THE RANCHO.
The state of Puebla is composed of a plateau mountain, more than five
and twenty leagues in circumference, crossed by the lofty Cordilleras
of Anahuac.
The plains which surround the town are very diversified, cut up by
ravines, studded with hills, and closed on the horizon by mountains
covered by eternal snows.
Immense fields of aloes, the real vineyards of the country, as pulque,
that beverage so dear to the Mexicans, is made from this plant, extend
beyond the range of vision.
There is no sight so imposing as these commanding aloes, whose leaves,
armed with formidable points, are thick, hard, lustrous, and from six
to eight feet in length.
On leaving Puebla by the Mexico road, about two leagues further on, you
come to the city of Cholula, formerly very important, but which, now
fallen from its past splendour, only contains from twelve to fifteen
thousand souls.
In the days of the Aztecs, the territory, which now forms the State of
Puebla, was considered by the inhabitants a privileged Holy Land, and
the sanctuary of the religion. Considerable ruins, very remarkable from
an archaeological point of view, still bear witness to the truth of
our statement; three principal pyramids exist in a very limited space,
without mentioning the ruins on which travellers tread at every step.
Of these three pyramids, one is justly celebrated; it is the one to
which the inhabitants of the country give the name of _Monte hecho
a mano_, the mountain built by human hands, or the great teocali of
Cholula.
This pyramid, crowned with cypresses, and on the top of which now
stands a chapel dedicated to "Nuestra Señora de los remedios," is
entirely constructed of bricks, its height is one hundred and seventy
feet, and its base, according to the calculations of Humboldt, is 1355
feet in length, or a little more than double the base of the pyramids
of Cheops.
Monsieur Ampère remarks, with considerable tact and cleverness, that
the imagination of the Arabs has surrounded with prodigies, the, to
them, unknown cradle of the Egyptian pyramids, whose construction they
refer to the deluge; and the same was the case in Mexico. On this
subject he relates a tradition picked up in 1566, by Pedro del Río,
about the pyramids of Cholula, and preserved in his MSS., which are now
in the Vatican.
We will in our turn, make a loan from the celebrated savant, and
relate here this tradition, such as he gives it in his _Promenades en
Amérique_.
"During the last great inundation, the country of Anahuac (the plateau
of Mexico), was inhabited by giants. All those who did not perish in
this disaster, were changed into fishes, except seven giants who took
refuge in the caverns. When the waters began to subside, one of these
giants, of the name of Xelhua, who was an architect, erected near
Cholula, in memory of the mountain of Tlaloc, which had served as a
refuge to him and his brothers, an artificial column of a pyramidal
form. The gods, seeing with jealousy, this edifice, whose peak was
intended to touch the clouds, and irritated by the audacity of Xelhua,
hurled the heavenly fires against the pyramid, whence it happened, that
many of the builders perished, and the work could not be completed. It
was dedicated to the god of the air, 'Qualzalcoatl.'"
Might we not fancy ourselves reading the Biblical account of the
building of the Tower of Babel?
There is in this narrative an error, which must not be imputed to the
celebrated professor, but which we, in spite of our humble quality of
romance writer, believe it useful to rectify.
Quetzalcoatl--the serpent covered with feathers, the root of which
is _quetzalli_ feathers, and _coatl_ serpent, and not qualzalcoatl,
which means nothing, and is not even a Mexican name--is the god of the
air, the god legislator _par excellence_; he was white and bearded,
his black cloak was studded with red crosses, he appeared at Tula, of
which place he was high priest; the men who accompanied him wore black
garments, in the shape of a cassock, and like him, were white.
He was passing through Cholula, on his way to the mysterious country
whence his ancestors sprang, when the Cholulans implored him to
govern them and give them laws; he consented, and remained for twenty
years among them. After which, considering his mission temporarily
terminated, he went to the mouth of the river _Huasacoalco_, when he
suddenly disappeared, after solemnly promising the Cholulans that he
would return one day to govern them.
Hardly a century ago the Indians, when carrying their offspring to
the Chapel of the Virgin erected on the pyramid, still prayed to
Quetzalcoatl, whose return among them they piously awaited, we will not
venture to assert that this belief is completely extinct at the present
day.
