[Illustration: AZTEC INDIANS--MEXICO CITY]
The faces about me were dark; even the men in the boxes were of darker color than would be those of the pure Spanish blood. The women are also dark, their color much darker than that of the usual mulatto in the States. This is due to the large infusion of Indian blood among the Mexican people, even among the leisure classes.
The actors were of the Spanish swarthy type, but among the actresses, there were, as always, two or three with conspicuously red heads, the Venetian red so pronounced and popular among the London shopgirls. These red headed belles received the entire attention and applause of the male portion of the audience. The audience also smoked incessantly, the gentlemen large Mexican cigars, the ladies their cigarettes. The right to smoke is an inalienable privilege of both sexes in Mexico, the women using tobacco almost as freely and constantly as do the men. The acting was good, and some of the fandango dances brought thunders of _bravos_. The pauses between acts were long. In one of the intervals we sauntered out upon the streets, where a mob of ticket brokers so assailed us and bargained so successfully for our remaining coupons, that we sold them at an advance over the figure we had paid. The plays begin early, about seven o’clock, and the doors stay open until midnight, the constantly changing audiences giving to the actors fresh support.
On a previous night we visited another theater, where a more fashionable company gathered to see the well-known Frenchman, Frijoli, in his clever impersonations of character. Here were assembled Mexico’s most fashionable set, among them a party of distinguished South Americans attending the Pan-American Congress, the ladies from Brazil, Argentina, and Chili wearing costly diamonds, and being in full decollete attire.
Here also the _sombrero_ reigned supreme in dress circle and on parquet floor, and smoking was everywhere indulged in.
Yesterday was to be my last day in Mexico. I started out in the morning to lay hold of a good opal and try my luck in buying _mantillas_. From the young woman in the shop where I had had my kodak films prepared, I learned the location of an establishment where _mantillas_ were sold. She could not talk to me in my own tongue. I was puzzled what to do, then an idea came to me. I took out a pencil and paper. I handed them to her. I indicated by signs that I would have her make a picture. Quick as a flash she interpreted my thought. She laughed, and drew for me a perfect little map, showing the shop wherein I stood, the street it opened out upon, the streets and blocks I should follow until I came to the place where the _mantillas_ were, and she marked my final corner with an “X.” I bowed to her profoundly, saying, many times, “_Muchas gracias, mil gracias, señorita_,” and, with paper in hand, started on my quest. I had no trouble in finding my way. I finally halted before a big French retail dry goods store. All dry goods establishments here are either French or Spanish, just as the hardware and drug stores are all German; the native Mexican is not keen in trade, and but few business houses are his.