# Face to Face with the Mexicans/Chapter 2

CHAPTER II.
IN MOTHER NOAH'S SHOES.
dearth of household furniture and conveniences already mentioned, put ingenuity and will force to their utmost tension, and I felt as if transported to antediluvian days. I have a candid conviction that Mother Noah never had cooking utensils more crude, or a larder more scant, than were mine. It may be, however, that the "old man" was "good to help around the house."
This was before the time of railways in Mexico, the "Nacionai Mexicano" having only penetrated a few leagues west of the Rio Grande. With the primitive modes of transportation which served in lieu of the railway it was not advisable to attempt bringing household goods so far over a trackless country. The inconveniences that followed were not peculiar to ourselves, but common to all strangers, who like us could neither anticipate nor realize the scarcity of every household appurtenance.
The natives who enjoyed the luxury of furniture—and there was a large number who had everything in elegance—had also the romantic recollection, that great old two-wheeled carts, towering almost above the house-tops, had brought it from the capital, nearly a thousand miles, or it was manufactured by the carpenters of the town.
In the division of the apartments of the house, one half was allotted to us, while our friends distributed themselves among the remaining rooms, on the opposite side of the court-yard, the drawing ​room being used in common. Mr. and Mrs. R—— employed a cook and had their own cuisine, the others flitted about from fonda to fonda (restaurant) in search of sustenance. In the evening of each day we would meet and compare notes on the varied and amusing experiences of the day. However, I am not relating the adventures of our friends, but will generously leave that happy task to them.
Progress in furnishing our quarters in this great massive structure was slow indeed. How I longed for the delightful furnishings of my own home, which remained just as I had left it.
Fortunately for us, a druggist had two spare, pine single bedsteads, which he kindly sold to us for the sum of forty dollars. At an American factory they would have been worth about four dollars each. One was painted a bright red, the other an uncompromising orange. They were cot-like and had flat wire springs, while Mexican blankets constituted the entire bedding, mattresses and all. Pillows were improvised from bundles of wearing apparel. Fancy how they looked, the only furniture in a gorgeously frescoed room twenty-five by thirty-five feet, and of proportionate height!
Mr. and Mrs. R—— were much less fortunate than ourselves in procuring their household comforts, or rather discomforts. They ordered two cots, which were covered with a gayly striped stuff. The brilliant dyes having impaired the strength of the material, at the first attempt to lie upon these treacherous beds, both individuals found themselves suddenly precipitated upon the stone floor. No one in the house had anything in the way of bedding to lend them, and in the darkness they betook themselves to the hotel, to occupy beds of iron, proof against collapse.
A friend lent us six hair-cloth chairs, and a table which had many years before been the operating table of his brother, a surgeon. It was long, green, and sagged in the middle. A carpenter was employed to make the remaining necessary articles of furniture. He labored on the customary mañana system, and while his calculations as to time ranged all the way from eight to fifteen days, I found he actually meant from six weeks to three months. He showed samples of his ​workmanship, rocking-chairs with and without arms, made of pine, stained or painted or varnished, and upright chairs with cane seats. I ventured to ask when he could complete for us a dozen chairs, four rockers, and some tables. Utterly amazed, he looked at me with a smile of incredulity, as if to say, "What can you do with so much furniture?" He disapproved of my wish to have oblong and round tables, so I yielded acquiescence to the customary triangular ones which grace the corners of every parlor of respectability.
It now becomes necessary to introduce what proved to me the most peculiar and interesting feature of home-life in Mexico. This is not an article of furniture, a fresco, a pounded earthen floor, or a burro or barred casement, but the indispensable, all-pervading, and incomparable man-servant, known, as the mozo. According to the prevailing idea, he is far more important than any of the things enumerated in my household ménage, for from first to last he played a conspicuous róle.
Forewarned—forearmed! The respectability of the household depending on his presence; one was engaged, the strongest character in his line—the never-to-be-forgotten Pancho.
