Mexico, Aztec, Spanish and Republican/Volume 2/Book 5/Chapter 6
CHAPTER VI.
THE CITY OF MEXICO
INTERIOR OF THE CATHEDRAL.
its walls before he becomes sufficiently disenthralled from the spells of climate and national scenery, in order to do justice to the other American capitals. Mexico, unquestionably, is the queen of Spanish cities on this side of the Atlantic; but, in external taste, in modern elegance, and an agreeable combination of splendor and comfort, it does not compare favorably with the chief towns in the United States.
Built in regular, square blocks, on a dead level, it wants the picturesque breaks or abruptness, which are only found on inequalities of surface. Its houses, erected around quadrangles—with a court yard or patio in the centre of each,—are stern and massive edifices; but they have rather the air of castles designed for defence or seclusion, than of habitations whose cheerful portals extend a hearty welcome to every passer. They partake of the age in which they were constructed, and of the traditionary architecture of Southern Europe. Yet,—in the pellucid air of these lofty regions,—with its fancifully frescoed walls basking in the pure sunshine, and relieved against the dark back ground of surrounding mountains;—its streets filled with a motly and picturesque crowd;—its towers and domes breaking the regular evenness of the flat roofed dwellings,—and its splendid groves in the alamedas and paseos,—Mexico is, indeed, a capital worthy a great nation, as well as of the enduring recollection and praise of every traveller who visits it.
The plan of the city is as regular as that of a checquer board. Its straight streets divide it from east to west and north to south; whilst, nearly in the centre, the great square or Plaza spreads out for many an acre, surrounded by the chief edifices of the State, the Corporation or the Church.
On the northern portion of the plaza is erected—on the alleged site of the great teocalli, or pyramid temple of the Aztecs,—the cathedral, with its adjacent Sagrario. It is, externally and internally, an imposing building of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; for although its architecture is neither regular, classical, nor conformable to the rules of any distinct order, yet its massiveness and elaborate detail, impart to it a certain degree of effective grandeur. We have always found it impossible to receive, or impart an idea of architectural beauty or magnificence by description alone. The best writer can but catalogue dimensions and details, and his account is, therefore, always more of a builder's estimate or bill, than a picture which impresses our minds with a vivid image of the real object. We turn, therefore, gladly from the feeble pen to the graphic pencil, and refer the curious reader to the accurate plates which accompany this volume, for a better idea of the internal and external appearance of this sacred edifice, than we can convey by language alone.
Yet there are parts of the cathedral to which even the pencil cannot do justice. The floor of this magnificent temple,—made of loose and heavy boards, which are moveable at pleasure, in order to allow sepulture beneath them,—is the only part of it which seems neglected or shabby. Every thing else is gorgeous beyond conception, although the splendor is more colonially barbaric, than nationally classic. Profusion is the chief characteristic. It seems as if the priests and the pious worshippers had designed to heap up rather than arrange their offerings in honor of the Almighty, and as if their piles of precious metals would form the most graceful as well as grateful emblem of their religious sincerity. In the wilderness of columns, statues, shrines, oratories, altars and fonts, the traveller stands amazed and confused; and leaving the pictures of the church to demonstrate its complete effect, he retreats upon the metallic standards which surround him, in order to convey the best estimate of this queen of American temples.
The exterior walls front upwards of four hundred feet on the plaza, and run back about five hundred feet to the narrow street of Tacuba. Entering the main portal, whilst the huge bells are clanging in the two steeples above it, you face the choir for the clergy, which is built of rare, carved woods, and elaborately covered with gilded images, whose burnished surface flashes in the sunlight. Beyond this is the high altar, raised from the floor on an elevated platform, and covered with ornaments, crosses, and candle-sticks, wrought in the precious metals. From this sanctuary,—extending around the choir, and probably near two hundred feet in length,—runs a railing, between four and five feet high, and proportionally massive, composed of gold and silver very slightly alloyed with copper. And on the summit of the high altar rests the figure of the Virgin of Remedios, whose dowry in dresses, diamonds, emeralds and pearls is estimated at not less than three millions of dollars.
