The Red Track: A Story of Social Life in Mexico

by Gustave Aimard

  CHAPTER XI.

  THE PASEO DE BUCARELI.

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

  "Que magnificos 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 ofmountains. On all sides the landscape is bounded by admirable peaks,whose snowy crests soar above the clouds, and in the golden beams of thesetting sun they offer the most sublime pictures of the imposing andgrand Alpine nature.

  In the general description we attempted of Mexico we omitted to alludeto its promenades, of which we intended previously to give a detailedaccount.

  In Europe, and especially in France, promenades are wanting in theinterior of towns; and it is only during the last few years that Parishas possessed any worthy of a capital. In Spain, on the contrary, thesmallest market town has at least one alameda, where, after the torridheat of the day, the inhabitants breathe the evening breeze, and restfrom their labours. Alameda, a soft and graceful word to pronounce,which we might be tempted to take for Arabic, and to which someill-informed scholars, unacquainted with Spanish, attribute a Latinorigin, while it is simply Castilian, and literally signifies "a placeplanted with poplars."

  The Alameda of Mexico is one of the most beautiful in America. Itis situated at one of the extremities of the city, and forms a longsquare, with a wall of circumvallation bordered by a deep ditch, whosemuddy, fetid waters, owing to the negligence of the government, exhalepestilential miasmas. At each corner of the promenade a gate offersadmission to carriages, riders, and pedestrians, who walk silentlybeneath a thick awning of verdure, formed by willows, elms, and poplarsthat border the principal road. These trees are selected with greattact, and are always green, for although the leaves are renewed, ittakes place gradually and imperceptibly, so that the branches are neverentirely stripped of their foliage.

  Numerous walks converge to open spots adorned with gushing fountains,and clumps of jessamine, myrtle, and rose bushes, surrounded by stonebenches for the tired promenaders. Statues, unfortunately far belowmediocrity in their execution, stand at the entrance of each walk; but,thanks to the deep shadow, the whistling of the evening breeze in thefoliage, the buzz of the hummingbirds flying from flower to flower, andthe harmonious strains of the cenzontles hidden in the fragrant clumps,you gradually forget those unlucky statues, and fall into a gentlereverie, during which the mind is borne to unknown regions, and seems nolonger connected with earth.

  But Mexico is a thorough country of contrasts. At each step barbarismelbows the most advanced civilization. Hence all the carriages, afterdriving a few times round the Alameda, take the direction of the Paseode Bucareli, and the promenaders spread over a walk, in the Centre ofwhich 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 theDeadhouse, 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 deliciousidea, to have placed the Deadhouse exactly between the two city walks!

  The Paseo, or promenade, of Bucareli--so called after the Viceroy whogave it to Mexico--resembles the Champs Elysees of Paris. It is, inreality, merely a wide road, with no other ornament than a double row ofwillow and beech trees, with two circular places, in the centre of whichare fountains, adorned with detestable allegorical statues and stonebenches for pedestrians.

  At the entrance of the Paseo de Bucareli has been placed an equestrianstatue of Charles IV., which in 1824 adorned the Plaza Mayor of Mexico.When the Emperor Iturbide fell, this monument was removed from thesquare and placed in the University Palace yard--a lesson, we may hereremark, given by a comparatively barbarous people to civilized nations,who in revolutions, as a first trial of liberty, and forgetting thathistory records everything in her imperishable annals, carry theirVandalism so far as to destroy everything that recalls the governmentthey have overthrown. Owing to the intelligent moderation of theMexicans, the promenaders can still admire, at the Bucareli, this reallyremarkable statue, due to the talent of the Spanish sculptor, ManuelTolsa, and cast in one piece by Salvador de la Vega. The sight of thismasterpiece ought to induce the Mexican municipality to remove thepitiable statues which disgrace the two finest promenades in the city.

