Читать книгу In Indian Mexico (1908) - Frederick Starr - Страница 8

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While we stood in the Puebla station, waiting for the train to be made ready, we noticed a priest, who was buying his ticket at the office. On boarding the train, we saw nothing of him, as he had entered another car. Soon after we started, Herman made his usual trip of inspection through the train, and on his return told me that a learned priest was in the second-class coach, and that I ought to know him. As I paid no great attention to his suggestion, he soon deserted me for his priestly friend, but presently returned and renewed his advice. He told me this priest was no common man; that he was an ardent archaeologist; that he not only collected relics, but made full notes and diagrams of all his investigations; that he cared for live Indians also, and had made a great collection of dress, weapons, and tools, among Guatemalan tribes. When I even yet showed no intention of hurrying in to visit his new acquaintance, the boy said: "You must come in to see him, for I promised him you would, and you ought not to prove me to be a liar."

This appeal proved effectual and I soon called upon the priestly archaeologist in the other car. He was an interesting man. By birth a German, he spoke excellent English; born of Protestant parents and reared in their faith, in early manhood be became a Catholic; renounced by his parents and left without support, he was befriended by Jesuits and determined to become a priest. Entering the ministry at twenty-nine years of age, he was sent as mission priest to foreign lands. He had lived in California, Utah, and Nevada; he had labored in Ecuador, Panama, and Guatemala. His interest in archaeology, kindled in the Southwest, continued in his later fields of labor. Waxing confidential he said: "I am a priest first, because I must live, but it does not interfere much with my archaeology." For years past the padre has lived in Guatemala, where he had charge of one of the largest parishes in that Republic, with some eighteen thousand full-blood indians in his charge. Like most Germans a linguist, the padre spoke German, French, Spanish, English, and Quiche, the most important indian speech of Guatemala. In his parish, he so arranged his work as to leave most of his time free for investigation. Twice a week he had baptisms, on Thursday and Sunday; these duties on Thursday took but a couple of hours, leaving the rest of the day free; Sundays, of course, were lost, but not completely, for the indians often then told him of new localities, where diggings might be undertaken. Always when digging into ancient mounds and graves, he had his horse near by ready for mounting, and his oil and other necessaries at hand, in case he should be summoned to the bedside of the dying. As the indians always knew where to look for him, no time was lost.

Not only was the padre an archaeologist: he also gathered plants, birds, and insects. When he was leaving Germany, his nephew, the ten-year-old child of his sister, wished to accompany him. The parents refused their permission, but the uncle gave the boy some money, and they met each other in Frankfort and started on their journey. They have been together ever since. The padre depends completely on the younger man, whom he has fashioned to his mind. The plants, birdskins, and insects have supplied a steady income. The plants cost labor; insects were easier to get. All the indian boys in the parish were supplied with poison-bottles and set to work; a stock of prints of saints, beads, medals, and crucifixes was doled out to the little collectors, according to the value of their trophies. To allay the suspicions of his parishioners, the padre announced that he used the insects in making medicines. One Sunday a pious old indian woman brought to church a great beetle, which she had caught in her corn field four days before; during that time it had been tied by a string to her bed's leg; she received a medal. One day a man brought a bag containing some five hundred living insects; on opening it, they all escaped into the house, causing a lively time for their recapture.

The nephew, Ernst, had made a collection of eleven hundred skins of Guatemalan birds. The padre and he have supplied specimens to many of the great museums of the world, but the choicest things have never been permitted to leave their hands.

The padre is a great success at getting into trouble. He fled from Ecuador on account of political difficulties; his stay in Guatemala is the longest he has ever made in one place. During his eight years there he was successful; but he finally antagonized the government, was arrested, and thrown into jail. He succeeded in escaping, fled to Salvador, and from there made his way to the United States, where, for a little time, he worked, unhappily, at San Antonio, Texas. A short time since, the Archbishop of Oaxaca was in Texas, met the padre, and promised him an appointment in his diocese. The padre was now on his way to Oaxaca to see the prelate and receive his charge.

