inscribed their predictions in books, which were afterward explained to
the people. The expression _bin alic u than uoohe_—literally, “he will
speak the words of the letters”—seems to point to a phonetic writing,
but as it may be used in a figurative sense, I shall not lay stress on
it.[235]
_4.—The Existing Codices._
The word _Codex_ ought to be confined, in American archæology, to
manuscripts in the original writing of the natives. Some writers have
spoken of the “Codex Chimalpopoca,” the “Codex Zumarraga,” and the
“Codex Perez,” which are nothing more than manuscripts either in the
native or Spanish tongues written with the Latin alphabet.
Of the Maya Codices known, only four have been published, which I will
mention in the order of their appearance.
_The Dresden Codex._—This is an important Maya manuscript preserved in
the Royal Library at Dresden. How or when it came to Europe is not
known. It was obtained from some unknown person in Vienna in 1739.
This Codex corresponds in size, appearance, and manner of folding to the
descriptions of the Maya books which I have presented above from Spanish
sources. It has thirty-nine leaves, thirty-five of which are colored and
inscribed on both sides, and four on one side only, so that there are
only seventy-four pages of matter. The total length of the sheet is 3.5
meters, and the height of each page is 0.295 meter, the width 0.085
meter.
The first publication of any portion of this Codex was by Alexander von
Humboldt, who had five pages of it copied for his work, _Vues des
Cordillères et Monumens des Peuples Indigenes de l’Amérique_, issued at
Paris in 1813 (not 1810, as the title-page has it). It was next very
carefully copied in full by the Italian artist, Agostino Aglio, for the
third volume of Lord Kingsborough’s great work on _Mexican Antiquities_,
the first volume of which appeared in 1831.
From Kingsborough’s work a few pages of the Codex have been from time to
time republished in other books, which call for no special mention; and
two pages were copied from the original in Wuttke’s _Geschichte der
Schrift_, Leipzig, 1872.
Finally, in 1880, the whole was very admirably chromo-photographed by A.
Naumaun’s establishment at Leipzig, to the number of fifty copies, forty
of which were placed on sale. It is the first work which was ever
published in chromo-photography, and has, therefore, a high scientific
as well as antiquarian interest.
The editor was Dr. E. Förstemann, aulic counselor and librarian-in-chief
of the Royal Library. He wrote an introduction (17 pp. 4to.) giving a
history of the manuscript, and bibliographical and other notes upon it
of much value. One opinion he defends must not be passed by in silence.
It is that the Dresden Codex is not one, but parts of two original
manuscripts written by different hands.
It appears that it has always been in two unequal fragments, which all
previous writers have attributed to an accidental injury to the
original. Dr. Förstemann gives a number of reasons for believing that
this is not the correct explanation, but that we have here portions of
two different books, having general similarity but also many points of
diversity.
This separation led to an erroneous (or perhaps erroneous) sequence of
the pages in Kingsborough’s edition. The artist Aglio took first one
fragment and copied both sides, and then proceeded to the next one; and
it is not certain that in either case he begins with the first page in
the original order of the book.
_The Codex Peresianus_, or _Codex Mexicanus, No. II_, of the
_Bibliothèque Nationale_ of Paris.—This fragment—for it is unfortunately
nothing more—was discovered in 1859 by Prof. Leon de Rosny among a mass
of old papers in the National Library. It consists of eleven leaves,
twenty-two pages, each 9 inches long and 5¼ inches wide. The writing is
very much defaced, but was evidently of a highly artistic character,
probably the most so of any manuscript known. It unquestionably belongs
to the Maya manuscripts.
Its origin is unknown. The papers in which it was wrapped bore the name
“Perez,” in a Spanish hand of the seventeenth century, and hence the
name “Peresianus” was given it. By order of the Minister of Public
Instruction, ten photographic copies of this Codex, without reduction,
were prepared for the use of scholars. None of them were placed on sale,
and so far as I know the only one which has found its way to the United
States is that in my own library. An ordinary lithographic reproduction
was given in the _Archives paléographiques de l’Orient et de
l’Amérique_, tome I. (Paris, 1869–'71).
_The Codex Tro_, or _Troano_.—The publication of this valuable Codex we
owe to the enthusiasm of the Abbé Brasseur (de Bourbourg). On his return
from Yucatan in 1864 he visited Madrid, and found this Manuscript in the
possession of Don Juan de Tro y Ortolano, professor of paleography, and
himself a descendent of Hernan Cortes. The abbé named it _Troano_, as a
compound of the two names of its owner; but later writers often content
themselves by referring to it simply as the _Codex Tro_.
It consists of thirty-five leaves and seventy pages, each of which is
larger than a page of the Dresden Codex, but less than one of the _Codex
Peresianus_. It was published by chromo-lithography at Paris, in 1869,
prefaced by a study on the graphic system of the Mayas by the abbé, and
an attempt at a translation. The reproduction, which was carried out
under the efficient care of M. Leonce Angrand, is extremely accurate.
_The Codex Cortesianus._—This Codex, published at Paris, 1883, under the
editorship of Professor Leon de Rosny, presents the closest analogy to
the Codex Troano, of which, indeed, it probably formed a part. It has
forty-two leaves, closely written in the calculiform character. There is
no evidence that it was brought to Spain by Cortes, but from a tradition
to that effect, it has received its name.
All four of these codices were written on paper manufactured from the
leaves of the maguey plant, such as that in common use in Mexico. In
Maya the maguey is called _ci_, the varieties being distinguished by
various prefixes. It grows luxuriantly in most parts of Yucatan, and
although the favorite tipple of the ancient inhabitants was mead, they
were not unacquainted with the intoxicating _pulque_, the liquor from
the maguey, if we can judge from their word for a drunkard, _ci-vinic_
(_vinic_==man). The old writers were probably in error when they spoke
of the books being made of the barks of trees; or, at least, they were
not all of that material.
The above-mentioned Manuscripts are the only ones which have been
published. I shall not enumerate those which are said to exist in
private hands. So long as they are withheld from the examination of
scientific men they can add nothing to the general stock of knowledge,
and as statements about them are not verifiable, it is useless to make
any.
In addition to the Manuscripts, we have the mural paintings and
inscriptions found at Palenque, Copan, Chichen Itza, and various ruined
cities within the boundaries of the Maya-speaking races. There is no
mistaking these inscriptions. They are unquestionably of the same
character as the Manuscripts, although it is also easy to perceive
variations, which are partly owing to the necessary differences in
technique between painting and sculpture: partly, no doubt, to the
separation of age and time.
Photographs and “squeezes” have reproduced many of these inscriptions
with entire fidelity. We can also depend upon the accurate pencil of
Catherwood, whose delineations have never been equalled. But the
pictures of Waldeck and some other travelers do not deserve any
confidence, and should not be quoted in a discussion of the subject.
THE BOOKS OF CHILAN BALAM.[236]
Civilization in ancient America rose to its highest level among the
Mayas of Yucatan. Not to speak of the architectural monuments which
still remain to attest this, we have the evidence of the earliest
missionaries to the fact that they alone, of all the natives of the New
World, possess a literature written in “letters and characters,”
preserved in volumes neatly bound, the paper manufactured from the
material derived from fibrous plants, and sized with a durable white
varnish.[237]
A few of these books still remain, preserved to us by accident in the
great European libraries; but most of them were destroyed by the monks.
Their contents were found to relate chiefly to the pagan ritual, to
traditions of the heathen times, to astrological superstitions, and the
like. Hence, they were considered deleterious, and were burned wherever
discovered.