It was perhaps not a just sentence to pronounce upon this individual, but circumstances seemed to warrant the comparison I involuntarily made between our watchful Pancho and a sleepless bloodhound. At night he curled himself up on a simple petate with no pillow and only a blanket, and was as ready to respond to our beck and call as in the day.
In this house were two kitchens, representative of that part of the country. In the center of one was a miniature circus-ring about three feet in circumference, consisting simply of a raised circle of clay ​about one foot high. This constituted the range. Little fires were built within this ring, one under each of the pottery vessels used in the operations. After this uncomfortable fashion the cooking was done, the smoke circling about at its own sweet will and at length finding vent through a small door at one side, the only opening in the room.
The sole piece of furniture was a worm-eaten table supported on two legs, the inner side braced against the wall. Its decayed condition indicated that it was at least a hundred years old.
Mrs. R—— amused herself by experimenting on the circus-ring— minus the aid of horses, however—a docile native woman executing what "ground and lofty tumbling" might be required in the culinary preparations.
The second kitchen contained another style of range equally primitive in its design.
Along the wall was built a solid breastwork of adobe, about two feet high, two feet deep, and extending the entire length of the room. An opening was left in the roof over this structure for the escape of smoke, but the grimy walls proved that it failed to answer its purpose. Upon this ledge, projection, or whatever it may be termed, the cook places her various pottery vessels with fires made of charcoal or small bits of wood under each, and there the stewing, boiling, frying, and crying go on all day. This cook, unlike the one in kitchen No. I, stands up in the performance of her duties.
When I inspected these kitchens, it may be imagined that the sight was rather depressing, coupled with the certainty that I could ​effect no improvement. But we had the luxury of one tiny fire-place, to which in my despair I fled for refuge. In this little treasure our scheme of housekeeping was inaugurated with results both brave and gay.
Among the latter experiences I may class my first coffee-roasting, not realizing till then that the essential feature of a mill was lacking, and that I was at least five hundred miles from any possible purchase of one.
Pancho, however, was equal to the emergency, and, going off, soon returned with a metate. (See upon the floor of kitchen No. 2, a portrait of this important culinary utensil.)
It was a decidedly primitive affair, and, like the mills of the gods, it ground slowly, but like them, it also ground to powder.
The metate is cut from a porous, volcanic rock, and is about eighteen inches long by a foot in width and eight inches in thickness. The upper surface, which is generally a little concave, is roughened with indentures; upon this the article is placed and beaten with another stone called a mano, resembling a rolling-pin. Almost every article of food is passed between these stones—meat, vegetables, corn, coffee, spices, chocolate—even the salt, after being washed and sun-dried, is crushed upon it. Such a luxury as "table salt" was not to be had. Previous to use these stones are hardened by being placed in the fire. The rough points become as firm as steel, and one metate will last through a generation.
This necessity of every-day life was a revelation to me. The color of an elephant, it was quite as unwieldy and graceless, but its importance in the homely details of the ménage was undeniable. It had but two competitors to divide the honors with—the maguey plant and the donkey. They were all three necessary to each other and to the commonwealth at large.
Equipped with an inconceivable amount of pottery of every shape and kind, maguey brushes, fans of plaited palm—the national bellows wooden forks, spoons, and many other nameless primitive articles, my collection of household gods was complete. ​The first meal cooked in that dainty little fire-place was more delicious than any that could be furnished at Delmonico's. In his quaint efforts to assist, Pancho perambulated around with an air as all-important as though he were chef of that famous café. But the climax of all was reached in Pancho's estimation when I put a pure white linen cloth on my green, historic table and arranged for the meal. He said over and over: "Muy bonita cena!" ("Very pretty supper"). But I discovered it was the attractions of my silver knives and forks
MY HOUSEHOLD GODS.
and other natty table ware from home that constituted the novelty. In his experience fingers were made before knives and forks.
I found my major domo knew everything and everybody; the name of every street, the price of every article to be bought or sold. My curiosity, I presume, only stimulated his imagination, and the more pleased I appeared at his recitals the more marvelous were his tales.
