VII.
THE AZTEC PRINCESS.
"Speaking marble."—Byron.
CHAPTER I.
In common with many of our countrymen, my attention has been powerfully drawn to the subject of American antiquities, ever since the publication of the wonderful discoveries made by Stephens and Norman Among the ruins of Uxmal and Palenque.
Yucatan and Chiapas have always spoken to my imagination more forcibly than Egypt or Babylon; and in my early dreams of ambition I aspired to emulate the fame of Champollion le Jeune, and transmit my name to posterity on the same page with that of the decipherer of the hieroglyphics on the pyramids of Ghizeh.
The fame of warriors and statesmen is transient and mean, when compared to that of those literary colossii whose herculean labors have turned back upon itself the tide of oblivion, snatched the scythe from the hands of Death, and, reversing the duties of the fabled Charon, are now busily engaged in ferrying back again across the Styx the shades of the illustrious dead, and landing them securely upon the shores of true immortality, the ever-living Present! Even the laurels of the poet and orator, the historian and philosopher, wither, and
"Pale their ineffectual fires"
in the presence of that superiority—truly godlike in its attributes—which, with one wave of its matchless wand, conjures up whole realms, reconstructs majestic empires, peoples desolate wastes—voiceless but yesterday, save with the shrill cry of the bittern—and, contemplating the midnight darkness shrouding Thebes and Nineveh, cries aloud, "Let there be light!" and suddenly Thotmes starts from his tomb, the dumb pyramids become vocal, Nimroud wakes from his sleep of four thousand years, and, springing upon his battle-horse, once more leads forth his armies to conquest and glory. The unfamiliar air learns to repeat accents, forgotten ere the foundations of Troy were laid, and resounds once more with the echoes of a tongue in which old Menes wooed his bride, long before Noah was commanded to build the Ark, or the first rainbow smiled upon the cloud.
All honor, then, to the shades of Young and Champollion, Lepsius and De Lacy, Figeac and Layard. Alexander and Napoleon conquered kingdoms, but they were ruled by the living. On the contrary, the heroes I have mentioned vanquished mighty realms, governed alone by the
"Monarch of the Scythe and Glass,"
that unsubstantial king, who erects his thrones on broken columns and fallen domes, waves his sceptre over dispeopled wastes, and builds his capitals amid the rocks of Petræa and the catacombs of Egypt.
Such being the object of my ambition, it will not appear surprising that I embraced every opportunity to enlarge my knowledge of my favorite subject—American Antiquities—and eagerly perused every new volume purporting to throw any light upon it. I was perfectly familiar with the works of Lord Kingsborough and Dr. Robertson before I was fifteen years of age, and had studied the explorations of Bernal Diaz, Waldeck, and Dupaix, before I was twenty. My delight, therefore, was boundless when a copy of Stephens's travels in Yucatan and Chiapas fell into my hands, and I devoured his subsequent publications on the same subject with all the avidity of an enthusiast. Nor did my labors stop here. Very early I saw the importance of an acquaintance with aboriginal tongues, and immediately set about mastering the researches of Humboldt and Schoolcraft. This was easily done; for I discovered, much to my chagrin and disappointment, that but little is known of the languages of the Indian tribes, and that little is soon acquired. Dissatisfied with such information as could be gleaned from books only, I applied for and obtained an agency for dispensing Indian rations among the Cherokees and Ouchitaws, and set out for Fort Towson in the spring of 1848.
Soon after my arrival I left the fort, and took up my residence at the wigwam of Sac-a-ra-sa, one of the principal chiefs of the Cherokees. My intention to make myself familiar with the Indian tongues was noised abroad, and every facility was afforded me by my hospitable friends. I took long voyages into the interior of the continent, encountered delegations from most of the western tribes, and familiarized myself with almost every dialect spoken by the Indians dwelling west of the Rocky Mountains. I devoted four years to this labor, and at the end of that period, with my mind enriched by a species of knowledge unattainable by a mere acquaintance with books, I determined to visit Central America in person, and inspect the monuments of Uxmal and Palenque with my own eyes.
Full of this intention, I took passage on the steamship "Prometheus," in December, 1852, bound from New York to Greytown, situated in the State of Nicaragua; a point from which I could easily reach Chiapas or Yucatan.
And at this point of my narrative, it becomes necessary to digress for a moment, and relate an incident which occurred on the voyage, and which, in its consequences, changed my whole mode of investigation, and introduced a new element of knowledge to my attention.
It so happened that Judge E——, formerly on the Bench of the Supreme Court of the State of New York, was a fellow-passenger. He had been employed by the Nicaragua Transit Company to visit Leon, the capital of Nicaragua, and perfect some treaty stipulations with regard to the project of an interoceanic canal. Fellow-passengers, we of course became acquainted almost immediately, and at an early day I made respectful inquiries concerning that science to which he had of late years consecrated his life—I mean the "Theory of Spiritual Communion between the Two Worlds of Matter and Spirit." The judge was as communicative as I could desire, and with the aid of two large manuscript volumes (which were subsequently given to the public), he introduced me at once into the profoundest arcana of the science. I read his books through with the deepest interest, and though not by any means convinced, I was startled and bewildered. The most powerful instincts of my nature were aroused, and I frankly acknowledged to my instructor, that an irresistible curiosity had seized me to witness some of those strange phenomena with which his volumes superabounded. Finally, I extorted a promise from him, that on our arrival at Greytown, if a favorable opportunity presented, he would endeavor to form the mystical circle, and afford me the privilege I so much coveted—to see for myself. The anticipated experiments formed the staple of our conversation for the six weary days and nights that our trip occupied. Finally, on the morning of the seventh day, the low and wooded coast of Nicaragua gently rose in the western horizon, and before twelve o'clock we were safely riding at anchor within the mouth of the San Juan River. But here a new vexation was in store for us. The river boats commenced firing up, and before dark we were transferred from our ocean steamer to the lighter crafts, and were soon afterwards leisurely puffing our way up the river.
The next day we arrived at the upper rapids, where the little village of Castillo is situated, and where we had the pleasure of being detained five or six days, awaiting the arrival of the California passengers. This delay was exactly what I most desired, as it presented the opportunity long waited for with the utmost impatience. But the weather soon became most unfavorable, and the rain commenced falling in torrents. The Judge declared that it was useless to attempt anything so long as it continued to rain. But on the third evening he consented to make the experiment, provided the materials of a circle could be found. We were not long in suspense, for two young ladies from Indiana, a young doctor from the old North State (now a practicing physician in Stockton, California), and several others, whose names I have long since forgotten, volunteered to take part in the mysterious proceedings.
But the next difficulty was to find a place to meet in. The doctor and I started off on a tour through the village to prepare a suitable spot. The rain was still falling, and the night as dark as Erebus. Hoisting our umbrellas, we defied night and storm. Finally, we succeeded in hiring a room in the second story of a building in process of erection, procured one or two lanterns, and illuminated it to the best of our ability. Soon afterwards we congregated there, but as the doors and windows were not put in, and there were no chairs or tables, we were once more on the point of giving up in despair. Luckily there were fifteen or twenty baskets of claret wine unopened in the room, and these we arranged for seats, substituting an unhinged door, balanced on a pile of boxes, for the leaf of a table. Our rude contrivance worked admirably, and before an hour had rolled by we had received a mass of communications from all kinds of people in the spirit world, and fully satisfied ourselves that the Judge was either a wizard or what he professed to be—a medium of communication with departed spirits.
It is unnecessary to detail all the messages we received; one only do I deem it important to notice. A spirit, purporting to be that of Horatio Nelson, rapped out his name, and stated that he had led the assault on the Spaniards in the attack of the old Fort of Castillo frowning above us, and there first distinguished himself in life. He declared that these mouldering ruins were one of his favorite haunts, and that he prided himself more on the assault and capture of Castillo Viejo than on the victory of the Nile or triumph of Trafalgar.
The circle soon afterwards dispersed, and most of those who had participated in it were, in a few minutes, slumbering in their cots. As for myself, I was astounded with all that I had witnessed, but at the same time delighted beyond measure at the new field opening before me. I tossed from side to side, unable to close my eyes or to calm down the excitement, until, finding that sleep was impossible, I hastily rose, threw on my coat, and went to the door, which was slightly ajar. On looking out, I observed a person passing toward the foot of the hill upon which stood the Fort of Castillo Viejo. The shower had passed off, and the full moon was riding majestically in mid heavens. I thought I recognized the figure, and I ventured to accost him. It was the Judge. He also had been unable to sleep, and declared that a sudden impulse drove him forth into the open air.
Gradually he had approached the foot of the hill, which shot up, like a sugar-loaf, two or three hundred feet above the level of the stream, and had just made up his mind to ascend it when I spoke to him. I readily consented to accompany him, and we immediately commenced climbing upwards.
The ascent was toilsome, as well as dangerous, and more than once we were on the point of descending without reaching the summit. Still, however, we clambered on, and at half-past one o'clock A. M., we succeeded in our effort, and stood upon the old stone rampart that had for more than half a century been slowly yielding to the remorseless tooth of Time. Abandoned for many years, the ruins presented the very picture of desolation. Rank vines clung upon every stone, and half filled up with their green tendrils the yawning crevices everywhere gaping at us, and whispering of the flight of years.
We sat down on a broken fragment that once served as the floor of a port-hole, and many minutes elapsed before either of us spoke a word. We were busy with the past. Our thoughts recalled the terrible scenes which this same old fort witnessed on that glorious day when the youthful Nelson planted with his own hand the flag of St. George upon the very ramparts where we were sitting.
How long we had been musing I know not; but suddenly we heard a low, long-drawn sigh at our very ears. Each sprang to his feet, looked wildly around, but seeing nothing, gazed at the other in blank astonishment. We resumed our seats, but had hardly done so, when a deep and most anguishing groan was heard, that pierced our very hearts. This time we retained our position. I had unclosed my lips, preparatory to speaking to my companion, when I felt myself distinctly touched upon the shoulder. My voice died away inarticulately, and I shuddered with ill-concealed terror. But my companion was perfectly calm, and moved not a nerve or a muscle. Able at length to speak, I said, "Judge, let us leave this haunted sepulchre."
