The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 372, May 30, 1829

H.B.A.

The Contemporary Traveller

MEXICO, OR NEW SPAIN

The name of New Spain was at first given only to Yucatan by Grijalva and his followers; but Cortez extended it to the whole empire of Montezuma, which is described by the earliest writers to have reached from Panama to New California. This, however, appears, from more recent researches, on the accuracy of which Humboldt relies with reason, to have been larger than the reality justified; and the whole of Tenochtitlan may be said to have been contained in the present states of Vera Cruz, Oaxaca, Puebla, Mexico, and Valadolid. In addition to the name given by Cortez, that of the capital was extended to the whole kingdom of New Spain; and since the revolution and the establishment of independence, the several provinces form separate and independent states, confederating together and constituting the nineteen United States of Mexico; viz. Chiapa, Chihuahua, Cohahuila and Texas, Durango, Guanaxuato, Mexico, Michoachan, New Leon, Oaxaca, Puebla, Queretaro, San Luis Potosi, Sonora and Cinaloa, Tabasco, Tamaulipas, Vera Cruz, Xalisco, Yucatan and Zacatecas. Old and New California, Colima, New Mexico, and Tlascala, though forming members of the federation, declined having state governments, on account of the expense, and are designated territories. The whole republic, according to Humboldt, occupies a space of 75,830 square leagues, of twenty to an equinoxial degree; on which there are to be found every inequality of surface, and every variety of soil and climate, the two last of which are dependent in most cases on the former.

The republic of Mexico, taken on the grand scale, may be considered as a succession of small mountain-plains at different heights, separated by mountains, and increasing in magnitude as the coast recedes on both the eastern and western sides, until the great centre plain be reached, which, though much broken by mountain ridges, tends to the north, maintaining nearly an equal elevation. The snow-capped mountains of Orizava, and the volcanos of Puebla and Toluca, are among the most splendid objects in the world. The Mexicans divide the regions of their country into Tierras calientes, Tierras templadas, and Tierras frias, according to the climate. Throughout the whole country there is a lamentable want of water, and of navigable rivers. The lakes, too, appear to be yearly decreasing in extent, the immediate consequence of which is, that the elevated portions of the interior are nearly stripped of vegetation, and the soil covered with an efflorescence of carbonate of soda, there called Tequisquita, resembling very closely the plains of the two Castiles, and recalling to the Eastern traveller the desolate wastes of some parts of Persia.

The effect of elevation on the temperature is most marked, and it is no uncommon thing to be shivering on one side of the street in the city of Mexico, and to be literally scorched by the rays of the sun on the other. Changes are upon record of 55° of Fahrenheit within three hours, on one of the mountain-plains at the same height with the valley of Mexico.

Notwithstanding the volcanic character of Mexico, earthquakes are by no means so frequent there as in some of the neighbouring countries. One of the most memorable on record occurred on the 14th of September, 1759, when the volcano of Jorullo, with several smaller cones, forced the surface of the soil, destroying all before it.

The infinite variety of climate and soil fits this country for the production of the fruits of all regions, from those of the hottest within the tropics to those of the severest cold, where cultivation can be carried on. But the want of ports, and of navigable rivers on the Atlantic, opposes the advantages that might result from this variety of production, though on the Pacific there are a few admirable ports, such as Acapulco. The prevalence of the "Nortes," or northerly winds, at certain seasons, seriously affects the navigation on one side, while that of the "papagallos" is as inconvenient on the other.

The Mexican population is commonly divided into seven classes:—1. European Spaniards, commonly called "gachupines." 2. White Creoles. 3. Mestizos, descendants of Whites and Indians. 4. Mulattoes, descendants of Whites and Blacks. 5. Zambos, from Indians and Negroes. 6. Pure Indians. 7. African Blacks. But this classification may be reduced to four:—1. Whites. 2. Indians. 3. Blacks. 4. Mixed Races, the various gradations of which may be considered almost infinite.