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

  It is not till night has almost set in that the promenaders, leavingthe Alameda, proceed to the Bucareli, where the carriages take two orthree turns, and then equipages, riders, and pedestrians, retire oneafter the other. The promenade is deserted, the entire crowd, just nowso gay and noisy, has disappeared as if by enchantment, and you only seebetween the trees some belated promenader, who, wrapped in his cloak,and with eye and ear on the watch, is hastily returning home, for, afternightfall, the thieves take possession of the promenade, and without theslightest anxiety about the serenos and celadores appointed to watchover the public security, they carry on their trade with a boldnesswhich the certainty of impunity can alone engender.

  It was evening, and, as usual, the Alameda was crowded; handsomecarriages, brilliant riders, and modest pedestrians were movingbackwards and forwards, with cries, laughter, and joyous calls, as theysought or chased each other in the walks. Monks, soldiers, officers, menof fashion, and leperos, were mixed together, carelessly smoking theircigars and cigarettes under each other's noses, with the recklessnessand negligence peculiar to southern nations.

  Suddenly, the first stroke of the Oracion broke through the air. At thesound of the Angelus-bell, as if the entire crowd had been struck by anenchanter's wand, horses, carriages, and pedestrians stopped, the seatedcitizens left the benches on which they were resting, and a solemnsilence 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 Oracion had scarcedied away, ere horses and carriages set out again; the shouts, thesongs, and talking, became louder than before; each resumed the sentenceat the point where he had broken it off.

  By degrees, however, the promenaders proceeded toward the Bucareli: thecarriages became scarcer, and by the time night had quite set in, theAlameda was completely deserted.

  A horseman, dressed in a rich Campesino costume, and mounted on amagnificent horse, which he managed with rare skill, then entered theAlameda, along which he galloped for about twenty minutes, examining thesidewalks, the clumps of trees, and the densest bushes: in a word, heseemed to be looking for somebody or something.

  However, after a while, whether he had convinced himself that his searchwould have no result, or for some other motive, he gave the click of thetongue peculiar to the Mexican jinetes, lifted his horse which startedat an amble, and proceeded toward the Paseo de Bucareli, after bowingsarcastically to some ill-looking horsemen who were beginning to prowlround him, but whom his vigorous appearance and haughty demeanour hadhitherto kept at arm's length.

  Although the darkness was too dense at this moment for it to be possibleto see the horseman's face distinctly, which was in addition halfcovered by the brim of his vicuna hat, all about him evidenced strengthand youth; he was armed as if for a nocturnal expedition, and had onhis saddle, in spite of police regulations, a thin, carefully rolled upreata.

  We will say, parenthetically, that the reata is considered in Mexico sodangerous a weapon, that it requires special permission to carry one atthe saddle-bow, in the streets of Mexico.

  The saltea
dores, who occupy the streets after nightfall, and reign withundisputed sway over them, employ no other weapon to stop the personsthey wish to plunder. They cast the running knot round their necks, dashforward at full speed, and the unlucky man, half strangled, and draggedfrom the saddle, falls unresistingly into their hands.

  At the moment when the traveller we are following reached the Bucareli,the last carriages were leaving it, and it was soon as deserted as theAlameda. He galloped up and down the promenade twice or thrice, lookingcarefully down the side rides, and at the end of his third turn ahorseman, coming from the Alameda, passed on his right hand, giving himin a low voice the Mexican salute, "Santisima noche, caballero!"

  Although this sentence had nothing peculiar about it, the horsemanstarted, and immediately turning his horse round, he started in pursuitof the person who had thus greeted him. Within a minute the two horsemenwere side by side; the first comer, so soon as he saw that he wasfollowed, checked his horse's pace, as if with the intention of enteringinto the most direct communication with the person he had addressed.

  "A fine night for a ride, senor," the first horseman said, politelyraising his hand to his hat.

  "It is," the second answered, "although it is beginning to grow late."

  "The moment is only the better chosen for certain private conversation."

  The second horseman looked around, and bending over to the speaker,said--

  "I almost despaired of meeting you."

  "Did I not let you know that I should come?"

  "That is true; but I feared that some sudden obstacle----"

  "Nothing ought to impede an honest man in accomplishing a sacred duty,"the first horseman answered, with an emphasis on the words.

