ON one of Don Eduardo’s trips into the country of the Sublevados he chanced across an old Indian, the troubadour of his tribe. This man had a wonderful store of ancient traditions and legends and was an excellent spinner of tales. As nothing pleased him more than to sit by the hour and tell his stories to Don Eduardo—a most interested audience—they spent many pleasant days together. The following legend, especially, remains fresh in Don Eduardo’s memory and seems to me worthy of being recorded ere it dies for lack of appreciative ears.

IX-LOL-NICTE

My grandfather told me this, as his grandfather related it to him, and so on back through many grandfathers; and before that—who knows? There was in the north of this great land a city, and this city existed a thousand years before the coming of the white man. The dwellers in the land were called the children of Kukul Can. Afterward the Itzas, who were a mighty people, discovered this city and dwelt about the edge of its Sacred Well for many katuns.[6] But before the time of the Itzas, the first dwellers had come to this land in big canoes, from the land of the mountains of fire. They were led by a great and wise man who aided them to build the city. The name of this man is written in stone in the ruins of the city.

In the city was a high-born maiden, a princess named for a flower, for on the very night she was born, when the goddess Ixchel caressed her beautiful mother and placed in her loving arms a tiny girl child, the zac nicte tree growing on the terraced platform of the big house on the hill burst into bloom for the first time and the tiny princess was named for its flowers, Ix-Lol-Nicte—She the Flower of Sweet Perfume. Each year thereafter the zac nicte tree, the Mayflower tree of the Mayas, flourished and brought forth its fragrant snowy blossoms. Each year the princess grew in comeliness until she became the most graceful, lovely maid that eyes ever rested upon. Sixteen Mays had the zac nicte tree been crowned with blossoms and sixteen Mays had passed since the girl-child was born to the beautiful mother in the great house on the hill.

As the summer passed, the trunk and branches of the zac nicte turned to ashy gray, but its leaves remained green and its blossoms lingered in masses of white fragrance. So beautiful had the maid become that it seemed the greatest honor in all the land must be hers. She must become the bride of Noh-och Yum Chac, the Rain God, whose palace is at the bottom of the Sacred Well. Surely the god would be pleased with her, for never had he had a bride half so fair. The time was at hand for the wedding of the water-god and a mortal maid. The god, who controlled the vase of waters, the dew, and the rain, and at whose will the corn grew luxuriously or withered and died, must be mollified. Each year, if it became evident the Rain God was angry with his people, the most beautiful maiden in the land was chosen to be thrown into the well, to sink quickly to his watery home and become his favorite handmaiden and win his forgiveness for her people.

Ix-Lol-Nicte grew in loveliness, and yet no man had seen her, nor had she looked upon the face of any man, save only those of the trusted household retainers. The home of the princess, with its carved stone walls, thick and massive, loomed majestically above the palm-thatched homes of the common people. In the spacious garden was a riot of tropic flowers, exotic shrubs, and twisting vines, giving forth wave upon wave of sweet perfume. Among the trees of grateful shade was the yax-nic, whose bark is used to make the drink of the gods and whose clusters of lilac blooms formed a perfect background for the vivid flame of the copte tree.

Care-free, with no thought of the future to darken her innocent pleasures, the princess drifted happily about the garden, with only the companionship of the wild creatures that peopled the inclosure. And they sensed with unerring intuition the gentleness of her presence and bared not against her claw, fang, nor sting. In the sunny garden the little wild honey-bees, shining black like bits of jet, clung to her glossy tresses, loath to leave her fragrant presence. The big, lazy black-and-yellow butterflies lit fearlessly upon her shoulders, fanning her lovingly with their slowly opening and closing wings. The bec-etch-ok, the bird of a hundred songs, seemed to save for her his choicest selections as she wandered along the garden paths.

Her first knowledge of sadness came with the death of her pet fawn which had fed upon a poisonous vine that grew in the garden undetected by the servants and gardeners. All day she sat in the shade of a big sapote tree, thinking of her little dead pet. Suddenly she heard a sound in the forest depths beyond the garden and she looked up to see a youth chasing a wild fawn which bounded over the undergrowth and into the garden, coming close to her as though beseeching her protection, and she stood up and kept the youth from further pursuit. Not knowing her to be a princess, he was very angry with her for spoiling the chase and called down upon her the curses of Cacunam, god of the hunters.