"Not for the world," he coolly replied. "You have been anxious for spiritual phenomena; now you can witness them unobserved and without interruption."
As he said this, my right arm was seized with great force, and I was compelled to resign myself to the control of the presence that possessed me. My right hand was then placed on the Judge's left breast, and his left hand laid gently on my right shoulder. At the same time he took a pencil and paper from his pocket, and wrote very rapidly the following communication, addressed to me:
The Grave hath its secrets, but the Past has none. Time may crumble pyramids in the dust, but the genius of man can despoil him of his booty, and rescue the story of buried empires from oblivion. Even now the tombs of Egypt are unrolling their recorded epitaphs. Even now the sculptured mounds of Nineveh are surrendering the history of Nebuchadnezzar's line. Before another generation shall pass away, the columns of Palenque shall find a tongue, and the bas-reliefs of Uxmal wake the dead from their sleep of two thousand years. Young man! open your eyes; we shall meet again amid the ruins of the Casa Grande!
At this moment the Judges hand fell palsied at his side, and the paper was thrust violently into my left hand. I held it up so as to permit the rays of the moon to fall full upon it, and read it carefully from beginning to end. But no sooner had I finished reading it than a shock something like electricity struck us simultaneously, and seemed to rock the old fort to its very foundation. Everything near us was apparently affected by it, and several large bowlders started from their ticklish beds and rolled away down the mountain. Our surprise at this was hardly over, ere one still greater took possession of us. On raising our eyes to the moss-grown parapet, we beheld a figure sitting upon it that bore a very striking resemblance to the pictures in the Spanish Museum at Madrid of the early Aztec princes. It was a female, and she bore upon her head a most gorgeous headdress of feathers, called a Panache. Her face was calm, clear, and exceedingly beautiful. The nose was prominent—more so than the Mexican or Tezcucan—and the complexion much lighter. Indeed, by the gleam of the moonlight, it appeared as white as that of a Caucasian princess, and wore an expression full of benignity and love.
Our eyes were riveted upon this beautiful apparition, and our lips silent. She seemed desirous of speaking, and once or twice I beheld her lips faintly moving. Finally, raising her white, uncovered arm, she pointed to the north, and softly murmured, "Palenque!"
Before we could resolve in our minds what to say in reply, the fairy princess folded her arms across her breast, and disappeared as suddenly and mysteriously as she had been evoked from night. We spoke not a word to each other, but gazed long and thoughtfully at the spot where the bright vision had gladdened and bewildered our sight. By a common impulse, we turned to leave, and descended the mountain in silence as deep as that which brooded over chaos ere God spoke creation into being. We soon reached the foot of the hill, and parted, with no word upon our lips, though with the wealth of untold worlds gathered up in our hearts.
Never, since that bright and glorious tropical night, have I mentioned the mysterious scene we witnessed on the ramparts of Fort Castillo; and I have every reason to believe that my companion has been as discreet.
This, perhaps, will be the only record that shall transmit it to the future; but well I know that its fame will render me immortal.
Through me and me alone, the sculptured marbles of Central America have found a tongue. By my efforts, Palenque speaks of her buried glories, and Uxmal wakes from oblivion's repose. Even the old pyramid of Cholula yields up its bloody secrets, and Casa Grande reveals the dread history of its royalties.
The means by which a key to the monumental hieroglyphics of Central America was furnished me, as well as a full account of the discoveries made at Palenque, will be narrated in the subsequent chapters of this history.
CHAPTER II.
"Amid all the wreck of empires, nothing ever spoke so forcibly the world's mutations, as this immense forest, shrouding what was once a great city."—Stephens.
At daylight on the next morning after the singular adventure recorded in the preceding chapter, the California passengers bound eastward arrived, and those of us bound to the westward were transshipped to the same steamer which they had just abandoned. In less than an hour we were all aboard, and the little river-craft was busily puffing her way toward the fairy shores of Lake Nicaragua.
For me, however, the evergreen scenery of the tropics possessed no charms, and its balmy air no enchantments. Sometimes, as the steamer approached the ivy-clad banks, laden as they were with flowers of every hue, and alive with ten thousand songsters of the richest and most variegated plumage, my attention would be momentarily aroused, and I enjoyed the sweet fragrance of the flowers, and the gay singing of the birds. But my memory was busy with the past, and my imagination with the future. With the Judge, even, I could not converse for any length of time, without falling into a reverie by no means flattering to his powers of conversation. About noon, however, I was fully aroused to the beauty and sublimity of the surrounding scenery. We had just passed Fort San Carlos, at the junction of the San Juan River with the lake, and before us was spread out like an ocean that magnificent sheet of water. It was dotted all over with green islands, and reminded me of the picture drawn by Addison of the Vision of Mirza.
Here, said I to myself, is the home of the blest. These emerald islets, fed by vernal skies, never grow sere and yellow in the autumn; never bleak and desolate in the winter. Perpetual summer smiles above them, and wavelets dimpled by gentle breezes forever lave their shores. Rude storms never howl across these sleeping billows, and the azure heavens whisper eternal peace to the lacerated heart.
Hardly had these words escaped my lips, when a loud report, like a whole park of artillery, suddenly shook the air. It seemed to proceed from the westward, and on turning our eyes in that direction, we beheld the true cause of the phenomenon. Ometepe was in active eruption. It had given no admonitory notice of the storm which had been gathering in its bosom, but like the wrath of those dangerous men we sometimes encounter in life, it had hidden its vengeance beneath flowery smiles, and covered over its terrors with deceitful calm.
In a moment the whole face of nature was changed. The skies became dark and lurid, the atmosphere heavy and sultry, and the joyous waters across which we had been careering only a moment before with animation and laughter, rose in tumultuous swells, like the cross-seas in the Mexican Gulf after a tornado. Terror seized all on board the steamer, and the passengers were clamorous to return to Fort San Carlos. But the captain was inexorable, and seizing the wheel himself, he defied the war of the elements, and steered the vessel on her ordinary course. This lay directly to the south of Ometepe, and within a quarter of a mile of the foot of the volcano.
As we approached the region of the eruption, the waters of the lake became more and more troubled, and the air still more difficult to respire. Pumice-stone, seemingly as light as cork, covered the surface of the lake, and soon a terrific shower of hot ashes darkened the very sun. Our danger at this moment was imminent in the extreme, for, laying aside all consideration of peril from the volcano itself, it was with great difficulty that the ashes could be swept from the deck fast enough to prevent the woodwork from ignition. But our chief danger was still in store for us; for just as we had arrived directly under the impending summit, as it were, a fearful explosion took place, and threatened to ingulf us all in ruin. The crater of the volcano, which previously had only belched forth ashes and lava, now sent up high into the heavens a sheet of lurid fire. It did not resemble gases in combustion, which we denominate flame, flickering for a moment in transitory splendor, and then dying out forever. On the contrary, it looked more like frozen fire if the expression may be allowed. It presented an appearance of solidity that seemed to defy abrasion or demolition, and rose into the blue sky like a marble column of lightning. It was far brighter than ordinary flame, and cast a gloomy and peculiar shadow upon the deck of the steamer. At the same instant the earth itself shook like a summer reed when swept by a storm, and the water struck the sides of the vessel like some rocky substance. Every atom of timber in her trembled and quivered for a moment, then grew into senseless wood once more. At this instant, the terrific cry of "Fire!" burst from a hundred tongues, and I had but to cast my eyes toward the stern of the ship to realize the new peril at hand. The attention of the passengers was now equally divided between the burning ship and the belching volcano. The alternative of a death by flame, or by burial in the lake was presented to each of us.
In a few moments more the captain, crew, and passengers, including seventeen ladies, were engaged hand to hand with the enemy nearest to us. Buckets, pumps, and even hats, were used to draw up water from the lake and pass to those hardy spirits that dared to press closest to the flames. But I perceived at once that all would prove unavailing. The fire gained upon the combatants every moment, and a general retreat took place toward the stem of the steamer. Fully satisfied what would be the fate of those who remained upon the ship, I commenced preparing to throw myself into the water, and for that purpose was about tearing one of the cabin doors from its hinges, when the Judge came up, and accosted me.
He was perfectly calm; nor could I, after the closest scrutiny of his features, detect either excitement, impatience, or alarm. In astonishment I exclaimed:
"Sir, death is at the doors! Prepare to escape from the burning ship."
"There is no danger," he replied calmly; "and even if there were, what is this thing that we call death, that we should fear it? Compose yourself, young man; there is as yet no danger. I have been forewarned of this scene, and not a soul of us shall perish."
Regarding him as a madman, I tore the door from its hinges with the strength of despair, and rushing to the side of the ship, was in the very act of plunging overboard, when a united shriek of all the passengers rose upon my ear, and I paused involuntarily to ascertain the new cause of alarm. Scarcely did I have time to cast one look at the mountain, ere I discovered that the flames had all been extinguished at its crater, and that the air was darkened by a mass of vapor, rendering the sunlight a mockery and a shadow. But this eclipse was our redemption. The next moment a sheet of cool water fell upon the ship, and in such incredible masses, that many articles were washed overboard, and the door I held closely in my hands was borne away by the flood. The fire was completely extinguished, and, ere we knew it, the danger over.
Greatly puzzled how to account for the strange turn in our affairs, I was ready at the moment to attribute it to Judge E——, and I had almost settled the question that he was a necromancer, when he approached me, and putting an open volume in my hand, which I ascertained was a "History of the Republic of Guatemala," I read the following incident:
Nor is it true that volcanoes discharge only fire and molten lava from their craters. On the contrary, they frequently shower down water in almost incredible quantities, and cause oftentimes as much mischief by floods as they do by flames. An instance of this kind occurred in the year 1542, which completely demolished one half the buildings in the city of Guatemala. It was chiefly owing to this cause that the site of the city was changed; the ancient site being abandoned, and the present locality selected for the capital.[A-109]
[A-109] Thompson's History of Guatemala, p. 238.