The Indians consist of a considerable number of distinct tribes, differing in many points of appearance, and speaking—not dialects but—languages entirely different. No less than twenty of these have been traced, and of fourteen of them there are already grammars and dictionaries. The Indian population is chiefly centered in the great plains, and towards the south; and Humboldt thinks that it has flowed from the north to the south. The history of four great migrations is preserved in the annals of Mexico, which are worthy of more detailed examination than we can bestow upon them. The great body of these people live apart from the other races of their countrymen, in small villages, full of ignorance, suspicion, and bigotry, and displaying an apparent phlegm, from which it would seem impossible to arouse them. This phlegmatic temperament lessens the credit of the men with the females, who uniformly prefer the European, or the still more vivacious negro. "The indigenous Mexican is grave, melancholic, silent, so long as he is not under the influence of intoxicating liquors. This gravity is peculiarly remarkable in Indian children, who at the age of four or five years display more intelligence and precocity than the children of whites. The Mexican loves to attach mystery even to his most trifling actions; the strongest passions do not display themselves in his countenance; the transition is frightful when it passes suddenly from a state of absolute repose to that of violent and unrestrained agitation." Slavery with them has engendered guile. They are obstinate in all their habits and opinions; their religion is one of mere ceremonial, justifying the observation of a priest to Mr. Ward, "son mui buenos Catolicos, pero mui malos Cristianos" (very good Catholics, but very bad Christians.) Deception in this, as well as in every thing else, is the order of the day; and the Indian Alcalde now oppresses the villagers as much as he himself has ever been.

Humboldt considers the Mexican Indian as destitute of all imagination, though when to a certain degree educated, he attributes to him facility in learning, a clearness of understanding, a natural turn for reasoning, and a particular aptitude to subtilize and seize trifling distinctions.

The music and dancing are as dull as might be expected among beings so full of phlegm. The Mexican has a turn for painting and sculpture; and retains the same fondness for flowers that struck Cortez so forcibly upwards of three centuries ago. The "Indios Bravos," or Wild Indians, are said to display more energy; but our information respecting them is remarkably scanty.

Among the active vices of the Mexican Indian, that of drunkenness prevails to a most lamentable extent. In the upper districts, pulque, or the fermented juice of the aloe, is the principal tempter; sometimes a spirit, distilled from the same plant, called Vino de Mescal; while, in the hotter districts, the same effects are ensured by the chinguirito, a very coarse kind of rum. Combined with this disposition to intoxication, the Indian is constitutionally indolent; and, now that he is a free man, he will rarely work, except to obtain just as much as will afford him the means of enjoying his greatest luxury—that of steeping his senses in oblivion. This last tendency is much to be deplored, as, in the larger towns, we know that every Sunday (which is the day of greatest indulgence) assassinations, to the extent of six or eight each day, are the melancholy consequence of its indulgence. Humboldt states that the police were in the practice of sending tumbrels round, to collect the unhappy victims of intoxication. The punishment was, and we believe still is, three days' labour in the streets; but it does not seem to be very efficacious, for generally within the week the delinquents are again in custody.

There is something characteristic in the indolence of these sombre beings. They will travel immense distances; but to steady labour they are, generally speaking, not prone. It is told of them, that in one of the most fertile districts (the Baxio) it is not unusual for an Indian, on receiving his wages, to get thoroughly drunk, go to sleep, and on awakening renew his potations and repose, until the exhaustion of his finances compels him to return to labour. In some parts, however, there are exceptions to this observation.