On the east of the cathedral, fronting the west, and bounding the whole eastern limit of the plaza, is the national palace, formerly the residence of the viceroys, and now occupied by the president, as a dwelling. It is an immense quadrangular building, constructed on the ground which it is supposed was covered by the palace of Axayacatl, in which Cortéz was lodged by Montezuma, when he first arrived in the Aztec capital. Besides affording room for the president and his family, this huge edifice contains all the offices of the several secretaries of state; the general treasury and tribunal of accounts; the supreme court; the headquarters of the general-in-chief; the two chambers of deputies and the senate, both of which are elegant apartments, and, especially that of the deputies;—two barracks for infantry, cavalry, and a park of artillery;—two prisons; some shops; a botanical garden; and the mint. South of the National Palace, but not fronting the plaza, are the University, containing the National Museum, in front of which is the magnificent modern market, built during the administration of Santa Anna in 1842.
Directly opposite the façade of the cathedral, in the south-eastern corner of the plaza, is the Casa Municipal, or City Hall, which is occupied partly by the corporate authorities, and partly by the merchants' Lonja, or exchange. On the western side of the square there are no public buildings; but the palace of Cortéz, which was erected by the conqueror and rebuilt and still owned by his descendants, covers a portion of its front and deserves to be mentioned for its associations if not for its architectural beauty. The whole of the side walks on the southern part of the plaza, and a portion of the western, beyond the Calle Plateros, or street of the silversmiths, are protected by a broad and massive corridor or portico, called the portales, in which the traveller will constantly find crowds of hawkers, pedlars, shopmen, letter writers, clothiers, fruit sellers, liquor venders, crockery dealers and book hucksters. A few squares west of the plaza, is situated the magnificent palace of the Mineria, or School of Mines, one of the most elegant edifices in the capital.
In noticing the general splendour and luxury of ecclesiastical architecture in Mexico we should not omit to mention particularly the beautiful convent of La Merced, a view of whose elegant interior court and corridor is presented in the opposite plate. Gloomier recollections, however, are conjured up from the past by beholding the church of San Domingo and the neighboring inquisition, which was the prison and the place of torture to so many unfortunate victims during the viceroyal government of New Spain.
It is, in the centre or heart of the city, that all the characteristic habits and costumes of the people may be most readily observed. The great body of the crowd is, of course, composed of the common classes—the males in their shirts and trowsers with a blanket thrown 
Pushing his way, eagerly and industriously through the crowd, the laborious aguador, or water carrier elbows his way, as he trots his rounds to fulfil his daily task with his twin jars of the refreshing fluid, one of which he bears upon his back, suspended by a strap around his brow, and balanced by another which depends from a leathern thong, which rests upon the back of his head. Hard by the aguador, appear the carbonero, or coal dealer,—the poultry seller,—the crockery pedlar, or the porter,—all of whom bear their burdens on their shoulders, and move along in that ambling trot which is peculiar to the laborers and Indians of Mexico. Large numbers of women with oranges, pears, potatoes, tomatoes, onions, lemons, guyavas, aguacates, chirimoyas, plantains, fish and eggs, swell the increasing crowds. The butcher drives along a diminutive donkey, on whose saddle he has erected his peripatetic shambles, filled with beef or mutton, whilst, at the corners and on the edge of the side walks, sit long rows of Indian women with pans of savory chile sauces and heaping baskets or cloths of steaming tortillas. All these eager venders of the necessaries and luxuries of life, engage public attention by shouting the quality and value of their wares at the top of their voices. Sound and motion are the predominant features of the varied panorama; and the stunned stranger is glad to retreat into quiet nooks and byeways in which he meets the stately gentlewoman and cavalier, dressed in the becoming habiliments of their station. When ladies go abroad in Mexico to shop or visit, they universally use their coaches; yet every woman daily walks to mass,—and, whilst engaged in this religious pilgrimage, exhibits the old and habitual costume of black silk gown and lace mantilla, which she has derived from her Spanish ancestors. This is a charming dress. It exposes the black, lustrous hair of the graceful wearers, and fully develops that majestic yet feminine gait with which the Mexican women seem to glide and undulate along their path. The inseparable fan,—her constant companion, play thing and interpreter, in the saloon, the ball room, the theatre or the church,—rests carelessly, in her right hand, which coquettishly clasps the folds of her mantilla; and, from beneath its silken folds, her large lustrous eyes gleam soft and languishingly above her pale but healthful cheeks. If Mexican ladies are not so variously beautiful as the women of northern lands, in whose veins the blood of many nations has mingled, they are most loveable creatures in spite of the uniformity of their national type. There is a degree of exquisite tenderness, and an expression of affectionate sincerity, in the face of Mexican women, which instantly wins not only the respect but the confidence of the gazer. Nor does their character in real life contradict their amiable physiognomy. Faithful as a friend and as a wife, the Mexican lady is a person, who, with the educational advantages enjoyed by their northern sisters, would rightfully maintain as high a position in the social scale, with, perhaps, a more delicate degree of sensibility.
