The principal stairway, facing the north, is guarded at the base by two huge heads of feathered serpents, jaws open, fangs displayed, and forked tongues extended. And each of these heads, excepting only the forked tongue, is hewn from a single solid block of stone, with every crotalic detail perfectly carved. The bodies belonging to these serpent heads, conventionalized into two broad, flat bands, extend up the mound, one on each side of the stairway, to the principal entrance of the temple. On the narrow platform and forming the main doorway of this holy of holies are two more immense monolithic serpent heads, now partially destroyed. They are used as pillars trisecting into three parts the great forty-foot doorway. The conventionalized and foreshortened head of the serpent forms the base of the column and the foreshortened tail forms the capital which is, in its own way, no less a worthy architectural creation than the Greek Corinthian column, with its capital of acanthus leaves.
The triply vaulted ceiling rests upon great sapote beams supported by three-foot-thick walls and massive square-faced, paneled stone pillars. This sapote wood, called ya by the natives, is dark red in color and turns chocolate brown with age and exposure. It is nearly as heavy as iron and is very hard. In many ways it resists the action of the tropical elements better than metal, and insects seem to produce no effect upon its adamantine surface. These beams are wondrously carved and with few exceptions have faithfully sustained the tremendous weight of stone put upon them. Only a few have broken with age, so that but a part of the façade of the temple has fallen. For a thousand years, at least, they have stood and at the time of the Conquest in 1540 they were in much the same condition in which we now find them.
In front of the main doorway originally stood a great stone table with an intricately carved surface. It was supported by curious Atlantean stone figures and some of these strange male caryatids were bearded. Other figures on piers and columns within the temple also are bearded—with one exception the only bearded figures portrayed in this whole city which was inhabited by a beardless race. Close examination shows, however, that the carved figures wear masks and it is the masks which are bearded. This fact only enhances the mystery, pointing to the possibility of a still more ancient past and of ritualistic traditions so remote in their beginnings that all memory of their original meaning has faded and only the ritual or empty shell remains of what was once living fact. Analogous are some of the archaic Greek rituals and Druidical rites.
Who were the prototypes of these bearded figures? Were they the mysterious, blue-eyed, fair-skinned people clad in armor who were supposed to have once landed at Tamoclan near Tampico? Norsemen? Or were they the old Atlanteans whose country Plato says “sank in one day and one night beneath the waves of the ocean”?
Of the many marvelous carvings and paintings in this temple I shall say more in another chapter.
Doubtless upon the wide level roof of the temple were performed religious rites,—solemn invocations to the sun and the like,—for, throughout, this edifice leaves one with the impression that its character was purely religious. There are no warlike scenes pictured, only solemnity and high reverence for the great gods.
Lying within the shadow of El Castillo are the broken remains of another building, called the Temple of the Tigers. It takes its name from a frieze of bas-reliefs which is one of the outstanding treasures of the lost art of the Mayas. In these wonderful carvings the sculptor has perfectly caught the feline vigor and grace of the American jaguar. No doubt he had a first-hand knowledge of jaguars, which were very plentiful then and still abound in this vicinity if one wishes to go to the trouble of looking for them. To the Mayas the jaguar was the “Protector of the Fields” because he lay in wait for the deer in the open and cultivated spaces. It was the custom of the natives to put some gift or friendly token in the corner of the field for this god-like beast. Probably his very life was sacred as are those of many animals in India.
The Tiger Temple is built on a pyramid base with a stairway up the side approaching a wide doorway which is divided by pillars into three parts. Much of the sustaining pyramid has crumbled away, or been removed, leaving the building perched on a sheer wall of roughly cemented rubble as viewed from one side. The façade is thirty-five feet long and twenty-two feet high and at each side of the entrance is a great serpent’s head. Each of these monoliths weighs several tons and is carved with amazing skill; every feature and scale is flawless and they are painted or enameled, the colors being still visible if not vivid. The head of each is green, while eyes and open mouth are red. The scales end with the head, and the remainder of the body, elaborately feathered, rises in a graceful cylindrical column, with the tail now broken but originally projecting upward along the face of the building and terminating in well-defined rattles. A portion of the front roof has fallen, due to the breaking of wooden lintels supporting the mass of stone of which it was composed, but fortunately the serpents’ heads and the door columns are unharmed.
All of the interior walls are solidly painted with battle scenes, scenes of domestic life, and pictures of sacrificial pageants. Many of the colors are as brilliant as the day they were laid on these smooth walls, although the wonderful paintings have been much marred by vandals. The many figures, each in a different posture, each group differently clothed or armed, and all cleverly drawn, in good proportion, and elaborately colored, are capable of holding the most casual observer by the hour and are a never-ending delight to the enthusiast.
The Tiger Temple is in every way the prize exhibit among the various edifices of the Sacred City, not for its size but for the craftsmanship and charm of its every detail. And yet I must make one small reservation, for just back and at the base of the Tiger Temple is a small, almost ruined building, nameless, lacking a roof and a front, yet containing on its three still standing walls and what little remains of a ceiling more than eighty sculptured figures. There are warriors in armor of metal, hide, and wood; priests in ceremonial vestments; kings and chieftains. The various figures are distinct and different from one another and the features are individual, doubtless recognizable if we but knew the great men in whose likeness they were carved. Each figure is identified by its own personal and distinguishing sign, or mark, usually placed overhead. Vivid paint or enamel was painstakingly applied to the sculpture and in many places it is still pronounced.