THE CITY OF THE HEART
While it was yet dark on the following morning we were awakened by
the voice of Zibalbay calling us.
“Arise,” he said; “it is time to start upon our road.”
“Are the litters here?” I asked.
“No, nor can be for some hours. I desire to reach the city this night,
therefore we must push forward on foot to meet them.”
Then we rose, and, having no choice, dressed ourselves as best we
could in the garments of the country that had been given to us, for
our own were but rags, in which we were ashamed to be seen. In the
common room we found Zibalbay and the Lady Maya.
“Eat,” said the old man, pointing to food that was ready, “and let us
be going.”
Ten minutes later we were outside the house. There was no wind, but at
this great height the air is of so piercing a quality that we were
glad to fold our _serapes_ round us and walk briskly forward, Zibalbay
leading the way. At first a grey gloom reigned, but presently snowy
peaks shone through it, everywhere radiant with the hues of the
unrisen sun, although the mountain sides beneath us were still wrapped
in night. By degrees, as the light grew, we saw that the country at
our feet was shaped like a bowl, whereof the mountain range upon which
we stood formed the rim, and at the bottom of the bowl, fed by
numberless streams that had their sources among the surrounding snows,
lay the lake, the Holy Waters of this people. Of all this, however, we
could as yet see little, since the vast expanse beneath us lay hidden
in volumes of mist that moved and rolled like the face of ocean. Never
before had we looked upon anything so strange as this dense garment of
vapour while the light of heaven gathered upon its surface, tingeing
it with lines and patches of colour. It seemed as though a map of the
world was unrolled before us--continents, seas, islands, and cities
formed themselves, only to disappear in quick succession and assume
new and endless shapes.
“It is beautiful, is it not?” said Maya. “But wait until the mist
breaks. Look, it is beginning!”
As she spoke, of a sudden the sea of mist grew thin and opened in its
centre, and through the gap thus formed showed first the pyramids and
temple tops, and then the entire panorama of the city Heart of the
World, floating, as it were, upon the face of the Holy Waters. It was
far away, but, now that the night fog no longer thickened the air, so
clear was the atmosphere and so high were we above it, that it seemed
to be almost at our feet. The city, which appeared to be surrounded by
a wall, was built of marble or some other snow-white stone, whereon
the light gleamed and flashed. It stood upon a heart-shaped island,
and round about the shores of this island, stretching further than the
eye could reach, sparkled the blue waters of the Holy Lake. By degrees
the ring of mist rolled up the sides of the mountains and vanished,
and in place of it the round bowl of the valley was filled with the
clear light of day. Now we could see the shores of the lake, with
their green fringe of reeds; and above them grass lands threaded by
silver streams; and above these again, upon the flanks of the
mountains, great forests of oak and cedars rising almost to the snow
line. To the right and left of us the huge, round-shouldered mountains
stretched in a majestic sweep till they melted into the blue of the
horizon, while here and there some tall, snow-robed peak, the cone of
an extinct volcano, towered above us like a sentinel.
“There lies my country,” said Maya, with a proud wave of her hand;
“does it please you, white man?”
“It pleases me so well, Maya,” he answered, “that now less than ever
can I understand why you wish to leave it.”
“Because, though lakes and mountains and cities full of wealth are
fine things, it is not to these, but to the men and women among whom
we live, that we must look for happiness.”
“Some people might think otherwise, Maya. They might say that
happiness must be sought for in ourselves. At least I could be happy
in such a land as this.”
“You think so now,” she answered, meaningly, “but when you have been
awhile in the city yonder, you will think otherwise. Oh!” she went on,
passionately, “if, indeed, you care for me, we should never have
crossed that mountain behind us. But you do not care for me--not
truly; for all this time you have been half ashamed of your affection
for an Indian girl whom you were obliged to become fond of, because
she was pretty and you were so much with her, and she chanced to save
your life. Yes, you would have been ashamed to marry me according to
your customs, and to show me as your wife among the white people--me,
the wandering Indian with a mad father whom you found in the hands of
thieves. Here it will be different, for here at least I am a great
lady, and you will see the people in the streets bow themselves to the
ground before me; and if I say that a man shall die, you will see that
man killed. Also here I have wealth more than any white woman, and you
will be fond of me for that----”
“You are very unjust,” he broke in, angrily; “it is shameful that you
should speak to me thus for no cause.”