The pyramid of Cholula in no way resembles those to be seen in Egypt,
covered with earth on all sides; it is a thoroughly wooded mount, the
top of which can be easily reached, not only on horseback, but in a
carriage.
At certain spots landslips had laid bare the sun-dried bricks employed
in the construction.
A Christian chapel stands on the top of the pyramid at the very spot
where the temple dedicated to Quetzalcoatl was built.
We cannot agree with certain authors who have asserted that a religion
of love has been substituted for a barbarous and cruel faith; it would
have been more logical to say that a true religion has followed a false
one.
Never was the summit of the pyramid of Cholula stained with human
blood; never was any man immolated there to the god adored in the
temple, now destroyed, for the very simple reason that this temple
was dedicated to Quetzalcoatl, and that the only offerings laid on
the altar of this god consisted of productions of the earth, such as
flowers and the first fruits of the crops, and this was done by the
express order of the god legislator, an order which his priests did not
dare infringe.
It was about four o'clock, a.m., the stars were beginning to disappear
in the depths of the sky, the horizon was striped with large grey bands
that incessantly changed their colour, and gradually assumed all the
colours of the rainbow, until they at last became blended into one red
mass; day was breaking, and the sun was about to rise. At this moment
two horsemen issued from Puebla, and proceeded at a sharp trot along
the Cholula road.
Both were carefully wrapped up in their _sarapes_, and appeared well
armed.
At about half a league from the town they suddenly turned to the right
and entered a narrow path cut through a field of aloes.
This path, which was very badly kept up, like all the means of
communication in Mexico, formed numberless turns, and was cut up by so
many ravines and quagmires, that there was the greatest difficulty in
riding along it, without running the risk of breaking one's neck twenty
times in ten minutes. Here and there came _arroyos_, which had to be
crossed with the water up to the horses' girths; then there were mounds
to ascend and descend; lastly, after at least twenty-five minutes of
this difficult riding, the two travellers reached the base of a species
of pyramid clumsily made by human hands, entirely covered with wood,
and rising about forty feet above the plain.
This artificial hill was crowned by a _vaquero's rancho_, which was
reached by steps cut at regular distances in the sides of the mound.
On reaching this spot the two strangers halted and dismounted.
The two men then left their horses to themselves, thrust the barrels of
their guns into a crevice at the base of the hill, and pressed on them,
using the butt as a leverage.
Although the pressure was not greatly exerted, an enormous stone, which
seemed completely to adhere to the ground, became slowly detached,
turned on invisible hinges, and unmasked the entrance of a cave which
ran with a gentle incline underground.
This grotto doubtless received air and light through a great number of
imperceptible fissures, for it was dry, and perfectly clear.
"Go, López," said one of the strangers.
"Are you going up above?" the other asked.
"Yes; you will join me there in an hour, unless you see me beforehand."
"Good; that is understood."
He then whistled to the horses, which trotted up, and, at a signal from
López, entered the cavern without the slightest hesitation.
"Good-bye for the present," said López.
The stranger gave him an affirmative nod; the servant entered in his
turn, let the stone fall behind him, and it fitted so exactly into the
rock, that there was not the slightest solution of continuity, and it
would have been impossible to find the entrance it concealed, even were
its existence known, unless one had been acquainted beforehand with its
exact position.
The stranger had remained motionless, with his eyes fixed on the
surrounding plain, seeking, doubtless, to assure himself that he was
really alone, and that he had nothing to fear from indiscreet glances.
When the stone had fallen into its place again, he threw his gun on his
shoulder, and began slowly ascending the steps, apparently plunged in
gloomy meditation.
From the top of the mound there was a vast prospect: on one side
Zapotecas, Cholula, haciendas, and villages; on the other, Puebla, with
its numerous painted and conical cupolas, which made it resemble an
eastern city. Then the eye wandered over fields of aloes, Indian corn,
and agave, in the midst of which the high road to Mexico wound, forming
a yellow line.
