CHAPTER X.
CHILD-LIFE IN MEXICO.
LIFE from its outset must have been a serious business with the Mexican boys and girls. They were taught from their cradle to endure hardship, to sleep on the floor on a mat, to suffer hunger and thirst, pain and fatigue, without complaint. Of home, in our sense of that word, they could have known but little, since education in all its branches was almost entirely in the hands of the government. The fathers and the mothers of Mexico may have had as much natural love for their children as parents have in our own country, but parents had much less opportunity to spoil their children by the over-indulgence which is possible here. Both boys and girls were taken from home at a very early age, to be brought up in the public schools of the tribe.
Some of the laws of Aztec society would not be endured by the young people of our day and country. For instance, respect to parents was carried so far that even after marriage a young man dared not speak in the presence of his father without first obtaining his permission. The wife and the children of a merchant who was away on one of those dangerous trading expeditions were not allowed the luxury of bathing while he was absent; they could not wear their best clothes or live on anything but the plainest fare until he returned in safety. These sacrifices were made to win for him the favor of the gods. In case of prolonged absence and great peril the mother and the children did penance by cutting themselves with flints. The art of doing this properly was one of the lessons taught in Aztec public schools. The children were trained to believe that the sight of blood pleased the cruel deities who were supposed to preside over the commerce of their country.
Scarcely did a child open its eyes on this world when religious ceremonies for its benefit began. An astrologer was called in to decide whether or not it was born under a lucky star. This question was not raised, however, about the children born during the last five days of the year: these were always accounted as unlucky, and the little unfortunate who then entered on life was dubbed from the outset "useless man" or "useless woman," as the case might be, and neither his own good sense nor the good management of the parents could save the youngster from a double share of this world's troubles. When the little one was two or three days old, it was carried out of doors by an orderly procession of its friends and laid on a heap of freshly-cut grass. It was then bathed (some would call the ceremony "baptism"), while the gods were invoked in its behalf, the petitioners kneeling on the ground with their faces to the east. At this time a baby-name was given to the infant, by which it was known in the family circle for a few months only; then a priest came to give the child its second baptism and its proper name. It was called always after some object in nature. A little girl was often named after one of the beautiful flowers with which the whole land was abloom. Every name had a meaning and could easily be written, since it was not spelled, but pictured. It was after this second ceremony that a bow and arrows were laid on the pillow of a baby-boy, to signify that he was born to be a warrior. In this same way a tiny spindle and distaff were given to a girl-baby, to show that her business in life was to spin, weave and provide for a family. A stone mortar and pestle were buried under the family grindstone, where the mother ground corn to ensure plenty, of food in store for her daughter, while the bow and arrows given to her little brother were in due time buried in the fields where it was expected he would some day fight. By this ceremony it was supposed that he would be made successful as a warrior.
A boy who lived to grow up and make a figure in the world was named three times. When years had passed, if he survived the fasts and penances by which he was initiated into the ranks of the priests or the warriors, or when, as a common soldier, he found glory on some bloody battlefield, he had a new name given to him, by which he was ever afterward known. Any remarkable circumstance in a man's life was apt to be commemorated in this way. This is a very old custom, and is often described in the Bible. Thus, Abram and Sarai were renamed Abraham and Sarah in their old age, because God at that time covenanted to make them the parents of a great nation. When Jacob struggled all night by the ford Jabbok, God said, "Thy name shall no more be called Jacob, but Israel, for as a prince hast thou power with God and hast prevailed." The name "Hungry Fox" was given in this way to the most famous of all the chiefs of Anahuac as a memorial of the years of distress and privation through which he passed before he reached his high position. The Aztec "chief-of-men" had a third name, which well expressed his gloomy, superstitious character. It was Montezuma, "the sad or severe man."
At a certain time in the year every child which had reached a proper age had its ears bored. The same month all the boys and girls were lifted by their ears, four or five times, from the ground, in order to make them grow straight and tall.
Home-life was always short. There was seldom any big brother or big sister at home to tease or to overawe the little ones, since all over eight years were in school, and were married as soon as they left school. It was not necessary for any family to have a large dwelling. A pair of rooms opening into each other and unconnected with the rest of the house was probably enough for most of them. Even the most elegant mansions found in Southern Mexico were arranged in this way, and accommodated scores of families.
Before the State took the children in charge they were taught to work. Some old picture-writers of that day have given a description of the progressive steps in the education of children. Three small dots over the head of one of their human figures show that it is intended to represent a boy or a girl three years of age. There is a picture of half a corncake near these dots, to show what was such a child's allowance for one meal. More dots and a whole corncake tell us that the child has grown older. As years go on we see the boys beginning to carry burdens. One picture shows a boy of four learning to do easy little tasks; he carries a willow basket to market for his father. A girl of the same age takes her first lesson in spinning. The boy of six goes out into the field to pick ears of corn; a year later his father teaches him how to fish in the lake. He paddles about in a little canoe and learns how to handle a bow and arrows. The girls, meanwhile, are set to grinding corn and cooking cakes for the family—among the chief occupations of a Mexican woman's life to this day.