But the princess was not at all alarmed, because, not knowing the ways of men, she did not realize that the wrath of a man is a very dreadful thing to a woman.

“Beautiful boy,” she said, “why do you chase the baby deer? Go find Ek Balam, the black jaguar, or Noh-och Ceh, the giant grandfather deer who lives in the deep forest! No brave man would hunt such a defenseless little creature as a fawn.”

The lad, who was of her own age, hung his head and was ashamed. Abashed by her imperious manner, he felt that one far superior addressed him, yet his pride was stung. Flinging back his head, he gazed at her with flashing eyes and said:

“I come of a line of great warriors and I will show you I can fight even the wild tzimin or the chacmool [tiger].” So saying, he rushed off through the forest and was gone.

A jungle pheasant gave its staccato whistle in the forest depths and all was still. For the first time in her life the princess felt loneliness creep over her, for she had not wished the youth to rush away.

“Thus do the gods of our people upset the plans of man,” said the story-teller, as he paused to roll and light a corn-husk cigarette. Looking up with a quizzical smile, he said, “Is it not so with the gods of the white people?” I assured him heartily and from personal experience that the plans of mice and men, white or otherwise, do have a peculiar faculty for going awry.

With his fag burning freely, he continued the legend:

The memory of this meeting kept coming before the eyes of the youth and a strange restlessness possessed him, so that even the excitement of the chase no longer gave him pleasure. He himself knew not what had bewitched him and he fancied that he suffered from some fever. But ever the beautiful form and flowerlike face of the maid floated before his eyes. Asleep or awake, it was the same; he could not banish the lovely vision. He did not know her to be a princess, but he knew the big house on the hill and that nobility dwelt there.

At length he went to his uncle, the great ah-kin-mai, the high priest, and said:

“Tell me: am I not also of noble birth, like those who live on the hill in the big house?”

His uncle regarded him curiously, for he was a wise as well as a very learned man and well he knew that when a youth asks about those of a house, he is not interested in any of the inmates but the maid who dwells there.

“Be still, my son,” said he. “Forget that you have asked this question. The people on the hill are of the royal house, while you are but the son of a chief. Does the bird in the high tree-top know who is on the ground below? So it is with men.”

The youth turned silently away and from then on held his own counsel, for he knew that the high priest, his uncle, held no thought of love or romance in his breast. But the next day he warily scaled the hill beyond the city walls, vowing in his heart that he would at least gaze once more upon the maid who had woven about him so potent a spell. As he reached the hilltop there was nothing to see but the tall, rough tree trunks and the heavy branches. The tree under whose shade the lovely maid had sat but yesterday was there, but its branches sheltered only a gay-plumaged motmot perched on the lowest branch, jeering at him with its raucous voice. A weight lay heavy on his heart.

“Hateful bird! Pitiless sun! Unfriendly forest!” thought he. Was it possible the gods might be angry because he dared to invade the privacy of the big house on the hill? He turned sadly to depart, but determined to come again even though the gods be wroth. He had taken but a few steps when a sweet voice directly behind him asked mockingly:

“Do you hunt the baby deer to-day? Or, perchance, the bluebird, that sings so sweetly in the tree-tops?” The boy turned at the first word and his courage returned, for the evil bird had flown, the sun was never more glorious, and the forest suddenly seemed friendly.

“I hunt a rare flower that grows high up in the dwellings of men,” he replied, “and there is joy in my heart now, for at last I have found it.”

The maid did not answer, for she was unused to the ways of men and of flatteries, but she sat down under the tree where she had sat before and said:

“Tell me, handsome youth, are the people who dwell in the city below as good to look upon as you?”

The youth did not know what to say or answer, for he realized at once how far above him the maiden must be to dare ask such a question, and how closely guarded she must be to know so little of the dwellers of the city. But this only increased his determination to come again and again, until the heart of the girl should respond to the beating of his own.