The lower classes of females are of course different from the upper ranks both in appearance and personal qualities. They are of impure blood. Spaniard, Indian, Negro and Malay, have 
tributed to their ancestral pedigree, and their race is consequently mixed; yet, impure as they are by descent they have not failed, like all imitative inferiors to catch the manners and bearing of the aristocracy. There is hardly a Mexican girl, —whose whole wardrobe consists of her chemise, petticoat, rebozo, comb, looking-glass and shoes,—who does not move along the street, when in full dress, with the queenly step and coquettish display of eye and hair from beneath her cotton rebozo, which we have just admired in the Mexican doña.
The costume of Mexican gentlemen is the usual European dress worn by the same class among northern nations. But, in addition, the broad folds of a massive cloak are always thrown over their shoulders upon the slightest pretext or provocation of the weather, whilst their nostrils are constantly refreshed by the fragrant fumes of a cigar or cigaritto.
The city of Mexico possesses two magnificent Passeos and an Alameda in which all classes of the people habitually recreate themselves. The city is supplied with water by splendid aqueducts, bringing the limpid streams from the neighboring hills.
The Passeo Nuevo lies west of the city towards Chapultepec and Tacubaya. It is a broad avenue, laid out tastefully amid the beautiful meadows that surround the city, and is broken at intervals by fountains of stone, and shaded by rows of stately trees. When the weather is fine, which it usually is for six or eight months of the year, the disengaged people pour out to this gay resort, near sunset, on foot, in coach, or on horseback, to enjoy the refreshing breeze and to greet each other on this social exchange. The Passeo is broad enough to allow several coaches, to drive abreast if needful, but the course is usually occupied by only two lines of advancing and returning carriages or horsemen. This promenade parade circulates up and down the highway for an hour; but when the evening bells toll for oracion, every hat is raised for a moment and every horse's head immediately turned homewards.
The Passeo de la Viga, is on the other side of the city, and is preferred by many persons to the Passeo Nuevo. It skirts one of the canals leading to the lake of Chalco, and affords the stranger an opportunity of observing the crowds of Indians who linger along the banks, or push off at evening in their boats, crowned with flowers and strumming their guitars if the day happens to be one of festivity.
This Passeo was constructed under the viceroyalty of Revilla-Gigedo, whose improvements of the city and neighborhood of Mexico have contributed so greatly to the elegance and beauty of the capital.
Passeo Nuevo. It occupies a space of ten or twelve acres, enclosed by a substantial stone wall, which is surrounded by a deep and flooded moat. The gates are closed daily at the Oracion; and the spot is thus protected carefully from all improper uses as well as from wanton destruction. Around the whole of the inner wall, lines of substantial stone seats are erected, and, in front of them, an excellent carriage road affords a drive for those who are not disposed to mingle in the gayer circle of the passeos. Within this highway the plantations begin. Paved paths cross and recross the dense groves in a labyrinth of lines, while, at intervals, fountains and secluded benches break the uniform solemnity and quietness of the spot. In the centre of the enclosure, a massive fountain, surmounted by a gilded statue of Liberty, rises nobly in the midst of a broad area, whose top is almost domed with the arching branches of the trees, which admit a scant but lovely light through a narrow aperture, like the sky-light of the pantheon at Rome. The birds, unassailed for years within this grove, have flown to it as a sanctuary, and the branches are forever vocal with their natural music. Situated as it is on the edge of the town, and surrounded by houses, it nevertheless seems buried in the depths of a forest; and perhaps no spot, in America, is so fitted for the enjoyment of a quiet man, who can either take his exercise on foot or horseback, beneath the sheltering trees, or wile away his hours with book and pencil on the comfortable seats in the shady woods. It is the favorite resort in the morning of all classes who are obliged to rise betimes and go abroad for health. Students, priests, monks, lovers, loungers, dyspeptics, consumptives, nurses, and troops of lovely children resort to the Alameda as soon as the gates are opened, and study, meditate, pray, flirt, exercise, or romp, until their appetites or the sun warn them of the flight of time.