  "The other bowed with an air of satisfaction. Then," he said, "I cancount on you, No ----."

  "No names here, senor," the other sharply interrupted him. "Caspita, anold wood ranger like you, a man who has long been a Tigrero, ought toremember that the trees have ears and the leaves eyes."

  "Yes, you are right. I should and do remember it; but permit me toremark that if it is not possible for us to talk about business here, Ido not know exactly where we can do so."

  "Patience, senor, I wish to serve you, as you know, for you wererecommended to me by a man to whom I can refuse nothing. Let yourself,therefore, be guided by me, if you wish us to succeed in this affair,which, I confess to you at once, offers enormous difficulties, and mustbe managed with the greatest prudence."

  "I ask nothing better; still you must tell me what I ought to do."

  "For the present very little; merely follow me at a distance to theplace where I purpose taking you."

  "Are we going far?"

  "Only a few paces; behind the barracks of the Acordades, in a smallstreet called the Callejon del Pajaro."

  "Hum! and what am I to do in this street?"

  "What a suspicious man you are!" the first horseman said with a laugh."Listen to me then. About the middle of the Callejon I shall stopbefore a house of rather poor appearance; a man will come and hold myhorse while I enter. A few minutes later you will pull up there; afterassuring yourself that you are not followed you will dismount; give yourhorse to the man who is holding mine, and without saying a word to him,or letting him see your face, you will enter the house, and shut thedoor after you. I shall be in the yard, and will lead you to a placewhere we shall be able to talk in safety. Does that suit you?"

  "Famously; although I do not understand why I, who have set foot inMexico today for the first time, should find it necessary to employ suchmighty precautions."

  The first horseman laughed sarcastically.

  "Do you wish to succeed?" he asked.

  "Of course," the other exclaimed energetically, "even if it cost me mylife."

  "In that case do as you are recommended."

  "Go on, I follow you."

  "Is that settled? you understand all about it?"

  "I do."

  The second horseman then checked his steed to let the first one go onahead, and both keeping a short distance apart, proceeded at a smarttrot toward the statue of Charles IV., which, as we said, stands at theentrance of the Paseo.

  While conversing, the two horsemen had forgotten the advanced hour ofthe night, and the solitude that surrounded them. At the moment whenthe first rider passed the equestrian statue, a slip knot fell on hisshoulders, and he was roughly dragged from his saddle.

  "Help!" he shouted in a choking voice.

  The second rider had seen all; quick as thought he whirled his lassoround his head, and galloping at full speed, hurled it after theSalteador at the moment when he passed twenty yards from him.

  The Salteador was stopped dead, and hurled from his horse; the worthyrobber had not suspected that another person beside himself could have alasso so handy. The horseman, without checking his speed, cut the reatathat was strangling his companion, and, turning back, dragged the robberafter him.

  The first horseman so providentially saved, freed himself from theslip knot that choked him, and, hardly recovered from the alarm he hadexperienced from his heavy fall, he whistled to his horse, which came upat once, remounted as well as he could, and rejoined his liberator, whohad stopped a short distance off.

  "Thanks," he said to him, "henceforth we are stanch friends; you havesaved my life, and I shall remember it."

  "Nonsense," the other answered, "I only did what you would have done inmy place."

  "That is possible, but I shall be grateful to you on the word of aCarnero," he exclaimed, forgetting in his joy the hint he had given ashort time previously, not to make use of names, and revealing his ownincognito; "is the picaro dead?"

  "Very nearly so, I fancy; what shall we do with him?"

  "Make a corpse of him," the capataz said bluntly. "We are onlytwo paces from the deadhouse, and he can be carried there withoutdifficulty. Though he is an utter scoundrel and tried to assassinateme, the police are so well managed in our unhappy country that ifwe committed the imprudence of letting him live, we should haveinterminable disputes with the magistrates."

  Then, dismounting, he stooped over the bandit, stretched senseless athis feet, removed his lasso, and coolly dashed out his brains with ablow of his pistol butt. Immediately after this summary execution, thetwo men left the Paseo de Bucareli, but this time side by side, throughfear of a new accident.