He gave the lineage of every family of the "jente decente," for generations, his unique style adding pith and point to his narrations. He told me the story of Hidalgo and Morelos and Iturbide; the coming of the Americans, the French intervention, and all the late revolutions, until my head rang with the boom of cannon and the beat ​of drum. But invariably these poetic narratives were rudely interrupted by some over-practical intrusion. In the same breath in which he completed the recital of the Emperor Iturbide, he suggested that wood was better and cheaper than charcoal for cooking.
With my approbation he went to the plaza, returning in a little while with a man who brought ten donkeys, all laden with wood packed on like saddle-bags. I asked the wood-vender to drive his vicious-looking dog out, when he complied by saying: "Hist! hist! Sal!" Of course I then thought the dog's name was Sal, but soon found the word meant "get out" As the dog howled on being railed at, the man of importance again yelled at him, "Callate! callate el ocico, cuele!" ("Shut up—shut your mouth, and get out!")
Constant surprises were developed before my eyes every hour in the day. The yolks of the first eggs I bought were white—indeed, this was often the case,—which for a moment dazed me, as I had never expected to find my old friend, the hen, so different in her habits from her sisters in the States. But the qualities of the egg were identical with those familiar to me; however, yielding to prejudice, I rejoiced that eggs were not numbered among my favorite edibles.
The difficulties of all strangers not familiar with the language and idioms of the country were a part of my daily experience. Pancho was by that time master of the situation, and although evidently often amused, his thoughtfulness in relieving me of all embarrassment never failed. Though grave, he had a sense of humor. This was made evident, on one occasion, when I had been using a hot flat-iron. Having finished, I told Pancho to put it in the cocinera, meaning the kitchen. I heard a low chattering and smothered laughter between him and the cook. Pancho then returned to my room, and half quizzically, half serio-comically said: "Please come to the kitchen." I went, when he placed himself in front of the cook, with his left hand on her shoulder, waved his right arm around the room and said: "Señora, look; this is the cocinera"—{cook)—"and this," again waving the right hand around the room, "is the cocina! Do you want ​me to put the plancha caliente (hot iron) in the cook, or in the kitchen?" Then with the forefinger of his right hand moving hastily before his nose, and a waggish smile on his face, the pantomime closed with, "No usamos asi" ("We don't use them this way").
Another ridiculous mistake I made when I wanted Pancho to buy me some cake, and told him to get four gáteaux, forgetting that biscocho and not gateau was the Spanish for cake. Folding his arms, he quietly answered without a smile, if he might presume to ask the Señora what she wanted with cuatro gatos—(four cats!) As the house was already overrun with these animals that had flocked in from all quarters, Pancho naturally wondered why I wanted to add to my feline tenants.
Itinerant venders of every imaginable commodity were constantly passing, and nothing pleased me better than to hold conversations with them, which they too evidently enjoyed.
Soon after the episode of the flat-iron, I heard the long drawn intonation of a vender and paid little heed to him, supposing he was running off a list of his stock in trade, such as pins, needles, tape, thread and other things too numerous to mention. Wanting none of these, I replied:
"Tenemos bastante adentro" ("We have plenty in the house").
A roar of laughter near by, and a familiar voice interpreted the man's question humorously enough: he was only asking if I wanted a chichi (wet nurse).
The common people of all ages were always bringing me regalitos (tokens of good will), and these were of every conceivable variety. A little girl whom I had often fed through the window, came into the house with her rebozo drawn closely about her, saying she had a regalito for me. I supposed it to be fruit or flowers, and so motioned to her to put it on the table in the dining-room.
In a moment she was at my side, saying:
"No quedarse alli" ("It will not stay there"), and going out I found a young chicken running around.
To pay fifty cents for every donkey load of wood, as I had done, ​seemed preposterous; and, as Pancho knew everything, I asked him to suggest some more economical system of purchase. He recommended watching for the carretas at five o'clock in the morning.