In these drives, in dress, dining, domestic duties, mass, and theatre the hours of a Mexican's day are chiefly consumed. This catalogue of "idle occupations," does not, of course comprise all classes, but includes that portion of the aristocracy which is every where set apart by its fortunate exemption from necessary toil. In a country so rich as Mexico this class must necessarily be large; and, if it begins the day in plain black, and on its knees in chapels, it ends its waking hours amid the blaze of dress and jewels in the family box in the theatre. In most of the countries of southern Europe, and in all their old colonial possessions, the theatre is one of the necessaries of life, and a box is as indispensable as a dwelling. It forms a neutral ground upon which all can meet without the requirements of a forced hospitality, and consequently it affords all the pleasures of general society without the necessity of expensive entertainment. There are great disadvantages attending upon this constant dwelling in the public eye and in the blaze of artificial light; yet it is so agreeable a mode of killing time in Mexico, that the habits or the nature of the people must change essentially before we may expect to find them surrounding nightly the domestic hearth instead of the dramatic stage. Yet we should not be unjust to the Mexicans in this condemnation of one of their agreeable habits, which originates perhaps as much in their climate as in their tastes. Fine skies and genial atmospheres drive people into the open air. Wintry winds, desolate heaths, ice and snow, gather and group them into the nestling places of home. When houses become in this way mere shelters instead of shrines we might well pardon the taste which leads a sensitive people to enjoy the beautiful landscape as long as day permits it to be seen, or to retreat, at nightfall, into those splendid theatres in which they may behold the mimic representation of that varied activity of life to which their monotonous career is a comparative stranger.
Nevertheless, a well-bred Mexican family is one of the most delightful circles into which a genteel stranger can be admitted. The formal manners of the Spaniards have descended to the Mexicans. You are received cordially but carefully, and you must either be useful or known, before you are admitted into the confidence of a family. Until this occurs your reception and departure from a Mexican dwelling are quite as ceremonious as your initiation into a Masonic lodge. Bows, gestures, shrugs, grimaces, and all the ordinary rites of external politeness are plentifully bestowed on the stranger;—"But sad is the plight of the luckless knight," who imagines that these elegant formalities literally mean what the profess. Americans, especially, whose extraordinary and loose social facilities habituate them to an unrestrained intercourse with all the members of families as soon as they are either prudently or imprudently introduced to them,—are often in danger of making this
sad mistake in Mexico. Neither wealth, education, nor political position, entitle an individual in that republic to pass the threshold of distant and civil intercourse. The Mexican's house, purse, or daughter, are not at "your disposal," although he tells you that everything he possesses is "à la disposicion de Usted!" Yet, when his acquaintance has ripened into friendship, and he understands that you appreciate his tastes, his country, his language, his prejudices, his religion, and his habits, or do not visit him, as many foreigners have done, merely to scoff and condemn,—then, indeed, the social manners of the Mexican relax into intimacy, and the attention he bestows on you may be more firmly trusted because it was so cautiously yielded. The stranger who penetrates a Mexican house under such circumstances, finds its hospitality unbounded, and its generous inmates his devoted and faithful servants either for life or until he forfeits their esteem by treachery or misconduct.
In every Mexican church, monastery, convent, palace, house, hut, hovel, hacienda, or rancho, the traveller will not fail to observe an image of "The Virgin of Guadalupe." Many men receive the name of "Guadalupe," in baptism, and almost every woman has it added to the others she receives from her parents or sponsors. A saint whose tutelary influence is at once so national and so curious deserves especial mention in the notice of a country over whose people she is supposed to exercise a mysterious dominion; and we therefore present the reader the following translation from the Spanish of Don Ignacio Barillo y Perez, in which the history of her miraculous appearance is set forth with more detail than we have elsewhere encountered.
