Caxton's Book: A Collection of Essays, Poems, Tales, and Sketches Part 14

The peculiar circ.u.mstances 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 ma.n.u.script 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 inst.i.tutions, 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 pa.s.sed. 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 pa.s.sed 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 s.p.a.ce 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 mult.i.tude 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 attache 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 salt.w.a.ter, 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 pa.s.sage 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.

[Decoration]

VIII.

_THE MOTHER'S EPISTLE._

Sweet daughter, leave thy tasks and toys, Throw idle thoughts aside, And hearken to a mother's voice, That would thy footsteps guide; Though far across the rolling seas, Beyond the mountains blue, She sends her counsels on the breeze, And wafts her blessings too.

To guard thy voyage o'er life's wave, To guide thy bark aright, To s.n.a.t.c.h thee from an early grave, And gild thy way with light, Thy mother calls thee to her side, And takes thee on her knee, In spite of oceans that divide, And thus addresses thee:

I.

Learn first this lesson in thy youth, Which time cannot destroy, To love and speak and act the truth-- 'Tis life's most holy joy; Wert thou a queen upon a throne, Decked in each royal gem, This little jewel would alone Outs.h.i.+ne thy diadem.

II.

Next learn to conquer, as they rise, Each wave of pa.s.sion's sea; Unchecked, 'twill sweep the vaulted skies, And vanquish heaven and thee; Lashed on by storms within thy breast, These billows of the soul Will wreck thy peace, destroy thy rest, And ruin as they roll!

III.

But conquered pa.s.sions were no gain, Unless where once they grew There falls the teardrop, like the rain, And gleams the morning dew; Sow flowers within thy virgin heart, That spring from guileless love; Extend to each a sister's part, Take lessons of the dove.

IV.

But, daughter, empty were our lives, And useless all our toils, If that within us, which survives Life's transient battle-broils, Were all untaught in heavenly lore, Unlearned in virtue's ways, Ungifted with religion's store, Unskilled our G.o.d to praise.