Pictures of life in Mexico/Volume 1/Chapter 9
CHAPTER IX.
PRIESTLY DOINGS.
The first ecclesiastics from Spain, who settled in this country, distinguished themselves by a most praiseworthy desire to convert the ignorant Indian inhabitants to their own faith. The natives, however, being warmly attached to their old superstitions, and jealous, for obvious reasons, of the new comers, the most powerful means were employed to convince them of their errors. The weak minded were terrified into submission, the credulous were enticed into belief by promises of benefits and privileges, and the refractory were treated summarilly as heretics: they were hunted down and persecuted, starved and tortured; bloodhounds were let loose against them; they were immured in dungeons; denied the commonest necessaries of life; the rack was brought into operation, and numbers perished in all varieties of agony. In some parts of the country, the neophytes who embraced the new faith were bound to a ten-years servitude to their ecclesiastical patrons, as a return for the privilege of becoming converts,—an original idea in the annals of proselytism,—that of serving a kind of industrial apprenticeship to the art and mystery of true Catholicism!
The old Spanish monks and priests were banished from Mexico at the revolution; but their successors, of Mexican birth, are only superior to them in unblushing profligacy, rapacity and extortion.
My attention was one day arrested by a young Indian woman, who entered the cathedral in a most supplicating guise, bringing in her hand all her worldly wealth—the poor pittance for which she had laboured for many weary months. After a long confession, and many doubts and fears, a bargain seemed to have been arranged between her and the officiating priest, and with sobs and tears she handed over every rial of the money to him. He then gave her his blessing and a promise in exchange and turned upon his heel. Then a kind of trembling ecstacy appeared to seize her, and her tears fell faster; but they now seemed to be tears of joy. Clasping her hands convulsively before her, she raised her eyes to heaven, and exclaimed, "Blessed Virgin, I thank thee! I have now purchased the release of my parents from five thousand years of torment in purgatory! Oh! how I long to see them when they shall be free! Blessed Virgin, I thank thee for this indulgence!"
As the traveller passes through some of the lesser cities in this country, he will probably observe, close to some lofty, awful-looking buildings, a pair of iron pillars, with sockets attached to them. A stranger may know by these ominous tokens that the buildings belong, or once belonged, to the Holy Inquisition. A few years ago these iron sockets held a chain which was suspended across the street, and used to be "an indulgence" to the inhabitants! During one week in each year, every criminal, of whatsoever offence he had been guilty, was not to be amenable to the laws, if he were able to touch the chain previous to his apprehension. The natural consequence of such an "indulgence" was, that the city was periodically cursed with the most horrible atrocities—annually gorged with a plethora of abominable crimes. No matter how heinous the offence, or how brutal the offender, when he had once taken hold of the chain he was safe from punishment! Hence villains of the most abandoned character were sheltered and encouraged; while virtuous and innocent persons, whose opinions or influence had rendered them obnoxious to the Inquisition, were dragged away to secret imprisonment and cruel death.
The inquisitorial torturings and atrocities of a former period have diminished in Mexico, from the absence of any opposition to priestly rule among an ignorant people; but the nonexistence of such proceedings must not be inferred, merely because their perpetrators have the cunning to hide them from the light of day. Were the Mexicans more enlightened, the secret chambers of the Inquisition would again be filled with martyrs! and though the spectacle of an Auto-da-fe might not be exhibited in open squares and public places; as in olden times; yet the chains and racks, pincers and charcoal stoves, might be put in operation, none the less cruelly and fatally because in secret. The system has not changed: it is only that the spirit of remonstrance is wanting among its victims. And though the holy fathers, who now lord it over the souls and bodies of the Mexican people, have less frequent occasion to soften the obduracy of stubborn heretics by fire and steel, they find congenial occupation in debaucheries and immoralities indescribable.
The Jesuits were driven from the country, and their estates confiscated, when the yoke of the Spaniards was shaken off; and the interests of the ecclesiastics suffered in some degree from the visitations of the Americans during the war; but the church in Mexico is yet enormously wealthy. It is difficult to name with exactness the sum of its revenues, there being no statistical information on the subject; but it is not too much to estimate the worth of church property in Mexico—consisting of houses, convents, churches, furniture, jewels, and gold and silver vessels—at the sum of a hundred and sixty millions of dollars; exclusive of the annual incomes derived by the priests, hierarchy, and secular clergy, from their flocks.
