did. This characteristic only exists in the imagination, for it sounds
romantic to speak of gardens that can be moved around and anchored at will.
Disembarking at an unattractive mud and thatch village bearing the charming name of Santa Anita, self constituted guides are waiting to conduct you to the object of your visit, something which does not literally exist. Yet the “floating gardens” are all about you at this place. They are simply marsh lands with canals leading in and out and crossways by means of which the gardener can reach all parts in his boat. The earth may yield somewhat if you step upon it, but they do not float. It is possible, and historians so assert, that floating gardens did exist in reality during the Aztec invasion. These people were frequently driven to dire extremities to secure food. They may have adopted the plan of making floating gardens which could be moved about as necessity compelled. This was done by culling masses of vegetation with its thick entwined stems and pouring upon this mat the rich mud dredged from the bottom of the lake. Then, as the masses settled, more mud was put on until the whole anchored upon the bottom of the lake and became immovable. The gardens look beautiful, covered as they are with the many-coloured blossoms. By means of the canals the roots are kept thoroughly moist at all times, and the plants thrive luxuriantly.
This canal of La Viga was formerly a great trade route, for a large part of the natives came to the City of Mexico by this way. It leads back into regions where dwell full blooded Aztecs who speak a language that is said to be almost the pure ancient tongue. These natives can be distinguished from all others on the street and in the market by their features and peculiar dress. They are clannish and keep by themselves, except in the intercourse made necessary by barter and trade. They are proud of their lineage and rejoice in the fact that they have not mingled with the other native races.
Tacuba, distant only a few miles, is an interesting little village, and has many gardens and a fine old church. It is a good place to study the people and get snap-shots of quaint life. Its principal distinction is that it was a proud city when Tetlepanquetzaltzin was king once upon a time. Texcoco at the time of the conquest was the capital of the Tezcucans, who were a race in alliance with the Aztecs, but it is now principally in ruins, for its glory has passed away. El Desierto was once the home of the Carmelite monks and is frequently visited now in its decay. Coyoacan was the first capital of Mexico, for Cortez established the seat of government there for a time while the new city was being built.
Tacubaya is the home of the wealthy as well as the sporting element. It has beautiful gardens within the adobe walls surrounding the homes of the opulent. It is on higher ground and should have been the site of the capital city itself. It is also called the Monte Carlo of Mexico, for gamblers of all sorts and conditions congregate here in booths or under umbrellas, and you can lose any sum at games of chance as at that famous resort along the shores of the blue Mediterranean. Games, music, dancing, cock-fights, and bull-fights are a few of the attractions to amuse and entertain the visitor, and relieve him from the burden of carrying around the weighty silver pesos.
In all this beautiful and historic Valley of Mexico there is no more beautiful spot, or none around which so many memories cling, as Chapultepec, the Hill of the Grasshoppers. Historic and beautiful Chapultepec! A great grove of noble cypresses draped with masses of Spanish moss surrounds this rock, and between the trees and along the shores of a pretty little lake wind enchanting walks. One grand old cypress called Montezuma’s tree rises to a height of one hundred and seventy feet. It is a magnificent breathing spot—with which no park that I have ever seen in America compares. Legend says that on the top of this rock was situated the palace of Montezuma, and it is probably only legend. No doubt that emperor often rested himself under the friendly shade of the great _ahuehuete_, and reflected on the glory of his empire before the disturbing foreigners came. The present Castle of Chapultepec dates from 1783 when it was begun by one of the viceroys. Later viceroys, presidents and an emperor added to the original building until now it is a palace indeed but not a beautiful structure. Ill-fated Maximilian made this his home and added greatly to the beauty of the grounds. It is now the White House of Mexico although occupied only a part of the year by the president.
Perhaps nowhere in the world does there exist a more beautiful scene than that which unfolds to the view from this rock. All around is the great sweep of plain with its wealth of cultivated fields; the distant mountain range with its ever varying outline; the snow-capped twin peaks, Popocatapetl (seventeen thousand, seven hundred and eighty-two feet) and Ixtaccihuatl (sixteen thousand and sixty feet), standing like silent sentinels and dominating the horizon; the silver line of the lakes; and beneath us the fair City of Mexico, the ancient Tenochtitlan. Legend says that Popocatepetl, “the smoking mountain,” and Ixtaccihuatl, “the woman in white,” were once living giants but that having displeased the Almighty they were changed to mountains. The woman died and the contour of her body covered with snow can be traced on the summit of the smaller peak. The man was doomed to live for ever and gaze on the sleeping form of his beloved. At times when his grief becomes uncontrollable he shakes with his great sobs and pours forth tears of fire.
As I stood on that historic rock I thought of the New World Venice described by Prescott, “with its shining cities and flowering islets rocking, as it were, at anchor on the fair bosom of the waters.” Rising above all was the great sacrificial altar upon which the sacred fires were ever kept burning. Beneath this rock under the friendly branches of the giant cypress Montezuma has no doubt sheltered himself from the hot sun. Cortez here rested himself after his severe marches. French zouaves in their quaint uniforms have bivouacked in the grove. American blue-coats stacked their arms here after the victory of Molino-del-Ray. And Mexicans now take their siestas under the same friendly shade while other races are robbing them of their wealth.
Yes, historic scenes and tragedies have taken place on this plain. Nations have come and gone. Victors have themselves been led away captives, and taskmasters have in turn become slaves. How finite is man or his works in the presence of this great panorama of nature! Races have come and gone but the mountains endure. Human tragedies have been enacted here but the sky is just as blue and the sun just as bright, as when Cortez looked with envious eyes upon this beautiful valley. The mimic play of men, and women and races upon this amphitheatre has scarcely left its imprint. The only occasions when the calm serenity of nature has been disturbed were when the giant Popocatapetl, overcome with grief at the loss of his beloved, has shaken this whole valley with his sobs and poured forth plenteous tears of fire over its fair surface.