Promptly at the hour indicated, I was before the barred window, when I heard the awful screech, thump, bump, and rumble of the lumbering carretas. About a dozen in a line, they advanced slowly—their great old wooden wheels wabbling from side to side—drawn by oxen with rawhide trappings; their sturdy drivers sandal-footed and clothed in cotton cloth, with an iron-tipped goad in hand, punching and pushing the beasts at every step. Here was the wood—the entire tree, roots and all—ghosts of the forest hauled twenty-five miles, rolling down the street on an antiquated vehicle. In response to Pancho's hand-clap, the manager of the caravan demanded fifteen dollars a load, the dollars being the only part of the transaction that belonged to our age. But the wood was duly bought.
THE WOOD.
Pancho had so far held the reins as to all household purchases, but in accordance with my ideas of independence and careful management, I announced that I was going to market. He kindly told me it was not customary for ladies to go to market—"the niozo did that"—throwing in so many other arguments, also of a traditional nature, that I was somewhat awed by them, though not deterred. Having been accustomed to superintend personally all domestic duties, to be bolted and barred up in a house, without recreation and outdoor exercise, induced an insupportable sense of oppression.
Walking leisurely along the street, absorbed in thought, with Pancho near at hand carrying a basket, I was attracted by the sound of voices and the tramp of feet. Glancing backward, I saw a motley ​procession of idlers of the lower classes following, which increased at every corner, reminding; me of good old circus days, though without the blare of brass instruments, the small boys bringing up the rear. The very unusual occurrence of a lady going to market had excited their curiosity.
The market was a large, pavilion-like building, occupying the center of a spacious plaza. Little tables and bits of straw matting were distributed on all sides; and upon these the trades-people, chiefly women, displayed their wares, fruits, vegetables, nuts, and other commodities.
TAKING THEIR MEALS AT THE MARKET.
On seeing me, every vender began shouting the prices and names of articles, entreating the señora estrangera to buy. But the strange medley, together with their earnestness, took my breath away, and I could only stand and watch the crowd. In the fantastic scene before me, it would be impossible to tell which of the many unaccustomed features took precedence of the others in point of novelty.
Notwithstanding the crowd, there was no disorder, no loud laughter or unseemly conduct. The courteous meetings between acquaintances, the quiet hand-shakings, the tender inquiry as to the health of each other, the many forms of polite greeting, were strangely at variance with their dilapidated and tattered condition, their soiled garments, half-faded blankets, and time-stained sombreros. ​Whole families seemed to have their abiding places in the market. Babies! babies! everywhere; under the tables, on mats, hanging on their mothers' backs, cuddled up in heaps among the beets, turnips, and lettuces, peeping over pumpkins larger than they; rollicking, crying, crowing, and laughing, their dancing black eyes the only clean, clear spots about them—with and without clothes—until my head and the air were vocalizing the old-time ditty of "One little, two little, three little Injuns." But instead of stopping at "ten," they bade fair to run up into the thousands.
Parrots were there by the dozen. On seeing me, some began screaming and calling in idiomatic Spanish: "Look at the señora estrangera! look! look! Señorita, tell me your name!" The rest joined in chorus, and soon an interested crowd surrounded me. They kept close at my heels, inspecting every article I bought, even commenting on my dress, the women lightly stroking it and asking me a thousand questions as to where I came from, how I liked their country, and if I was not afraid of the Mexicans, and invariably closing by saying, "She is far from her home. It is sad for her here."
Here and there the amusing spectacle presented itself of men intently engaged in the occupation among us assigned to women, that of knitting and crocheting baby hoods and stockings of bright wool, and of the funniest shapes I ever beheld!
PATTING TORTILLAS.(top right)
NEWS-BOYS. (bottom right)
who had a bushel basket in reserve, even agreeing to pay her for the basket; but she only shook her head, and wagged the forefinger, saying, ''No, señora, no puedo"—("No, madame, I cannot "). A woman held in her hand a corn husk, which she waved continuously up and down. On examination, I found it was butter rolled up snugly, which she assured me was "fresca sin sal"—"fresh, without salt". A new revelation, but in the course of time I learned to appreciate this primitive method, and that in this climate salt was a hindrance to its preservation for any length of time. At last I became convinced of the perfect and complete fitness of things, and of their self-vindication.