In a short time a path was worn up the hillside and through the forest, and often the birds looked down upon the lovers as they spoke of the plans of the girl’s family that she become the bride of the Rain God. The princess had been taught that to be called to serve in the subterranean palace of the god was the greatest honor and happiness that could come to any maiden, whether high-born or of lowly birth. Until now, until the coming of this youth, she had accepted eagerly the possibility of becoming the bride of the Rain God. But of late her heart had grown strangely chilled whenever she thought of this honor that might be hers.

Meanwhile, the youth, who came from a family noted for its energy and decision, bided his time and kept his own counsel. His plan was formed. The princess must not be sacrificed to the grim keeper of the Sacred Well, whether god or devil. He would steal her away and bear her off to some distant province before ever she could be chosen for the Rain God. He dared not tell the princess of his plan, for he knew her awe and fear of the gods. But to himself he said:

“Surely if I take her away before the day of the choosing, that will not be opposing the will of the gods, for they will not yet have spoken their decree.”

Now Ix-Ek [Brunette], daughter of the great war chief Ek-Chac [Dark Red One], was as beautiful to the eye and in outward semblance as gentle as Ix-Lol-Nicte. It had been rumored that the high honor of serving the Rain God in his deep home might be hers. Those who knew her best, who knew the workings of her artful mind and cruel heart, shook their heads and said in secret:

“Surely the gods who can read the minds and what is in the hearts of men, even as H’men the high priest, does with the ills of the body by means of his magic crystal—surely they will never choose Ix-Ek!”

But Ix-Ek knew nothing and cared less about the secret whisperings. The desire to be the chosen of the gods became stronger and stronger in her heart as she perceived that Ix-Lol-Nicte was a rival for that coveted honor. And the hour for the final choice drew nearer and nearer.

It was by the merest chance that the handsome youth passed within the sight of Ix-Ek. At once it came to her like a bolt from the blue that she did not in the least want to serve the Rain God in his damp abode, and that the only happiness in the world for her was to bask in the tempestuous adoration of this unknown youth. Artfully she found a way to know him and to make it seem that he had sought her of his own volition. To him, unused to the wiles that an artful woman ever has at her command, she seemed so tender and compassionate that he, knowing nothing of her passion,—for who can see the moon when the sun is shining?—impulsively confided to her his love for Ix-Lol-Nicte. And Ix-Ek, concealing the jealousy that seethed in her heart, that she might better work out her terrible design, sweetly promised to aid him in securing his heart’s desire.

As silently as the poisonous yellow spider of the jungle spins and spins its web, so did Ix-Ek spin her web of deceit and falsehood to bring the choice of the gods upon Ix-Lol-Nicte and thus separate her by death from the youth upon whom Ix-Ek had set her own evil heart. The jealous rage of an unscrupulous woman knows no bounds, obeys no laws, sacred or otherwise, and stops at nothing. So Ix-Ek schemed in secret and acted upon her plan.

Just as the plans of the youth were perfected, even to the litter that was to bear Ix-Lol-Nicte away with him, and stout bearers, men of his own service, the high priest announced that the day of the choosing had arrived and that all who were to participate in the ceremony were to be in instant readiness. The young man knew that as one of the hul-che bearers and especially appointed guard to the king he must be present at the ceremony. Failure on his part to be on hand, by an ancient, unchangeable law meant degradation for his entire family beyond all pardon and for himself enslavement.

On the great square before the Pyramid of Sacrifice stood the platform of Noh-och Can, the Great Serpent, where would be enacted the ceremony of choosing the betrothed of the Rain God. At the very center of the platform was a massive seat, or throne of carved stone, used in this ceremony since the earliest days of the Sacred City. Over the seat was a gorgeous gold-embroidered canopy with a circular opening in the top, so that the rays of the sun might shine directly upon the person seated there.

This was in the month of the New Sun. The early summer rains had passed, though every now and then a fleecy cloud swam through the azure and obscured the direct brightness of Ich-Kin [the Eye of Day], Earth was at its best, covered everywhere with a tender verdure accustomed to plentiful moisture and now suffering the first pangs of thirst which might wither and parch it should the Rain God not relent.

At a given point in the solemn rites, the high priest would call one beautiful maid after another to occupy the sacred seat and the one upon whom the unclouded sun shone longest was the choice of the gods for betrothal to the Rain God. Thus Ich-Kin, the greatest of the gods, would choose the virgin bride for his brother, the Rain God.