This annihilation of their sacred books affected the natives most
keenly, as we are pointedly informed by Bishop Landa, himself one of the
most ruthless of Vandals in this respect.[238] But already some of the
more intelligent had learned the Spanish alphabet, and the missionaries
had added a sufficient number of signs to it to express with tolerable
accuracy the phonetics of the Maya tongue. Relying on their memories,
and no doubt aided by some manuscripts secretly preserved, many natives
set to work to write out in this new alphabet the contents of their
ancient records. Much was added which had been brought in by the
Europeans, and much omitted which had become unintelligible or obsolete
since the Conquest; while, of course, the different writers, varying in
skill and knowledge, produced works of very various merit.
Nevertheless, each of these books bore the same name. In whatever
village it was written, or by whatever hand, it always was, and to-day
still is, called “The Book of Chilan Balam.” To distinguish them apart,
the name of the village where a copy was found or written, is added.
Probably, in the last century, almost every village had one, which was
treasured with superstitious veneration. But the opposition of the
_padres_ to this kind of literature, the decay of ancient sympathies,
and especially the long war of races, which since 1847 has desolated so
much of the peninsula, have destroyed most of them. There remain,
however, either portions or descriptions of not less than sixteen of
these curious records. They are known from the names of the villages
respectively as the Book of Chilan Balam of Nabula, of Chumayel, of
Káua, of Mani, of Oxkutzcab, of Ixil, of Tihosuco, of Tixcocob, etc.,
these being the names of various native towns in the peninsula.
When I add that not a single one of these has ever been printed, or even
entirely translated into any European tongue, it will be evident to
every archæologist and linguist what a rich and unexplored mine of
information about this interesting people they may present. It is my
intention in this article merely to touch upon a few salient points to
illustrate this, leaving a thorough discussion of their origin and
contents to the future editor who will bring them to the knowledge of
the learned world.
Turning first to the meaning of the name “_Chilan Balam_,” it is not
difficult to find its derivation. “_Chilan_,” says Bishop Landa, the
second bishop of Yucatan, whose description of the native customs is an
invaluable source to us, “was the name of their priests, whose duty it
was to teach the sciences, to appoint holy days, to treat the sick, to
offer sacrifices, and especially to utter the oracles of the gods. They
were so highly honored by the people that usually they were carried on
litters on the shoulders of the devotees.”[239] Strictly speaking, in
Maya “_chilan_” means “interpreter,” “mouth-piece,” from “_chij_,” “the
mouth,” and in this ordinary sense frequently occurs in other writings.
The word, “_balam_”—literally, “tiger,”—was also applied to a class of
priests, and is still in use among the natives of Yucatan as the
designation of the protective spirits of fields and towns, as I have
shown at length in a previous study of the word as it occurs in the
native myths of Guatemala.[240] “_Chilan Balam_,” therefore, is not a
proper name, but a title, and in ancient times designated the priest who
announced the will of the gods and explained the sacred oracles. This
accounts for the universality of the name and the sacredness of its
associations.
The dates of the books which have come down to us are various. One of
them, “The Book of Chilan Balam of Mani,” was undoubtedly composed not
later than 1595, as is proved by internal evidence. Various passages in
the works of Landa, Lizana, Sanchez Aguilar and Cogolludo—all early
historians of Yucatan—prove that many of these native manuscripts
existed in the sixteenth century. Several rescripts date from the
seventeenth century,—most from the latter half of the eighteenth.
The names of the writers are generally not given, probably because the
books, as we have them, are all copies of older manuscripts, with merely
the occasional addition of current items of note by the copyist; as, for
instance, a malignant epidemic which prevailed in the peninsula in 1673
is mentioned as a present occurrence by the copyist of “The Book of
Chilan Balam of Nabula.”
I come now to the contents of these curious works. What they contain may
conveniently be classified under four headings:
Astrological and prophetic matters;
Ancient chronology and history;
Medical recipes and directions;
Later history and Christian teachings.
The last-mentioned consist of translations of the “_Doctrina_,” Bible
stories, narratives of events after the Conquest, etc., which I shall
dismiss as of least interest.
The astrology appears partly to be reminiscences of that of their
ancient heathendom, partly that borrowed from the European almanacs of
the century 1550–1650. These, as is well known, were crammed with
predictions and divinations. A careful analysis, based on a comparison
with the Spanish almanacs of that time, would doubtless reveal how much
was taken from them, and it would be fair to presume that the remainder
was a survival of ancient native theories.
But there are not wanting actual prophecies of a much more striking
character. These were attributed to the ancient priests and to a date
long preceding the advent of Christianity. Some of them have been
printed in translations in the “_Historias_” of Lizana and Cogolludo,
and of some the originals were published by the late Abbé Brasseur de
Bourbourg, in the second volume of the reports of the “_Mission
Scientificque au Mexique et dans l’ Amérique Centrale_.” Their
authenticity has been met with considerable skepticism by Waitz and
others, particularly as they seem to predict the arrival of the
Christians from the East and the introduction of the worship of the
cross.
It appears to me that this incredulity is uncalled for. It is known that
at the close of each of their larger divisions of time (the so-called
“_katuns_,”) a “_chilan_,” or inspired diviner, uttered a prediction of
the character of the year or epoch which was about to begin. Like other
would-be prophets, he had doubtless learned that it is wiser to predict
evil than good, inasmuch as the probabilities of evil in this worried
world of ours outweigh those of good; and when the evil comes his words
are remembered to his credit, while if, perchance, his gloomy forecasts
are not realized, no one will bear him a grudge that he has been at
fault. The temper of this people was, moreover, gloomy, and it suited
them to hear of threatened danger and destruction by foreign foes. But,
alas! for them. The worst that the boding words of the oracle foretold
was as nothing to the dire event which overtook them—the destruction of
their nation, their temples and their freedom, ’neath the iron heel of
the Spanish conqueror. As the wise Gœthe says:
“_Seltsam ist Prophetenlied,
Doch mehr seltsam was geschieht._”
As to the supposed reference to the cross and its worship, it may be
remarked that the native word translated “cross” by the missionaries,
simply means “a piece of wood set upright,” and may well have had a
different and special signification in the old days.
By way of a specimen of these prophecies, I quote one from “The Book of
Chilan Balam of Chumayel,” saying at once that for the translation I
have depended upon a comparison of the Spanish version of Lizana, who
was blindly prejudiced, and that in French of the Abbé Brasseur de
Bourbourg, who knew next to nothing about Maya, with the original. It
will be easily understood, therefore, that it is rather a paraphrase
than a literal rendering. The original is in short, aphoristic
sentences, and was, no doubt, chanted with a rude rhythm:
“What time the sun shall brightest shine,
Tearful will be the eyes of the king.
Four ages yet shall be inscribed,
Then shall come the holy priest, the holy god.
With grief I speak what now I see.
Watch well the road, ye dwellers of Itza.
The master of the earth shall come to us.
Thus prophesies Nahau Pech, the seer,
In the days of the fourth age,
At the time of its beginning.”
Such are the obscure and ominous words of the ancient oracle. If the
date is authentic, it would be about 1480—the “fourth age” in the Maya
system of computing time being a period of either twenty or twenty-four
years at the close of the fifteenth century.
It is, however, of little importance whether these are accurate copies
of the ancient prophecies; they remain, at least, faithful imitations of
them, composed in the same spirit and form which the native priests were
wont to employ. A number are given much longer than the above, and
containing various curious references to ancient usages.