Education has been more attended to, by some of the leading personages, than could have been expected in a society that had been so much kept in the shade. We apprehend the advantages are chiefly prospective, and may be well defined in another generation; at present they are but small. The whites have been, and still are, the most educated portion of the Mexicans, owing, no doubt, to their greater opulence, and having access to official rank. The mass of ignorance, however, among all classes, is inconceivable to any one who has only moved in the principal countries of Europe. Nor is it confined to the lower classes, but finds protection among the highest in the community. We heard a reverend canon of the metropolitan church gravely inquire, whether it was possible to reach London except by sailing up the Thames. And we knew a very pretty, agreeable young lady, moving in the first circles, who could not write a single letter at the age of seventeen. She has been since married, and has, we are informed, been taught to write by her husband, who is not a Mexican. The religion of all classes resembles too much that of the Indians; and the practical morality and general tone of society are by no means refined. If one half of the scandalous tales in circulation be true, the former ranks with that of Paris in its worst periods, and the latter is assuredly gross to a degree that would surprise even an inhabitant of Madrid. The familiarity with which every subject is treated at first excites emotions in an Englishman of the most unpleasant kind, which gradually subside, from the frequency with which they are discussed by young and old; by high and low, of both sexes.—Foreign Quarterly Review.

Notes of a Reader

SIR WALTER SCOTT'S NEW WORK

We detach this little descriptive gem from Sir Walter Scott's "Anne of Geierstein," just published. An outline of this very delightful novel will be found in a SUPPLEMENT with the present number of the MIRROR.

"The ancient tower of Geierstein, though neither extensive, nor distinguished by architectural ornament, possessed an air of terrible dignity by its position on the very verge of the opposite bank of the torrent, which, just at the angle of the rock on which the ruins are situated, falls sheer over a cascade of nearly a hundred feet in height, and then rushes down the defile, through a trough of living rock, which perhaps its waves have been deepening since time itself had a commencement. Facing, and at the same time looking down upon this eternal roar of waters, stood the old tower, built so close to the verge of the precipice, that the buttresses with which the architect had strengthened the foundation, seemed a part of the solid rock itself, and a continuation of its perpendicular ascent. As usual, throughout Europe in the feudal times, the principal part of the building was a massive square pile, the decayed summit of which was rendered picturesque, by flanking turrets of different sizes and heights, some round, some angular, some ruinous, some tolerably entire, varying the outline of the building as seen against the stormy sky."

THORWALDSEN

Since the death of his illustrious contemporary, Canova, Thorwaldsen, born at Copenhagen in 1771-2, has occupied the public eye as head of the modern school. The character and powers of this master are doubtless of a very elevated rank: but neither in the extent nor excellence of his works, do we apprehend his station to be so high as sometimes placed. The genius of the Danish sculptor is forcible, yet is its energy derived more from peculiarity than from real excellence. His ideal springs less from imitation of the antique, or of nature, than from the workings of his own individual mind—it is the creation of a fancy seeking forcible effect in singular combinations, rather than in general principles; therefore hardly fitted to excite lasting or beneficial influence upon the age. Simplicity and imposing expression seem to have hitherto formed the principal objects of his pursuit; but the distinction between the simple and rude, the powerful and the exaggerated, is not always observed in the labours of the Dane. His simplicity is sometimes without grace; the impressive—austere, and without due refinement. The air and contours of his heads, except, as in the Mercury—an excellent example both of the beauties and defects of the artist's style—when immediately derived from antiquity, though grand and vigorous, seldom harmonize in the principles of these efforts with the majestic regularity of general nature. The forms, again, are not unfrequently poor, without a vigorous rendering of the parts, and destitute at times of their just roundness. These defects may in some measure have arisen from the early and more frequent practice of the artist in relievos. In this department, Thorwaldsen is unexceptionably to be admired. The Triumph of Alexander, originally intended for the frieze of the government palace at Milan, notwithstanding an occasional poverty, in the materials of thought, is, as a whole, one of the grandest compositions in the world; while the delicacy of execution, and poetic feeling, in the two exquisite pieces of Night and Aurora, leave scarcely a wish here ungratified. But in statues, Thorwaldsen excels only where the forms and sentiment admit of uncontrolled imagination, or in which no immediate recourse can be had to fixed standards of taste, and to the simple effects of nature. Hence, of all his works, as admitting of unconfined expression, and grand peculiarity of composition, the statues of the Apostles, considered in themselves, are the most excellent. Thorwaldsen, in fine, possesses singular, but in some respects erratic genius. His ideas of composition are irregular; his powers of fancy surpass those of execution; his conceptions seem to lose a portion of their value and freshness in the act of realizement. As an individual artist, he will command deservedly a high rank among the names that shall go down to posterity. As a sculptor, who will influence, or has extended the principles of the art, his pretensions are not great; or, should this influence and these claims not be thus limited, the standard of genuine and universal excellence must be depreciated in a like degree.—Meme's History of Sculpture, &c.