A vast crowd from the city and from far regions had gathered to witness the majestic ceremony. An oppressive stillness was over all, and in the silence was the solemn feeling of the nearness, the very presence of the gods as they awaited the choosing of their lovely mortal handmaiden.

Shattering the stillness came the shrill, weird notes of the flute and the keening of the sacred whistle, mingled with the rolling boom of the drum as the multitude joined in the slow chant of the ritual music, rolling out in a mighty sea of sound.

At length the high priest raised his hand and the music ceased. Taking a vase of fragrant smoldering incense, he approached with measured pace to each of the four corners of the platform, symbolizing the four corners of the earth, and as he came to each corner he wafted the smoke of the incense toward each of the symboled Bacabes who support the four corners of the earth upon their faithful shoulders and asked, by invocation, their blessing upon this ancient ceremony.

Four times he did this and then announced that the gods were favorable. The priestly blower of the sacred trumpet blew two long blasts from his great conch-shell, and as the echo died away, Ix-Lol-Nicte descended from her curtained palanquin and, trembling from head to foot, walked toward the throne. She was attired in a long pure-white robe, adorned only at the throat and hem with the exquisite embroidery of the counted threads, worked by the temple nuns. Clusters of chan-cala, black and shining as jet beads,—the color worn in honor of the West God,—lay against her fluttering breast. Before her went attendants, scattering large white and yellow blossoms, flowers of the gods of North and South.

Slowly, with graceful dignity, unfaltering yet fearful, she approached the great stone chair. In her heart she prayed desperately that the choice of the gods might not fall upon her, for how could her adoration turn even to an immortal god when before her eyes was the beloved image of the mortal youth of the hillside?

Upon her the throng gazed with wondering eyes. Beauty had been expected, but not this vision of virginal loveliness—a maid upon whom even the gods must gaze with rapturous and humble admiration! As she seated herself upon the throne it seemed to the onlookers as if the gods had already endowed her with sacred attributes, and an involuntary sigh came from each bosom in the dense throng.

Again the high priest raised his hand, and now the drum alone beat in pulsing cadence to the movement of the caluac or scepter which he held. Seated before the maiden was the Uinic-xoco, or counter, who recorded the beats of the drum. At length the caluac in the hands of the high priest came to rest, the drum ceased to beat, and Ix-Lol-Nicte with her attendants left the platform.

Then came Ix-Ek, and she too was beautiful; as vivid as the scarlet berries that shone upon her breast. A murmur of admiration came from the onlookers and Ix-Ek turned and gazed at them disdainfully, for to her these people were as the dust underfoot. She bore herself with haughty pride, and if she felt any fear her bearing did not show it. A short time before, she had craved the honor of becoming the bride of the Rain God, but now she was passionately enamoured of a mortal youth and she was pulsating with the love that filled her heart. Whatever the honor, she no longer wished that sleep in which the eye of life is forever closed.

Once more the high priest raised his hand, the drum-beats ceased, and the people silently returned to their homes. The solemn ceremony of the choosing was over, but the choice of the gods, by ancient custom, might not be made known until ten days had passed.

With heavy heart the young man returned to his father’s house, for he had seen not even the tiniest cloud pass over the face of the sun while his adored Ix-Lol-Nicte sat in the great stone chair. It seemed inevitable that she would be the choice of the gods and the thought was as a knife in his breast. As he lay upon his couch, stricken with anguish, there came to him a messenger from Ix-Ek, saying:

“Come to me. I will help you and yet not anger the gods, for I know that Ix-Lol-Nicte was chosen.”

Swiftly he went to the house of Ix-Ek and shook the string of hollow shells before the curtained entrance. At the first sound Ix-Ek stood beside him, brilliantly beautiful in her rich garb, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright with excitement. Even the love-blinded and despairing lover of Ix-Lol-Nicte gazed at her, spellbound for a moment with admiration, before his poignant grief once more engulfed him and he listened in hopeless silence while she spoke.