Six months after the events recorded above, I dismounted from my mule near the old cabilda in the modern village of Palenque. During that interval I had met with the usual fortune of those who travel alone in the interior of the Spanish-American States. The war of castes was at its height, and the cry of Carrera and Morazan greeted the ear of the stranger at almost every turn of the road. Morazan represented the aristocratic idea, still prevalent amongst the better classes in Central America; whilst Carrera, on the other hand, professed the wildest liberty and the extremest democracy. The first carried in his train the wealth, official power, and refinement of the country; the latter drew after him that huge old giant, Plebs., who in days gone by has pulled down so many thrones, built the groundwork of so many republics, and then, by fire and sword and barbarian ignorance, laid their trophies in the dust. My sense and sympathy took different directions. Reason led me to the side of Morazan; but early prejudices carried me over to Carrera. Very soon, however, I was taught the lesson, that power in the hands of the rabble is the greatest curse with which a country can be afflicted, and that a paper constitution never yet made men free. I found out, too, that the entire population was a rabble and that it made but little difference which hero was in the ascendant. The plunder of the laboring-classes was equally the object of both, and anarchy the fate of the country, no matter who held the reins. Civil wars have corrupted the whole population. The men are all bravos, and the women coquettes. The fireside virtues are unknown. It will be generations before those pseudo-republicans will learn that there can be no true patriotism where there is no country; there can be no country where there are no homes; there can be no home where woman rules not from the throne of Virtue with the sceptre of Love!
I had been robbed eighteen times in six months; taken prisoner four times by each party; sent in chains to the city of Guatemala, twice by Carrera, and once by Morazan as a spy; and condemned to be shot as a traitor by both chieftains. In each instance I owed my liberation to the American Consul-General, who, having heard the object with which I visited the country, determined that it should not be thwarted by these intestine broils.
Finally, as announced above, I reached the present termination of my journey, and immediately commenced preparations to explore the famous ruins in the neighborhood. The first want of a traveler, no matter whither he roams, is a guide; and I immediately called at the redstone residence of the Alcalde, and mentioned to him my name, the purport of my visit to Central America, and the object of my present call upon him. Eying me closely from head to foot, he asked me if I had any money ("Tiene V. dinero?")
"Si, senor."
"Poco mas de quinientos pesos."
"Bien; sientase."
So I took a seat upon a shuck-bottom stool, and awaited the next move of the high dignitary. Without responding directly to my application for a guide, he suddenly turned the conversation, and demanded if I was acquainted with Senor Catherwood or el gobernador. (I afterwards learned that Mr. Stephens was always called Governor by the native population in the vicinity of Palenque.) I responded in the negative. He then informed me that these gentlemen had sent him a copy of their work on Chiapas, and at the same time a large volume, that had been recently translated into Spanish by a member of the Spanish Academy, named Don Donoso Cortes, which he placed in my hands.
My astonishment can be better imagined than described, when, on turning to the title-page, I ascertained that the book was called "Nature's Divine Revelations. By A. J. Davis. Traducido, etc."
Observing my surprise, the Alcalde demanded if I knew the author.
"Most assuredly," said I; "he is my——" But I must not anticipate.
After assuring me that he regarded the work as the greatest book in the world, next to the Bible and Don Quixote, and that he fully believed every line in it, including the preface, he abruptly left the room, and went into the court-yard behind the house.
I had scarcely time to take a survey of the ill-furnished apartment, when he returned, leading in by a rope, made of horsehair, called a "larriete," a youth whose arms were pinioned behind him, and whose features wore the most remarkable expression I ever beheld.
Amazed, I demanded who this young man was, and why he had been introduced to my notice. He replied, without noticing in the slightest degree my surprise, that Pio—for that was his name—was the best guide to the ruins that the village afforded; that he was taken prisoner a few months before from a marauding party of Caribs (here the young man gave a low, peculiar whistle and a negative shake of the head), and that if his escape could be prevented by me, he would be found to be invaluable.
I then asked Pio if he understood the Spanish language, but he evinced no comprehension of what I said. The Alcalde remarked that the mozo was very cunning, and understood a great deal more than he pretended; that he was by law his (the Alcalde's) slave, being a Carib by birth, and uninstructed totally in religious exercises; in fact, that he was a neophyte, and had been placed in his hands by the Padre to teach the rudiments of Christianity.
I next demanded of Pio if he was willing to conduct me to the ruins. A gleam of joy at once illuminated his features, and, throwing himself at my feet, he gazed upward into my face with all the simplicity of a child.
But I did not fail to notice the peculiar posture he assumed whilst sitting. It was not that of the American Indian, who carelessly lolls upon the ground, nor that of the Hottentot, who sits flatly, with his knees upraised. On the contrary, the attitude was precisely the same as that sculptured on the basso-rilievos at Uxmal, Palenque, and throughout the region of Central American ruins. I had first observed it in the Aztec children exhibited a few years ago throughout the United States. The weight of the body seemed to be thrown on the inside of the thighs, and the feet turned outward, but drawn up closely to the body. No sooner did I notice this circumstance than I requested Pio to rise, which he did. Then, pretending suddenly to change my mind, I requested him to be seated again. This I did to ascertain if the first attitude was accidental. But on resuming his seat, he settled down with great ease and celerity into the self-same position, and I felt assured that I was not mistaken. It would have required the united certificates of all the population in the village, after that, to convince me that Pio was a Carib. But aside from this circumstance, which might by possibility have been accidental, neither the color, expression, nor structure of his face indicated Caribbean descent. On the contrary, the head was smaller, the hair finer, the complexion several shades lighter, and the facial angle totally different. There was a much closer resemblance to Jew than to Gentile; indeed, the peculiar curve of the nose, and the Syrian leer of the eye, disclosed an Israelitish ancestry rather than an American.
Having settled these points in my own mind very rapidly, the Alcalde and I next chaffered a few moments over the price to be paid for Pio's services. This was soon satisfactorily arranged, and the boy was delivered into my charge. But before doing so formally, the Alcalde declared that I must never release him whilst in the woods or amongst the ruins, or else he would escape, and fly back to his barbarian friends, and the Holy Apostolic Church would lose a convert. He also added, by way of epilogue, that if I permitted him to get away, his price was cien pesos (one hundred dollars).
The next two hours were devoted to preparations for a life in the forest. I obtained the services of two additional persons; one to cook and the other to assist in clearing away rubbish and stones from the ruins.
Mounting my mule, already heavily laden with provisions, mosquito bars, bedding, cooking utensils, etc., we turned our faces toward the southeast, and left the modern village of Palenque. For the first mile I obeyed strictly the injunctions of the Alcalde, and held Pio tightly by the rope. But shortly afterwards we crossed a rapid stream, and on mounting the opposite bank, we entered a dense forest. The trees were of a gigantic size, very lofty, and covered from trunk to top with parasites of every conceivable kind. The undergrowth was luxuriant, and in a few moments we found ourselves buried in a tomb of tropical vegetation. The light of the sun never penetrates those realms of perpetual shadow, and the atmosphere seems to take a shade from the pervading gloom. Occasionally a bright-plumed songster would start up and dart through the inaccessible foliage, but more frequently we disturbed snakes and lizards in our journey.
After traversing several hundred yards of this primeval forest I called a halt, and drew Pio close up to the side of my mule. Then, taking him by the shoulder, I wheeled him round quickly, and drawing a large knife which I had purchased to cut away the thick foliage in my exploration, I deliberately severed the cords from his hands, and set him free. Instead of bounding off like a startled deer, as my attendants expected to see him do, he seized my hand, pressed it respectfully between his own, raised the back of it to his forehead, and then imprinted a kiss betwixt the thumb and forefinger. Immediately afterward, he began to whistle in a sweet low tone, and taking the lead of the party, conducted us rapidly into the heart of the forest.
We had proceeded about seven or eight miles, crossing two or three small rivers in our way, when the guide suddenly throw up his hands, and pointing to a huge pile of rubbish and ruins in the distance, exclaimed "El Palacio!"
This was the first indication he had as yet given of his ability to speak or to understand the Spanish, or, indeed, any tongue, and I was congratulating myself upon the discovery, when he subsided into a painful silence, interrupted only by an occasional whistle, nor would he make any intelligible reply to the simplest question.
We pushed on rapidly, and in a few moments more I stood upon the summit of the pyramidal structure, upon which, as a base, the ruins known as El Palacio are situated.
These ruins have been so frequently described, that I deem it unnecessary to enter into any detailed account of them; especially as by doing so but little progress would be made with the more important portions of this narrative. If, therefore, the reader be curious to get a more particular insight into the form, size, and appearance of these curious remains, let him consult the splendidly illuminated pages of Del Rio, Waldeck, and Dupaix. Nor should Stephens and Catherwood be neglected; for though their explorations are less scientific and thorough than either of the others, yet being more modern, they will prove not less interesting.
Several months had now elapsed since I swung my hammock in one of the corridors of the old palace. The rainy season had vanished, and the hot weather once more set in for the summer. Still I worked on. I took accurate and correct drawings of every engraved entablature I could discover. With the assistance of my taciturn guide, nothing seemed to escape me. Certain am I that I was enabled to copy basso-rilievos never seen by any of the great travelers whose works I had read; for Pio seemed to know by intuition exactly where they were to be found. My collection was far more complete than Mr. Catherwood's, and more faithful to the original than Lord Kingsborough's. Pio leaned over my shoulder whilst I was engaged in drawing, and if I committed the slightest error his quick glance detected it at once, and a short, rough whistle recalled my pencil back to its duty.
Finally, I completed the last drawing I intended to make, and commenced preparations to leave my quarters, and select others affording greater facilities for the study of the various problems connected with these mysterious hieroglyphics. I felt fully sensible of the immense toil before me, but having determined long since to devote my whole life to the task of interpreting these silent historians of buried realms, hope gave me strength to venture upon the work, and the first step toward it had just been successfully accomplished.
But what were paintings, and drawings, and sketches, without some key to the system of hieroglyphs, or some clue to the labyrinth, into which I had entered? For hours I sat and gazed at the voiceless signs before me, dreaming of Champollion, and the Rosetta Stone, and vainly hoping that some unheard-of miracle would be wrought in my favor, by which a single letter might be interpreted. But the longer I gazed, the darker became the enigma, and the more difficult seemed its solution.