Another value they have in common with all the rest of the text of these
books, and it is one which will be properly appreciated by any student
of languages. They are, by common consent of all competent authorities,
the genuine productions of native minds, cast in the idiomatic forms of
the native tongue by those born to its use. No matter how fluent a
foreigner becomes in a language not his own, he can never use it as does
one who has been familiar with it from childhood. This general maxim is
ten-fold true when we apply it to a European learning an American
language. The flow of thought, as exhibited in these two linguistic
families, is in such different directions that no amount of practice can
render one equally accurate in both. Hence the importance of studying a
tongue as it is employed by natives; and hence the very high estimate I
place on these “Books of Chilan Balam” as linguistic material—an
estimate much increased by the great rarity of independent compositions
in their own tongues by members of the native races of this continent.
I now approach what I consider the peculiar value of these records,
apart from the linguistic mould in which they are cast; and that is the
light they throw upon the chronological system and ancient history of
the Mayas. To a limited extent, this has already been brought before the
public. The late Don Pio Perez gave to Mr. Stephens, when in Yucatan, an
essay on the method of computing time among the ancient Mayas, and also
a brief synopsis of Maya history, apparently going back to the third or
fourth century of the Christian era. Both were published by Mr. Stephens
in the appendix to his “Travels in Yucatan,” and have appeared
repeatedly since in English, Spanish and French.[241] They have, up to
the present, constituted almost our sole sources of information on these
interesting points. Don Pio Perez was rather vague as to whence he
derived his knowledge. He refers to “ancient manuscripts,” “old
authorities,” and the like; but, as the Abbé Brasseur de Bourbourg
justly complains, he rarely quotes their words, and gives no
descriptions as to what they were or how he gained access to them.[242]
In fact, the whole of Señor Perez’s information was derived from these
“Books of Chilan Balam;” and without wishing at all to detract from his
reputation as an antiquary and a Maya scholar, I am obliged to say that
he has dealt with them as scholars so often do with their authorities;
that is, having framed his theories, he quoted what he found in their
favor and neglected to refer to what he observed was against them.
Thus, it is a cardinal question in Yucatecan archæology as to whether
the epoch or age by which the great cycle (the _ahau katun_,) was
reckoned, embraced twenty or twenty-four years. Contrary to all the
Spanish authorities, Perez declared for twenty-four years, supporting
himself by “the manuscripts.” It is true there are three of the “Books
of Chilan Balam”—those of Mani, Káua and Oxkutzcab,—which are distinctly
in favor of twenty-four years; but, on the other hand, there are four or
five others which are clearly for the period of twenty years, and of
these Don Perez said nothing, although copies of more than one of them
were in his library. So of the epochs, or _katuns_, of Maya history;
there are three or more copies in these books which he does not seem to
have compared with the one he furnished Stephens. His labor will have to
be repeated according to the methods of modern criticism, and with the
additional material obtained since he wrote.
Another valuable feature in these records is the hints they furnish of
the hieroglyphic system of the Mayas. Almost our only authority
heretofore has been the essay of Landa. It has suffered somewhat in
credit because we had no means of verifying his statements and comparing
the characters he gives. Dr. Valentini has even gone so far as to attack
some of his assertions as “fabrications.” This is an amount of
skepticism which exceeds both justice and probability.
The chronological portions of the “Books of Chilan Balam” are partly
written with the ancient signs of the days, months and epochs, and they
furnish us, also, delineations of the “wheels” which the natives used
for computing time. The former are so important to the student of Maya
hieroglyphics, that I have added photographic reproductions of them to
this paper, giving also representations of those of Landa for
comparison. It will be observed that the signs of the days are
distinctly similar in the majority of cases, but that those of the
months are hardly alike.
The hieroglyphs of the days taken from the “_Codex Troano_,” an ancient
Maya book written before the Conquest, probably about 1400, are also
added to illustrate the variations which occurred in the hands of
different scribes. Those from the “Books of Chilan Balam” are copied
from a manuscript known to Maya scholars as the “_Codice Perez_,” of
undoubted authenticity and antiquity.[243]
The result of the comparison I thus institute is a triumphant refutation
of the doubts and slurs which have been cast on Bishop Landa’s work, and
vindicate for it a very high degree of accuracy.
The hieroglyphics for the months are quite complicated, and in the
“Books of Chilan Balam” are rudely drawn; but, for all that, two or
three of them are evidently identical with those in the calendar
preserved by Landa. Some years ago, Professor de Rosny expressed himself
in great doubt as to the fidelity in the tracing of these hieroglyphs of
the months, principally because he could not find them in the two
codices at his command.[244] As he observes, they are _composite_ signs,
and this goes to explain the discrepancy; for it may be regarded as
established that the Maya script permitted the use of several signs for
the same sound, and the sculptor or scribe was not obliged to represent
the same word always by the same figure.
[Illustration:
FIG. 1.—Signs of the Months, from the Book of Chilan Balam of
Chumayel.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 2.—Signs of the Months, as given by Bishop Landa.
]
In close relation to chronology is the system of numeration and
arithmetical signs. These are discussed with considerable fulness,
especially in the “Book of Chilan Balam of Káua.” The numerals are
represented by exactly the same figures as we find in the Maya
manuscripts of the libraries of Dresden, Pesth, Paris and Madrid; that
is, by points or dots up to five, and the fives by single straight
lines, which may be indiscriminately drawn vertically or horizontally.
The same book contains a table of multiplication in Spanish and Maya,
which settles some disputed points in the use of the vigesimal system by
the Mayas.
A curious chapter in several of the books, especially those of Káua and
Mani, is that on the thirteen _ahau katuns_, or epochs, of the greater
cycle of the Mayas. This cycle embraced thirteen periods, which, as I
have before remarked, are computed by some at twenty years each, by
others at twenty-four years each. Each of these _katuns_ was presided
over by a chief or king, that being the meaning of the word _ahau_. The
books above mentioned give both the name and the portrait, drawn and
colored by the rude hand of the native artist, of each of these kings,
and they suggest several interesting analogies.
They are, in the first place, identical, with one exception, with those
on an ancient native painting, an engraving of which is given by Father
Cogolludo in his “History of Yucatan,” and explained by him as the
representation of an occurrence which took place after the Spaniards
arrived in the peninsula. Evidently, the native in whose hands the
worthy father found it, fearing that he partook of the fanaticism which
had led the missionaries to the destruction of so many records of their
nation, deceived him as to its purport, and gave him an explanation
which imparted to the scroll the character of a harmless history.
The one exception is the last or thirteenth chief. Cogolludo appends to
this the name of an Indian who probably did fall a victim to his
friendship to the Spaniards. This name, as a sort of guarantee for the
rest of his story, the native scribe inserted in place of the genuine
one. The peculiarity of the figure is that it has an arrow or dagger
driven into its eye. Not only is this mentioned by Cogolludo’s
informant, but it is represented in the paintings in both the “Books of
Chilan Balam” above noted, and also, by a fortunate coincidence, in one
of the calendar pages of the “_Codex Troano_,” plate xxiii., in a
remarkable cartouche, which, from a wholly independent course of
reasoning, was some time since identified by the well-known antiquary,
Professor Cyrus Thomas, of Illinois, as a cartouche of one of the _ahau
katuns_, and probably of the last of them. It gives me much pleasure to
add such conclusive proof of the sagacity of his supposition.[245]
[Illustration]
[Illustration:
FIG. 3.—SIGNS OF THE DAYS.
The first column on the right is from Landa. The second is from the
“_Codex Troano_.” The remaining four are from the Book of Chilan
Balam of Káua.
]
There is other evidence to show that the engraving in Cogolludo is a
relic of the purest ancient Maya symbolism—one of the most interesting
which have been preserved to us; but to enter upon its explanation in
this connection would be too far from my present topic.