The story of the Virgin is implicitly believed by the great mass of the people; and the wonderful picture, described in the following account, adorned with invaluable precious stones, is now preserved in a massive golden frame, in the collegiate church of Guadalupe erected at the foot of the hill of Tepeyacac. On the 12th of every December, the anniversary of the miraculous visit, the people pour forth from the capital to the sacred shrine and witness the splendid rites instituted in honor of the saint. In the temple and at the holy well, they are met by crowds of country folks and Indians, who come from far and near on the same errand, while the whole pompous ceremonial is countenanced by the presence and apparent devotion of all the high officers of government including the president himself.[1]
Tepeyacac is a small mountain whose southern side is a scarped and inaccessible precipice which looks to Mexico, situated on the south of it at the distance of about three miles. Its ascent, by whatever part undertaken, except that of the pathways made to facilitate the access, is extremely rough and stony. Its whole surface is covered with crowsfeet, buck and hawthorn, which are common to such sterile wastes. The Indian name, Tepeyacac, signifies the abrupt extremity or termination of hills, and in this bluff, terminate all the hills to the north of the capital.
It was celebrated in the days of heathenism for the worship paid in this place to the mother of the false gods of the Indians, but it is more celebrated at present for the adoration which is worthily paid to the Mother of the true God in her beautiful temple.
As Juan Diego,—an Indian recently converted, of pure and unblemished morals, though of lowly birth, was passing by this place on Saturday, December 9th, 1531, on his way to hear mass and participate in the Christian worship which the Franciscan fathers taught in the district of Tlatelolco, at the hour of early dawn, he heard, upon attaining the brow of the little mountain, which he was ascending on the western side, a sweet, sonorous and harmonious music, as of little birds upon its summit. The ravishing tones and rare melody attracted his attention and arrested his steps. On looking up, as was natural, he saw a white and shining cloud, surrounded by a rainbow, and in its centre a most beautiful lady, like the image we now venerate in the sanctuary, who calling with a sweet and gentle voice, addressed him in his own language with wonderful suavity and told him she was the Virgin Mary, Mother of God, whose mass and doctrine he was going to hear, and she commanded him to go to the bishop and tell him that it was her will that a temple should be built to her upon that spot, in which she would show herself a pious mother towards him, his nation, devotees, and as many as should solicit her support and protection in their hour of need. She directed him to tell all he had seen and heard, and added: 'Be sure, my son, for whom I feel a delicate and tender love, that I will repay all you do for me; I will render you famous; and I will endow you with benefits for the diligence and labor you display. Now, my servant, in whom I delight, thou hast heard my desire, go thou in peace.'
The Indian promptly obeyed and went to the palace of the bishop, the illustrious Señor Don Francisco de Zumarraga, who since the year 1528, had resided in Mexico with the title of Protector of the Indians, and who afterwards became the archbishop. The prelate heard him with surprise, and prudently directed him to return on some other occasion, when having well considered and examined into so singular an event, he might deliberate as to what was proper to be done by him.
The Indian returned with the answer to the Most Holy Virgin whom he found in the same place. Prostrating himself before her, with words of submission peculiar to the Indians, he repeated the reply of the bishop, adding that, in order to secure compliance with her will, it would be necessary to send some person of authority and credit, as it appeared to him he was not believed because he was an humble man and a plebeian. The Most Holy Virgin, with no less benignity and suavity than on the previous occasion, replied: 'To me neither servants nor followers whom to send are wanting if I should wish, since I have multitudes at my command; but it is agreeable to me now that thou shouldst perform this mission, and make the solicitation. Through your intervention I wish to give effect to my will, and desire you to speak again with the bishop, and tell him he must build a temple in honor of me on this spot; and that it is the Most Holy Virgin Mary, Mother of the true God, who sends you to him.' Juan Diego answered: 'Do not be offended, my Queen and Holy Lady, at what I have said, which is not intended to excuse me from this office.' Desiring to satisfy the Most Holy Virgin, although fearful the bishop would not give credit to his story, he pledged himself to repeat the message the next day; and promised, that at the setting of the sun, he would be at that spot once more with the reply. Bidding adieu to the blessed apparition with profound humility, he went to his village and his house, but it is not known whether he mentioned to his wife, or other person, his strange adventure.
The following day, Sunday, December 10th, 1531, Juan Diego went again to hear mass and participate in the Christian worship. Upon the conclusion of the service, he went diligently to discharge his mission, and although the servants of the bishop delayed him a long time at the entrance of the palace, he succeeded at length in coming into the prelate's presence. With lively expressions of feeling, which made that dignitary shed tears of tender pleasure, he prostrated himself before the bishop, and told him he had a second time seen the Mother of God, who commanded him to return and repeat that it was her will a temple should be built in honor of her on the spot at which she appeared. The bishop listened with great attention, and examined him with many questions, in the answers to which he could detect no discrepancy; and, in fine, knowing it could neither be a dream nor fiction of the Indian, he told him that what he had said was not sufficient to ensure credibility; that he must ask some sign from the Holy Lady, by which it might be known that it was really the Mother of God who sent him.