The bishops and superior clergy are as numerous as they were before the revolution. Besides an archbishop and nine bishops, there are nearly five thousand parish priests. There are ten cathedrals, with canons and other dignitaries innumerable; and more than a hundred and fifty convents, containing nearly two thousand monks—Dominicans, Augnstans, Carmelites, Franciscans, and Mercedarios. The priests and monks have the sole distribution of all monies bequeathed for pious and charitable purposes; and church property is still exempt, as it was before the revolution, from paying any tax or burden whatever to the State.
Some attempts have been made to infringe upon these possessions, on account of the relative poverty of the country, but the innovators have been quickly clamoured down; and though the priesthood is not composed of such well-born or educated persons as formerly, their sway is still unchecked, and their arrogance and rapacity are unbounded.
The various ways in which these ecclesiastics enrich themselves and their church, deserve enumeration.
They make money by the sale of lottery tickets which they dispose of on various pretexts, for the benefit of the convents and religious houses;—by the remission of the pains of purgatory to those who are concerned for the souls of deceased relatives: this is a prolific source of emolument;—by the sale of indulgences for different periods and various sins: these are greedily accepted by the people;—by payments from all who pray before the images at the corners of streets, and on the outsides of churches;—by selling relics and consecrated trinkets, as well as real estates; and not unfrequently by transactions which it is impossible to mention;—by retailing wax-candles and other church furniture to little chapels in remote parts of the republic;—by birthday presents, which they receive from their admirers and dependants;—by usury; for they are in the constant habit of lending out their surplus capital (often very great), at an enormous interest, to land-owners;—by the rental of houses and estates which have been bequeathed to them from time to time in various parts of the country.But their most prolific and potent means of enrichment is at the bedsides of dying capitalists; to whom they promise instant possession of the joys of heaven in exchange for the earthly wealth they are about to leave behind them, or threaten with eternal torments if it be withheld.
In short, the greater part of the wealth and power of the country is thus in the possession of the priests. If it be asked, "What do they perform to the country in return?"—I can only reply, that they mutter a few "Aves," and elevate the host, upon stated occasions. They also eat, drink, and sleep luxuriously; feed upon the best, and wear the finest; play at cards, dance, and gamble with great gusto; lose no opportunity of extending their own power and possessions; and, in a word, take exceeding good care of themselves. They certainly do not appear to think themselves bound to be examples to their flock, to instruct the people, improve their morals, increase their comforts, relieve their wants, or even administer consolation to the afflicted—unless for the sake of self. They have their own interests and gratifications to attend to, and these absorb all their time and all their thought. In conclusion, I will relate an incident in connection with one of them that came under my own observation.
It was noon, when the traffic and hustle of the most frequented part of the city were at their height; market-women were ranged about the squares, and under gate-ways and porches, with chickens, turkeys, and other birds in coops and cages, for sale; Indians from different parts of the country, also, cowered on the ground close by their small stocks of earthenware, cakes, and small goods; country-people stood beside their panniers laden with maize, onions, and other vegetables and esculent roots; tradesmen were busy in the shops disposing of their ribbons and laces; and léperos in the neighbourhood were on the watch for an opportunity to steal—all just as usual.
Suddenly the hubbub of the assembled throng was hushed, and a sound as of music or singing struck upon the ear; a carriage of a round shape, and of no very graceful construction, gaudily painted red, blue, and yellow, and highly varnished—with windows both before and behind it, and on each side, and drawn by finely-caparisoned mules—turns slowly into the square. A postilion, dressed in a brilliantly embroidered jaceti, leathern pantaloons, a sombrero, and immensely large spurs, bestrides one of the mules; and on each side of the vehicle is marshalled a band of youths in long vestments, chanting a hymn to the Virgin as they move along. A priest, arrayed in gorgeous vestments, sits cosily within; he is on his way to carry the consecrated wafer to the deathbed of some expiring penitent—a wealthy sinner, who is, of course, worthy of his attention.
As the carriage approaches, the whole of the crowd simultaneously kneel down—the men uncovering; each one utters a prayer, and the more ruffianly the worshipper, the louder his supplications are sure to be. No sooner has the vehicle turned the opposite corner, however, than a sudden change takes place: all rise from their knees; the Indians, with fruit and earthenware, begin to quarrel with the proprietors of the asses and panniers for encroaching on their allotment of the space; they, in return, threaten to overthrow the chicken-coops of the market-women; and the shrill voices of the latter join to swell the discord. The tradesman once more puffs the smoke of his cigarillo in the face of his customer; the lépero hurries away to the nearest gaming-place and both the priest and the host in procession are instantaneously forgotten by everybody.