A favorite theme with the writers of the “Books of Chilan Balam” was the
cure of diseases. Bishop Landa explains the “_chilanes_” as “sorcerers
and doctors,” and adds that one of their prominent duties was to
diagnose diseases and point out their appropriate remedies.[246] As we
might expect, therefore, considerable prominence is given to the
description of symptoms and suggestions for their alleviation. Bleeding
and the administration of preparations of native plants are the usual
prescriptions; but there are others which have probably been borrowed
from some domestic medicine-book of European origin.
The late Don Pio Perez gave a great deal of attention to collecting
these native recipes, and his manuscripts were carefully examined by Dr.
Berendt, who combined all the necessary knowledge, botanical, linguistic
and medical, and who has left a large manuscript, entitled “_Recetarios
de Indios_,” which presents the subject fully. He considers the
scientific value of these remedies to be next to nothing, and the
language in which they are recorded to be distinctly inferior to that of
the remainder of the “Books of Chilan Balam.” Hence, he believes that
this portion of the ancient records was supplanted some time in the last
century by medical notions introduced from European sources. Such, in
fact, is the statement of the copyists of the books themselves, as these
recipes, etc., are sometimes found in a separate volume, entitled “The
Book of the Jew,”—_El Libro del Judio_. Who this alleged Jewish
physician was, who left so widespread and durable a renown among the
Yucatecan natives, none of the archæologists has been able to find
out.[247]
The language and style of most of these books are aphoristic, elliptical
and obscure. The Maya language has naturally undergone considerable
alteration since they were written; therefore, even to competent readers
of ordinary Maya, they are not readily intelligible. Fortunately,
however, there are in existence excellent dictionaries, which, were they
published, would be sufficient for this purpose.
ON THE “STONE OF THE GIANTS.”[248]
At the last meeting of this Society, a photograph was received of the
_Piedra de los Gigantes_, or “Stone of the Giants,” now situated at
Escamela, near the city of Orizaba, Mexico. It was obligingly forwarded
by the Mexican antiquary, Father Damaso Sotomayor, and was referred by
the Society to me for a possible interpretation of the figures
represented.
The sender accompanied the envoy with a copy of a newspaper published in
Orizaba, entitled _El Siglo que Acaba_, which contained a lengthy
interpretation of the figure by Father Sotomayor in accordance with the
principles laid down in his recently published work on the decipherment
of Aztec hieroglyphics.[249] The Father sees in the inscribed figures a
mystical allusion to the coming of Christ to the Gentiles, and to the
occurrences supposed in Hebrew myth to have taken place in the Garden of
Eden. As I cannot agree in the remotest with his hypothesis, I shall say
nothing further about it, but proceed to give what I consider the true
significance of the inscribed figures.
I should preface my remarks by mentioning that this stone is not a
recent discovery in Mexican archæology. It was examined by Captain
Dupaix in the year 1808, and is figured in the illustrations to his
voluminous narrative.[250] The figure he gives is however so erroneous
that it yields but a faint idea of the real character and meaning of the
drawing. It omits the ornament on the breast, and also the lines along
the right of the giant’s face, which as I shall show are distinctive
traits. It gives him a girdle where none is delineated, and the relative
size and proportions of all the three figures are quite distorted.
Dupaix informs us, however, of several particulars which the Rev.
Sotomayor omitted to state. From the former’s description we learn that
the stone, or rather rock, on which the inscription is found is roughly
triangular in shape, presenting a nearly straight border of thirty feet
on each side. It is hard and uniform in texture, and of a dark color.
The length or height of the principal figure is twenty-seven feet, and
the incised lines which designate the various objects are deeply and
clearly cut. In the present position of the stone, which is the same as
that stated by Captain Dupaix, the head of the principal figure, called
“the giant,” lies toward the east, while the right hand is extended
toward the north and the left toward the west. It is open to doubt
whether this disposition was accidental or intentional, as there is
reason to believe that the stone is not now in its original position, or
not in that for which it was intended.
Along the base of the stone, which is in thickness some five feet, at
the feet of the giant, there are a series of figures inscribed which are
now almost obliterated; at least the photographs sent the Society give
no clear idea of them, and the cuts of Dupaix are plainly for the most
part fanciful. Their presence there, however, proves that the block was
not intended to have been set up on edge, or inserted vertically into a
wall, as either of these arrangements would have obscured these
hieroglyphs.[251]
I now approach the decipherment of the inscriptions. Any one versed in
the signs of the Mexican calendar will at once perceive that it contains
the date of a certain year and day. On the left of the giant is seen a
rabbit surrounded with ten circular depressions. These depressions are
the well-known Aztec marks for numerals, and the rabbit represents one
of the four astronomic signs by which they adjusted their chronologic
cycle of fifty-two years. The three others were a house, a reed, and a
flint. Each one of these recurred thirteen times in their cycle, making,
as I have said, a term of fifty-two years in all. A year was designated
by one of the four names with its appropriate number; as “3 house,” “12
flint,” “4 reed,” etc., the sequence being regularly preserved.
The days were arranged in zones or weeks of twenty, the different series
being numbered, and also named from a sequence of eighteen astronomical
signs called “wind,” “lizard,” “snake,” “deer,” etc. The five days
lacking to complete the 365 were intercalated. A second or ritual system
had thirteen weeks of twenty days each; but as thirteen times twenty
makes only two hundred and sixty, in this computation there remained 105
days to be named and numbered. Their device to accomplish this was
simple: they merely recommenced the numbering and naming of the weeks
for this remainder, adding a third series of appellations drawn from a
list of nine signs, called “rulers of the night.” At the close of the
solar year they recommenced as at the beginning of the previous
year.[252]
With these facts in our mind, we can approach our task with confidence.
The stone bears a carefully dated record, with the year and day clearly
set forth. The year is represented to the left of the figure, and is
that numbered “ten” under the sign of the rabbit, in Nahuatl, _xihuitl
matlacth tochtli_; the day of the year is numbered “one” under the sign
of the fish, _ce cipactli_.
These precise dates recurred once, and only once, every fifty-two years;
and had recurred only once between the year of our era 1450 and the
Spanish conquest of Mexico in 1519–20. We may begin our investigations
with that one epoch, as from other circumstances, such as local
tradition[253] and the character of the work, it is not likely that the
inscription was previous to the middle of the fifteenth century. Within
the period named, the year “10 rabbit” of the Aztec calendar
corresponded with the year 1502 of the Gregorian calendar. It is more
difficult to fix the day, as the mathematical problems relating to the
Aztec diurnal reckonings are extremely complicated, and have not yet
been satisfactorily worked out; but it is, I think, safe to say, that
according to both the most probable computations the day “one fish”—_ce
cipactli_—occurred in the first month of the year 1502, which month
coincided in whole or in part with our February.
Such is the date on the inscription. Now, what is intimated to have
occurred on that date? The clue to this is furnished by the figure of
the giant.
On looking at it closely we perceive that it represents an ogre of
horrid mien with a death-head grin and formidable teeth, his hair wild
and long, the locks falling down upon the neck; and suspended on the
breast as an ornament is the bone of a human lower jaw with its incisor
teeth. The left leg is thrown forward as in the act of walking, and the
arms are uplifted, the hands open, and the fingers extended, as at the
moment of seizing the prey or the victim. The lines about the umbilicus
represent the knot of the girdle which supported the _maxtli_ or
breech-cloth.
[Illustration:
FIG. 1. The Stone of the Giants.