I had not even the foundation, upon which Dr. Young, and Lepsius, and De Lacy, and Champollion commenced. There were no living Copts, who spoke a dialect of the dead tongue in which the historian had engraved his annals. There were no descendants of the extinct nations, whose sole memorials were the crumbling ruins before me. Time had left no teacher whose lessons might result in success. Tradition even, with her uncertain light, threw no flickering glare around, by which the groping archæologist might weave an imaginary tale of the past.
"Chaos of ruins, who shall trace the void,
O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light,
And say, 'Here was, or is,' where all is doubly night?"
CHAPTER III.
"I must except, however, the attempt to explore an aqueduct, which we made together. Within, it was perfectly dark, and we could not move without candles. The sides were of smooth stones, about four feet high, and the roof was made by stones lapping over like the corridors of the buildings. At a short distance from the entrance, the passage turned to the left, and at a distance of one hundred and sixty feet it was completely blocked up by the ruins of the roof which had fallen down."—Incidents of Travel in Chiapas.
One day I had been unusually busy in arranging my drawings and forming them into something like system, and toward evening, had taken my seat, as I always did, just in front of the large basso-rilievo ornamenting the main entrance into the corridor of the palace, when Pio approached me from behind and laid his hand upon my shoulder.
Not having observed his approach, I was startled by the suddenness of the contact, and sprang to my feet, half in surprise and half in alarm. He had never before been guilty of such an act of impoliteness, and I was on the eve of rebuking him for his conduct, when I caught the kind and intelligent expression of his eye, which at once disarmed me, and attracted most strongly my attention. Slowly raising his arm, he pointed with the forefinger of his right hand to the entablature before us and began to whistle most distinctly, yet most musically, a low monody, which resembled the cadencial rise and fall of the voice in reading poetry. Occasionally, his tones would almost die entirely away, then rise very high, and then modulate themselves with the strictest regard to rhythmical measure. His finger ran rapidly over the hieroglyphics, first from left to right, and then from right to left.
In the utmost amazement I turned toward Pio, and demanded what he meant. Is this a musical composition, exclaimed I, that you seem to be reading? My companion uttered no reply, but proceeded rapidly with his task. For more than half an hour he was engaged in whistling down the double column of hieroglyphics engraved upon the entablature before me. So soon as his task was accomplished, and without offering the slightest explanation, he seized my hand and made a signal for me to follow.
Having provided himself with a box of lucifer matches and a fresh candle, he placed the same implements in my possession, and started in advance. I obeyed almost instinctively.
We passed into the innermost apartments of El Palacio, and approached a cavernous opening into which Mr. Stephens had descended, and which he supposed had been used as a tomb.
It was scarcely high enough in the pitch to enable me to stand erect, and I felt a cool damp breeze pass over my brow, such as we sometimes encounter upon entering a vault.
Pio stopped and deliberately lighted his candle and beckoned me to do the same. As soon as this was effected, he advanced into the darkest corner of the dungeon, and stooping with his mouth to the floor, gave a long, shrill whistle. The next moment, one of the paving-stones was raised from within, and I beheld an almost perpendicular stone staircase leading down still deeper under ground. Calling me to his side, he pointed to the entrance and made a gesture for me to descend. My feelings at this moment may be better imagined than described. My memory ran back to the information given me by the Alcalde, that Pio was a Carib, and I felt confident that he had confederates close at hand. The Caribs, I well know, had never been christianized nor subdued, but roved about the adjacent swamps and fastnesses in their aboriginal state. I had frequently read of terrible massacres perpetrated by them, and the dreadful fate of William Beanham, so thrillingly told by Mr. Stephens in his second volume, uprose in my mind at this instant, with fearful distinctness. But then, thought I, what motive can this poor boy have in alluring me to ruin? What harm have I done him? Plunder surely cannot be his object, for he was present when I intrusted all I possessed to the care of the Alcalde of the village. These considerations left my mind in equal balance, and I turned around to confront my companion, and draw a decision from the expression of his countenance.
One look reassured me at once. A playful smile wreathed his lips, and lightened over his face a gleam of real benevolence, not unmixed, as I thought, with pity. Hesitating no longer, I preceded him into those realms of subterranean night. Down, down, down, I trod, until there seemed no bottom to the echoing cavern. Each moment the air grew heavier, and our candles began to flicker and grow dimmer, as the impurities of the confined atmosphere became more and more perceptible. My head felt lighter, and began to swim. My lungs respired with greater difficulty, and my knees knocked and jostled, as though faint from weakness.
Still there seemed no end to the descent. Tramp, tramp, tramp, I heard the footsteps of my guide behind me, and I vainly explored the darkness before. At length we reached a broad even platform, covered over with the peculiar tiling found among these ruins. As soon as Pio reached the landing-place, he beckoned me to be seated on the stone steps, which I was but too glad to do. He at once followed my example, and seemed no less rejoiced than I that the descent had been safely accomplished.
I once descended from the summit of Bunker Hill Monument, and counted the steps, from the top to the bottom. That number I made 465. The estimate of the depth of this cavern, made at the time, led me to believe that it was nearly equal to the height of that column. But there was no railing by which to cling, and no friend to interrupt my fall, in case of accident. Pio was behind me!
After I became somewhat rested from the fatigue, my curiosity returned with tenfold force, and I surveyed the apartment with real pleasure. It was perfectly circular, and was about fifteen feet in diameter, and ten feet high. The walls seemed to be smooth, except a close, damp coating of moss, that age and humidity had fastened upon them.
I could perceive no exit, except the one by which we had reached it.
But I was not permitted to remain long in doubt on this point; for Pio soon rose, walked to the side of the chamber exactly opposite the stairs, whistled shrilly, as before, and an aperture immediately manifested itself, large enough to admit the body of a man! Through this he crawled, and beckoned me to follow. No sooner had I crept through the wall, than the stone dropped from above, and closed the orifice completely. I now found myself standing erect in what appeared to be a subterranean aqueduct. It was precisely of the same size, with a flat, cemented floor, shelving sides, and circular, or rather Aztec-arched roof. The passage was not straight, but wound about with frequent turnings as far as we pursued it.
Why these curves were made, I never ascertained, although afterward I gave the subject much attention. We started down the aqueduct at a brisk pace, our candles being frequently extinguished by fresh drafts of air, that struck us at almost every turn. Whenever they occurred, we paused a moment, to reillume them, and then hastened on, as silently and swiftly as before.
After traversing at least five or six miles of this passage, occasionally passing arched chambers like that at the foot of the staircase, we suddenly reached the termination of the aqueduct, which was an apartment the fac-simile of the one at the other end of it. Here also we observed a stone stairway, and my companion at once began the ascent. During our journey through the long arched way behind us, we frequently passed through rents, made possibly by earthquakes, and more than once were compelled to crawl through openings half filled with rubbish, sand and stones. Nor was the road dry in all places. Indeed, generally, the floor was wet, and twice we forded small brooks that ran directly across the path. Behind us, and before, we could distinctly hear the water dripping from the ceiling, and long before we reached the end of the passage, our clothing had been completely saturated. It was, therefore, with great and necessary caution, that I followed my guide up the slippery stairs. Our ascent was not so tedious as our descent had been, nor was the distance apparently more than half so great to the surface. Pio paused a moment at the head of the stairway, extinguished his candle, and then requested me by a gesture to do likewise. When this was accomplished, he touched a spring and the trap-door flew open, upwards. The next instant I found myself standing in a chamber but dimly lighted from above. We soon emerged into open daylight, and there, for the first time since the conquest of Mexico by Cortes, the eyes of a white man rested upon the gigantic ruins of La Casa Grande.
These ruins are far more extensive than any yet explored by travelers in Central America. Hitherto, they have entirely escaped observation. The natives of the country are not even aware of their existence, and it will be many years before they are visited by the curious.
But here they were, a solid reality! Frowning on the surrounding gloom of the forest, and the shadows of approaching night, they stretched out on every side, like the bodies of dead giants slain in battle with the Titans.
Daylight was nearly gone, and it soon became impossible to see anything with distinctness. For the first time, the peculiarity of my lonely situation forced itself upon my attention. I was alone with the Carib boy. I had not even brought my side-arms with me, and I know that it was now too late to make any attempt to escape through the forest. The idea of returning by the subterranean aqueduct never crossed my mind as a possibility; for my nerves flinched at the bare thought of the shrill whistle of Pio, and the mysterious obedience of the stones.
Whilst revolving these unpleasant ideas through my brain, the boy approached me respectfully, opened a small knapsack that I had not before observed he carried, and offered me some food. Hungry and fatigued as I was, I could not eat; the same peculiar smile passed over his features; he rose and left me for a moment, returned, and offered me a gourd of water. After drinking, I felt greatly refreshed, and endeavored to draw my companion into a conversation. But all to no purpose. He soon fell asleep, and I too, ere long, was quietly reposing in the depths of the forest.
It may seem remarkable that the ruins of Casa Grande have never been discovered, as yet, by professional travelers. But it requires only a slight acquaintance with the characteristics of the surrounding country, and a peep into the intricacies of a tropical forest, to dispel at once all wonder on this subject. These ruins are situated about five miles in a westerly direction from those known as El Palacio, and originally constituted a part of the same city. They are as much more grand and extensive than those of El Palacio as those are than the remains at Uxmal, or Copan. In fact, they are gigantic, and reminded me forcibly of the great Temple of Karnak, on the banks of the Nile. But they lie buried in the fastnesses of a tropical forest. One half of them is entombed in a sea of vegetation, and it would require a thousand men more than a whole year to clear away the majestic groves that shoot up like sleepless sentinels from court-yard and corridor, send their fantastic roots into the bedchamber of royalty, and drop their annual foliage upon pavements where princes once played in their infancy, and courtiers knelt in their pride. A thousand vines and parasites are climbing in every direction, over portal and pillar, over corridor and sacrificial shrine. So deeply shrouded in vegetation are these awful memorials of dead dynasties, that a traveler might approach within a few steps of the pyramidal mound, upon which they are built, and yet be totally unaware of their existence. I cannot convey a better idea of the difficulties attending a discovery and explanation of these ruins than to quote what Mr. Stephens has said of El Palacio. "The whole country for miles around is covered by a dense forest of gigantic trees, with a growth of brush and underwood unknown in the wooded deserts of our own country, and impenetrable in any direction, except by cutting away with a machete. What lies buried in that forest it is impossible to say of my own knowledge. Without a guide we might have gone within a hundred feet of all the buildings without discovering one of them."