Let us follow the holy and reverend father to his place of destination. The procession enters the court-yard of a gaudily-painted mansion, and the priest is received with veneration by the weeping lady of the house and her sobbing children. With an air of condescending kindness, he stoops to bestow his benediction upon them; and is then ushered into the chamber of the sick man. A few of the patient's particular friends are standing round his bed; and as the mourning wife closes the door, two of the youngest children—one a fair child with light eyes streaming with tears, and her little brother—have entered the room unnoticed; their healthy aspect and sweet looks forming a strong contrast with the pale and emaciated lineaments of their dying father.
"Let all present leave the apartment," exclaims the priest in an authoritative voice. "We would be alone; to receive the final confession, and, by the aid of the Blessed Virgin, to administer the last consolations of Holy Church to our departing brother."
The friends and relations slowly withdraw; the holy father watches them quit the chamber with a cunning sparkle in his eyes, and when he is alone with the dying man; thus addresses him:—
"It is the will of Heaven, my son; that the Angel of Death should set his mark upon thy brow! Ave Maria! Thou desirest the last beneficent and most consoling offices of the church. Are the supports and ministrations of our holy office precious to thee now?"
"Sacraments of the church—pains of purgatory—masses—charities—settlement of my affairs—provision for my family," are the only words audible from the lips of the dying man.
"In what frame of mind dost thou find thyself, my son; towards our holy religion?" resumes the reverend father.
"I desire to receive the holy sacrament at thine hand, holy father; and to secure thy powerful intercession with our Lady for—ah!—the release of my soul from purgatory!"
"Thou hast been a great sinner, my son; but the power of the church is great. Thou hast been remiss in thy observances; thy penances have been neglected, and thy sufferings must needs be proportionate: but the intercession of the church is all powerful; and it will not be refused thee. Doubtless, thou desirest that the worldly possessions thou art about to leave should be appropriated to the redemption of thy soul, by prayers and ordained masses. The line of thy duty is plain, my son, and I believe me that thou dost so desire it."
As the priest repeats these words in an impressive voice, he stoops over the couch of the sufferer, and, with his own sleek hand, tenderly smoothens the pillows that support his head, and listens for the forthcoming reply.
"My hacienda in the south, to the pious uses of the church—likewise my three mansions in the Plaza—interest in the share-mine—my property at Tampico—likewise the third of my fortune, as testified. For the rest—my wife and family—my brother and—"
"Dost thou, in thy last hour, offer a divided gift to Heaven, lost man?" indignantly exclaims the father. "Dost thou think that God—and thou must soon appear before Him—will be satisfied with a tithe of thy possessions?" "But my wife and children"
"I tell thee again that it will require all thou hast that the unceasing efforts of the church may rescue thee from the tortures that await thy unhappy soul. Dost thou still hanker after thy earthly riches, and scheme for the sordid interests of thy worldly connections? Then perish in thine iniquity!"
"What will become of my wife and children? I cannot leave them unprovided for—without a peso—without a shelter!"
"Then embrace the purgatory that is yawning for thee! Thy last hour is come! Death is even now dealing with thee. Eternal torments await thee! Perish, then, in thy contempt and in thy crimes!"
"The will of the church is mine, holy father, for I feel that I am dying."
An attendant is summoned, and a notary and his clerk are sent for. "For," explains the wily ecclesiastic, "our brother is desirous of arranging his worldly affairs in the company of his spiritual adviser."
The notary arrives, the desired instrument is hastily drawn up; a trembling hand is raised to the paper; and a broken voice exclaims, "Ah! my wife and children!" The hand at first refuses to sign the deed; but more threats and promises are resorted to and at length the thing is done. Absolution in full is granted; the bugbear of purgatory is withdrawn; the last sacrament is administered to the sufferer;—but ere the consecrated wafer can have had time to melt upon his tongue; he dies![1]
"Your money, or your life!" was the summons of the English robber; "Your estate or your soul!" is the demand of the Mexican priest.
- ↑ A similar scene has so recently been enacted in England—except that the dying man in the case had neither wife nor family—that it may be necessary to state that the above account was written long before the bequest by the teacher of languages, M. Carré, to a Roman Catholic seminary, became the subject of proceedings in the Court of Chancery.