]
There is no doubt as to which personage of the Aztec pantheon this
fear-inspiring figure represents; it is _Tzontemoc Mictlantecutli_, “the
Lord of the Realm of the Dead, He of the Falling Hair,” the dread god of
death and the dead.[254] His distinctive marks are there, the
death-head, the falling hair, the jaw bone, the terrible aspect, the
giant size.
There can be no question but that the _Piedra de los Gigantes_
establishes a date of death; that it is a necrological tablet, a
mortuary monument, and from its size and workmanship, that it was
intended as a memorial of the decease of some very important personage
in ancient Mexico.
Provided with these deductions from the stone itself, let us turn to the
records of old Mexico and see if they corroborate the opinion stated.
Fortunately we possess several of these venerable documents, chronicles
of the empire before Cortes destroyed it, written in the hieroglyphs
which the inventive genius of the natives had devised. Taking two of
these chronicles, the one known as the _Codex Telleriano-Remensis_, the
other as the _Codex Vaticanus_,[255] and turning to the year numbered
“ten” under the sign of the rabbit, I find that both present the same
record, which I copy in the following figure.
[Illustration:
FIG. 2. Extract from the Vatican Codex.
]
You will observe the sign of the year, the rabbit, shown merely by his
head for brevity. The ten dots which give its number are beside it.
Immediately beneath is a curious quadruped with what are intended as
water-drops dripping from him. The animal is the hedge-hog and the
figure is to be construed _iconomatically_, that is, it must be read as
a rebus through the medium of the Nahuatl language. In that language
water is _atl_, in composition _a_, and hedge-hog is _uitzotl_. Combine
these and you get _ahuitzotl_, or, with the reverential termination,
_ahuitzotzin_. This was the name of the ruler or emperor, if you allow
the word, of ancient Mexico before the accession to the throne of that
Montezuma whom the Spanish _conquistador_ Cortes put to death. His
hieroglyph, as I have described it, is well known in Mexican
codices.[256]
Returning to the page from the chronicle, we observe that the hieroglyph
of Ahuitzotzin is placed immediately over a corpse swathed in its mummy
cloths, as was the custom of interment with the highest classes in
Mexico. This signifies that the death of Ahuitzotzin took place in that
year. Adjacent to it is the figure of his successor, his name
iconomatically represented by the head-dress of the nobles; the
_tecuhtli_, giving the middle syllables of “Mo-_tecuh_-zoma.”[257]
Beneath is also the figure of the new ruler, with the outlines of a
flower and a house, which would be translated by the iconomatic system
_xochicalli_ or _xochicalco_; but the significance of these does not
concern us here.
This page of the Codices gives us therefore a record of a death in the
year “10 _tochtli_”—1502—of the utmost importance. No previous ruler had
brought ancient Mexico to such a height of glory and power. “In his
reign,” says Orozco y Berra, “Mexico reached its utmost extension.
Tributes were levied in all directions, and fabulous riches poured into
the capital city.”[258] The death of the ruler was therefore an event of
the profoundest national significance. We may well believe that it would
be commemorated by some artistic work commensurate with its importance;
and this I claim was the purpose of the _Piedra de los Gigantes_ of
Escamela.
But we may add further and convincing testimony to this interpretation.
The day of the month _ce cipactli_, 1 Fish, is engraved to the right of
the figure as connected with the event commemorated. Now, although I
have not found in the records the exact day of Ahuitzotzin’s death, I do
find that the native historian Ixtlilxochitl assigns this very day, _ce
cipactli_, 1 Fish, as that of the accession of Montezuma;[259] and
another native historian, Chimalpahin, states distinctly that this took
place “immediately” after the death of his predecessor on the
throne.[260] It may possibly have been on the very day of Ahuitzotzin’s
decease, as still another native writer, Tezozomoc, informs us that this
was not sudden, but the slow result of a wound on the head.[261]
It is indeed remarkable that we should find the precise dates, the year
and the day of the year, depicted on this stone, and also recorded by
various native writers, as connected with the demise of the emperor
Ahuitzotzin. These coincidences are of such a nature that they leave no
doubt that _La Piedra de los Gigantes_ of Escamela is a necrologic
tablet commemorating the death of the emperor Ahuitzotzin some time in
February, 1502.
NATIVE AMERICAN POETRY.[262]
In our modern civilization we are apt to consider that a taste for
poetry is a mark of high culture, something which belongs exclusively to
trained mental fibre and educated perceptions. It causes us, therefore,
some surprise when we study the psychology of savage tribes, to find
them almost everywhere passionate lovers of verse and measure, of music
and song. This fact, well established by the researches of ethnology,
was recognized by more than one keen thinker before ethnology was born.
In the last century that erratic genius, Hamann, known in German
literature as “the magician of the north,” penned the memorable words,
“Poetry is the common mother-tongue of the human race,” and insisted
that to attain its noblest flights, “we must return to the infancy of
the race, and to the simplicity of a childlike faith,” a dictum warmly
espoused by the philosophic Herder and by the enthusiasm of the young
Gœthe. Later on, that profoundest of psychologists, Wilhelm von
Humboldt, reflecting on the problems presented by the origin of
languages, expressed his conviction that man as a zoological species is
a singing animal, like many birds; that his vocal organs turn to song as
their appropriate function with a like spontaneity as his mind turns to
thought or his eyes to the light.
If we inquire into the psychological principle which makes rhythm
agreeable to the ear, we shall find that this principle is that of
_repetition_. I could carry the analysis still further, and demonstrate
to you that the physiological principle of all pleasure is expressed in
the formula—“maximum action with minimum effort;” and that the nerves of
audition are most successfully acted upon in accordance with this law by
limited repetitions with harmonious intervals. All metres, all rhythm,
all forms of alliteration and assonance, are but varied applications of
the principle of harmonious repetition; and the poet, as a poet, as an
artist, must be rated, and practically always is rated, by the skill
with which he employs the resources of repetition. Lofty thoughts,
beautiful metaphors, delicate allusions, these are his extraneous aids,
and by no means his exclusive property; but the form is his own, be it
quantity, rhyme, alliteration or accent.
I have felt it necessary to state very briefly these general principles,
in order to place in its proper light that form of poetry which is most
prevalent among the native tribes of America. You will not find among
them any developed examples of either rhyme or alliteration; their
dialects do not admit of fixed vocalic quantity, like the Latin; even
accent and assonance, which are the more imperfect resources of the
poetic art, are generally absent. What, then, in a literary analysis,
constitutes their poetic form?
I answer, _repetition_ in its simplest expressions. These are two. The
same verse may be repeated over and over again; or the wording of the
verses may be changed, but each may be accompanied by a burden or
refrain, which is repeated by the singer or the chorus. These are the
two fundamental characteristics of aboriginal poetry, and are found
everywhere on the American continent. The refrain is usually
interjectional and meaningless; and the verses are often repeated
without alteration, four or five times over.
We may, if we choose, begin our survey of the continent with its extreme
northernmost inhabitants, the Eskimo, whose abode is along the
inhospitable shores of the Arctic sea. One might think that the eternal
snows which surround them, the vast glaciers which chill the air for
miles beyond their limits, would also freeze out and kill all fire of
poesy. Quite the contrary. I doubt if throughout the American continent
I could quote you a more thoroughly poetic people, one taking a greater
delight in song, than these same boreal, blubber-eating, ice-bound
Eskimo. Their great delight is in long tales of magic and adventure, and
in improvisation. An Eskimo hunter, with a ready power to string
together verse after verse of their peculiar poetry, soon extends his
fame beyond the confines of his native village, and becomes known for
many a league up and down the shore. Often in the long winter nights,
genuine tourneys of song are organized between the champions of
villages, not unlike those which took place in fair Provence in the
palmy days of _la gaye science_. More than this, I have been assured by
Dr. Franz Boas, who recently passed two years among the Eskimo of
Baffin’s Land, living with them as one of them, that it is nothing
uncommon for downright hostile feelings, personal grudges, to be settled
by the opponents meeting on a fixed occasion and singing satirical and
abusive songs at each other. He who comes out best, raising the most
laughter at his antagonist’s expense, is considered to have conquered,
and his enemy accepts the defeat. These controversial songs have been
called by the Danish writers “nith songs,” from the word _nith_, which
is also old English, and means cursing and contention.