I awoke with a start and a shudder. Something cold and damp seemed to have touched my forehead, and left a chill that penetrated into my brain. How long I had been asleep, I have no means of ascertaining; but judging from natural instinct, I presume it was near midnight when I awoke. I turned my head toward my companion, and felt some relief on beholding him just where he had fallen asleep. He was breathing heavily, and was completely buried in unconsciousness. When I was fully aroused I felt most strangely. I had never experienced the same sensation but once before in my whole life, and that was whilst in company with Judge E—— on the stone ramparts of Castillo Viejo.
I was lying flat upon my back, with my left hand resting gently on my naked right breast, and my right hand raised perpendicularly from my body. The arm rested on the elbow and was completely paralyzed, or in common parlance, asleep.
On opening my eyes, I observed that the full moon was in mid-heavens, and the night almost as bright as day. I could distinctly see the features of Pio, and even noticed the regular rise and fall of his bosom, as the tides of life ebbed and flowed into his lungs. The huge old forest trees, that had been standing amid the ruins for unnumbered centuries, loomed up into the moonshine, hundreds of feet above me, and cast their deep black shadows upon the pale marbles, on whose fragments I was reposing.
All at once, I perceived that my hand and arm were in rapid motion. It rested on the elbow as a fulcrum, and swayed back and forth, round and round, with great ease and celerity. Perfectly satisfied that it moved without any effort of my own will, I was greatly puzzled to arrive at any satisfactory solution of the phenomenon. The idea crossed my mind that the effect was of spiritual origin, and that I had become self-magnetized. I had read and believed that the two sides of the human frame are differently electrified, and the curious phases of the disease called paralysis sufficiently established the dogma, that one half the body may die, and yet the other half live on. I had many times experimented on the human hand, and the philosophical fact had long been demonstrated, to my own satisfaction, that the inside of the hand is totally different from the outside. If we desire to ascertain the temperature of any object, we instinctively touch it with the inside of the fingers; on the contrary, if we desire to ascertain our own temperature, we do so by laying the back of the hand upon some isolated and indifferent object. Convinced, therefore, that the right and left sides of the human body are differently magnetized, I was not long in finding a solution of the peculiar phenomenon, which at first astonished me so greatly. In fact, my body had become an electrical machine, and by bringing the two poles into contact, as was affected by linking my right and left sides together, by means of my left hand, a battery had been formed, and the result was, the paralysis or magnetization of my right arm and hand, such being precisely the effect caused by a spiritual circle,—as it has been denominated. My arm and hand represented, in all respects, a table duly charged, and the same phenomenon could be produced, if I was right in my conjectures.
Immediately, therefore, I set about testing the truth of this hypothesis. I asked, half aloud, if there were any spirits present. My hand instantly closed, except the forefinger, and gave three distinctive jerks that almost elevated my elbow from its position. A negative reply was soon given to a subsequent question by a single jerk of the hand; and thus I was enabled to hold a conversation in monosyllables with my invisible companions.
It is unnecessary to detail the whole of the interview which followed. I will only add that portion of it which is intimately connected with this narrative. Strange as it may appear, I had until this moment forgotten all about the beautiful apparition that appeared and disappeared so mysteriously at Castillo Viejo. All at once, however, the recollection revived, and I remembered the promise contained in the single word she murmured, "Palenque!"
Overmastering my excitement, I whispered:
"Beautiful spirit, that once met me on the ramparts where Lord Nelson fought and conquered, art thou here?"
An affirmative reply.
"Will you appear and redeem your promise?"
Suddenly, the branches of the neighboring trees waved and nodded; the cold marbles about me seemed animated with life, and crashed and struck each other with great violence; the old pyramid trembled to its centre, as if shaken by an earthquake; and the forest around moaned as though a tempest was sweeping by. At the same instant, full in the bright moonlight, and standing within three paces of my feet, appeared the Aztec Princess, whose waving panache, flowing garments and benignant countenance had bewildered me many months before, on the moss-grown parapet of Castillo Viejo.
CHAPTER IV.
"Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep."
—Paradise Lost.
Was I dreaming, or was the vision real, that my eyes beheld? This was the first calm thought that coursed through my brain, after the terror and amazement had subsided. Awe-struck I certainly was, when the beautiful phantom first rose upon my sight, at Castillo; awe-struck once more, when she again appeared, amid the gray old rains of Casa Grande. I have listened very often to the surmises of others, as they detailed what they would do, were a supernatural being to rise up suddenly before them. Some have said, they would gaze deliberately into the face of the phantom, scan its every feature, and coolly note down, for the benefit of others, how long it "walked," and in what manner it faded from the sight. The nerves of these very men trembled while they spoke, and had an apparition burst at that instant into full view, these heroes in imagination would have crouched and hid their faces, their teeth chattering with terror, and their hearts beating their swelling sides, as audibly as the convict hears his own when the hangman draws the black cap over his unrepentant head.
I blame no man for yielding to the dictates of Nature. He is but a fool who feels no fear, and hears not a warning in the wind, observes not a sign in the heavens, and perceives no admonition in the air, when hurricanes are brooding, clouds are gathering, or earthquakes muttering in his ears. The sane mind listens, and thwarts danger by its apprehensions.
The true hero is not the man who knows no fear—for that were idiotic—but he who sees it, and escapes it, or meets it bravely. Was it courage in the elder Pliny to venture so closely to the crater of Vesuvius, whilst in eruption, that he lost his life? How can man make war with the elements, or battle with his God?
There is, in the secret chambers of every human heart, one dark weird cell, over whose portal is inscribed—Mystery. There Superstition sits upon her throne; there Idolatry shapes her monsters, and there Religion reveals her glories. Within that cell, the soul communes with itself most intimately, confesses its midnight cowardice, and in low whispers mutters its dread of the supernatural.
All races, all nations, and all times have felt its influences, oozing like imperceptible dews from the mouth of that dark cavern.
Vishnu heard its deep mutterings in the morning of our race, and they still sound hollow but indistinct, like clods upon a coffin-lid, along the wave of each generation, as it rises and rolls into the past. Plato and Numa and Cicero and Brutus listened to its prophetic cadences, as they fell upon their ears. Mohammed heard them in his cave, Samuel Johnson in his bed. Poets have caught them in the
"Shivering whisper of startled leaves,"
martyrs in the crackling faggots, heroes amid the din of battle.
If you ask, what means this voice? I reply,
"A solemn murmur in the soul
Tells of the world to be,
As travelers hear the billows roll
Before they reach the sea."
Let no man, therefore, boast that he has no dread of the supernatural. When mortal can look spirit in the face, without blanching, man will be immortal.
To convince myself that I did not dream, I rose upon my elbow, and reclined for a moment in that attitude. Gradually I gained my feet, and then stood confronting the Aztec maiden. The midnight breeze of the tropics had set in, and by the clear moonlight I distinctly saw the panache of feathers that she wore upon her head swaying gracefully upon the air.
Convinced now, beyond all doubt, that the scene was real, the ruling desire of my life came back in full force upon me, and I spoke, in a hoarse whisper, the following words:
"Here lies a buried realm; I would be its historian!"
The apparition, without any reply in words, glided toward me, and approached so close that I could easily have touched her had I dared. But a sense of propriety subdued all unhallowed curiosity, and I determined to submit passively to all that my new friend should do. This state of mind seemed at once known to her, for she smiled approvingly, and came still nearer to where I stood.
Elevating her beautiful arm, she passed it gently over my face, her hand just touching my features, and imparting a cool sensation to my skin. I distinctly remember that the hand felt damp. No sooner was this done than my nervous system seemed to be restored to its usual tone, and every sensation of alarm vanished.
My brain began to feel light and swimmy, and my whole frame appeared to be losing its weight. This peculiar sensation gradually increased in intensity until full conviction flashed upon me that I could, by an effort of will, rise into the air, and fly with all the ease and rapidity of an eagle.
The idea was no sooner fully conceived, than I noticed a wavy, unsteady motion in the figure of the Aztec Princess, and almost immediately afterwards, I perceived that she was gradually rising from the broken pavement upon which she had been standing, and passing slowly upwards through the branches of the overshadowing trees. What was most remarkable, the relative distance between us did not seem to increase, and my amazement was inconceivable, when on casting my eyes toward my feet, I perceived that I was elevated more than twenty yards from the pavement where I had slept.
My ascent had been so gradual, that I was entirely unaware of moving, and now that I became sensible of it, the motion itself was still imperceptible. Upward, still upward, I was carried, until the tallest limbs of the loftiest trees had been left far below me. Still the ascent continued. A wide and beautiful panorama now opened before me. Above, all was flashing moonlight and starry radiance. The beams of the full moon grew more brilliant as we cleared the vapory atmosphere contiguous to the earth, until they shone with half the splendor of morn, and glanced upon the features of my companion with a mellow sheen, that heightened a thousandfold her supermundane beauty. Below, the gray old relics of a once populous capital glimmered spectrally in the distance, looking like tombs, shrouded by a weeping forest; whilst one by one, the mourners lost their individuality, and ere long presented but a dark mass of living green. After having risen several hundred feet perpendicularly, I was enabled to form an estimate of the extent of the forest, in the bosom of which sleep and moulder the monuments of the aboriginal Americans. There is no such forest existing elsewhere on the surface of this great globe. It has no parallel in nature. The Black Forest of Germany, the Thuringian Forest of Saxony, the Cross Timbers of Texas, the dense and inaccessible woods cloaking the headwaters of the Amazon and the La Plata, are mere parks in comparison. For miles and miles, leagues and leagues, it stretched out—north, south, east and west. It covers an area larger than the island of Great Britain; and throughout this immense extent of country there is but one mountain chain, and but one river. The summits of this range have been but seldom seen by white men, and have never been scaled. The river drains the whole territory, but loses itself in a terrific marsh before its tide reaches the Mexican gulf, toward which it runs. The current is exceedingly rapid; and, after passing for hundreds of miles under the land and under the sea, it unites its submarine torrent near the west end of Cuba, with that of the Orinoco and the Amazon, and thus forms that great oceanic river called the Gulf Stream. Professor Maury was right in his philosophic conjecture as to the origin of that mighty and resistless tide.