The Indian, with intrepid confidence, replied that he would ask whatever the bishop desired; when the latter, observing that he was not abashed, but offered to ask for the signs, ordered him to go, but, meanwhile, secretly despatched two confidential members of his family to follow the Indian, and to observe with whom Juan Diego spoke on his arrival at the hill of Tepeyacac. They did so; but when they arrived at the bridge over the river that empties, at the foot of the hill, into the lake which lies to the east of Mexico, the Indian disappeared from the spies who were watching him. They examined the summit, brow, and circumference of the hill, without failing, in their anxious solicitude, to explore every ravine, fissure, and fragment of it, but not finding him in any part, they concluded that the native was a deceitful impostor, and confirmed in that idea, they returned to the bishop, begging him to punish the Indian if he repeated his imposition.
As soon as Juan Diego, who was in advance of the servants, arrived at the top of the hill, he found there the Most Blessed Mary awaiting the prelate's answer. Pleased with his attention and promptitude, she directed him to return the next day, when she would give him a sign that would ensure credibility with the bishop. The Indian promised to do so, but he could not comply with the mandate of Our Lady, to return the next day, December 11th, 1531, as he found on reaching home that his uncle, Juan Bernardino who held the place of father in his affections, had fallen ill of a malignant fever, which the Indians call cacolixtli, on which account he was detained that day in administering to him some simples used by the Indians, all of which, however, he applied without avail. At length, the infirmity assumed a fatal character, and the patient asked Juan Diego to call in a priest, from whom he might receive the Holy Sacrament and Extreme Unction.
The 12th of the same month, before the dawn of day, Juan Diego set out for the Confessor, but on approaching the mountain near the place where he had seen and spoken to the Most Holy Virgin, foreseeing that she might blame him for his want of care in not having returned, and that she might detain him to carry the signs to the bishop, and considering moreover that the message he bore did not admit of delay, he pursued another path lower down the mountain, towards the eastern part of the hill, imagining that there he would not meet the Virgin. But this did not turn out as he supposed, for passing the spot whence a fountain was flowing, on turning to the brow of the hill, he saw the Holy Mother descending from the summit to meet him in the path! The Indian, surprised by the saintly apparition, was greatly alarmed; but the Holy Virgin, with an affable countenance, said to him: 'Whither goest thou, my son? What road is this thou hast taken?' Juan Diego was sadly confused, frightened, and abashed; but the amenity with which Our Lady met him renewed his courage; and prostrating himself at her feet, he said: 'Do not be offended, Beloved Virgin, at what I am about to say to you.' And, after saluting her to ascertain the state of her health, he began to exculpate himself by briefly narrating the unfortunate situation of his uncle, begging her to have a little forbearance with him, and that he would return some other day to obey her commands.
The Holy Mary heard him with incomparable benignity, and replied, 'Hear, my son, what I say. Do not allow yourself to be disturbed or afflicted by any thing; neither fear infirmity, affliction, nor grief. Am not I, your mother, here? Are you not under my shield and protection? Do you need more? Give yourself neither trouble nor concern on account of the illness of your uncle, who will not die of this present malady; and, moreover, rest satisfied that even at this very instant he is perfectly cured.'
The Indian, consoled and satisfied by the Virgin's assurance, was filled with divine confidence, and without caring for any thing else, he asked for the sign he was to take to the bishop. The Virgin told him to ascend the hill to the spot where she had previously conversed with him, and cutting the flowers he would find growing there, to collect them in his tilma or blanket and bring them to her.
The Indian obeyed unhesitatingly, although he knew that these rude wastes produced nothing but thorns even in the most flourishing springtide.
Arrived, however, at the summit, he found a bed of various budding flowers, odorous and yet wet with dew. He cut, collected and placed in his tilma as many of them as it would hold and bore them to the Most Holy Virgin, who awaited him at the foot of a tree, called by the Indians Cuautzahautl, (a species of palm of wild growth, bearing only white flowers similar to those of the white lily,) which grew in front of and near the source of the fountain. The Indian bowed humbly and exhibited the flowers which he had cut. The Virgin taking them in her blessed hands impressed them with a holy virtue and arranged them in the Indian's tilma, (which was, in fine, to be the repository of her sacred image,) and said to him, 'This is the sign which I wish you to take to the bishop, in order that he may build me a temple on this spot;' and she charged him, saying, 'show no one what you have until you arrive in his presence!"