In making the tortilla, the corn is first soaked for several hours in a solution of lime-water, which removes the husk. Then a woman gets down upon her knees and beats it for hours on the metate. Small pieces of the dough are worked between the hands, tossed and patted and flattened out, until no thicker than a knife-blade, after which they are thrown upon the steaming hot comal, a flat, iron affair something like a griddle. They are never allowed to brown, and are without salt or seasoning of any kind; but after one becomes inducted into their merits, they prove not only palatable, but they make all other corn-bread tasteless in comparison, the slight flavor of the lime adding to the natural sweetness of the corn.
There were tamales rolled up in corn husks, steaming hot and sold in numbers to suit the hungry purchasers. I found that this remarkable specimen of food was made, like the tortillas, from macerated corn. Small portions of the dough were taken in hand and wrapped around meat which had been beaten to a jelly and highly seasoned with pepper and other condiments. The whole was then folded snugly in a corn husk and thrown into a vessel of boiling lard.
When I witnessed this operation, the woman whose enterprise it was, began singing in a cheery voice and making crosses before the fire, saying, "If I don't sing, the tamales will never be cooked."
In my market experiences nothing imparted a greater zest than watching the multitude of homeless poor taking their meals all around the border of the market. All the compounds they ate were complete ​mysteries; but before going home I had secured many of the various receipts from the venders. I found plain atole much the same in appearance as gruel of Indian meal, but much better in taste, having the slight flavor of the lime with which the corn is soaked, and the advantage of being ground on the metate, which preserves a substance lost in grinding in a mill.
Tortillas, likewise, lose their flavor if made of ordinary meal. Atole de Ieche (milk), by adding chocolate takes the name of champurrado; if the bark of the cacao is added, it becomes atole de cascara; if red chili,—chili atole. If, instead of any of these agua miel, sweet water of the maguey, is added, it is called atole de agua miel; if piloncillo, the native brown sugar, again the name is modified to atole de pinole.
The meal is strained through a hair-cloth sieve, water being continually poured on it, until it becomes as thin as milk. It is then boiled and stirred rapidly until well cooked, when it is ready for the market. As served to the wretched-looking objects who so eagerly consume it, one felt no desire to partake, but in the houses, there is nothing more delicious and wholesome than atole de Ieche.
All the stews, fries, and great variety of other edibles were patronized and dispatched with the greatest eagerness. Barbacoa is one of the principal articles of food known to the Mexican market—and is good enough for the table of a king. The dexterous native takes a well-dressed mutton, properly quartered, using also head and bones. A hole is made in the ground, and a fire built in it. Stone slabs are thrown in, and the hole is covered. When thoroughly hot, a lining is made of maguey leaves, the meat put in, and covered with maguey, the top of the hole is also covered, and the process of cooking goes on all night.
The next morning it is put in a hot vessel, ready to eat—a delicious, brown, crisp, barbecued mutton.
As the process is difficult and tedious, it is not generally prepared in the families, and even the wealthiest patronize the market for this delicacy, ready cooked. ​From Pancho's manner I am sure he felt as if his vocation were gone, by the way I had overleaped the bounds of custom in finding out things for myself. Nevertheless, he managed now and then to give some of the venders an account of our house, its location, and my singular management. But though looking mystified, he never left me for a moment, no matter how long I talked, or asked explanations.
We went into the stores, Pancho keeping between me and the crowd. The shopkeepers were as much surprised and as curious as the people in the streets, to see me marketing. But when the crowd of idlers closed up around me, they were polite and solicitous to know if the "procession" annoyed me.
The arrangement of the merchandise and the method of trafficking elicited an involuntary smile from me at every turn; so, if the merchants, clerks, and the "procession" found fun at my expense, I was no less amused at theirs.