Having attained a great height perpendicularly above the spot of our departure, we suddenly dashed off with the speed of an express locomotive, toward the northeast.
Whither we were hastening, I knew not; nor did I trouble my mind with any useless conjectures. I felt secure in the power of my companion, and sure of her protection. I knew that by some unaccountable process she had neutralized the gravitating force of a material body, had elevated me hundreds, perhaps thousands, of feet in the atmosphere, and by some mysterious charm was attracting me toward a distant bourne. Years before, whilst a medical student at the University of Louisiana, the professor of materia medica had opened his course of lectures with an inquiry into the origin and essence of gravitation, and I had listened respectfully, but at that time doubtingly, to the theory he propounded. He stated that it was not unphilosophical to believe that the time would arrive when the gravitating power of dense bodies would be overcome, and balloons constructed to navigate the air with the same unerring certainty that ships traversed the ocean.
He declared that gravitation itself was not a cause but an effect; that it might be produced by the rotation of the earth upon its axis, or by some undiscovered current of electricity, or by some recondite and hitherto undetected agent or force in nature. Magnetism he thought a species of electricity, and subsequent investigations have convinced me that sympathy or animal magnetism was akin to the same parent power. By means of this latter agent I had seen the human body rendered so light that two persons could raise it with a single finger properly applied. More than this, I had but recently witnessed at Castillo, dead matter clothed with life and motion, and elevated several feet into the air without the aid of any human agency. This age I knew well to be an age of wonders. Nature was yielding up her secrets on every hand; the boundary between the natural and the spiritual had been broken down; new worlds were flashing upon the eyes of the followers of Galileo almost nightly from the ocean depths of space. Incalculable treasures had been discovered in the most distant ends of the earth, and I, unlettered hind that I was, did not presume to limit the power of the great Creator, and because an act seemed impossible to my narrow vision, and within my limited experience, to cry aloud, imposture, or to mutter sneeringly, insanity.
Before proceeding farther with the thread of this narrative, the attention of the reader is solicited to the careful perusal of the following extracts from Stephens's Travels in Central America, Chiapas and Yucatan, published at New York in 1841.
But the Padre told us more; something that increased our excitement to the highest pitch. On the other side of the great traversing range of Cordilleras lies the district of Vera Paz, once called Tierra de Guerra, or land of war, from the warlike character of its aboriginal inhabitants. Three times the Spaniards were driven back in their attempt to conquer it.[A-133]
The rest of the Tierra de Guerra never was conquered; and at this day the northeastern section bounded by the range of the Cordilleras and the State of Chiapa is occupied by Cadones, or unbaptized Indians, who live as their fathers did, acknowledging no submission to the Spaniards, and the government of Central America does not pretend to exercise any control over them. But the thing that roused us was the assertion by the Padre that four days on the road to Mexico, on the other side of the Great Sierra, was a Living City, large and populous, occupied by Indians, precisely in the same state as before the discovery of America. He had heard of it many years before, at the village of Chajal, and was told by the villagers that from the topmost ridge of the Sierra this city was distinctly visible. He was then young, and with much labor climbed to the naked summit of the Sierra, from which, at a height of ten or twelve thousand feet, he looked over an immense plain extending to Yucatan and the Gulf of Mexico, and saw at a great distance a large city, spread over a great space, and with turrets white and glittering in the sun. The traditionary account of the Indians of Chajal is, that no white man has ever reached the city; that the inhabitants speak the Maya language; are aware that a race of strangers has conquered the whole country around, and murder any white man who attempts to enter their territory. They have no coin or other circulating medium; no horses, cattle, mules, or other domestic animals, except fowls, and the cocks they keep under ground to prevent their crowing being heard.[B-134]
[A-133] Page 193, Vol. 2.
[B-134] Ibid. Page 195.
Mr. Stephens then adds:
One look at that city is worth ten years of an every-day life. If he is right, a place is left where Indians and an Indian city exist as Cortez and Alvarado found them. There are living men who can solve the mystery that hangs over the ruined cities of America; perhaps, who can go to Copan and Palenque and read the inscriptions on their monuments.
**********
The moon, long past the meridian, was sinking slowly to her western goal, whilst the east was already beginning to blush and redden with the dawn. Before us rose high and clear three distinct mountain peaks, covered with a mantle of snow. I began to tremble with cold. But our pace did not slacken, nor our altitude diminish. On the contrary, we began to rise gradually, until we found ourselves nearly upon a level with the three peaks. Selecting an opening or gap betwixt the two westernmost, we glided through like the wind. I shivered and my teeth chattered as we skimmed along those everlasting snows. Here, thought I, the condor builds his nest in summer, and the avalanches find a home. The eagle's wing has not strength enough to battle with this thin and freezing atmosphere, and no living thing but "the proud bird, the condor of the Andes," ever scaled these hoary summits. But our descent had already commenced. Gradually, as the morning broke, the region of ice and snow was left behind us, and just as the first ray of the rising sun shot over the peaks we had but a moment before surmounted, I beheld, glittering in the dim and shadowy distance, the white walls of a magnificent city. An exclamation of surprise and pleasure involuntarily escaped my lips; but one glance at my companion checked all further utterance. She raised her rounded forefinger to her lip, and made a gesture, whose purport I well understood.
We swept over forests and cornfields and vineyards, the city growing upon the vision every moment, and rising like the Mexican capital, when first beheld by Europeans from the bosom of a magnificent lake. Finally, we found ourselves immediately above it, and almost at the same moment, began to descend. In a few seconds I stood alone, in a large open space, surrounded upon all sides by lofty stone edifices, erected upon huge pyramidal structures, that resembled the forest-covered mounds at Palenque. The day had fully dawned, but I observed no inhabitants. Presently a single individual appeared upon one of the towers near me, and gave a loud, shrill whistle, such as we sometimes hear in crowded theatres. In an instant it was echoed and re-echoed a thousand times, upon every side, and immediately the immense city seemed to be awake, as if by magic. They poured by thousands into the open square, where I stood petrified with astonishment. Before me, like a vision of midnight, marched by, in almost countless throngs, battalion on battalion of a race of men deemed and recorded extinct by the wisest historians.
They presented the most picturesque appearance imaginable, dressed apparently in holiday attire, and keeping step to a low air, performed on instruments emitting a dull, confused sound, that seldom rose so as to be heard at any great distance.
They continued promenading the square, until the first level ray of sunshine fell upon the great Teocallis—as it was designated by the Spaniards—then with unanimous action they fell upon their faces, striking their foreheads three times upon the mosaic pavement. Just as they rose to their feet, I observed four persons, most gorgeously dressed, descending the steps of the Temple, bearing a palanquin, in which sat a single individual. My attention was at once arrested by her appearance, for she was a woman. She was arrayed in a panache, or head-dress, made entirely of the plumage of the Quezale, the royal bird of Quiche. It was by far the most tasteful and becoming ornament to the head I ever beheld, besides being the most magnificent. It is impossible to describe the graceful movement of those waving plumes, as they were stirred by the slightest inclination of the head, or the softest aspiration of the breeze. But the effect was greatly heightened by the constant change of color which they underwent. Blue and crimson, and orange and gold, were so blended that the eye was equally dazzled and delighted. But the utmost astonishment pervaded me, when, upon closely scrutinizing her features, I thought I recognized the beautiful face of the Aztec Princess. Little leisure, however, was afforded me for this purpose, for no sooner had her subjects, the assembled thousands, bowed with deferential respect to their sovereign, than a company of drilled guards marched up to where I stood, and unresistingly made me prisoner.
It is useless to attempt a full description of the imposing ceremony I had witnessed, or to portray the appearance of those who took the most prominent parts. Their costume corresponded precisely with that of the figures in bas-relief on the sculptured monuments at Palenque. Each wore a gorgeous head-dress, generally of feathers, carried an instrument decorated with ribbons, feathers and skins, which appeared to be a war-club, and wore huge sashes of yellow, green, or crimson cotton cloth, knotted before and behind, and falling in graceful folds almost to the ground.
Hitherto not a word had been spoken. The ceremony I had witnessed was a religious one, and was at once interpreted by me to be the worship of the sun. I remembered well that the ancient Peruvians were heliolaters, and my imagination had been dazzled when but a child by the gorgeous description given by the historian Robertson, of the great Temple of the Sun at Cuzco. There the Incas had worshiped the God of Day from the period when Manco Capac came from the distant Island of Oello, and taught the native Indians the rudiments of civilization, until the life of the last scion of royal blood was sacrificed to the perfidy of the Spanish invaders. These historical facts had long been familiar to my mind; but I did not recollect any facts going to show that the ancient Aztecs were likewise heliolaters; but further doubt was now impossible.
In perfect silence I was hurried up the stone steps of the great Teocallis, toward the palace erected upon its summit, into whose broad and lofty corridors we soon entered. These we traversed in several directions, leaving the more outward and gradually approaching the heart or central apartments.
Finally, I was ushered into one of the most magnificently decorated audience-chambers that the eye of man ever beheld.
We were surrounded by immense tablets of bas-reliefs sculptured in white and black marble, and presenting, evidently, a connected history of the ancient heroes of the race. Beside each tablet triple rows of hieroglyphics were carved in the solid stone, unquestionably giving in detail the history of the hero or chief whose likeness stood near them. Many of these appeared to be females, but, judging from the sceptre each carried, I was persuaded that the old Salique law of France and other European nations never was acknowledged by the aboriginal Americans.
The roof was high, and decorated with the plumage of the Quezale and other tropical birds, whilst a throne was erected in the centre of the apartment, glittering in gold and silver ornaments, hung about with beautiful shells, and lined with the skins of the native leopard, prepared in the most exquisite style.
Seated upon a throne, I recognized the princess whose morning devotions I had just witnessed. At a gesture, I was carried up close to the foot of the throne.