The stranger remained for an instant pensive, with his eyes turned to
the plain, which was completely deserted at this early hour, and which
the first sunbeams were beginning to gild with lustrous tints: then,
after breathing a suppressed sigh, he pushed the hurdle, covered with
a cowhide, which served as door to the rancho, and disappeared in the
interior.
The rancho externally had the wretched appearance of a hut almost
falling into ruins; still, the interior was more comfortably arranged
than might have been reasonably expected in a country where the
exigencies of life, with the lower classes more especially, are reduced
to what is most strictly necessary.
The first room--for the rancho contained several--served as parlour
and sitting room, and communicated with a lean-to outside, used as
a kitchen. The whitewashed walls of this room were adorned, not
with pictures, but with six or eight of those coloured engravings,
manufactured at Epinal, and with which that town inundates the world.
They represented different episodes in the wars of the empires, and
were decently framed and glazed. In a corner, about six feet from the
ground, a statuette, representing Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, the
patron saint of Mexico, was placed on a mahogany console, edged with
points, on which were fixed yellow wax tapers, three of which were
lighted. Six equipales, four butacas, a sideboard covered with various
household articles, and a large table placed in the middle of the room,
completed the furniture of this apartment, which was lighted by two
windows with red curtains. The floor was covered with a mat, of rather
delicate workmanship.
We have omitted mention of an article of furniture very important
through its rarity, and which was most unexpected in such a place: it
was a Black Forest cuckoo clock, surmounted by some bird or other,
which announced the hours and half-hours by singing.
This cuckoo was opposite the entrance door, and placed exactly between
the two windows.
A door opened on the right into the inner room.
At the moment when the stranger entered the rancho, the room was empty.
He leaned his gun in a corner, took off his hat, which he laid on a
table, opened a window, up to which he drew a butaca, then rolled a
husk cigarette, which he lit and smoked as calmly and coolly as if he
were at home, though not till he had cast a glance at the clock, and
muttered--
"Half past five! Good! I have time: he will not arrive before."
While speaking thus to himself, the stranger threw himself back in the
butaca; his eyes closed, his hand loosed its hold of the cigarette, and
a few minutes later he was sleeping soundly.
His sleep had lasted about half an hour, when a door behind him was
cautiously opened, and a pretty woman, twenty-three at the most, with
blue eyes and light hair, came into the room stealthily, curiously
stretching out her head, and fixing a kind, almost affectionate, glance
on the sleeper.
The young woman's face evidenced gaiety and maliciousness, blended with
extreme kindness. Her features, though not regular, formed a coquettish
and graceful whole which pleased at the first glance. Her excessively
white complexion distinguished her from the other rancheros' wives, who
are generally copper-coloured Indians: her dress was that belonging to
her class, but remarkably neat, and worn with a coquettishness that
admirably became her.
She thus came up softly to the sleeper, with her head thrown back,
and a finger laid on her lip, doubtless to recommend two persons who
followed her--a middle-aged man and woman--to make as little noise as
possible.
The woman appeared to be about fifty years of age, the man sixty; their
rather ordinary features had nothing striking about them, excepting a
certain expression of energetic decision spread over them.
The woman wore the garb of Mexican rancheros; as for the man, he was a
_vaquero_.
All three, on coming close to the stranger, stopped before him, and
watched him sleeping.
At this moment a sunbeam entered through the open window, and fell on
the stranger's face.
"Vive Dieu!" the latter exclaimed in French, as he sprang up suddenly
and opened his eyes; "Why, deuce take me, I really believe I was
asleep!"
"Parbleu! Mr. Oliver," the ranchero replied, in the same language;
"what harm is there in that?"
"Ah! There you are, my good friends," he said, with a pleasant smile,
as he offered them his hand; "it is a joyous waking for me, since
I find you at my side. Good day! Louise, my girl. Good day! Mother
Thérèse; and good day to you, too, my old Loïck! You have cheerful
faces, which it is a pleasure to look at!"
"How sorry I am that you woke up, Mr. Oliver," the charming Louise said.
"The more so, because you were doubtless fatigued," Loïck said.
"Stuff! I have forgotten it. You did not expect to find me here, eh?"
"Pardon me, Mr. Oliver," Thérèse replied; "López informed us of your
arrival."