“Perhaps I am unjust,” she answered with a sob, “but there are so many
troubles before us. First there is Tikal----”
“What does Tikal want?” asked the señor.
“He wants to marry me, or to become _cacique_ of the city in my right,
which is the same thing; at least he will not give me up without a
struggle. Then there is my father, who serves two masters only,--his
gods and his country,--and who will use me like a piece in a game if
it suits his purpose--yes, and you too. Our good days are done with,
the evil ones have to come, and after them--the night. Henceforward we
shall find few opportunities of speaking, even, for I shall be
surrounded by officers and waiting-ladies who will watch my every
action and hear my every word, and my father will watch me also.”
“Now I begin to be sorry that I did not take your advice and stop on
the further side of the mountain,” answered the señor. “Do you think
that we could escape there?”
“No, it is too late--they would track us down; we must go on now and
meet our fate, whatever it may be. Only swear to me by my gods, or
your own, or whatever you hold dear, that you will cleave to me till I
am dead, as I will cleave to you.” And, taking his hand in hers, she
looked up appealingly into his face.
At this moment Zibalbay, who was walking in front, lost in his own
thoughts, chanced to turn and see them.
“Come hither, daughter, and you, White Man,” he said, in a stern
voice. “Listen, both of you--I am old, but my sight and hearing are
still keen, though yonder in the wilderness I took no heed of much
that I saw and heard. Here in my own land it is otherwise. Learn,
White Man, that the Lady of the Heart is set far above you, and there
I think she will remain. Do you understand my meaning?”
“Perfectly,” answered the señor, striving to control his anger; “but,
Chief, it is a pity that you did not see well to tell me this before.
Had it not been for what we and one dead were able to do to save you,
to-day your bones would have been whitening in the forest. Why did you
not tell me there that I was no fit company for your daughter?”
“Because you were sent by the gods to do me service, and because there
I had need of you, White Man,” answered Zibalbay quietly, “as may be I
shall have need of you again. Had it not been for that chance, we
should have parted company on the further side of the mountain.”
“In truth I wish that we had!” exclaimed the señor.
“I may come to wish it, too,” said the old man grimly. “But you are
here and not there, perhaps for so long as you shall live, and I would
have you remember that you are in my power. A word from me will set
you high or lay you low beneath the earth; therefore be warned and
take with gratitude that which it shall please me to give you. No, do
not look behind you--escape is impossible. Submit yourself to my will
in this and everything, and all shall be well with you; struggle
against it and I will crush you. I have spoken: be pleased to walk in
front of me, and do you, my daughter, walk behind.”
Now I saw that the señor’s rage was great, and that he was about to
answer angrily, and lifted my hand in warning, while Maya looked at
him entreatingly. He saw, and checked himself.
“I hear your words, Chief,” he said, in a forced voice. “You are
right, I am in your power, and it is useless for me to answer you,”
and he took his place in front as he had been commanded, while Maya
fell behind.
As I walked on, side by side with Zibalbay, I spoke to him, saying:
“You use sharp words towards him who is my brother, Chief, and
therefore towards me.”
“I speak as I must,” he answered, coldly. “Many troubles await me at
the city. Did you not hear what that knave said last night,--that
Tikal, my nephew, whom I left in charge, rules in my stead? Well, this
girl of mine, who is affianced to him, and through whom he hopes to
govern in after years, may be the only bait that will tempt him from
his place, for he looks upon me as one dead, and it will not please
him to lay down the rod of power. How should it please him then, and
those who follow him, to see a white stranger holding that daughter’s
hand, and whispering in her ear. Ignatio, I tell you that such a sight
would provoke a war against me, and therefore it is that I spoke
sharply while there is yet time, and therefore you will do well to
drive the nail home, seeing that if I fall your plans will come to
nothing, and your life be forfeit.”
I made no answer, for at that moment we turned a corner, and came face
to face with the bearers of the litters whom Zibalbay had summoned to
meet us.