With this she dismissed Juan;—and the Indian rejoicing in the sign, (for he knew that through it his embassy would have a happy issue,) he hastily took the path to Mexico.
Juan Diego arrived at the palace of the bishop with the credentials of his embassy, and informed various members of the family that he wished to speak with him. Nevertheless he could not obtain permission to enter, until, enraged at his importunity and perceiving his tilma full of something, they sought to ascertain what it contained; and although in obeying the mandate of the Most Holy Virgin, he resisted and hid from their sight these miraculous flowers, they did not desist from using violence to discover what he seemed so anxious to conceal. Seeing, however, that they were only flowers wet with dew, and admirable for their beauty and fragrance, they thrice attempted to seize some without being able to do so, for the powerful hand of the Virgin resisted their violence, affixing the blossoms in such a manner to the tilma that upon touching them they appeared painted or interwoven in the material of the garment itself. This portentous novelty caused them to hasten to the bishop with the information that Juan Diego was waiting to speak with him.
As soon as the prelate was informed of the circumstances, he ordered the Indian to enter instantly. As Juan displayed his tilma to show the blessed sign, the flowers fell, and the image of the Most Holy Virgin, which we venerate in the Sanctuary of Guadalupe, appeared miraculously painted upon the tilma or garment of the Indian! At this wonderful sight the astonished bishop and those about him prostrated themselves and adored it with the greatest veneration. They were struck with the beauty and freshness of the flowers flourishing in the midst of winter, but much more by the heavenly beauty of the image before them, from which they neither attempted nor were able to withdraw their eyes.
No less astonished was Juan Diego at seeing in his tilma the image of the one who had commanded him to bear the sign to the bishop, when he thought he was only bringing flowers.
The bishop arose, and with due reverence untied the knot that suspended that sacred cloth from the back of the Indian's neck. He took it to his Oratory, and, hanging it up with the greatest possible respect, gave thanks to God for so striking a miracle; and thus he became the treasurer and depository of the richest jewel in the crown of America.
The bishop detained and ministered unto the Indian that day, and, on the following, went with a multitude to the hill, in order that he might point out the spot upon which the Blessed Virgin desired that a temple might be built.
Arrived at the hill, he indicated the places in which he had seen and spoken with the Sovereign Queen,[2] and, asking permission to visit his uncle Juan Bernardino, (whom he had left in danger,) the bishop gave his consent, and ordered some of his companions to accompany Juan, directing them, if they found Juan Bernardino well, to bring him thither.
Upon arriving at the village of Tolpetlac and approaching the house of Juan Bernardino, the convalescent Indian came forth to receive his nephew and ask why he was accompanied by so honorable a cortege. Thereupon Juan Diego related what had transpired; when Juan Bernardino, interrupting him, said, that in the self-same hour in which the Most Holy Virgin announced his recovery, she had in fact not only cured him, but had appeared and directed him to build a temple to her at Tepeyacac, where her image should be called Holy Maria de Guadalupe.
The servants brought the two Indians to the presence of the bishop;—and having examined Juan Bernardino concerning his infirmity, the manner in which he had received his health, and the form under which Our Lady appeared to him, and many other questions to satisfy himself concerning such a strange occurrence, which he could hardly credit,—the bishop took the Indians with him to his palace.
And now the fame of the miracle was rapidly spread abroad through the whole city; and all the towns folks clamoring to have the sacred image exposed to the adoration of the public, and running tumultuously to the palace of the Bishop, he caused it to be borne to the Cathedral Church, over whose highest altar it was placed during the building of the hermitage at the place the Indian pointed out. Thither it was transferred when the edifice was completed, which did not take place in fifteen days as is the opinion of some Guadalupanian authors, but in two years and fifteen days, on the 26th day of December, 1533."
- ↑ See also, "Mexico as it was and as it is"—p. 63, for a full account of the ceremonies of the Collegiate church, and of Archbishop Lorenzano's sermon, preached in 1760, confirming the miraculous history.
- ↑ The Indian not being able to point out the precise spot, a fountain gushed from (the ground and indicated it.