After closely inspecting her features, I satisfied myself that she was not the companion of my mysterious journey, being several years older in appearance, and of a darker complexion. Still, there was a very striking resemblance between them, and it was evident that they not only belonged to the same race, but to the same family. I looked up at her with great respect, anticipating some encouraging word or sign. But instead of speaking, she commenced a low, melodious whistle, eying me intently during the whole time. Ceasing, she evidently anticipated some reply on my part, and I at once accosted her in the following terms:
"Most beautiful Princess, I am not voluntarily an invader of your realm. I was transported hither in a manner as mysterious as it was unexpected. Teach me but to read these hieroglyphics, and I will quit your territories forever."
A smile flitted across the features of the Princess as I uttered these words; and she gave an order, by a sharp whistle, to an officer that stood near, who immediately disappeared. In a few moments, he returned, bringing with him a native dressed very coarsely in white cotton cloth, and who carried an empty jar, or water tank, upon his head. He was evidently a laborer, and, judging from the low obeisances he constantly made, much to the amusement of the courtiers standing around, I am satisfied that he never before in his whole life had been admitted to the presence of his sovereign.
Making a gesture to the officer who had introduced him, he spoke a few low words to the native, who immediately turned toward me, and uttered, slowly and distinctly, the following sentence:
"Ix-itl hua-atl zi-petl poppicobatl."
I shook my head despairingly. Several other attempts to communicate with me were made, both by the Princess and the interpreter, but all to no purpose. I could neither understand the melodies nor the jargon. But I noticed throughout all these proceedings that there seemed to be two entirely distinct modes of expression; the first by whistling, and the second by utterance. The idea at once flashed across my mind, that there were two languages used in the country—one sacred to the blood royal and the nobility, and the other used by the common people. Impressed with this thought, I immediately set about verifying it by experiment.
It is unnecessary to detail the ingenious methods I devised to ascertain this fact. It is sufficient for the present purposes of this narrative to state, that, during the day, I was abundantly satisfied with the truth of my surmise; and that, before night, I learned another fact, equally important, that the hieroglyphics were written in the royal tongue, and could be read only by those connected by ties of blood with the reigning family.
There was at first something ludicrous in the idea of communicating thought by sound emitted in the way indicated above. In my wildest dreams, the notion of such a thing being possible had never occurred to my imagination. And when the naked fact was now demonstrated to me every moment, I could scarcely credit my senses. Still, when I reflected that night upon it, after I retired to rest, the system did not appear unnatural, nor even improbable. Birds, I knew, made use of the same musical tongue; and when but a boy, on the shores of the distant Albemarle, I had often listened, till long after midnight, to the wonderful loquacity of the common mocking-bird, as she poured forth her summer strains. Who has not heard the turtle dove wooing her mate in tones that were only not human, because they were more sadly beautiful? Many a belated traveler has placed his hand upon his sword-hilt, and looked suspiciously behind him, as the deep bass note of the owl has startled the dewy air. The cock's crow has become a synonym for a pæan of triumph.
Remembering all those varieties in sound that the air is capable of, when cut, as it were, by whistling, I no longer doubted that a language could easily be constructed by analyzing the several tones and giving value to their different modulations.
The ludicrousness of the idea soon gave place to admiration, and before I had been domiciliated in the palace of the Princess a month, I had become perfectly infatuated with her native language, and regarded it as the most beautiful and expressive ever spoken by man. And now, after several years have elapsed since its melodious accents have fallen upon my ears, I hesitate not to assert that for richness and variety of tone, for force and depth of expression, for harmony and sweetness—in short, for all those characteristics that give beauty and strength to spoken thought—the royal tongue of the aboriginal Americans is without a rival.
For many days after my mysterious appearance in the midst of the great city I have described, my fate still hung in the balance. I was examined and re-examined a hundred times as to the mode of my entrance into the valley; but I always persisted in making the same gestures, and pointed to the sky as the region whence I had descended. The guards stationed at every avenue of entrance and exit were summoned to the capital, and questioned closely as to the probability of my having passed them unawares; but they fully exculpated themselves from all blame, and were restored to their forfeited posts.
Gradually the excitement in the city subsided, and one by one the great nobles were won over to credit the story of my celestial arrival in their midst, and I believed the great object of my existence in a fair way to be accomplished.
Every facility was afforded me to learn the royal tongue, and after a little more than a year's residence in the palace, I spoke it with considerable fluency and accuracy.
But all my efforts hitherto were vain to obtain a key to the hieroglyphics. Not only was the offense capital to teach their alphabet to a stranger, but equally so to natives themselves, unconnected with the blood royal. With all my ingenuity and industry, I had not advanced a single letter.
One night, as I lay tossing restlessly upon my bed, revolving this insoluble enigma in my mind, one of the mosaic paving-stones was suddenly lifted up in the middle of the room, and the figure of a young man with a lighted taper in his hand stood before me.
Raising my head hastily from the pillow, I almost sank back with astonishment when I recognized in the form and features of my midnight visitor, Pio the Carib boy.
CHAPTER V.
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
—Shakspeare.
I sprang to my feet with all the eagerness of joy, and was about to rush into the arms of Pio, when he suddenly checked my enthusiasm by extinguishing the light. I stood still and erect, like one petrified into stone. That moment I felt a hand upon my arm, then around my waist, and ere I could collect my thoughts, was distinctly lifted from the ground. But I was carried only a few steps. On touching the floor with my feet, I was planted firmly, and the arms of my companion were tightly drawn around my own so as to prevent me from raising them. The next instant, and the stone upon which we stood suddenly slid from its position, and gradually sank perpendicularly,—we still retaining our position upon it.
Our descent was not rapid, nor did I deem it very secure; for the trap-door trembled under us, and more than once seemed to touch the shaft into which we were descending. A few moments more and we landed securely upon a solid pavement. My companion then disengaged his hold, and stepping off a few paces, pronounced the words "We are here!" in the royal tongue, and immediately a panel slid from the side of the apartment, and a long passage-way, lighted at the further end by a single candle, displayed itself to view. Into that passage we at once entered, and without exchanging a single word, walked rapidly toward the light.
The light stood upon a stone stand about four feet high, at the intersection of these passages. We took the one to the left, and advanced twenty or thirty yards, when Pio halted. On coming up to him, he placed his mouth close to the wall, and exclaimed as before. "We are here." A huge block of granite swung inward, and we entered a small but well-lighted apartment, around which were hanging several costly and magnificent suits of Palenquin costume.
Hastily seizing two of them, Pio commenced arraying himself in one, and requested me by a gesture to don the other. With a little assistance, I soon found myself decked from head to foot in a complete suit of regal robes—panache, sash, and sandals inclusive.
When all was completed, Pio, for the first time, addressed me as follows: "Young stranger, whoever you may be, or to whatever nation you may belong, matters but little to me. The attendant guardian spirit of our race and country has conducted you hither, in the most mysterious manner, and now commands me to have you instructed in the most sacred lore of the Aztecs. Your long residence in this palace has fully convinced you of the danger to which we are both exposed; I in revealing and you in acquiring the key to the interpretation of the historical records of my country. I need not assure you that our lives are both forfeited, should the slightest suspicion be aroused in the breasts of the Princess or the nobility.
"You are now dressed in the appropriate costume of a student of our literature, and must attend me nightly at the gathering of the Queen's kindred to be instructed in the art. Express no surprise at anything you see or hear; keep your face concealed as much as possible, fear nothing, and follow me."
At a preconcerted signal given by Pio, a door flew open and we entered the vestibule of a large and brilliantly illuminated chamber.
As soon as we passed the entrance I saw before me not less than two hundred young persons of both sexes, habited in the peculiar garb of students, like our own. We advanced slowly and noiselessly, until we reached two vacant places, prepared evidently beforehand for us. Our entrance was not noticed by the classes, nor by those whom I afterwards recognized as teachers. All seemed intent upon the problem before them, and evinced no curiosity to observe the new comers. My own curiosity at this moment was intense, and had it not been for the prudent cautions constantly given me by Pio, by touching my robes or my feet, an exposure most probably would have occurred the first night of my initiation, and the narrative of these adventures never been written.
My presence of mind, however, soon came to my assistance, and before the evening was over, I had, by shrewdly noticing the conduct of others, shaped my own into perfect conformity with theirs, and rendered detection next to impossible.
It now becomes necessary to digress a moment from the thread of my story, and give an accurate description of the persons I beheld around me, the chamber in which we were gathered, and the peculiar mode of instruction pursued by the sages.
The scholars were mostly young men and women, averaging in age about twenty years. They all wore the emblem of royalty, which I at once recognized in the panache of Quezale plumes that graced their heads. They stood in semi-circular rows, the platform rising as they receded from the staging in front, like seats in an amphitheatre. Upon the stage were seated five individuals—two of the male, and three of the female sex. An old man was standing up, near the edge of the stage, holding in his hands two very cunningly-constructed instruments. At the back of the stage, a very large, smooth tablet of black marble was inserted in the wall, and a royal personage stood near it, upon one side, with a common piece of chalk in his right hand, and a cotton napkin in the left. This reminded me but too truthfully of the fourth book of Euclid and Nassau Hall; and I was again reminded of the great mathematician before the assembly broke up, and of his reply to that King of Sicily, who inquired if there were no easy way of acquiring mathematics. "None, your Highness," replied the philosopher; "there is no royal road to learning." Labor, I soon found, was the only price, even amongst the Aztecs, at which knowledge could be bought. Each student was furnished with the same species of instruments which the old man before-mentioned held in his hands.
The one held in the left hand resembled a white porcelain slate, only being much larger than those in common use. It was nearly twenty inches square, and was divided by mathematical lines into thirty-six compartments. It was covered over with a thin crystal, resembling glass, which is found in great quantities in the neighboring mountains, and is perfectly transparent. The crystal was raised about the one eighth of an inch from the surface of the slate, and allowed a very fine species of black sand to move at will between them. The instrument carried in the right hand resembled the bow of a common violin, more than anything else. The outer edge was constructed of a beautiful yellow wood, polished, and bent into the arc of a quarter circle; whilst a mass of small cords, made of the native hemp, united the two ends.
