Part 15

On making inquiries respecting a celebrated aqueduct which we understood to exist in the vicinity of _Otumba_, we learned that it was distant nearly five leagues. We had intended to return to Mexico on the morrow, but we now determined to visit this work. During the evening, one of our lately formed acquaintances called to introduce one of his friends, who politely offered us horses, a favor which we gladly accepted.

DEC. 29. We rose early, and joined by three of our new acquaintances, were soon on horseback. One of those who attended us, was manager of two fine _haciendas_, which we visited on our way to the arches of Zempoala. The first, Soapayuca, owned by the _Conde de Tepa_, a Spanish nobleman, is about a league from _Otumba_. Having been burnt during the revolution it has been rebuilt on an extensive scale. Our road ran along the _lomes_ of the mountains, through fields of the _maguey_. About two leagues and a half from _Otumba_, we were shown, on our left, the plain of _San Miguel_, where Cortes is represented to have gained his celebrated victory, in the retreat from Mexico to _Tlascala_. A ride of three leagues brought us to the _hacienda_ of _Ometusco_--an estate from which _pulque_ only is made, which gives to its owner, Don Ignacio Adalid, of Mexico, a nett profit, as we were informed, of $15,000 a year. Here we took breakfast, and after viewing the buildings, pursued a narrow path through the _magueyes_ to the _Arcos de Zempoala_.

These arches are sixty-eight in number, crossing a deep valley from north to south, and are eleven hundred paces in length. The greatest height is one hundred twenty-two and a half feet, where two arches, one supported above the other, are thrown across the deep _barranca_. The width above is four feet and a half, with a narrow, and shallow channel in the centre for the conveyance of the water. This is a work of great antiquity, constructed about the year 1540, under the direction of a Franciscan Monk, to supply Otumba with good water, of which it is sadly in want. Though made at an immense expense, the aqueduct is now wholly useless, but the arches are in an excellent state of preservation.[4]

[Footnote 4: Torquemada relates--Monarquia Indiana, l. 20, c. 63--that a Franciscan Friar, Francisco de Tembleque, undertook and accomplished this work, achieving an exploit "which great and powerful kings would scarcely have undertaken to accomplish, nor would he have engaged in such a work (although the poet says, fortune favors the bold) if he had not been inspired by heaven, and aided especially by divine grace, which overcomes all obstacles and provides the means of easily surmounting the greatest difficulties." The time taken to execute this work was 16 or 17 years, five of which were consumed on the principal arches; "which," our author says, "may be regarded as one of the wonders of the world." According to his statement, there are sixty-seven arches (we counted sixty-eight) extending 1059½ _varas_--about 975 yards. The middle arch is 42½ _varas_, about 118 feet high--and 23½ _varas_, about 21½ yards wide, "which fills with astonishment and wonder those who see so marvellous a work." There are two other ravines, one crossed by thirteen the other by forty-six arches. The entire length of the aqueduct was 160,496 Spanish feet--more than fifteen leagues. Torquemada gives no dates, but this work appears to have been constructed soon after Tembleque arrived from Spain, which was in 1538; and our author mentions, that though built seventy years (he wrote about 1610 or 12) it had not sustained the smallest injury.

As a specimen of Torquemada's credulity, I extract the following "most pure truth"--_purisma verdad_. He says that "the good Father Francisco de Tembleque, had no other companion during this long and painful work than a large yellow cat, which hunted in the fields by night, and at daybreak brought to his master the fruits of his hunt, hares or partridges, for the day's subsistence, which may seem incredible, but it is a most pure truth: many clergy witnessed this wonderful thing, who, passing by, stopped at the hermitage at night for the sole purpose of seeing the fact, and of convincing themselves of the care of the cat, for it was commonly reported through the land, how he sustained himself and his master."]