There were forty of these men or more; for the most part they were
tall and well shaped, with regular features, and, like Zibalbay and
Maya, very fair for Indians, but the look upon their faces was
different from any that I have seen among my people. It was not stupid
or brutal, or even empty; rather did it suggest great weariness. The
youngest man there, notwithstanding his rounded cheeks and eyes full
of health, seemed as though he were weighed down by the memories of
many years. Weariness was the master, not of their bodies, for they
were very strong and active, but of their minds; and, looking at them,
I could understand what Zibalbay meant when he said that his race was
outworn. Even the sight of the white face of the señor, strange as it
must have been to them, did not seem to move them. They stared indeed,
muttering something to each other as to the length and colour of his
beard, and that was all.
But to Zibalbay they said, in low, guttural tones, “Father, we salute
you,” then, at a signal given by their captain, they cast themselves
upon the ground before him, and lay there with outstretched arms as
though they were dead.
“Rise, my children,” said Zibalbay. Then, summoning the captain of the
bearers, he talked to him while his companions ate food that they had
brought with them, and I noted that what he heard seemed to give him
little pleasure. Next he ordered us to enter the litters, which were
of rude make, being constructed of chairs without curtains, lashed
between two poles, and carried, each of them, by eight bearers, for
the road was very steep and rough.
We started forward down the mountain, and in an hour we had left the
region of snow behind, and entered the cedar forests. These great
trees grew in groups, which were separated by glades of turf, the home
of herds of deer. So thick was their foliage that a twilight reigned
beneath them, while from each branch hung a fringe of grey Spanish
moss that swayed to and fro in the draught of the mountain breeze.
Everywhere stretched vistas that brought to my mind memories of the
dimly-lighted nave of the great cathedral at Mexico, roofed by the
impenetrable boughs of these cedars, whereof the trunks might have
been supporting columns and the scent of their leaves the odour of
incense.
After the cedar belt came the oak groves, and then miles of beautiful
turf slopes, clothed in rich grass starred with flowers. Truly it was
a lovely land. It was late in the afternoon before we descended the
last of these slopes and entered the tract of alluvial soil that lay
between them and the lake, where the climate was much warmer. It was
easy to see by the irrigation ditches and other signs that this belt
of country had always supplied the inhabitants of the City of the
Heart with corn and all necessary crops. Here grew great groves of
sugar-cane, and cocoa-bushes laden with their purple pods, together
with many varieties of fruit-trees planted in separate orchards. Soon
it became clear to us that the greater part of these ancient orchards
were untended, since their fruit rotted in heaps upon the ground.
Evidently they had been planted in more prosperous days, and now their
supply exceeded the wants of the population.
At length, as the evening began to fall, we entered the village of
corn-growers, a half-ruined place of which the houses were for the
most part built of _adobe_ or mud bricks, and roofed with a concrete
of white lime. In the centre of the village was a _plaza_, planted
round with trees, and having in its midst a fountain, near to which
stood a simple altar, piled with fruit and flowers. Close to this
altar the inhabitants of the village, to the number of a hundred or
so, were gathered to meet us. Most of the men had but just come in
from their labours, for their garments and feet were stained with
fresh earth, and they held copper hoes and reaping-hooks in their
hands. All these men wore upon their faces the same look of weariness
of mind which we had noticed in the bearers. So monotonous were their
countenances, indeed, that I turned my eyes impatiently to the group
of women who were standing behind them. Like their husband and
brothers, these women were very fair for Indians, and handsome in
person, but they also had been stamped with melancholy. The sight of
the señor’s white skin and chestnut-coloured beard seemed for some
few moments to rouse them from their attitude of listless
indifference. Soon, however, they fell into it again, and began to
chat idly, or to play with and pull to pieces the flowers that every
one of them wore at her girdle. There were hardly any children among
the crowd, and it was strange to observe how great was the resemblance
of the individuals composing it to each other. Indeed, had they all
been members of a single family it could not have been more marked,
seeing that it was difficult for a stranger to distinguish one woman
from another of about the same age.
When Zibalbay descended from his litter, all those present prostrated
themselves, and remained thus till, followed by some of the headmen,
he had passed into a house which was made ready for his use, leaving
us without.
“Do all your people look so sad?” I asked the Lady Maya.
“Yes,” she answered, “that is, all the common people who labour. It is
otherwise with the nobles, who are of a different blood. Here, Don
Ignatio, there are two classes, the lords and the people, and of the
people each family is forced to work for three months in the year, the
other nine being given to them for rest. The fruits of their labour
are gathered into storehouses and distributed among all the Children
of the Heart, but the temples, the _cacique_, and many of the nobles
have their own serfs who have served them from father to son.”