The method of using the bow was this: The slate was shaken violently once or twice, so as to distribute the black sand equally over the white surface, and then the bow was drawn perpendicularly down the edge of the slate, very rapidly, so as to produce a quick whistling sound. The effect produced upon the grains of sand was truly wonderful to the uninitiated in the laws of acoustics. They arranged themselves into peculiar figures, sometimes in the form of a semicircle, sometimes into that of a spiral, sometimes into a perfect circle, or a cone, or a rhomboid, or an oval, dependent entirely upon two things: first, the place where the slate was held by the left hand; and second, the point where the bow was drawn across the edge. As the slate was subdivided into thirty-six compartments, by either one of which it could be held, and as there was a corresponding point, across which the bow could be drawn, there were seventy-two primitive sounds that might be produced by means of this simple contrivance. Each of these sounds inherently and necessarily produced a different figure upon the slate, and there were consequently just seventy-two initial letters in the Aztec alphabet.
The mode of instruction was extremely simple. A word was pronounced by the aged teacher at the front of the stage, written upon his slate, exhibited to the scholar at the black tablet, and by him copied upon it. The whole class then drew down their bows, so as to produce the proper sound, and the word itself, or its initial letter, was immediately formed upon the slate.
After the seventy-two primitive letters or sounds had been learned, the next step was the art of combining them, so as not only to produce single words, but very often whole sentences. Thus the first hieroglyphic carved upon the tablet, on the back wall of the altar, in Casa No. 3 (forming the frontispiece of the second volume of Stephens's Travels in Central America), expresses, within itself, the name, date of birth, place of nativity, and parentage, of Xixencotl, the first king of the twenty-third dynasty of the Aztecs.
The hieroglyphics of the Aztecs are all of them both symbolical and phonetic. Hence, in almost every one we observe, first, the primitive sound or initial letter, and its various combinations; and, secondly, some symbolic drawing, as a human face, for instance, or an eagle's bill, or a fish, denoting some peculiar characteristic of the person or thing delineated.
But to return to the Hall of Students. The men and women on the stage were placed there as critics upon the pronunciation of each articulate sound. They were selected from the wisest men and best elocutionists in the kingdom, and never failed to detect the slightest error in the pronunciation of the tutor.
The royal tongue of the Aztecs is the only one now in existence that is based upon natural philosophy and the laws of sound. It appeals both to the eye and ear of the speaker, and thus the nicest shades of thought may be clearly expressed. There is no such thing as stilted language amongst them, and logomachy is unknown.
And here I may be permitted to observe that a wider field for research and discovery lies open in the domain of sound than in any other region of science. The laws of harmony, even, are but imperfectly understood, and the most accomplished musicians are mere tyros in the great science of acoustics. There is every reason to believe that there is an intimate but yet undiscovered link between number, light, and sound whose solution will astonish and enlighten the generations that are to succeed our own. When God spake the worlds into being, the globular form they assumed was not accidental, nor arbitrary, but depended essentially upon the tone of the great Architect, and the medium in which it resounded.
Let the natural philosophers of the rising generation direct their especial attention toward the fields I have indicated, and the rewards awaiting their investigations will confer upon them immortality of fame.
There is a reason why the musical scale should not mount in whole tones up to the octave; why the mind grasps decimals easier than vulgar fractions, and why, by the laws of light, the blood-red tint should be heavier than the violet. Let Nature, in these departments, be studied with the same care that Cuvier explored the organization of insects, that Liebig deduced the property of acids, and that Leverrier computed the orbit of that unseen world which his genius has half created, and all the wonderful and beautiful secrets now on the eve of bursting into being from the dark domain of sound, color, and shape, will at once march forth into view, and take their destined places in the ranks of human knowledge.
Then the science of computation will be intuitive, as it was in the mind of Zerah Colburn; the art of music creative, as in the plastic voices of Jehovah; and the great principles of light and shape and color divine, as in the genius of Swedenborg and the imagination of Milton.
I have now completed the outline of the sketch, which in the foregoing pages I proposed to lay before the world.
The peculiar circumstances which led me to explore the remains of the aboriginal Americans, the adventures attending me in carrying out that design, the mode of my introduction into the Living City, spoken of by Stephens, and believed in by so many thousands of enlightened men, and above all, the wonderful and almost incredible character of the people I there encountered, together with a rapid review of their language and literature, have been briefly but faithfully presented to the public.
It but remains for me now to present my readers with a few specimens of Aztec literature, translated from the hieroglyphics now mouldering amid the forests of Chiapa; to narrate the history of my escape from the Living City of the aborigines; to bespeak a friendly word for the forthcoming history of one of the earliest, most beautiful, and unfortunate of the Aztec queens, copied verbatim from the annals of her race, and to bid them one and all, for the present, a respectful adieu.
Before copying from the blurred and water-soaked manuscript before me, a single extract from the literary remains of the monumental race amongst whom I have spent three years and a half of my early manhood, it may not be deemed improper to remark that a large work upon this subject is now in course of publication, containing the minutest details of the domestic life, public institutions, language, and laws of that interesting people.
The extracts I present to the reader may be relied upon as exactly correct, since they are taken from the memoranda made upon the spot.
Directly in front of the throne, in the great audience-chamber described in the preceding chapter, and written in the most beautiful hieroglyphic extant, I found the following account of the origin of the land:
The Great Spirit, whose emblem is the sun, held the water-drops out of which the world was made, in the hollow of his hand. He breathed a tone, and they rounded into the great globe, and started forth on the errand of counting up the years.
Nothing existed but water and the great fishes of the sea. One eternity passed. The Great Spirit sent a solid star, round and beautiful, but dead and no longer burning, and plunged it into the depths of the oceans. Then the winds were born, and the rains began to fall. The animals next sprang into existence. They came up from the star-dust like wheat and maize. The round star floated upon the waters, and became the dry land; and the land was high, and its edges steep. It was circular, like a plate, and all connected together.
The marriage of the land and the sea produced man, but his spirit came from the beams of the sun.
Another eternity passed away, and the earth became too full of people. They were all white, because the star fell into the cold seas, and the sun could not darken their complexions.
Then the sea bubbled up in the middle of the land, and the country of the Aztecs floated off to the west. Wherever the star cracked open, there the waters rose up and made the deep sea.
When the east and the west come together again, they will fit like a garment that has been torn.
Then followed a rough outline of the western coasts of Europe and Africa, and directly opposite the coasts of North and South America. The projections of the one exactly fitted the indentations of the other, and gave a semblance of truth and reality to the wild dream of the Aztec philosopher. Let the geographer compare them, and he will be more disposed to wonder than to sneer.
I have not space enough left me to quote any further from the monumental inscriptions, but if the reader be curious upon this subject, I recommend to his attention the publication soon to come out, alluded to above.
Some unusual event certainly had occurred in the city. The great plaza in front of the palace was thronged with a countless multitude of men and women, all clamoring for a sacrifice! a sacrifice!
Whilst wondering what could be the cause of this commotion, I was suddenly summoned before the Princess in the audience-chamber, so often alluded to before.
My surprise was great when, upon presenting myself before her, I beheld, pinioned to a heavy log of mahogany, a young man, evidently of European descent.
The Princess requested me to interpret for her to the stranger, and the following colloquy took place. The conversation was in the French language.
Q. "Who are you, and why do you invade my dominions?"
A. "My name is Armand de L'Oreille. I am a Frenchman by birth. I was sent out by Lamartine, in 1848, as attaché to the expedition of M. de Bourbourg, whose duties were to explore the forests in the neighborhood of Palenque, to collate the language of the Central-American Indians, to copy the inscriptions on the monuments, and, if possible, to reach the Living City mentioned by Waldeck, Dupaix, and the American traveler Stephens."
Q. "But why are you alone? Where is the party to which you belonged?"
A. "Most of them returned to Palenque, after wandering in the wilderness a few days. Five only determined to proceed; of that number I am the only survivor."
Here the interview closed.
The council and the queen were not long in determining the fate of M. de L'Oreille. It was unanimously resolved that he should surrender his life as a forfeit to his temerity.
The next morning, at sunrise, was fixed for his death. He was to be sacrificed upon the altar, on the summit of the great Teocallis—an offering to Quetzalcohuatl, the first great prince of the Aztecs. I at once determined to save the life of the stranger, if I could do so, even at the hazard of my own. But fate ordained it otherwise. I retired earlier than usual, and lay silent and moody, revolving on the best means to accomplish my end.
Midnight at length arrived; I crept stealthily from my bed, and opened the door of my chamber, as lightly as sleep creeps over the eyelids of children. But——
[Here the MS. is so blotted, and saturated with saltwater, as to be illegible for several pages. The next legible sentences are as follows.—Ed.]
Here, for the first time, the woods looked familiar to me. Proceeding a few steps, I fell into the trail leading toward the modern village of Palenque, and, after an hour's walk, I halted in front of the cabilda of the town.
I was followed by a motley crowd to the office of the Alcalde, who did not recognize me, dressed as I was in skins, and half loaded down with rolls of MS., made from the bark of the mulberry. I related to him and M. de Bourbourg my adventures; and though the latter declared he had lost poor Armand and his five companions, yet I am persuaded that neither of them credited a single word of my story.
Not many days after my safe arrival at Palenque, I seized a favorable opportunity to visit the ruins of Casa Grande. I readily found the opening to the subterranean passage heretofore described, and after some troublesome delays at the various landing-places, I finally succeeded in reaching the very spot whence I had ascended on that eventful night, nearly three years before, in company with the Aztec Princess.
After exploring many of the mouldering and half-ruined apartments of this immense palace, I accidentally entered a small room, that at first seemed to have been a place of sacrifice; but, upon closer inspection, I ascertained that, like many of those in the "Living City," it was a chapel dedicated to the memory of some one of the princes of the Aztec race.
In order to interpret the inscriptions with greater facility, I lit six or seven candles, and placed them in the best positions to illuminate the hieroglyphics. Then turning, to take a view of the grand tablet in the middle of the inscription, my astonishment was indescribable, when I beheld the exact features, dress and panache of the Aztec maiden, carved in the everlasting marble before me.