SIGN OF THE TIMES

One of the singularities of the time is an unwillingness to tell the truth, even when there is no ground for suppressing or perverting it. It is so frequently under or overstated by most persons in this country who speak and write, according to the side they have espoused, or the inclinations and political principles of those by whom they are likely to be read or heard, that they at last persuade themselves there is a sort of impropriety in presenting facts in their proper colours.—Quarterly Review.

A DUTCH TALE

A ballad of Roosje is perhaps the most touchingly told story which the Dutch possess. It is of a maid—a beloved maid—born at her mother's death—bred up 'midst the tears and kisses of her father—prattling thoughtlessly about her mother—every one's admiration for beauty, cleverness, and virtue—gentle as the moon shining on the downs. Her name was to be seen written again and again on the sands by the Zeeland youths—and scarcely a beautiful flower bloomed but was gathered for her. Now in Zeeland, when the south-winds of summer come, there comes too a delicate fish, which hides itself in the sand, and which is dug out as a luxury by the young people. It is the time of sport and gaiety—and they venture far—far over the flat coast into the sea. The boys drag the girls among the waves—and Roosje was so dragged, notwithstanding many appeals. "A kiss, a kiss, or you go further," cried her conductor—she fled—he followed, both laughing:—"Into the sea—into the sea," said all her companions—he pushes her on—it is deeper, and deeper—she shrieks—she sinks—they sink together—the sands were faithless—there was no succour—the waves rolled over them—there was stillness and death:—The terrified playmates looked—

"All silently,—they look'd again—And silently sped home—And every heart was bursting then,But every tongue was dumb."And still and stately o'er the wave,The mournful moon arose,Flinging pale beams upon the grave,Where they in peace repose."The wind glanc'd o'er the voiceless sea,The billows kissed the strand—And one sad dirge of miseryFill'd all the mourning land."

Foreign Quarterly Review.

ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES

The discouragement of colonization is certainly not the feeling of the great majority of the people of England, and it is equally certain that it is not the policy of this empire. Whatever may be the fate of the several British colonies at some future and distant period, it is something at least to have spread our laws and language, and moral character, over the most distant parts of the globe. The colonies that speak the language of Old England—that preserve her manners and her habits—will always be her best customers; and their surplus capital will always centre in the mother country. It was not the opinion of our ancestors, that colonies were an incumbrance; they—good, stupid souls—imagined that colonies enlarged the sphere of commerce–that commerce required ships—that ships created seamen for manning the royal navy, and that the whole contributed to individual wealth, to the national revenue, and the national strength; and such we believe still to be the opinion of men of sound practical knowledge, whose minds are unwarped by abstract systems and preconceived theories, to which every thing must be made to bend. Such, too, was the feeling of that extraordinary man, who, with the solitary exception of England, exacted homage from every crowned head of Europe. This man, in the plenitude of his power, felt that something was still wanting to enable him to grapple with one little island, invulnerable by its maritime strength, the sinews of which he knew to be derived from its colonies: he felt that, deprived as he was of "ships, colonies, and commerce," England was able to stand alone among nations, and to bid defiance to his overwhelming power. That cunning fox, too, by whose councils he was occasionally guided, knew too well the degree of strength that England derived from her colonies, which he described to be her very vitals, and which could only be reached by a powerful navy. He designated them as the sheet anchor of Great Britain—the prop that supported her maritime superiority—the strongholds of her power. "Deprive her of her colonies," said Talleyrand. "and you break down her last wall; you fill up her last ditch."—Fas est et ab hoste doceri.—Quarterly Review.