Dozens of mozos bought from them, in my presence, a table-spoonful of lard, which the agile clerk placed on a bit of brown paper for transportation; three or four lumps of sugar, a tlaco's worth of salt, the same of pepper, were all taken from immense piles of these articles, near at hand, wrapped and ready for the purchaser.
Dainty china tea-cups hung closely together by their handles on the edge of every shelf, and up and down the walls in unbroken lines; but not a saucer was in sight, nor could a dish be had at any price.
Anticipating that I would take a tlaco, medio, and real's worth, like the mozos, the clerk took in his nimble fingers a few of the little packages; but my extraordinary announcement despoiled him of his ordinary sales.
Every eye was upon me when I had the temerity to ask for twenty pounds of sugar, ten pounds of coffee, and a gallon of vinegar. Sugar and coffee were abundant, but the vinegar was in bottles. He handed me one with a flourish, saying, "Vinagre de Francia. We have no other." I began to feel that far-away France had become my ally, having, like me, made an invasion on the "costumbres;" the ​only difference being, that the vinegar bottles were jolted on the backs of meek burros, or in carts, a thousand miles, and I had arrived, safe and sound, by diligence.
I asked: "Have you ham?"—"No hay" (pronounced eye), ("There is none ").
"Pickles?"— "No hay."
"Powdered sugar?"—"No hay."
"Crackers?"—"Tampoco" ("Neither").
"Salt?"—"Si hay" ("Yes, there is some").
"Coffee?"— "Si hay."
"Frijoles?" (beans)—"Tambien" ("Also").
"Candles?"—"Si hay."
"Potatoes?"—"Ya no hay, se acabaron" ("They are finished — all gone ").
Going to market, a matter-of-fact affair in the United States, resolved itself into a novel adventure.
The heterogeneous assemblage of goods, and the natural and artificial products of the country, astonished me equally with the strange venders. There was so much that was at once humorous, pitiable, and grotesque, all of which was heightened when I reached home, and observed quite a number of the "procession" in the rear. Once over the threshold, Pancho slammed the door in their faces, saying, "Son pobres todos, y sin verguenzas!" ("They are all poor and without shame").
Every day the strange enigma unfolded itself before me, with accrued interest. My lot had been cast among these people, when in total ignorance of their habits and customs. My aim and purpose, above all things, was to establish a home among them on the basis of the one left behind. The sequel will show how well I succeeded. But while endeavoring to cope with the servants, and comprehend their peculiarities, I found nothing more amusing.
Our Mexican friends made daily visits to the house, and were always ready to enjoy with me the latest humorous episode furnished by the servants. I was often assured by these friends that the oddities ​oddities of their mozos and other servants had not occurred to them, as so striking, until my experiences, together with my enjoyment, had presented them in a new light; and that for them I had held the mirror up to nature. This was only possible by keeping up an establishment, and making one's self part and parcel of the incidents as they occurred. From this and the two succeeding chapters, it may seem that I was constantly involved in annoyances and disagreements with the servants; but such was not the case. Inconveniences more than can be named, were mine in the Sisyphean task of establishing an American home in Mexico, but if the reader can picture a perpetual treat in noting the strict adherence of the mozos to inbred characteristics, surely that privilege was mine.
As time goes on, and I no longer come in actual daily contact with them, in gay retrospect I see moving about me the phantom parade of blue-rebozoed women and white-garbed mozos.
Variety of scene and character was never wanting. If the interior workings of the household failed to interest me, I had only to turn and gaze through my barred window upon the curious street scenes.
On Saturdays, beggars were always out in full force, and on these days my time was mainly occupied in conversing with them, thereby obtaining many threads in the weft I was hoping to weave. A very old man, stooped and bent with age, applied to me for alms, when I asked his age. "Eleven years," he replied. "Oh!" I said, "that is a mistake. Why do you think you are only eleven?"—"Because I was a little boy when the Americans came." From that date—as I understood it—life was over to him and mere existence remained; added years had accumulated, but he was still a boy. I soon found that this class dated every notable event from either the cholera, the advent of the French, or the coming of the Americans.