After taking a rough measurement of this magnificent work, we retraced our steps to the _hacienda_ of Ometusco, where our kind host showed us the entire process of making _pulque_. A good plant of the _Agave_,[5] under the most favorable circumstances, reaches maturity in eight years. This state is indicated by a disposition in the central leaves to throw up a stalk, which, when permitted to grow, rises to the height of twelve or fourteen feet, branching at the top not unlike a chandelier. In this critical state a large incision is made with a sharp iron bar in the heart; a large basin, as it were, is scooped out with much care, and being then filled with dry leaves or rubbish, is permitted to rest unmolested for about six months, when it begins to yield juice in abundance and of good quality. On being taken from the plant, which operation an Indian performs morning and evening with a long gourd acting as a syphon, the _agua miel_, or honey water, as it is then called, is of a sickening sweetness; but after being poured into large vats--made of untanned hides, with the hair inside--in one week it effervesces; but when poured, as in common, upon the lees of old _pulque_, it is prepared in one or two days, and is carried to market in hogs' skins. After yielding during six months, from 200 to 250 gallons, and sometimes more, the plant dies, and a young sucker is planted to succeed it. A plant ready to yield, is worth from eight to twelve dollars, and produces three or four _cargas_, or mule loads: a _carga_ is sold in market at four dollars.

[Footnote 5: The American aloe.]

_Pulque_ is intoxicating to those who use it too freely. The taste is far from pleasant to me, and the odor of it is sickening; but it improves with use, and when taken moderately is thought to be wholesome.

The _Agave Americana_ is a most valuable plant. Independently of its agricultural profits upon barren soils where little else would grow, it serves a great variety of uses. From _pulque_, a strong brandy is distilled. This and _pulque_ are the common drink of the people. The fibres of the leaf of the _maguey_ are manufactured into coarse cloths, which are used for bagging, as saddlecloths, and for the _aparejos_, packsaddles; they form thread of every texture, twine, and rope of the largest size; and the juice of the leaf is efficacious in the cure of ulcers, especially of the galls and sores of brute animals: the leaf itself acts in place of gutters and spouts for the cabins of the Indians, and makes a roof to their rude dwellings: its prickle or thorn, is a needle in case of necessity; and at certain stages of its growth the _maguey_ may be taken as food, and was so used during the revolution by many hungry wanderers.

Thus this plant may be the food, drink, and clothing of the Mexicans; and from the variety of purposes to which it may be applied, the _Agave Americana_ may safely be said to be the most valuable of the vegetable creation.

It was dark when we returned to our lodgings in _Otumba_, having consumed the whole day in seeing what we might have accomplished in a few hours; but our friends were so polite, that we were obliged to submit to their dilatory movements.

DEC. 30. Provided again with horses, we set out at an early hour for the Pyramids, leaving our carriage to join us at _San Juan de Teotihuacan_. After a ride of nearly two leagues, we alighted at the foot of the smaller pyramid, which, although the ascent was steep, rough, and overgrown with weeds, we soon surmounted. This, more dilapidated than the larger one, still preserves its pyramidal shape, so as easily to be distinguished. The construction seems to be of stones thrown indiscriminately together, and, at occasional intervals, a layer of lime crosses it horizontally. Upon its summit are the remains of a small stone building, which bears abundant evidence of being the work of the Conquerors. It was probably a chapel, built to fill the place of the temple which it usurped. At the southern foot of this pyramid is a circle surrounded either by diminutive pyramids, or by the ruins of small edifices, or perhaps both intermingled. Near the centre of this circle is a similar ruin, from which proceeds a regular street forty or fifty feet wide, running north and south, and bounded on both sides by ruins of apparently small pyramids, on which are distinct traces of the walls of houses divided into small apartments. At the head of the street is a large rough stone, with a circle sculptured on one side of it; beyond the wall of this circle, on the west, we were shown a singularly cut stone of large size. It is ten feet three inches long, five feet one inch wide, and four feet five inches high above the ground, in which it seems partly buried. We collected every where various wrought pieces of obsidian.