Since human nature is the same all the world over, we may be sure that even among the industrious people of Anahuac there were some who were lazy and selfish, but this, like most other family matters, was regulated by the government. A lad who would not work when he was bidden was made to stand over burning pepper until he was almost choked with the smoke, or he was beaten with a thorny stick. A youngster who would not speak the truth had his lip punched with a thorn. Laziness seems to have been counted as an unpardonable sin among these people. The children were kept busy on principle. In this respect, and in many others, these Indians differ widely from their red brethren who rove our prairies and live by the chase. Among the Nez Percé and other tribes of the North the boys are taught to endure bodily discomfort with patience, but never to work, tilling the fields, and even felling lumber and building the houses, being considered woman's work. Our Indians think it unsafe to compel a boy to obey his parents, lest his spirit be broken.
The public schools of the Aztecs were called "houses of the youth." These buildings, which were often quite extensive, adjoined the temple, and were always under the care of the priests. They had other expressive names for them, such as "the place where I grow" or "the place where I learn." The teacher was called "the speaker of the youth," or was commended to his pupils by the pleasant name of "elder brother." The teachers of the girls' department were sedate old maiden-ladies who had forsaken the world and taken up religion as a profession.
Reading and writing in Mexico were not the simple studies which in these times are set before a child of five or six years. The vast majority of the people knew nothing of these fine arts.
Besides the use of the brush and the pencil in picture and map-drawing, history was committed to memory, together with national hymns, war-songs and prayers used in the temple-service. The studious pupil was taken out on the temple-roof at night to study the heavens with the old astrologers. They knew the Pleiades and other constellations, and were able to measure off the years by these starry timekeepers. Some of the little ones were sent to the temple at a very tender age. It is probable that on account of the frequent battles of that warlike tribe there were many orphans under the care of the government.
The temple was also an industrial school. Every boy and every girl had work to do to keep its numerous buildings and courts in order. The great stairs and terraces by which the altar was reached from the outside were soiled with the feet of many long processions going to and coming from that place of blood, or by the clouds of dust for which the valley is still famous during the long dry season. The tesselated pavements of shrine and hall and corridor had to be cleansed frequently, or they could not have compared favorably with the streets of the city, which, we are told, were swept daily by a thousand men. The priests' quarters were also in the temple, and, with the vast army of these officials (said to have numbered five thousand in all), there must have been work enough for all the unmarried girls and women in the tribe. To the girls, also, was given the duty of bringing water from the beautiful fountain in the temple-court to use in religious service. They also had care of the flowers which grew in the temple-garden, and which were always in demand as offerings to the idols. Nor did their duties close with the long bright days of the tropical year; three times in the night they rose to look after the fire on the roof, which was never suffered to go out. The boys cut the wood and brought it in, and it was woman's work to put it in the stoves and sprinkle in the flame a fragrant gum much used in worship. Such of the girls as showed aptness were taught to embroider cotton cloth in gay colors and to do certain kinds of fancy-work in feathers. Besides weaving this cloth, they made it up into the quilted armor with which the public armory was stored.
The boys were no less industrious. They were up at sunrise, and climbed to the temple-roof to hail the sun as he rose over the mountain-walls of the valley. Here the old priests stood waiting, with their solemn faces turned eastward, until the first red rays shot upward into the cloudless heavens. Then, amid joyous acclamation and kissing their hands to the orb of day, a hymn was chanted in his praise, and quails and incense were offered in sacrifices to him as to a god. At other times the boys connected with the temple were sent out on a curious hunting expedition into the forests which then covered the mountains. Accompanied by a priest who understood the business, they gathered spiders, small serpents, scorpions, and other poisonous creatures with which the country abounds. These were brought back to the temple and burned with tobacco in a very ceremonious way. Out of this disgusting mixture was made a sacred ointment with which the priests rubbed themselves, offering it also to the idols in sacrifice.
Many of a boy's occupations were such as might be classed among amusements. Once in their month of twenty days the Aztecs had a religious festival, when the braves of the tribe appeared in their gay costumes, each in the color of his clan, to engage in feats of arms. The boys, with their teachers, were obliged to attend this rehearsal, which generally took place in the public square surrounding the great temple.