INVITATIONS

As a certificate of your intention to be punctual, you may send your friends, a similar billet to the following:—

My dear Sir,

The honour of your company is requested to dine with – on Fryday, 1828.

The favour of a positive answer is requested, or the proffered plate will be appropriated as it was when—

Sir Ill-bred Ignorance returned the following answer:—"I shall be quite happy to come if I possibly can." Such words the committee voted were equivalent to these—I'll come, if in the mean time I am not invited to a party that I like better.—Dr. Kitchiner.

GENEVA

Has very little, as a city, to recommend it. It is characterized by much active industry within doors, the savans and mechaniciens being pent up in their closets and ateliers, and very little gaiety pervades the promenades. Some parts of the town are sufficiently picturesque; the overhanging roofs, for which it is remarkable, are, however, too lofty to screen the pedestrian from the rain, especially if accompanied by a high wind, and form no shade from the sun. The pavement of the streets is bad, and their irregularity is a considerable drawback from the internal appearance. The pavement of the inclined plane in the Hotel de Ville, by which we gain the arduous ascent that conducts to the Passport office, is a curiosity of its kind, and perhaps unique. The city is tolerably well fenced in with walls within walls, draw and suspension bridges, and gates; while stakes and chains secure from surprise on the part of the lake. The small canton of Geneva, though in the vicinity of the Great Alpine chain and the mountains of the Jura, includes no mountains. The name of the city and canton has been traced by the etymologists to a Celtic origin; Gen, a sally-port or exit, and av, a river, probably because the Rhone here leaves the Leman lake. The eagle on the escutcheon of the city arms indicates its having been an imperial city; and it is believed the key was an adjunct of Pope Martin V., in the year 1418. The motto on the scroll, "Ex tenebris lux," appears to have existed anterior to the light of the Reformation. The number of inhabitants may now be estimated at about 22,000; but it appears, by a census in 1789, to have been 26,148. In this moral city, it is computed that every twelfth birth is illegitimate. The number of people engaged in clock and watch-making and jewellery, may be safely rated at 3,000. In years favourable to these staple manufactures 75,000 ounces of gold are employed, which is almost equally divided between watches and jewellery. The daily supply of silver is about 134 ounces. Pearls form an article of considerable value in the jewellery, and have been rated at no less a sum that 1,200 francs daily. 70,000 watches are annually made, only one-twelfth of which are in silver. More than fifty distinct branches are comprised in the various departments, and each workman, on the average, earns about three shillings a-day.—Mr. John Murray's Tour.

HANDEL

Some folks eat two or three times as much as others—for instance, our incomparable and inspired composer, Handel, required uncommonly large and frequent supplies of food. Among other stories told of this great musician, it is said that whenever he dined alone at a tavern, he always ordered "dinner for three;" and on receiving an answer to his question—"Is de tinner retty?"—"As soon as the company come."—He said, con strepito, "Den pring up te Tinner prestissimo, I am de gombany."

BAD WRITING

From one of Dr. Parr's Letters.

His letters put me in mind of tumult and anarchy; there is sedition in every sentence; syllable has no longer any confidence in syllable, but dissolves its connexion as preferring an alliance with the succeeding word. A page of his epistle looks like the floor of a garden-house, covered with old, crooked nails, which have just been released from a century's durance in a brick wall. I cannot cast my eyes on his character without being religious. This is the only good effect I have derived from his writings; he brings into my mind the resurrection, and paints the tumultuous resuscitation of awakened men with a pencil of masterly confusion. I am fully convinced of one thing, either that he or his pen is intoxicated when he writes to me, for his letters seem to have borrowed the reel of wine, and stagger from one corner of the sheet to the other. They remind me of Lord Chatham's administration, lying together heads and points in one truckle-bed.

WINE AND WATER

The same quantity of wine diluted intoxicates sooner than the same quantity drank in the same time without dilution; the wine being applied to a larger surface of the stomach, acts with proportionably greater quickness—though wine diluted sooner intoxicates, its effects are sooner over.—Dr. Kitchiner.