Although the Mexicans arrived on the banks of the lake in 1140, it was not till two years later that the American Venice began to emerge from the bosom of the waters.
We have dwelt on these details in order to correct an error made by a modern author, who attributes to the Aztecs the foundation of this city, to which he gives the name of Tenochtitlan, instead of Temixtetlan, which is the correct name.[1]
Like Venice, its European sister, Mexico was only a collection of cabins, offering a precarious shelter to wretched fishermen, who were incessantly kept in a state of alarm by the attacks of their neighbours. The Mexicans, at first scattered over a great number of small islands, felt the necessity of collecting together in order to offer a better resistance. By their patience and courage they succeeded in building houses, raised on piles, and employing the mud of the lagoons, held together by branches of trees, they created the _chinampas_, or floating gardens, the most curious in the world, on which they sowed vegetables, pimento, and maize, and thus, with the aquatic birds they managed to catch on the lake, they contrived to be entirely independent of their neighbours.
Almost destroyed during the obstinate fights between the natives and the Spaniards, Mexico, four years after the conquest, was entirely rebuilt by Fernando Cortez. But the new city in no way resembled the old one. Most of the canals were filled up, and paved over; magnificent palaces and sumptuous monasteries rose as if by enchantment, and the city became entirely Spanish.
Mexico has been so frequently described by more practised pens than ours, and we, in previous works, have had such frequent occasions to allude to it, that we will not attempt any description here, but continue our story without further delay.
It was October 12th, 1854, two months, day for day, had elapsed since the unfortunate Count de Prébois Crancé, victim of an iniquitous sentence, had honourably fallen at Guaymas beneath the Mexican bullets.[2] A thick fog had hung over the city for the whole day, changing at times into a fine drizzle, which after sunset became sharper, although a heavy fog still prevailed. However, at about eight in the evening the rain ceased to fall, and the stagnant waters of the lake began to reflect a few particles of brighter sky. The snow-clad summit of Iztaczihuatl, or the White Woman, feebly glistened in the pale watery moonbeams, while Popocatepetl remained buried in the clouds.[3]