The distinguished traveler, Dr. Heinrich Rink, who has passed nineteen
winters in Greenland, has furnished me the originals, with translations,
of several of these nith songs.
As an example, I will read you one which took place between two rivals,
_Savdlat_ and _Pulangit-Sissok_. Savdlat lived to the north,
Pulangit-Sissok to the south. To appreciate the satire, you must know
that an Eskimo gentleman prides himself chiefly on two points: first,
that he speaks his own tongue with precisely the right accent, which, I
need not say, he considers to be the accent of his own village, wherever
that may be; and secondly, that he is a skillful boatman.
Savdlat begins the poetic duel in these words:
SAVDLAT AND PULANGIT-SISSOK.
SAVDLAT—
The South shore, O yes, the South shore, I know it;
Once I lived there and met Pulangit-Sissok,
A fat fellow who lived on halibut; O yes, I know him.
Those South-shore folk can’t talk;
They don’t know how to pronounce our language;
Truly they are dull fellows;
They don’t even talk alike;
Some have one accent, some another;
Nobody can understand them;
They can scarcely understand each other.
PULANGIT-SISSOK—
O yes, Savdlat and I are old acquaintances;
He wished me extremely well at times;
Once I know he wished I was the best boatman on the shore;
It was a rough day, and I in mercy took his boat in tow;
Ha! ha! Savdlat, thou didst cry most pitiful;
Thou wast awfully afeared;
In truth, thou wast nearly upset;
And hadst to keep hold of my boat strings,
And give me part of thy load.
O yes, Savdlat and I are old acquaintances.
A similar humorous strain is very marked in most of the Eskimo songs.
Indeed, I know no other tribe in America where the genuine fun-loving
spirit bubbles forth so freely. In Mexico and Central America, in the
midst of beautiful scenery and where the flowery earth basks in the lap
of an eternal spring, the tone of most of the songs is sad and
lugubrious; or, if humorous, with a satirical, bitter, unhealthy humor,
a _Schadenfreude_, which is far from wholesome merriment. Dr. Berendt,
who spent seventeen years in studying the languages of Central America,
has pointedly called attention to the great predominance of words in
them expressing painful, over those expressing pleasurable emotions. It
teaches us how little the happiness of man depends upon his environment,
that the merriest of the American nations is found precisely where
according to our usual notions almost every cheering and enlivening
element is withdrawn from life, where darkness, cold, and destitution
have undisputed rule.
But I will not continue with such generalizations, attractive though
they are. Let me relieve their dryness by a little Eskimo song, the full
Eskimo text of which you will find printed in Dr. Rink’s work entitled
“Tales of the Eskimo.” As usual, each line is followed by an
interjectional burden, which I shall repeat only in part. The song is
called
THE SONG OF KUK-OOK, THE BAD BOY.
This is the song of Kuk-ook, the bad boy.
Imakayah—hayah,
Imakayah—hah—hayah.
I am going to run away from home, hayah,
In a great big boat, hayah,
To hunt for a sweet little girl, hayah;
I shall get her some beads, hayah;
The kind that look like boiled ones, hayah;
Then after a while, hayah,
I shall come back home, hayah,
I shall call all my relations together, hayah,
And shall give them all a good thrashing, hayah;
Then I shall go and get married, hayah,
I shall marry two girls at once, hayah;
One of the sweet little darlings, hayah,
I shall dress in spotted seal-skins, hayah,
And the other dear little pet, hayah,
Shall wear skins of the hooded seal only, hayah.
But you must not derive the idea from these specimens that the Eskimos
are triflers and jesters only. Some of their poetical productions reveal
a true and deep appreciation of the marvellous, the impressive, and the
beautiful scenes which their land and climate present. Prominent
features in their tales and chants are the flashing, variegated aurora,
whose shooting streamers they fable to be the souls of departed heroes;
the milky way, gleaming in the still Arctic night, which they regard as
the bridge by which the souls of the good and brave mount to the place
of joy; the vast, glittering, soundless snowfields; and the mighty,
crashing glacier, splintering from his shoreward cliffs the ice
mountains which float down to the great ocean.
As an instance of this appreciation of natural scenery I shall read you
a song obtained by Dr. Rink, at the small trading station of Arsut on
the southern coast of Greenland, near Frederickshaab. Close to Arsut
stands Mt. Koonak, whose precipitous sides rise fully four thousand feet
above the billows of the Atlantic which dash against its foot. It is the
play of the clouds about the mountain which inspires the poet:
MOUNT KOONAK: A SONG OF ARSUT.
I look toward the south, to great Mount Koonak,
To great Mount Koonak, there to the south;
I watch the clouds that gather round him;
I contemplate their shining brightness;
They spread abroad upon great Koonak;
They climb up his seaward flanks;
See how they shift and change;
Watch them there to the south;
How the one makes beautiful the other;
How they mount his southern slopes,
Hiding him from the stormy sea,
Each lending beauty to the other.
No doubt there were and are many historical or traditional songs among
the natives; but I should have little hope of deriving from them much
information of a really historical character. Their references to
occurrences are very vague, and rather in the form of suggestion than
narration. The auditors are supposed to be familiar with the story, and
a single name or prominent word is enough to recall it to their minds.
I may illustrate this by a short Pawnee song sent me by Mr. Dunbar,
whose intimate acquaintance with the language and customs of that tribe
lends entire authority to all he writes about them.
About 1820 the Pawnees captured a young girl from their enemies the
Paducas, and according to custom, prepared to burn her alive. On the
appointed day she was fastened to the stake, and the village gathered
around in order to commence the tortures which were to precede her
death. At that moment a young Pawnee brave, by name _Pitale-Sharu_,
whose heart had been touched with pity and perhaps with love, dashed
madly into the ring with two fleet horses. In a moment with his ready
knife he had slit the thongs which fastened the girl to the stake, had
thrown her on one horse, himself on the other, and was speeding away on
the prairie toward her father’s village. The Pawnees were literally
stricken dumb. They retired silently to their cabins, and when, three
days later, Pitale-Sharu returned to the village, no man challenged his
action. All regarded it as an act of divine inspiration, even to inquire
about which would be sacrilege. This act is remembered to this day in
the tribe, and commemorated in the following song:
A PAWNEE COMMEMORATIVE SONG.
Well, he foretold this,
Well, he foretold this,
Yes, he foretold this;
I, Pitale-Sharu,
Am arrived here.
Well, he foretold this,
Yes, he foretold this,
I, Pitale Sharu,
Am arrived here.
One of the Pawnee war-songs has a curious metaphysical turn. It is one
which is sung when a warrior undertakes to perform some particularly
daring individual exploit, which may well cost him his life. The words
seem to call upon the gods to decide whether this mortal life is only an
illusion, or a divine truth under the guidance of divine intelligence.
PAWNEE WAR-SONG.
Let us see, is this real,
Let us see, is this real,
Let us see, is this real,
Let us see, is this real,
This life I am living?