“You must tell Ix-Lol-Nicte that if she is really chosen she must hold her body straight and like an arrow, so that it will enter the water as the jade-tipped dart from the hul-che,” she said. “I know the under priests who are to hold her at the brink of the well and fling her in. I will tell them that the gods have whispered to the high priest that the Rain God desires no new bride this year and that they are to fling her carefully so that her body shall not turn in the air but shall cleave the water like an arrow. Thus she shall come again to the surface, unharmed. Be you ready to rescue her and it will seem merely as though the Rain God had refused the sacrifice. Fear not. I know the priests and they will do as I say. Is not my father their chief, with power of life and death over them? Have no fear; they will obey me without question.”

Hope returned to the heart of the youth and he called down the blessing of heaven upon Ix-Ek, his ears dulled to the serpent hiss of her voice, his sight unheeding the crafty, cruel glitter of her eyes. And that night he haunted the forest close by the royal abode of Ix-Lol-Nicte, while the Ox-ppel-Ek, the stars of the Three Marys, like white sentinels, gazed down upon him in pity as he gave the familiar signal, the cry of the night-bird. Soon the white-robed, weeping Ix-Lol-Nicte was locked in his arms. And when she could speak she whispered between her sobs:

“Let this be our last farewell. It is the will of the gods and I must go quickly, for since the choosing I am watched continually.”

Kneeling at her feet, the youth told her of the plan of Ix-Ek and she was convinced by his eager young eloquence. Her stifled sobs ceased and the flame of hope warmed her and calmed her fears, for her faith in her lover was as great as her love for him.

Alone once more and without the reassuring nearness and vital strength of the boy, her fears returned and she distrusted Ix-Ek, because the intuition of a woman often reaches where the reasoning of a man fails to penetrate, and in her heart the maid knew that Ix-Ek sought only to destroy her. But she resolved to say nothing to her lover to dim his hope, and to trust only that the gods, knowing all that was in her breast and that she could never serve the Rain God with a whole heart, would in their all-seeing beneficence refuse her pitiful sacrifice.

When ten days had passed, the high priest announced that Ix-Lol-Nicte was in truth the choice of the gods, and soon came the fateful day. Ix-Ek, aided by the nether gods and guided by Hun-Ahau, the arch-fiend himself, carried out her evil plan. She had seen and instructed the two brawny nacons who were to cast Ix-Lol-Nicte into the Sacred Well, but instead of directing them as she had promised the youthful lover of Ix-Lol-Nicte, she told them that the high priest had had a vision and unless Ix-Lol-Nicte were accepted by the Rain God, priests and all would die before sunset; and she urged them to fling the maid with all their strength so that she should turn again and again in the air and strike the water with fatal impact.

The sturdy, slow-witted under priests, befuddled by the words of Ix-Ek, did not, as was the custom, fling the slight form of the victim far out toward the center of the well, but let fall the tender body of Ix-Lol-Nicte so that it struck the terrible rocky side of the pit. A mutilated, bloody corpse at last sank beneath the green waters.

Her lover, standing at the brink of the well beside the covered bower of the king and poised to dive into the water to aid Ix-Lol-Nicte the moment her lovely head should reappear above the surface, saw her body strike the rocks. Turning like a flash, he rushed to Ix-Ek and threw her far out into the well as one would throw a small stone. Then he leaped upon the two dazed under priests and dragged them over the brink so that all three fell like plummets into the watery pit.

Horror overwhelmed the high priest and all others who stood there. They knew that a portentous thing had happened and that the wrath of the gods would swiftly be upon them. Enormous clouds, as black as the berries upon the dead breast of Ix-Lol-Nicte, came rushing from the four corners of the horizon and surged high up in the heavens, meeting as one. A single bolt of lurid lightning split the firmament and entered the Sacred Well, and the thunder made the rock walls shudder and the whole earth to tremble. The Rain God, angered that his people had turned the sacred sacrifice into a day of evil, caused the heavens to pour down upon them such a deluge that hundreds were swept into the well and battered to death on its jagged, rocky sides or drowned in its depths.

Others fled, to escape the wrath of the gods, but few reached the shelter of their homes.

