The author of the “Popul Vuh,” however, goes on to tell of some of the wonders they did in Xibalbay,—which Ximenes considers hell,—and my readers would find the story very amusing; but I have translated perhaps enough to show the ideas of the Quichés ten centuries ago.
The Quiché kings had removed their capital from Izmachi to Gumarcah,—afterwards called Utatlan,—not far from the modern Spanish town of Santa Cruz del Quiché; and it was the poor remains of this city, destroyed three centuries and a half ago, that I visited in journeying through Guatemala. The situation was a fine one, well suited for the metropolis of an extensive kingdom; for while roads and mountain-passes gave access in all directions, the very mountains formed a wall easily guarded, and watch-towers to discover approaching danger. It was situated not unlike Granada on the Vega in the Sierras of Andalusia; and like that noble capital of the Moorish kingdom, it was well fortified, and embellished with all the knowledge and taste of the time.
Ancient Temple. (From an old Manuscript.)
On the platform where Frank and I had stumbled over the confused piles of rubbish and tried in vain to trace the buildings, so distinct only forty years before, the mighty Gucumatz had built high the altar of the bloodthirsty Tohil,—a steep pyramid in the centre of the rebuilt Gumarcah, now called Utatlan. Our knowledge of the ceremonial of that Quiché worship is but slight; but enough is known to give an air of reality to the pile of rubbish that alone marks the site of the holy place of this ancient kingdom. I sat near the base of the altar, and the city walls arose about me; the ruin of three centuries departed, and again all was new and full of busy life. Around me, but at a suitable distance from the altar-temple, were the palaces of the princes, built of cut stone and covered with the most brilliant white stucco. From the flat roofs of these massive dwellings floated banners of many colors and strange devices; arches of evergreens and flowers spanned every entrance to this Plaza, whose floor was of the smoothest, whitest stucco, and heaps of fragrant flowers were piled at the palace-doorways and about the great altar that towered like a mountain of light in the midst. All around me were the phantom forms of the Indios, clad in garments of rich colors, but silent and expectant; I seemed to know them all and understand their tongue. It was the most sacred festival of the year; the rains had ceased, and the summer was beginning,—and a summer at Utatlan was a delight unequalled in the outer world.
Indio Sacrificing.
For many months the high priest and king had hidden himself from the sight of man, high in the mountains that overlook the Quiché plain. In his casa verde he was engaged in prayer and meditation, while his only food was fruit and uncooked maiz. His body was unclothed, but stained with dismal dyes; and twice every day, as the sun rose and set, he cut himself with an obsidian knife on his arms, legs, tongue, and genitals, that he might offer his choicest blood to the divinity he worshipped. Once only in his life must he do this; and scattered in the remote mountain-hermitages were many nobles keeping him company in the spirit. These were the fathers of the young men who had not yet offered their blood, and had been selected to be the god-children of their king and priest. In these lonely retreats the fathers taught their sons manly duties, and drew their blood from the five wounds.[38]
The votaries had gathered from their various cells at the sound of the drum, which was beaten only on most solemn occasions, and were marching in procession to the Plaza. I could see them as they filed on to the narrow causeway that led into the town, and then they were lost to sight as they climbed the steep ascent. In profound silence these men and youths, naked as they were born, entered the enclosure and seated themselves at the foot of the altar-steps. The solemn silence was now suddenly broken by a crash of trumpets and drums, while a procession of a different kind took up its march to the temple. Bright colors and the gleam of gold and precious stones, the clang of barbaric music and the sound of holy songs, reached the eye and ear as the idols, which had been carefully concealed since the last fiesta, were now brought to the place of sacrifice. Strange things these were,—not of “heaven above, nor the earth beneath, nor of the waters which are under the earth,” but carved from wood and stone and decked with beaten gold, hung with jewels, and borne triumphantly on the shoulders of the noblest citizens. Then all was joy and bustle in the Plaza. The hermits were clothed with new robes and welcomed back with honor, the high priest put on his robes and mitre, and for a while the people gave themselves up to music and dancing and ball-playing; it seemed as if life had no other end. But a terrible solemnity was to come. Even among the dancers I saw men clothed in a peculiar but rich garb,—generally of another people, but not always foreign; and I knew that these men had for days before the festival gone freely through the town, entered any house, even the royal palace, where the food they sought was freely given them, and they were treated with marked respect. Outside the city-walls were some of them, with collars about their necks, attended by four officers of the king’s guard. Food, drink, and even the women were free to these honored men; but they were captives taken in war, or perhaps men who were obnoxious to the king, and were to be sacrificed to Tohil. A terrible death awaited them; but they regarded their fate as a matter they could not help, and with Indian stolidity enjoyed the frolics of the people and smiled at care. It was strange to see how little any one seemed to be affected by the certainly approaching death of their fellows. Every one knew what was coming; but no dread anticipation marred the festive scene.
The music ceased in the Plaza, the chief idol was placed on the altar-top, and the priests and nobles seized the victims by the hair and passed them, struggling, one by one up the steep steps of the altar to the chief priest, who stood high on the sacrificatorio in the sight of all the people. There was no murmur, not even a shudder, among the multitude, only the involuntary shrieks of the sacrifice as the priest cut into his breast with the stone knife and tore out his quivering heart. Holding this in the golden spoon of the temple, he placed it reverently in the mouth of the idol, loudly chanting this prayer: “Lord, hear us, for we are thine! Give us health, give us children and prosperity, that thy people may increase! Give us water and the rains, that we may be nourished and live! Hear our supplications, receive our prayers, assist us against our enemies, and grant us peace and quiet!” And the people cried, “So be it, O Lord!”