“And what happens if they will not work?” asked the señor.
“Then they must starve, for nothing is served out to them or their
families from the common store, and when they grow hungry they are set
to the heaviest tasks.”
Now we understood why these people looked so weary and listless. What
could be expected from men and women without ambition or
responsibility, the gain of whose toil was placed to the public credit
and doled out to them in rations? In my old age I have heard that
there are teachers who advocate such a system for all mankind, but of
this I am sure, that had they dwelt among the People of the Heart,
where it had been in force for many centuries, they would cease to
preach this doctrine, for there, at least, it did not promote the
welfare of the race.
Presently a messenger came from Zibalbay to summon us into the house,
where we found an ample meal prepared, consisting chiefly of fish from
the lake, baked wild-fowl, and many sorts of fruit. By the time we had
finished eating and had drunk the chocolate that was served to us in
cups of hammered silver, the night had fallen completely. I asked
Zibalbay if we should sleep there, to which he replied shortly that we
were about to start for the city. Accordingly we set out by the light
of the moon and were guided to a little harbour in the shore of the
lake, where a large canoe, fitted with a mast and sail, and manned by
ten Indians, was waiting for us. We embarked, and, the wind being off
land, hoisted the sail and started towards the Island of the Heart,
which stood at a distance of about fifteen miles from the mainland.
The breeze was light, but after the cold of the mountains the air was
so soft and balmy, and the scene so new and strange, that I, for one,
did not regret our slow progress. Nobody spoke in the boat, for all of
us were lost in our own reflections, and the Indians were awed to
silence by the presence of their lord, who alone seemed impatient,
since from time to time he pulled his beard and muttered to himself.
So we glided across the blue lake, whose quiet was broken only by the
whistling wings of the wild-fowl travelling to their feeding-grounds,
by the sudden leaps of great fish rising in pursuit of some night-fly,
and by the lapping of the water against the wooden sides of the canoe.
Before us, luminous and unearthly in the perfect moonlight, shone the
walls and temples of the mysterious city which we had travelled so far
to reach. We watched them growing more and more distinct minute by
minute, and, as we watched, strange hopes and fears took possession of
our hearts. This was no dream: before us lay the fabled golden town we
had so longed to see; soon our feet would pass its white walls and our
eyes behold its ancient civilisation.
“What waits us there?” whispered the señor, and he looked at Maya.
She heard his words and shook her head sadly. There was no hope in her
eyes, which were dimmed with tears. Then he turned to me as though for
comfort, and the easy fires of enthusiasm burnt up within me and I
answered:
“Fear not, the goal is won, and we shall overcome all difficulty and
danger. The useless wealth of yonder Golden City will be ours, and by
its help I shall wreak the stored-up vengeance of ages upon the
oppressors of my race, and create a great Indian Dominion stretching
from sea to sea, whereof this city shall be the heart.”
He heard and smiled, answering:
“It may be so; for your sake, I trust that it will be so; but we seek
different ends, Ignatio,” and he looked again at the Lady Maya.
On we glided, through the moonlight and the silence, for from the town
came no sound, save the cry of the watchmen, calling the hours, as
they kept their guard along the ancient walls, till at length we
entered the shadow of the Holy City lying dark upon the waters, and
the Indians, getting out their paddles (for the wind no longer served
us), rowed the canoe up a stone-embanked canal that led to a
watergate.
Now we halted in front of the gate, where there was no man to be seen.
In an impatient voice, Zibalbay bade the captain hail the guardian of
the gate, and presently a man came down the steps yawning, and
inquired who was there.
“I, the _cacique_,” said Zibalbay. “Open.”
“Indeed! That is strange,” answered the man, “seeing that this night
the _cacique_ holds his marriage-feast at the palace yonder, and there
is but one _cacique_ of the People of the Heart! Get back to the
mainland, wanderers, and return in the day-time, when the gates stand
wide.”
Now when Zibalbay heard these words, he cursed aloud in his anger, but
Maya started as though with joy.
“I tell you that I am Zibalbay, come home again, your lord, and no
other,” he cried, “and you will be wise to do my bidding.”