"That confounded López cannot hold his tongue," Oliver said, gaily; "he
must always be chattering."
"You will breakfast with us, I hope?" the young woman asked.
"Is that a thing to ask, girl?" the _vaquero_ said; "I should like to
see Mr. Oliver decline, that is all."
"Come, rough one," Oliver said, laughingly; "do not growl. I will
breakfast."
"Ah! That is all right," the young woman exclaimed. And, aided by
Thérèse, who was her mother, as Loïck was her father, she instantly
began making preparations for the morning meal.
"But, you know," said Oliver, "nothing Mexican, I do not expect the
frightful cooking of the country here."
"All right!" Louise answered, with a smile; "We will have a French
breakfast."
"Bravo! The news doubles my appetite."
While the two women went backwards and forwards from the kitchen to the
dining room, preparing the breakfast, and laying the table, the two men
remained near the window, and were conversing together.
"Are you still satisfied?" Oliver asked his host.
"Perfectly," the other answered. "Don Andrés de la Cruz is a good
master; besides, as you know, I have but few dealings with him."
"That is true. You only depend on Ño Leo Carral."
"I do not complain of him. He is a worthy man, although a majordomo. We
get on famously together."
"All the better. I should have been grieved had it been otherwise.
However, it was on my recommendation that you consented to take this
rancho; and if there were anything--"
"I would not hesitate to inform you of it, Mr. Oliver; but in that
quarter all goes well."
The adventurer looked at him fixedly.
"Then something is going wrong elsewhere?" he remarked.
"I do not say so, sir," the _vaquero_ stammered, with embarrassment.
Oliver shook his head.
"Do you remember, Loïck," he said to him, sternly, "the conditions I
imposed on you, when I granted you your pardon?"
"Oh! I do not forget them, sir."
"You have not spoken?"
"No."
"Then Dominique still believes himself--?"
"Yes, still," he replied hanging his head; "but he does not love me."
"What makes you suppose so?"
"I am only too certain of it, sir: ever since you took him on the
prairies, his character has completely changed. The ten years he spent
away from me have rendered him completely indifferent."
"Perhaps it is a foreboding," the adventurer remarked in a hollow voice.
"Oh, do not say that, sir," the other exclaimed with horror, "musing is
a bad counsellor: I was very guilty, but if you knew how deeply I have
repented of my crime--"
"I know it and that is the reason why I pardoned you. Justice will be
done, some day, on the real culprit."
"Oh, sir, and I tremble, wretch that I am, at having been mixed up in
this sinister history, whose denouement will be terrible."
"Yes," the adventurer said with concentrated energy--"very terrible
indeed! And you will help in it, Loïck."
The _vaquero_ gave a sigh, which did not escape the other.
"I have not seen Dominique," he said, with a sudden change of tone; "is
he still asleep?"
"Oh no, you have instructed him too well, sir; he is always the first
of us to rise."
"How is it that he is not here, in that case?"
"Oh," the _vaquero_ said with hesitation, "he has gone out: hang it, he
is free, now that he is twenty-two years of age."
"Already!" the adventurer muttered in a gloomy voice. Then suddenly
shaking his head, he said:
"Let us breakfast."
The meal commenced under rather melancholy auspices, but thanks to the
efforts of the adventurer, the former gaiety soon returned, and the end
of the breakfast was as merry as could be desired.
All at once López suddenly entered the rancho.
"Señor Loïck," he said, "here is your son: I do not know what he is
bringing, but he is on foot and leading his horse by the bridle."
All rose and left the rancho. At about a gunshot from the rancho, they
really saw a man leading a horse by the bridle: a rather heavy burden
was fastened on the animal's back.
The distance prevented them from distinguishing the nature of this
burden.
"It is strange," Oliver muttered in a low voice, after attentively
examining the arrival for some moments, "can it be he? Oh, I must make
certain without delay."
And, after making López a sign to follow him, he rushed down the steps,
to the amazement of the _vaquero_ and the two women who soon saw him
running, followed by López, across the plain to meet Dominique.
The latter had noticed the two men and had halted to await their
arrival.