Everything was regulated by government orders. The tenth day of February was set apart for what the Mexican boys knew as "fishing-day." It was a great holiday, even when the sport was so carefully regulated by the elders that in our free-and-easy times it would not be called sport at all. These Indian boys were taught to catch water-fowls by a very ingenious stratagem. An empty gourd was left floating on the water so long that the birds became used to the sight of it. The fowler then came quietly among the birds, wearing on his head another gourd, pierced with eyeholes, his hands being free to drag his hapless victims under water by their legs. They also snared game as our Indians do—by driving the wild animals they used for food into a net or pitfall, or by surrounding them.
Some of the occupations of these Indian boys deserve the name of play. They had a ball-game like tennis, for which courts were built. In some of the communal houses still found in the southern part of Mexico the elegant rooms which were used for this purpose are found, showing the luxurious character of the people who built them. They played with india-rubber balls, and managed to carry on the game without using their hands or their feet. Whoever touched the ball with either hand or foot was out.
At fifteen the boys were put into a public school of arms, under the care of experienced chiefs deputed by the councillor that business; here they were taught to handle weapons skillfully. The lads then entered the ranks of the warriors. Long and rapid marches were common, and, as the youth went fully armed or carried the arms of one of the warriors, he soon found that war was no pastime. The lads also carried the baggage of priests who were traveling on religious errands. Their graduating-day came in our month of May, when the feast of the god Tezcaltipoca was celebrated. It was always a joyous occasion, in spite of the fact that on that day a young man, the fairest, noblest and most gifted of the captives, was offered in sacrifice to this god. For a whole year the victim had been petted and feasted; that day all his fine clothes were taken from him, and his gay companions, his luxurious quarters, his music, flowers and games, were left behind, and, surrounded by wild-eyed priests, he went with a solemn procession to a bloody death outside the city. But it was a gala-day for the lads in the temple. The women prepared a feast for them, including a graduating-cake sweetened with honey. It was the great frolic of their lives. They sang and jested and raced in the temple-corridors. Those who were in the classes below them had as much fun at their expense as the young people of our times have on All Fools' day, and the young women pelted the graduates as they ran the gauntlet of their fellows.
It was unlawful for an Aztec youth to remain unmarried, and his matrimonial affairs were generally settled by the time that temple-service and education were ended. He had not the trouble of proposing to the young woman who was to be his wife; that was the business of his clan, who employed one of their matrons as a go-between to arrange the matter for both parties. The wife was purchased, and became the property of her husband. The first step was to find out, not whether the young lady was willing, but whether the birth-stars of the young people agreed. If this question was settled to satisfaction, the marriage ceremonies went on. After a long exhortation from the priest the young people were united by tying their garments together in a strong knot; they then walked seven times around the fire, casting incense into it. After this the pair fasted four days and did penance in perfect silence, sitting on the floor, and the marriage ceremony was complete.
In October, when it was believed that all the gods arrived on a visit to earth, cornmeal was strewn on the floor outside of Tezcaltipoca's shrine, in order that his footsteps should be seen as he entered. On the twentieth of the month the boys, dressed to look as much like monsters as possible, had a dance around a great fire in the square. The old chiefs got drunk if they chose (a privilege never allowed the young men), and always burnt a prisoner or two before their revels were ended.
With all their ferocity, there were some softer traits in the character of the Aztecs which relieve the picture of those days. Amid the universal despair which marked the festival of year-binding, when property went to wreck and the whole country seemed shrouded with mourning, the Aztec mother covered her baby's face while the priestly procession marched by her door, lest, if the world should be destined to survive for another cycle of fifty years, her little one should live on as a mouse.
The temple of the goddess Sentol, who was supposed to preside over the harvests, was visited in May by troops of little girls; who came bringing ears of corn to be blessed. These ears were afterward taken home and put in the granary, in order to sanctify all that was in it.
In time of famine poor parents were taught by the priests that they would win special favor of the gods by selling their little ones for sacrifice. The price of a boy-baby was but a basket of corn, and a girl brought still less. Tlaloc, god of storms, received most of these offerings. The poor little creatures had their faces painted, brightly-tinted paper wings were fastened to their shoulders, and, dressed in gay clothing, they were borne along the streets in litters fancifully decorated with feathers and flowers, to be drowned in a whirlpool or exposed to birds of prey on the mountains. If the frightened children cried on the way to their death, so much the better. A din was kept up in the streets as they passed along, to drown their piteous wail. At the water's edge the priests received them and carried them to their doom. For their comfort the weeping mothers were told that the souls of children thus devoted to Tlaloc went after death to a cool, delightful place where they were happier than they could possibly have been on earth. There was a hall in the inner part of the great temple where these souls of the little ones were supposed to come on a certain day each year to assist in the service, and thither went these poor mothers to commune with the departed spirits or to think over their meritorious act of devotion.
Story of the Youth of Hungry Fox.