The man stared, and hesitated, till the captain of the boat spoke to
him, saying:
“Fool, would you become food for fishes? This is the Lord Zibalbay,
returned from the dead.”
Then he hastened to open the gate, as fast as his fear would let him.
“Pardon, father, pardon,” he cried, prostrating himself, “but the Lord
Tikal, who rules in your place, has given it out that you were dead in
the wilderness, and commanded that your name should be spoken no more
in the city.”
Zibalbay swept by him without a word. When he had passed up the marble
steps, and through the water-way, pierced in the thickness of the
frowning walls, he halted, and, addressing the captain of the boatmen,
said:
“Let this man be scourged to-morrow at noon in the market-place, that
henceforth he may learn not to sleep at his post!”
On the further side of the wall ran a wide street, bordered by
splendid houses built of white stone, which led to the central square
of the city, a mile or more away. Up this street we walked swiftly and
in silence, and as we went I noticed that much of it was grass-grown,
and that many of the great houses seemed to be deserted; indeed,
though light came from some of the latticed window-places, I could see
no sign of any human being.
“Here is the city,” whispered the señor to me, “but where are the
people?”
“Doubtless they celebrate the wedding-feast in the great square,” I
answered. “Hark, I hear them.”
As I spoke the wind turned a little, and a sound of singing floated
down it, that grew momentarily clearer as we approached the square.
Another five minutes passed and we were entering it. It was a wide
place, covering not less than thirty acres of ground, and in its
centre, rising three hundred feet into the air, gleamed the pyramid of
the Temple of the Heart, crowned by the star of holy fire that
flickered eternally upon its summit. In the open space between the
walls of the inclosure of this pyramid and the great buildings that
formed the sides of the square, the inhabitants of the city were
gathered for their midnight feast. All were dressed in white robes,
while many wore glittering feather capes upon their shoulders and were
crowned with wreaths of flowers. Some of them were dancing, some of
them were singing, while others watched the tricks of jugglers and
buffoons. But the most of their number were seated round little tables
eating, drinking, smoking, and making love, and we noticed that at
these tables the children seemed the most honourable guests, and that
everybody petted them and waited on their words. Nothing could be more
beautiful or stranger to our eyes than this innocent festival
celebrated beneath the open sky and lighted by the moon. Yet the sight
of it did not please Zibalbay.
Along the side of the square ran an avenue of trees bearing white
flowers with a heavy scent, and Zibalbay motioned to us to follow him
into their shadow. Many of the tables were placed just beyond the
spread of these trees, so that he was able to stop from time to time
and, unseen himself, to listen to the talk that was passing at them.
Presently he halted thus opposite to a table at which sat a man of
middle age and a woman young and pretty. What they said interested
him, and we who were close by his side understood it, for the
difference between the dialect of these people and the Maya tongue is
so small that even the señor had little difficulty in following their
talk.
“The feast is merry to-night,” said the man.
“Yes, husband,” answered his companion, “and so it should be, seeing
that yesterday the Lord Tikal was elected _cacique_ by the Council of
the Heart, and to-day he was wedded in the presence of the people to
Nahua the Beautiful, child of the Lord Mattai.”
“It was a fine sight,” said the man, “though for my part I think it
early to proclaim him _cacique_. Zibalbay might yet come back, and
then----”
“Zibalbay will never come back, husband, or the Lady Maya either. They
have perished in the wilderness long ago. For her I am sorry, because
she was so lovely and different from other great ladies; but I do not
grieve much for him, for he was a hard taskmaster to us common people;
also he was stingy. Why, Tikal has given more feasts during the last
ten months than Zibalbay gave in as many years; moreover, he has
relaxed the laws so that we poor women may now wear ornaments like our
betters;” and she glanced at a gold bracelet upon her wrist.
“It is easy to be generous with the goods of others,” answered the
man. “Zibalbay was the bee who stored; Tikal is the wasp who eats.
They say that the old fellow was mad, but I do not believe it. I think
that he was a greater man than the rest of us, that is all, who saw
the wasting of the people and desired to find a means to stop it.”