The larger pyramid is a little distant from the street to the east of it. As our time was limited I ascended it hastily, and found that, except in size it differs only in one respect from the other: about midway a terrace extends around it. The faces of both pyramids correspond with the four points of the compass. The view from them extends over the lake of _Tescuco_ to the city of Mexico, and beyond the western barrier of the plain to the snow-capped mountain of _Toluca_.

The large pyramid of _Teotihuacan_ is called _Tonatiuh Ytzaqual_, or House of the Sun. According to _Oteyza's_ measurements[6] its base is 208 metres--682½ English feet--its perpendicular height is 55 metres--180.4 feet. The base of the other pyramid is much less than that of the former. This is called _Mextli Ytzaqual_, or House of the Moon: its height is 144.4 feet.

[Footnote 6: Humb. T. 2. l. 3. c. 8. p. 66.]

The construction of these pyramids is ascribed to the _Tolteck_ nation, in which event they were built in the eighth or ninth century.[7] It has been asserted that these and the other Mexican Pyramids are hollow; but as far as investigations have been carried, their solidity seems established. Constructed as they are, if they were hollow the destructive influence of so many centuries which have elapsed since their erection, would have discovered it. The supposition is equally ill-founded that they are mere casings or crusts to natural eminences. So far as rains have laid them open, or the hand of man exposed to view their interior, all is artificial. It is idle to argue that if they were completely artificial, the materials which form them must have been dug from some contiguous spot, and that this has no where been discovered. Places are seen from which the materials have been collected; and the circumjacent plain is strewed thickly with _tetzontli_, quite abundant enough to build other pyramids, without being reduced to the necessity of digging into the earth.

[Footnote 7: Humb. T. 2. l. 3. c. 8. p. 67.]

At _San Juan_, about half a league from the pyramids, we rejoined our carriage, and at 11 A. M. set out for Mexico, distant ten leagues. We travelled rapidly over a dreary but not a bad road, and passing _Tololcingo_, crossed the dry bed of the lake of _Tescuco_, shortening our ride a league or so. At a _venta_, or small inn, near _Santa Clara_, we had the good fortune to meet with an idol, dug up in the vicinity, which we bought; it represents a naked female, her hands crossing her breast, her nose of prodigious size, and hair plaited down the back. The figure is about two feet high.[8]

[Footnote 8: This idol was sent to the museum of the college at Charleston, S. C.]

We arrived at _Guadalupe_ at 3 P. M. and an hour's ride over a good _calzada_, bordered with pretty aspins, brought us to the capital. Our jaunt has been very delightful, and we have met with great kindness. From what we have seen of the antiquities of Mexico, we are impressed with a far more favorable opinion than we had entertained of the civilized state of the Indians before the Conquest.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

MR. WHITE:

The subjoined copy of an old Scotch ballad, contains so much of the beauty and genuine spirit of by-gone poetry, that I have determined to risk a frown from the fair lady by whom the copy was furnished, in submitting it for publication. The ladies sometimes violate their promises--may I not for once assume their privilege, in presenting to the readers of the Messenger this "legend of the olden time," although _I promised not_? Relying on the kind heart of the lady for forgiveness for _this breach of promise_, I have anticipated the pardon in sending you the lines, which I have never as yet seen in print.

SIDNEY.

BALLAD.

They have giv'n her to another-- They have sever'd ev'ry vow; They have giv'n her to another, And my heart is lonely now; They remember'd not our parting-- They remember'd not our tears, They have sever'd in one fatal hour The tenderness of years. Oh! was it weal to leave me? Thou couldst not so deceive me; Lang and sairly shall I grieve thee, Lost, lost Rosabel!

They have giv'n thee to another-- Thou art now his gentle bride; Had I lov'd thee as a brother, I might see thee by his side; But _I know with gold they won thee_, And thy trusting heart beguil'd; Thy _mother_ too, did shun me, For she knew I lov'd her child. Oh! was it weal to leave me? Thou couldst not so deceive me; Lang and sairly shall I grieve thee, Lost, lost Rosabel!