When the terrible storm was at last over, only a few houses were left and a decimated population. The big zac nicte tree, which had blossomed for the first time when Ix-Lol-Nicte was born, now lay upon the ground, its gray trunk split and torn and its lovely fragrant blossoms bruised and crushed. But if one had looked closely he might have seen that the heart of the tree had been eaten out by a big, dark worm with stripes of brilliant red, red and vivid as the carmine berries on the breast of Ix-Ek.

The old man—soothsayer, story-teller, wizard of Zactun—also told the legend of Xkan-xoc, the forest bird, choosing his words carefully, with long waits between puffs of his husk-wrapped cigarette; and the measured cadence of his voice, together with the white magic of midnight moonlight, made his stories live and clothed his legendary characters with flesh and blood for the enchanted eyes of the listener.

XKAN-XOC, THE FOREST BIRD

There was a time when the wrath of the Rain God was over the land. He had sent the dry wind to work his will and all the country of the Mayas lay parching and dying. The leaves of vines and shrubs and trees first twisted and contorted in their agony of thirst and then crumbled away. The black earth turned to dust, blown about by the winds, and the red earth was baked as hard as the tiles in the roadway. The old men, wise with the knowledge of years and many famines, and whose ears knew the inner meaning of small sounds which most people think insignificant, said that the deep earth cried out and groaned in its hot anguish.

The ah-kin, priest of the Rain God, who lived at the verge of the Sacred Well, told his people that the mighty God of Rain was displeased because more copal incense had not been burned at his shrine, and that he must be appeased at once or no corn, no beans, no peppers would grow in the whole land.

A new maid must be sent to him, one so beautiful that he would wish to keep her as his bride and his gratitude would be shown by gentle and frequent rains that would revive the dying maize. The mortal messenger must be the loveliest virgin in all the country, without a flaw, absolutely without the slightest blemish on any part of her body. Her voice must be as sweet as that of Xkoke, the wood-thrush, so that the sound of it as she spoke to the god in behalf of her people might be as music to his ears.

The great and wise men met in council,—the king, the lords, the priests, the mighty warriors,—and picked men, hundreds of them, were sent to comb the country-side and the cities and the depths of the forest to find a fitting bride for the god. There was not a maid in Yucatan or even in lands far to the south upon whose face one or another of these ambassadors would not look. And only a few maidens, those of surpassing beauty, would be sent to the sacred city for the ceremony of the choosing.

From the humble house of her father in the depths of the Tiger Forest came Xkan-xoc, carried swiftly on a flower-decked litter, borne by strong young men, the sons of nobles. Garlands of flowers and sweet-scented herbs shaded her from the heat of the sun. Her thirst was quenched with the milk of new corn and wild honey. Her food was especially prepared by the vestal virgins of the temple.

And upon the day of the choosing her pic and huipile were made of shining, soft tree-cotton, lustrous as the wings of a sea-bird, that clung to her slender gracefulness. Glinting green stones hung pendent from her ears, while about the lovely slender column of her neck were entwined many small fretted chains of gleaming sun metal. Her eyes were big and dark like those of a fawn; her voice as soft and sweet as the dawn breeze swaying the fronds of the cocoyal palm or ruffling the petals of the hibiscus flower. Tiny sandals of softest doeskin covered her feet as she was led to the temple to be prepared for the sacrifice.

The high priest donned his vestments, the lesser priests brought rich votive offerings and baskets of incense, both copal and rubber. The king and his guard of noble hul-che bearers took their stations and all the people of the city gathered at the edge of the Well.

The first dulcet tones of the sacred flute were heard from the temple of Kukul Can at the far end of the Sacred Way and the shrilling of the sacred whistles joined with the flutes and the reverberating boom of the tunkul, the sacred drum. A sudden silence, a strange ominous stillness—then was heard from the depths of the temple the wailing of all the white-robed virgins. And swiftly the news traveled. Xkan-xoc cannot be sent as the messenger to the Rain God, for, in preparing her for the ceremony, the vestal virgins have discovered a tiny mole or birthmark upon her breast, which had been overlooked previously.

The ceremony stopped and the people dispersed with heavy hearts, for Xkan-xoc might not be sent to the Rain God, and beside her all other beautiful maidens seemed unlovely. Another maid must be selected for the sacrifice and how might the Rain God be moved by a bride, however lovely, after seeing the divinely fair Xkan-xoc?