Ye gods, who dwell everywhere,
Let us see, is this real,
This life I am living?
The so-called Indian medicine-songs cannot be understood without a
thorough insight into the habits and superstitions of these peoples, and
it would only fatigue you were I to repeat them to you.
I prefer to turn to some of the less esoteric productions of the native
muse, to some of its expressions of those emotions which are common to
mankind everywhere, and which everywhere seek their expression in meter
and rhythm.
A recent German traveler, Mr. Theodore Baker, furnishes me with a couple
of simple, unpretending but genuinely aboriginal songs which he heard
among the Kioway Indians. One is a
SONG OF A KIOWAY MOTHER WHOSE SON HAS GONE TO WAR.
Young men there are in plenty,
But I love only one;
Him I’ve not seen for long,
Though he is my only son.
When he comes, I’ll haste to meet him,
I think of him all night;
He too will be glad to see me,
His eyes will gleam with delight.
The second example from the Kioways is a song of true love in the
ordinary sense. Such are rare among the North American Indians anywhere.
Most of their chants in relation to the other sex are erotic, not
emotional; and this holds equally true of those which in some tribes on
certain occasions are addressed by the women to the men. The one I give
you from the Kioway is not open to this censure
A KIOWAY LOVE-SONG.
I sat and wept on the hill-side,
I wept till the darkness fell
I wept for a maiden afar off
A maiden who loves me well
The moons are passing, and some moon
I shall see my home long-lost,
And of all the greetings that meet me,
My maiden’s will gladden me most.
A specimen of a characteristic Chipeway love-song is given in one of the
works of the late Henry R. Schoolcraft. It was chanted by the lover, at
night, in front of the dwelling of the girl he would captivate. The song
is in four verses, and it will be noticed that each verse approaches
nearer and nearer the final request. It should be understood that each
verse was to be repeated several times, so as to give the fair one an
opportunity to express her approval or disapproval by some of those
signs which belong to the freemasonry of love the world over. If the
sign was negative and repelling, the singer abruptly ceased his chant
and retired, concealed by the darkness of the night; but if he was
encouraged, or heard without rebuke, he continued, in hope that at the
close of the song timid fingers would partially draw aside the curtain
which closes the lodge door, and that his prayer would be granted.
The serenade runs as follows:
SERENADE SONG OF A CHIPEWAY LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS.
I would walk into somebody’s dwelling,
Into somebody’s dwelling would I walk.
Into _thy_ darkened dwelling, my beloved,
Some night would I walk, would I walk.
Some night at this season, my beloved,
Into thy darkened dwelling would I walk.
On this very night, my beloved,
Into thy darkened dwelling would I walk.
While dealing with these amatory effusions, I will add one or two from
another part of the map, from the tribes who make their home in our
sister republic, Mexico. You are aware that there are many tribes there
barely tinged with European culture or religion. They retain the
ancestral tongues and modes of thought. The sword and whip of the
Spaniard compelled an external obedience to church and state, but the
deference to either was reluctant, and in the minimum degree.
Consequently, there also the field for research is rich and practically
uncultivated. To employ a native metaphor, frequent in the Aztec poets,
I will cause you to smell the fragrance of a few of the flowers I have
gathered from those meads.
My late friend, Dr. Berendt, personally known, I doubt not, to some
present, obtained a curious Aztec love-song from the lips of an Indian
girl in the Sierra of Tamaulipas. It is particularly noticeable from the
strange, mystical conceit it contains that to the person who truly
loves, the mere bodily presence or absence of the beloved object is
unimportant, nay, not even noticed. The literal translation of this song
is as follows:
I know not whether thou hast been absent:
I lie down with thee, I rise up with thee,
In my dreams thou art with me.
If my ear drops tremble in my ears,
I know it is thou moving within my heart.
This rough rendering has been put into metrical form as follows:
A MODERN AZTEC LOVE-SONG.
I knew it not that thou hadst absent been,
So full thy presence all my soul had left;
By night, by day, in quiet or changing scene,
’Tis thee alone I see, sense of all else bereft.
And when the tinkling pendants sway and ring,
’Tis thou who in my heart dost move and sing.
In another love-song in the same language I have met a conceit which I
distinctly remember to have read in some old English poet, that of a
lover who complains that his heart has been gathered in along with her
flowers by a maiden picking roses.
The literal translation of this song reads thus:
On a certain mountain side,
Where they pluck flowers,
I saw a pretty maiden,
Who plucked from me my heart.
Whither thou goest,
There go I.
As a metrical expansion of this couplet the following has been
suggested:
AZTEC LOVE-SONG.
Do you know that mountain side
Where they gather roses?
There I strolled one eventide
In the garden closes.
Soon I met a lovely maid
Fairer than all fancies,
Quick she gathered in my heart
With her buds and pansies,
But take heed, my pretty may,
In reaping and in sowing,
Once with thee, I’ll ever stay,
And go where thou art going.
Perhaps the refinement of some of these sentiments may excite
skepticism. It is a favorite doctrine among a certain class of writers
that delicacy of sexual feeling is quite unknown among savage tribes,
that, indeed, the universal law is that mere bestiality prevails, more
or less kept in bounds by superstition and tribal law. I am well
acquainted with this theory of several popular philosophers, and do not
in the least accept it. Any such dogmatic assertion is unscientific.
Delicacy of sentiment bears no sort of constant relation to culture.
Every man present knows this. He can name among his acquaintances men of
unusual culture who are coarse voluptuaries, and others of the humblest
education who have the delicacy of a refined woman. So it is with
families, and so it is with tribes. I have illustrated this lately by an
analysis of the words meaning “to love” in all its senses in five
leading American linguistic stocks, and have shown by the irrefragable
proof of language how much they differ in this respect, and how much
also the same tribe may differ from itself at various periods of its
growth. As the result of this and similar studies I may assure you that
there is no occasion for questioning the existence of highly delicate
sentiments among some of the American tribes.
As I found the Mexican love poems the most delicate, so I have found
their war songs the most stirring. We have a number of specimens written
down in the native tongue shortly after the conquest. They have never
been translated or published, but I will give you a rendering of one in
my possession which, from intrinsic evidence, was written about 1510. I
say _written_ advisedly, for the nation who sang these songs possessed a
phonetic alphabet, and wrote many volumes of poems by its aid. Their
historian, Bernardino de Sahagun, especially mentions that the works
used for the instruction of youth in their schools contained “poems
written in antique characters.”
The first of my selections is supposed to be addressed by the poet to
certain friends of his who were unwilling to go to war.
A WAR-SONG OF THE OTOMIS.
1. It grieves me, dear friends, that you walk not with me in spirit,
that I have not your company in the scenes of joy and pleasure, that
never more in union do we seek the same paths.
2. Do you really see me, dear friends? Will no God take the
blindness from your eyes? What is life on earth? Can the dead
return? No, they live far within the heavens, in a place of joy.
3. The joy of the Lord, the Giver of Life, is where the warriors
sing, and the smoke of the war-fire rises up; where the flowers of
the shields spread abroad their leaves; where deeds of valor shake
the earth; where the fatal flowers of death cover the fields.
4. The battle is there, the beginning of the battle is there, in the
open fields, where the smoke of the war-fire winds around and curls
upward from the fatal war flowers which adorn you, ye friends and
warriors of the Chichimecs.
5. Let not my soul dread that open field; I earnestly desire the
beginning of the slaughter, my soul longs for the murderous fray.
6. O you who stand there in the battle, I earnestly desire the
beginning of the slaughter, my soul longs for the murderous fray.