“Certainly he was mad,” answered the woman. “How could he stop the
wasting of the people by taking his daughter to wander in the
wilderness till they died of starvation, both of them. If anybody
dwells out yonder it is a folk of white devils of whom we have heard,
who kill and enslave the Indians, that they may rob them of their
wealth, and we do not desire that such should be shown the way to our
city. Also, what does it matter to us if the people do waste away? We
have all things that we wish, those who come after must see to it.”
“Yet, wife, I have heard you say that you desired children.”
Suddenly the woman’s face grew sad.
“Ah!” she answered, “if Zibalbay will give me a child I will take back
all my words about him, and proclaim him the wisest of men, instead of
what he is, or rather was--an old fool gone crazy with vanity and too
much praying. But he is dead, and if he were not he could never do
this; that is beyond the power of the gods themselves, if indeed the
gods are anything except a dream. So what is the use of talking about
him; let me enjoy the feast that Tikal gives us, husband, and do not
speak of children, lest I should weep, and learn to hate those of my
sisters who have been blest with them.”
Then at a sign from Zibalbay we moved on, but Maya, hanging back for a
moment, whispered:
“Look at my father’s face. Never have I seen him so angry. Yet these
tidings are not altogether ill,” and she glanced at the señor.
Now Zibalbay walked on swiftly, pulling at his beard and muttering to
himself, till we came to a great archway where two soldiers armed with
copper spears stood on guard, chatting with women in the crowd that
gathered round the open door, and eating sweetmeats which they offered
them. Zibalbay covered his face with the corner of his robe, and,
bidding us do likewise, began to walk through the archway, whereupon
the two soldiers, crossing their spears, demanded his name and title.
“By whose orders do you ask?” said Zibalbay.
“By order of our lord, the _cacique_, who celebrates his
marriage-feast with the nobles his guests,” answered one of them.
“Say, are you of their number who come so late?”
Then Zibalbay uncovered his face and said:
“Look at me, man. Did I command you to shut my own doors against me?”
He looked and gasped: “It is the _cacique_ come home again!”
“How, then, do you say that you keep the doors by order of the
_cacique_? Can there be two _caciques_ in the City of the Heart?”
asked Zibalbay in a bitter voice, and, without waiting for an answer,
he walked on, followed by the three of us, into the _plaza_ or
courtyard of the palace, where many fountains splashed upon the marble
pavement.
Passing beneath a colonnade and through an open doorway whence light
flowed, of a sudden we found ourselves in a great and wonderful
chamber, a hundred feet or more in length, having a roof of panelled
cedar, supported by a double row of wooden columns exquisitely carved,
between which were set tables laden with fruit and flowers,
drinking-vessels, and other ornaments of gold. The walls also were
cedar-panelled, and hung over with tapestries worked in silver, and
ranged along them stood grotesque images of dwarfs and monkeys,
fashioned in solid gold, each of which held in its hand a silver lamp.
At the far end of this place was a small table, and behind it, seated
upon throne-like chairs, were a man and a woman, having an armed guard
on either side of them.
The man was magnificently dressed in a white robe, broidered with the
symbol of the Heart, and a glittering feather cloak. Upon his brow was
a circlet of gold, from which rose a _panache_, or plume, of green
feathers, and in his hand he held a little golden sceptre tipped with
an emerald. He was of middle height, very stoutly built, and about
five-and-thirty years of age, having straight black hair that hung
down upon his shoulders. In face he was handsome, but forbidding, for
his dark eyes shone with a strange fire beneath the beetling brows,
and his powerful mouth and chin wore a sullen look that did not leave
them even when he smiled. The lady at his side was also beautifully
attired in white bridal robes, bordered with silver, and having the
royal Heart worked upon her breast, while on her brow, arms, and bosom
shone strings of emeralds. She was young and tall, with splendid eyes
and a proud, handsome face, somewhat marred, however, by the heaviness
of the mouth, and it was easy to see that she loved the husband at her
side, for all her looks were towards him.
Between us and this royal pair stretched the length of the great hall,
filled with people--for the most of the feasters had left their
seats--so splendidly attired and so bright with the flash of gems and
gold that for a few moments our eyes were dazzled. The company, who
may have numbered two or three hundred, stood in groups with their
backs towards us, leaving a clear space at the far end of the chamber,
where beautiful women, in filmy, silken robes adorned with flowers and
turquoises, were singing and dancing to the sound of pipes before the
bride and bridegroom on the throne.