account.

In Europe, and especially in France, promenades are wanting in the interior of towns; and it is only during the last few years that Paris has possessed any worthy of a capital. In Spain, on the contrary, the smallest market town has at least one alameda, where, after the torrid heat of the day, the inhabitants breathe the evening breeze, and rest from their labours. Alameda, a soft and graceful word to pronounce, which we might be tempted to take for Arabic, and to which some ill-informed scholars, unacquainted with Spanish, attribute a Latin origin, while it is simply Castilian, and literally signifies "a place planted with poplars."

The Alameda of Mexico is one of the most beautiful in America. It is situated at one of the extremities of the city, and forms a long square, with a wall of circumvallation bordered by a deep ditch, whose muddy, fetid waters, owing to the negligence of the government, exhale pestilential miasmas. At each corner of the promenade a gate offers admission to carriages, riders, and pedestrians, who walk silently beneath a thick awning of verdure, formed by willows, elms, and poplars that border the principal road. These trees are selected with great tact, and are always green, for although the leaves are renewed, it takes place gradually and imperceptibly, so that the branches are never entirely stripped of their foliage.

Numerous walks converge to open spots adorned with gushing fountains, and clumps of jessamine, myrtle, and rose bushes, surrounded by stone benches for the tired promenaders. Statues, unfortunately far below mediocrity in their execution, stand at the entrance of each walk; but, thanks to the deep shadow, the whistling of the evening breeze in the foliage, the buzz of the hummingbirds flying from flower to flower, and the harmonious strains of the cenzontles hidden in the fragrant clumps, you gradually forget those unlucky statues, and fall into a gentle reverie, during which the mind is borne to unknown regions, and seems no longer connected with earth.

But Mexico is a thorough country of contrasts. At each step barbarism elbows the most advanced civilization. Hence all the carriages, after driving a few times round the Alameda, take the direction of the Paseo de Bucareli, and the promenaders spread over a walk, in the Centre of which there is a large window in the Wall, protected by rusty iron bars, and through which come puffs of poisoned air. It is the window of the Deadhouse, into which are daily thrown pell-mell the bodies of men, women, and children, assassinated during the previous night, hideous, bloody, and disfigured by death! What a brilliant, what a delicious idea, to have placed the Deadhouse exactly between the two city walks!

The Paseo, or promenade, of Bucareli – so called after the Viceroy who gave it to Mexico – resembles the Champs Elysées of Paris. It is, in reality, merely a wide road, with no other ornament than a double row of willow and beech trees, with two circular places, in the centre of which are fountains, adorned with detestable allegorical statues and stone benches for pedestrians.

At the entrance of the Paseo de Bucareli has been placed an equestrian statue of Charles IV., which in 1824 adorned the Plaza Mayor of Mexico. When the Emperor Iturbide fell, this monument was removed from the square and placed in the University Palace yard – a lesson, we may here remark, given by a comparatively barbarous people to civilized nations, who in revolutions, as a first trial of liberty, and forgetting that history records everything in her imperishable annals, carry their Vandalism so far as to destroy everything that recalls the government they have overthrown. Owing to the intelligent moderation of the Mexicans, the promenaders can still admire, at the Bucareli, this really remarkable statue, due to the talent of the Spanish sculptor, Manuel Tolsa, and cast in one piece by Salvador de la Vega. The sight of this masterpiece ought to induce the Mexican municipality to remove the pitiable statues which disgrace the two finest promenades in the city.

From the Paseo de Bucareli a magnificent prospect is enjoyed of the panorama of mountains bathed in the luminous vapours of night; you perceive, through the arches of the gigantic aqueduct the white fronts of the haciendas clinging to the sides of the Sierra, the fields of Indian corn bending softly before the breeze, and the snowy peaks of the volcanoes, crowned with mist, and lost in the sky.

It is not till night has almost set in that the promenaders, leaving the Alameda, proceed to the Bucareli, where the carriages take two or three turns, and then equipages, riders, and pedestrians, retire one after the other. The promenade is deserted, the entire crowd, just now so gay and noisy, has disappeared as if by enchantment, and you only see between the trees some belated promenader, who, wrapped in his cloak, and with eye and ear on the watch, is hastily returning home, for, after nightfall, the thieves take possession of the promenade, and without the slightest anxiety about the serenos and celadores appointed to watch over the public security, they carry on their trade with a boldness which the certainty of impunity can alone engender.

It was evening, and, as usual, the Alameda was crowded; handsome carriages, brilliant riders, and modest pedestrians were moving backwards and forwards, with cries, laughter, and joyous calls, as they sought or chased each other in the walks. Monks, soldiers, officers, men of fashion, and leperos, were mixed together, carelessly smoking their cigars and cigarettes under each other's noses, with the recklessness and negligence peculiar to southern nations.

Suddenly, the first stroke of the Oración broke through the air. At the sound of the Angelus-bell, as if the entire crowd had been struck by an enchanter's wand, horses, carriages, and pedestrians stopped, the seated citizens left the benches on which they were resting, and a solemn silence fell on all; every person took off his hat, crossed himself, and for four or five minutes this crowd, an instant before so noisy, remained dumb and silent. But the last stroke of the Oración had scarce died away, ere horses and carriages set out again; the shouts, the songs, and talking, became louder than before; each resumed the sentence at the point where he had broken it off.