An American negro was a welcome sight on one of these occasions, and his, good old-time familiar darky dialect, together with the sight of his kinky head, was refreshing. He stopped in front of my window, saying: "Well, now, mis', what is you a doin' heah? 'Marican white ladies neber likes dis country; dey isn't yo' kin o' people." ​He gave me his history in exaggerated negro style: how he had been in the war with his young master; had been taken prisoner, made to serve as cook on a Yankee gun-boat, had escaped, married a Mexican; and, after so many vicissitudes, had not forgotten his early training in his manner of addressing me.
Foremost among the objects that claimed my sympathy were the poor, over-laden, beaten donkeys; they seemed ubiquitous, and the picture my window framed never lacked a meek-eyed burro, until I could not separate them from their surroundings. They were typical figures, and
"THERE GOES THE MEXICAN RAILROAD."
at last I came to regard any scene from which they were absent as incomplete.
They passed in a never-ending procession, bearing every imaginable commodity. I soon noticed that if the leader or "bell-wether" of the gang stopped, the rest did the same. If goaded to desperation by the merciless driver, the only resistance they offered was to quietly but doggedly lie down.
Often dozens of them passed, with green corn on the stalks, suspended gracefully about them, and in such quantities that nothing was visible but the donkeys' heads and ears, the corn spread out in fan-shape, reminding me of a lady's train, or a peacock in full plumage. The burros moved evenly and silently along, without an undulation ​undulation to disturb the beauty and symmetry of the corn-stalk procession.
Pancho's knowledge of burros was as profound as of other subjects. As fifty of them were passing one morning, he happened to see me gazing on the strange scene, when the oracle broke silence by saying: "Alli va el ferro-carril Mexicano" ("There goes the Mexican railroad"), adding parenthetically, "Tambien se llaman licenciados" ("They are also called lawyers"); "tienen cabezas muy duras" ("they have very hard heads").
At last I was convinced that burros are possessed of an uncommon amount of good sense as well as much patience and meekness. Their shrewdness was intensely amusing to me when I saw how keenly they watched the arriéro—driver—unburden one of their companeros, and how quickly they jumped into the place to be also relieved of their terrible loads.
A man with a crate of eggs hanging from his head went trotting by, advertising his business by screaming, "Huevos! Huevos!" in deafening tones. Pancho, at his post of duty in the zaguan, called the vender with the long tangled hair and swarthy skin. After peeping cautiously around, he entered, when I went at once to make the bargain for myself, and to turn over another leaf in the book of my experiences. I wanted to buy two dozen, and handing him fifty cents, told Pancho to count the eggs. The man turned the half-dollar over and over—looking at me and then at the half-dollar; and at last handed the money back to me, saying: "No se venden asi" ("They are not sold in this way")—"solamente por reales" ("only by reals"). I said: "You sell six for a real, ​(twelve and one-half cents), it is the same at twenty-five cents a dozen." The words had hardly passed my lips, when he turned and looked me directly in the eye, with an expression which meant. "Well, now, look here, madame, you'll not take advantage of me in that way; I know the customary manner of doing business in this country, and there will be no change in selling eggs." Pancho put in a plea for him, adding: "Es costumbre del pais" ("It is the custom of the country"), which reconciled me.
The vender began counting slowly the fingers of his right hand with his left—"uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco,"—then holding up the index finger of the left hand —seis—and extending the six fingers, palms to the front, waved them back and forth before his determined face, as in low guttural tones that made me shiver, he said: ''No, señ-o-ri-ta,
so-la-men-te á se-is por un re-al!" ("I will only sell them at six for a real"), by dozens—never! Lifting his hat politely, he took his departure saying, "Hasta luego!" ("I'll come again "). But I thought he need not trouble himself.
Seeing everything and everybody so conservative, running in the groove of centuries, reminded me that I was losing sight of my own "costumbres." The little fire-place in which the cooking had been done became distasteful, and I longed for a cooking-stove. A Mexican gentleman whom I did not know, on hearing of my desire, kindly offered to lend us one that he had bought about twenty years before, but had been unable to have it used to any extent, owing to the prejudices of the servants.