They have giv'n her to another-- She will love him, so they say; If her mem'ry do not chide her, Oh! perhaps, perhaps she may; But I know that she hath spoken What she never can forget; And tho' my poor heart be broken, It will love her, love her yet. Oh! was it weal to leave me? Thou couldst not so deceive me; Lang and sairly shall I grieve thee, Lost, lost Rosabel!

From the Baltimore Visiter.

THE COLISEUM. A PRIZE POEM.

BY EDGAR A. POE.

Type of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary Of lofty contemplation left to Time By buried centuries of pomp and power! At length, at length--after so many days Of weary pilgrimage, and burning thirst, (Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,) I kneel, an altered, and an humble man, Amid thy shadows, and so drink within My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory.

Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld! Silence and Desolation! and dim Night! Gaunt vestibules! and phantom-peopled aisles! I feel ye now: I feel ye in your strength! O spells more sure than e'er Judæan king Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane! O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!

Here, where a hero fell, a column falls; Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold, A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat: Here, where the dames of Rome their yellow hair Wav'd to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle: Here, where on ivory couch the Cæsar sate, On bed of moss lies gloating the foul adder: Here, where on golden throne the monarch loll'd, Glides spectre-like unto his marble home, Lit by the wan light of the horned moon, The swift and silent lizard of the stones.

These crumbling walls; these tottering arcades; These mouldering plinths; these sad, and blacken'd shafts; These vague entablatures; this broken frieze; These shattered cornices; this wreck; this ruin; These stones, alas!--these gray stones--are they all-- All of the great and the colossal left By the corrosive hours to Fate and me?

"Not all,"--the echoes answer me; "not all: Prophetic sounds, and loud, arise for ever From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise, As in old days from Memnon to the sun. We rule the hearts of mightiest men. We rule With a despotic sway all giant minds. We are not desolate--we pallid stones; Not all our power is gone; not all our fame; Not all the magic of our high renown; Not all the wonder that encircles us; Not all the mysteries that in us lie; Not all the memories that hang upon, And cling around about us as a garment, Clothing us in a robe of more than glory."

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LINES

Written in the Village of A----, Virginia.

Sweet village of the mountain glen! Thy verdant shades are dear to me; I shun the busy haunts of men, And to thy peaceful bosom flee; For smiling nature's summer home Is found beside thy flashing rills, And when the winter-tempests come, She reigns upon thy rugged hills.

Upon thy rocks the tow'ring pine, The hemlock and the cedar grow; And high the wild and flow'ring vine, Its tendrils round their branches throw. 'Tis sweet to stray thy paths along, Beside some bright and rippling stream Whose waters with a murm'ring song, Glance gaily in the sunny beam.

Through distant lands my feet may roam, In foreign climes my dwelling be, Unchang'd where'er I make my home, My heart will still abide with thee. Yes! still with thee, in joy or woe, On desert land, or stormy sea, In pain or bliss, where'er I go, My love will ever dwell with thee.

A. L. B.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

_Extracts from the Auto-biography of Pertinax Placid_.

MY FIRST NIGHT IN A WATCHHOUSE.

CHAP. II.

This was our hero's earliest scrape; but whether I shall proceed with his adventures is Dependent on the public altogether: We'll see, however, what they say to this. [_Don Juan_.

We found Fenella in much trouble. That buoyant mind which the vicissitudes of a changing and precarious profession could not sadden or subdue, proved itself vulnerable to the weapons of ridicule.

"And so, my young deserter, you have come at last. Here have I been grieving myself to death at the malice of Mc----, and you have felt no sympathy in my trouble, or have been too indolent or indifferent to give me one word of comfort. Shame on you! Is this your friendship?"

I made my excuses with the best grace I could assume, and assured her I had just learned the cause of her uneasiness. She readily believed me, for she was too sincere herself to doubt the sincerity of others.