Some of the descendants of Indian chiefs who were carried to Spain became noblemen in their adopted country. Two of them wrote histories of ancient Mexico. The pictures of imperial splendor with which they dazzled the eyes of their European readers were, no doubt, highly colored to suit the times and to vindicate their own claim to rank with the princes of Spain. The brightest figure which they describe is that of a chief who was, no doubt, a king among men, whatever may have been his office or his title. The story of his boyhood and his youth is a picture of life in one of the palatial houses of Mexico during one of its stormiest ages.
About one hundred years before the Spanish came into the valley the city of Tezcuco was taken by its neighbors, the Tepanacs, and its people were brought under tribute to the conquerors. The son of the Tezcucan chief was then a boy of fifteen just graduated from school, and probably out in his first battle. When the Tezcucans were forced to retreat, the boy took refuge in a tree. While hiding there he saw his father and a few faithful followers overpowered by the enemy and literally cut to pieces. He waited until the victors had gone, when he cautiously made his way down and fled away, only to be discovered and carried in triumph to the Tepanac city. With fettered hands and a yoke about his neck, he moved on with a sad procession of captives through the fields and the forests, across the lake, and on and on till they reached the flower-wreathed arches under which the Tepanac elders and women greeted their victorious army with songs of welcome. He was led to the temple to bow before the idol, and then, with other prisoners, to await the death which his captors should choose for him. In this place of doom he found that the keeper of the prison was one of his father's old friends. As the story goes, the old man, knowing that no ransom was possible in the case, offered to take his place in the cell—a kindness which cost him his life. After his release the boy found his way to the Aztec capital, and through the influence of friends there he was allowed to cross the lake to his old home in Tezcuco. Here he lived a quiet, studious life for eight years, watched, no doubt, by the eagle-eyes of the Tepanac deputy, who never forgot that some day the slain chief would be avenged by the hands of his son.
In time a new Tepanac chief was elected, more fierce and suspicious than the conqueror of Tezcuco, and congratulations on his accession to office seem to have been expected from all his tributaries. Our young Tezcucan came with others, bringing an offering of flowers; but a cold reception awaited him, and he was warned that his life was in danger. He returned to Tezcuco as soon as possible, only to find that his life was not safe there even in his capacity of a humble student. Maxtla, the Tepanac chief, had determined that he should die. Orders were given that he should be murdered while attending one of the religious festivals. His teacher, with fatherly care for the youth, put in his place a person who strongly resembled his pupil, and thus a second time was his life saved by the sacrifice of that of another.
Maxtla now sent a strong body of soldiers to Tezcuco, with orders to kill the young man wherever or whenever they found him. He was playing ball in the courtyard with a party of friends, and, desiring to finish the game, he ordered refreshments to be set before the soldiers. Without losing sight of their intended victim, the hungry men sat down to eat. Now, Tezcucan etiquette demanded that guests should be welcomed with the sweet fumes of incense. The attendants were told to heap the burning censer, which stood in the doorway, high with fragrant gums, until such a dense smoke arose that by its aid the young man slipped away unobserved and hid in the earthen pipes of an aqueduct under the house. When night came on, the fugitive made his way into the street and to the cottage of a friend not far away. A price was now set on his head and a reward offered to any one who would bring him, dead or alive, to Maxtla.
The close search which followed reminds us of King David's wandering life among the hills of old Judea. At one time the youth is hidden by friendly hands under a heap of maguey-fibres which had been prepared for the loom; then he is heard of in the wild mountain-fastnesses of Tlascala, living on roots and herbs. Venturing out, he is tracked to a field where a girl is cutting chia, a plant used in making a favorite Mexican beverage. The girl recognizes him, and, hearing his pursuers not far away, she hides him under the pile of chia stalks which she has just cut, in time to put the baffled soldiers on a wrong track. It was during these days of suffering and peril that the young Tezcucan took the name of Nezacoyuhuatl ("Hungry Fox"), which he afterward made so famous as that of a warrior, a philosopher, a lawgiver and a poet.
When by the help of their Aztec confederates the Tezcucans regained their ancient power, Hungry Fox beautified their city on the lake-side until in splendor and extent it must have equaled the grandest cities of Central America. The remains of one of his palatial dwellings—which was said to have contained three hundred rooms—have furnished an inexhaustible quarry for the churches and the public buildings erected by the Spaniards near its site. In one of the magnificent parks laid out under the direction of this chief the humble name he bore was frequently set forth in the lean figure of a coyote, or fox, carved in stone. He never seemed to be weary of picturing those days of trial when he was a hunted fugitive in the land over which he became chief ruler. Some of his poems, preserved to this day in the writings of his great grandson, remind us of the book of Ecclesiastes; they have the same sad refrain: "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity!" With all that the world could give, Hungry Fox found it to be an unsatisfying portion. To him the past was not more full of sorrow than the future was of doubt, and in the chilling shadow of both the present had no true light or peace.