With the utmost delight, I saw the cargador (porter) enter the big door with this time-worn rickety desire of my heart. But when he slipped it from his head, the rattle of its dilapidated parts made me quake with anxiety.
Both Pancho and the cargador exclaimed in one voice, "Caramba!" ("Goodness gracious alive!"), gazing with puzzled expressions on the wreck. ​The cargador was the first to break the silence that followed this ebullition of astonishment.
"Que atroz!" ("How atrocious!") he exclaimed.
"Que barbaridad!" ("How barbarous!") echoed Pancho.
"Por Supuesto que si!" ("Well, I should say so I"), quoth the cargador.
"Pos como no!" ("Well, I'd like to know why it isn't! "), said the disgusted Pancho.
"She will never get a cook to use it, never!" The cook came into the patio to inspect the stove, and she too spoke in a low voice to the men, but folding her arms and emphatically raising her tone on the last word "el higado" which explained itself later.
As there was not a flue in the building, the stove was placed in the little fire-place. It had only two feet, which stood diagonally opposite each other, causing the stove to nod and bend in a grim, diabolic way. Being duly settled on its own responsibility by the aid of bricks, Pancho opened one of the doors, when instantly it lay full length on the floor. He walked away, looking back in disgust on the wreck. I ventured to touch the door on the opposite side, when, as if by magic, it, also, took a position on the floor as vis-à-vis; the servants exclaiming: "Muy mal hecho!" ("A very bad make, or job! "), "tan viejo!" ("so very old!" )
"Pos como no!" ("Well, I should say so I") they all chimed in, the cook glancing at me suspiciously, and folding her arms as she added: "No, señora, I cannot use the estufa."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Porque me hace daño en el higado." ​"Because it will give me disease of the liver; Mexican servants dislike stoves, and if you keep this one, no cook will stay here," she replied.
A blacksmith was called to renovate the treasure, but he also worked on the mañana system, taking weeks to do his best, and still leaving the stove dilapidated. The cook took her departure, and on Pancho's solicitation dozens came, but a glance at the stove was enough.
Politeness ruled their lives, and native courtesy was stronger than love of truth. Without saying a word about the stove, they would say, " I would like to work for you—you are muy amable—muy simpática — amiable and agreeable; but,"—her voice running up to a piping treble — she would add, "tengo mi familia"—I have my family—or, " I am now occupied," meaning employed, by Don or Doña Such-a-one.
Pancho always looked on with keen interest during such conversations, his face saying, without a word: "I told you so; these cooks will never adopt your costumbres Americanos."
The stove was always falling, or some part dropping off.
At last one day I went in and saw it careened to one side—both feet off—and both doors down, suggesting that some canny hand had dismantled it. The wreck presented a picture painfully realistic; but before I time to inquire as to the perpetrator, the stove addressed me:
"I was once an American citizen, bred and born. My pedigree is equal to any of your boasted latter-day ancestry. A residence of twenty years in Mexico has changed my habitudes and customs. You need not try to mend and fix me up—to erect your American household gods on my inanimate form. I am a naturalized Mexican, with all that is implied. I have had my freedom the greater portion of the time since they bought me from a broken-down gringo; for neither the señora nor the cooks would use me. I'll do you no good; if you mend and fix me up in one place, I'll break down in another. Content yourself with our braseros (ranges) and pottery. Accept our usages, and you will be happy in our country. ​"You need not wonder at my rust-eaten and battered condition. I have lain undisturbed in the corral for nearly twenty years. During the rainy season, when the big drops pelted me unmercifully, snakes, lizards, centipedes, and tarantulas came habitually to take refuge inside my iron doors. So many different natures coming in close contact, there were frequently serious collisions. These warlike engagements have crippled and maimed me, more than the weather, or any service I have rendered. You will not find a cook who will even know how to make me hot for your use. Take me back to the corral! Take me back!"