7. The war-cloud rises upward, it rises into the blue sky where
dwells the Giver of Life; in it blossom forth the flowers of prowess
and valor, beneath it, in the battle field, the children ripen to
maturity.
8. Rejoice with me, dear friends, and do ye rejoice, ye children,
going forth to the open field of battle; let us rejoice and revel
amid these shields, flowers of the murderous fray.
The song which I have just read, like most which I bring before you, has
no name of author. The poet has passed to an eternal oblivion, though
his work remains. More fortunate is the composer of the next one I shall
read you. It is a poem by an Aztec prince and bard who bore the sonorous
appellation, _Tetlapan Quetzanitzin_. I can tell you little about him.
At the time Cortes entered the City of Mexico, Tetlapan Quetzanitzin was
ruler of one of its suburbs, Tlacopan or Tacuba. At the interview when
the daring Spaniard seized upon the person of Montezuma and made him a
captive, this Tetlapan was one of the attendants of the Aztec monarch,
and it is recorded of him that he made his escape and disappeared. I
have found no mention of his subsequent adventures.
This war-song is one of two of his poems which have survived the wreck
of the ancient literature. It is highly metaphorical. You might at first
think it a drinking song; but the drunkenness it refers to is the
intoxication of battle, the _Berserkerwuth_ of the Norse Vikings; the
flowers which he sings are the war-shields with their gay ornaments; and
the fertile plains which he lauds are those which are watered with the
blood of heroes. Finally, I should tell you that the white wine he
speaks of was a sacred beverage among the Mexicans, set forth at certain
solemn festivals. Like the rest of their wine, it was manufactured from
the maguey.
A WAR-SONG OF TETLAPAN QUETZANITZIN (1519).
1. Why did it grieve you, O friends, why did it pain you, that you
were drunk with the wine? Arise from your stupor, O friends, come
hither and sing; let us seek for homes in some flowery land; forget
your drunkenness.
2. The precept is old that one should quaff the strong white wine in
the moment of difficulty, as when one enters the battle-plain, when
he goes forth to the place of shattered stones, where the precious
stones are splintered, the emeralds, the turquoises, the youths, the
children. Therefore, friends and brothers, quaff now the flowing
white wine.
3. Let us drink together amid the flowers, let us build our houses
among the flowers, where the fragrant blossoms cast abroad their
odors as a fountain its waters, where the breath of the dew-laden
flowers makes sweet the air; there it is that nobility and strength
will make glorious our houses, there the flowers of war bloom over a
fertile land.
4. O friends, do you not hear me? Let us go, let us go, let us pour
forth the white wine, the strong wine of battle; let us drink the
wine which is as sweet as the dew of roses, let it intoxicate our
souls, let our souls be steeped in its delights, let them be
enriched as in some opulent place, some fertile land. Why does it
trouble you? Come with me, and listen to my song.
Alongside of these specimens from Mexico, I put a war-song of the
Peruvians. It is from the drama of _Ollanta_, a production dating from
shortly before the conquest, and one of the most interesting monuments
of American native literature. The hero, Ollanta, a warrior of renown
but of humble parentage, had, on the strength of his successes against
the enemy, applied for the hand of the Inca’s daughter, and had been
rejected with scorn. All his loyalty and allegiance turns to hatred, and
he sings his war-song against his native country and its ruler in these
words:
A WAR-SONG OF OLLANTA.
O Cuzco, beautiful city,
Henceforward I shall be thy enemy.
I shall break the walls of thy bosom,
I shall tear out thy heart
And fling it to the vultures.
Thy cruel king shall witness
My thousands of warriors,
Armed and led by me,
Gather, like a cloud of curses,
Against thy citadel.
The sky shall be red with thy burning,
Bloody shall thy couch be,
And thy king shall perish with thee.
Gasping in death, with my hand on his throat,
We shall see if again he will say:
“Thou art unworthy of my daughter,
Never shall she be thine.”
A variety of poetic production of frequent occurrence among the
aborigines is the prophetic. You are aware that it is by no means
peculiar to them; the oracle at Delphi, the sibylline leaves in the
Capitol, the words of the Hebrew seers, even the forecasts of
Nostradamus, were usually cast in poetic form. The effort to lift the
veil of futurity is one ineradicable from the human breast, and faith in
its possibility is universal. Those prophets who are wise, those augurs
who pass the wink to each other, favor great obscurity and ambiguity in
their communications, or else express themselves in such commonplaces as
that man is mortal; that all beauty fadeth; that power is transitory,
and the like. We find both kinds flourished in ancient America. You may
remember that Montezuma in his first interview with Cortes told the
Spanish invader that the arrival of a white and bearded conqueror from
the East had long been predicted by Mexican soothsayers. Similar
prophecies were current in Yucatan, in Peru, and in other portions of
the continent. They are all easily explained, and there is no occasion
either to question the fact, or to seek for them any supernatural
inspiration. It would lead me away from my theme to enter into a
discussion of their meaning, but I should like to read you two brief
examples of them. Both are from the Maya language of Yucatan, and I have
no doubt both antedate the conquest. The first, according to an
expression in the poem itself, was composed in the year 1469. It was the
prediction of a Maya priest at the close of the indiction or cycle which
terminated in that year of our chronology.
THE PROPHECY OF PECH, PRIEST OF CHICHEN-ITZA (1469).
Ye men of Itzá, hearken to the tidings,
Listen to the forecaste of this cycle’s end;
Four have been the ages of the world’s progressing.
Now the fourth is ending, and its end is near.
A mighty lord is coming, see you give him honor;
A potent lord approaches, to whom all must bow;
I, the prophet, warn you, keep in mind my boding,
Men of Itzá, mark it, and await your lord.
The second example of these mystic chants which I shall give you is from
a curious native production called, “The Book of Chilan Balam,” a
repertory of wild imaginings and scraps of ancient and modern magical
lore, which is the very Bible of the Maya Indians. Although I have a
copy of it, I have been unable to translate any large portion of it, and
my correspondents in Yucatan, though some of them speak Maya as readily
as Spanish, find the expressions too archaic and obscure to be
intelligible. This particular song is that of the priest and soothsayer
Chilan, from whom the sacred book takes its name. There is every reason
to believe that it dates from the fifteenth century.
RECITAL OF THE PRIEST CHILAN.
Eat, eat, while there is bread,
Drink, drink, while there is water;
A day comes when dust shall darken the air,
When a blight shall wither the land,
When a cloud shall arise,
When a mountain shall be lifted up,
When a strong man shall seize the city,
When ruin shall fall upon all things,
When the tender leaf shall be destroyed,
When eyes shall be closed in death;
When there shall be three signs on a tree,
Father, son and grandson hanging dead on the same tree;
When the battle flag shall be raised,
And the people scattered abroad in the forests.
Such poems properly belong to the mythologic class. This class was fully
represented in the productions of the primitive bards, but chiefly owing
to the prejudices of the early missionaries, the examples remaining are
few.
I could continue to bring before you specimens of this quaint and
ancient lore. My garner is by no means emptied. But probably I have said
enough for my purpose. You see that the study of the aboriginal poetry
of our continent opens up an unexpectedly rich field for investigation.
It throws a new light not only on the folk songs of other nations, but
on the general history of the growth of the poetic faculty. More than
this, it elevates our opinion of the nations whom we are accustomed to
call by the terms savage and barbarous. We are taught that in much which
we are inclined to claim as our special prerogatives, they too have an
interest. In the most precious possessions of the race, in its
aspirations for the infinite and the forever true, they also have a
share. They likewise partake, and in no mean degree, of that sweetest
heritage of man, the glorious gift of song, “the vision and the faculty
divine.”