"I do not know," said she, "but my annoyance at this affair may seem overstrained. To those who call themselves philosophers, it may appear childish in me to grieve at such an attempt to render me ridiculous. But I am a mere woman, and no philosopher; besides, my case is a peculiar one. On the stage we have so often, I might say so habitually, to overstep what by other women are considered the bounds of modesty, that she who preserves the essential principle of that great charm of the sex, is most jealous in keeping her claim to it inviolate. The world gives us credit for but little feminine delicacy--and the world reasons correctly in doing so. But correct reasoning does not always reach the facts of peculiar cases. It may be thought strange, but I know it to be true, that a woman who in the presence of hundreds suffers herself to be embraced, kissed, and fondled by men of gross character and disgusting manners, and who embraces and caresses them in turn, should revolt at the idea of permitting such liberties in private. I know this to be so in my own case. And even were all those women whose lot is unfortunately cast upon the stage, as licentious as both the virtuous and the vicious are pleased to suppose them, they must indeed be debased and degraded, to yield themselves to that indiscriminate licentiousness which the world's censure would imply. Few know how far the enthusiasm of an artist, his aspirations after excellence, his love of abstract beauty, may check and overcome every prurient thought, every low born imagination. The sculptor, when he moulds the beings of his fancy into forms of loveliness, is alive only to the spirit of his art; his mind is filled with the beauty of his conceptions, and is purified by the intenseness of his desire to attain the summit of excellence, from every grovelling idea. He is not, surely, to be classed with those who, looking upon his works with vulgar eyes, find in them food for lascivious thoughts, and stimulants to unhallowed passions. So it is with acting. The actress has placed before her a mark of excellence which she is ambitious to attain, and in striving for its attainment, all minor considerations are thrown aside. The exhibition of a passion must not be shorn of its accessories; and whatever is necessary to its full development she yields to, with as little thought of grossness or indelicacy in caressing an individual who represents her husband or her lover, as the artist indulges when painting Eve in the undress of nature. It would be well for such as suppose that these exhibitions indicate a want of modesty, to know how totally the mind is absorbed in the desire to embody the conceptions of the poet, when an actress in Belvidera or Monimia gives a loose rein to the passions, and regardless of the being with whom she is associated, contributes, by the very freedom which the over-virtuous delight to censure, in producing the delusion of the scene. In playing her part, not one thought is given to the man whom she embraces. No--she is for the time a fictitious character--the character of the scene, insensible to any other feeling but that which the poet has delineated. But how differently do the work-a-day world argue this matter. They seldom, if ever, separate the _actress_ from the _woman_--and every action is judged of according to the gross ideas of the vulgar minded, or the fastidious scruples of those who measure a dramatic representation by the rules which prevail in private society. I know full well the invidious position which, as an actress, I occupy in the opinion of the public; and a consciousness that in my unfortunate profession, every step towards the achievement of excellence must be gained by a sacrifice of personal respect, often gives me melancholy sensations. Do you then wonder at the pain I have suffered from this malignant endeavor of Mc----'s to render me ridiculous?"

"But still," said Nichols, "the attack in itself is unworthy of notice. The same talent might render the proudest woman in the city an object of equal ridicule."

"Very true, but it would not find the public disposed to laugh with the caricaturist. The general sentiment would be against him, for he would have outraged what every man would be ready to defend--the sanctity of female privacy, and the decencies of social life. But such a case is strongly contrasted with mine, and it is that which renders it to me so peculiarly painful. The actress lives in the full glare of public observation, and the libeller who holds her up to contempt, invades no sanctuary which all hold sacred; he only makes her subservient to public amusement in a new character. If her pride be wounded, if her delicacy be shocked--she has few to sympathise with her, for few believe she possesses either pride or delicacy, and none deem it their duty to defend her from the attacks of her enemy."

Fenella paused, and I saw the tears glisten upon her cheek; but she turned away her face, and hastily brushed them off, as if ashamed that her weakness should be observed.

"You do your friends injustice," said I. "You do indeed. There are a few who do not think thus lightly of your feelings, and who are ready to defend you from assaults of whatever kind."