He was full of hope for a happy future. When he learned that we were bound for the ruins of Mitla, he was fired with a desire to accompany us. At Oaxaca we separated, going to different hotels. My party was counting upon the company of Mr. Lucius Smith, as interpreter and companion, to the ruins, but we were behind our appointment and he had gone upon another expedition. This delighted the padre, who saw a new light upon the path of duty. The archbishop had received him cordially, and had given him a parish, although less than a day had passed since his arrival. When the padre knew of our disappointment, he hastened to his prelate, told him that an eminent American archaeologist, with a party of four, wished to visit Mitla, but had no interpreter; might he not accompany these worthy gentlemen, in some way serving mother church by doing so? So strong was his appeal, that he was deputed to say mass at Mitla Sunday, starting for his new parish of Chila on the Monday following.

In the heavy, lumbering coach we left next morning, Saturday, for Mitla. The road, usually deep with dust, was in fair condition on account of recent rains. We arrived in the early afternoon and at once betook ourselves to the ruins. At the curacy, we presented the archbishop's letter to the indian cura, who turned it over once or twice, then asked the padre to read it, as his eyes were bad. While the reading proceeded, the old man listened with wonder, and then exclaimed, "What a learned man you are to read like that!" As we left, the padre expressed his feelings at the comeliness of the old priest's indian housekeeper, at the number of her children, at the suspicious wideness of his bed, and at his ignorance, in wearing a ring, for all the world just like a bishop's. But he soon forgot his pious irritation amid those marvelous ruins of past grandeur. In our early ramble he lost no opportunity to tell the indians that he would repeat mass on the morrow at seven, and that they should make a special effort to be present.

WITH THE PADRE IN MITLA RUINS

THE PADRE, ERNST AND THE DOGS

But as we wandered from one to another of the ancient buildings, the thought of the morrow's duty lost its sweetness. He several times remarked that it was a great pity to lose any of our precious morning hours in saying mass, when there were ruins of such interest to be seen. These complaints gained in force and frequency as evening approached, until finally, as we sat at supper, he announced his decision to say mass before daybreak; he would call me at five o'clock, we would go directly to the church, we would be through service before six, would take our morning's coffee immediately after, and then would have quite a piece of the morning left for the ruins, before the coach should leave for Oaxaca.

The plan was carried out in detail. At five we were called from our beds by the anxious padre. Herman and I were the only members of the party who were sufficiently devout to care to hear mass so early. With the padre, we stumbled in the darkness up to the church, where we roused the old woman who kept the key and the boy who rang the bell. The vestments were produced, the padre hastily robed, and the bell rung; the padre was evidently irritated at the absence of a congregation, as he showed by the rapid and careless way in which he repeated the first part of the service. When, however, at the Credo, he turned and saw that several poor indians had quietly crept in, a change came over him; his tone became fuller, his manner more dignified, and the service itself more impressive and decorous. Still, we were through long before six, and throwing off his vestments, which he left the boy to put away, the padre seized me by the arm, and we hastened down the hill to our morning's coffee. On the way we met a number of indians on their way to mass, whom the padre sternly rebuked for their laziness and want of devotion. Immediately after coffee, we were among the ruins.

The padre had kindly arranged for my presentation to his Grace, Archbishop Gillow. Reaching Oaxaca late on Sunday afternoon, we called at the Palace. His Grace is a man of good presence, with a face of some strength and a courteous and gracious manner. He appeared to be about fifty-five years of age. After the padre had knelt and kissed the ring, the archbishop invited us to be seated, expressed an interest in our trip to Mitla, hoping that it had proved successful. He then spoke at some length in regard to his diocese. He emphasized its diversity in climate and productions, the wide range of its plant life, the great number of indian tribes which occupied it, the Babel of tongues within it, its vast mineral wealth. A Mexican by birth, the archbishop is, in part, of English blood and was educated, as a boy, in England. He speaks English easily and well. He showed us many curious and interesting things. Among these was a cylindrical, box-like figure of a rain-god, which was found by a priest upon his arrival at the Mixe Indian village of Mixistlan.[A] It was in the village church, at the high altar where it shared worship with the virgin and the crucifix. The archbishop himself, in his description of the incident, used the word latria. We were also shown a little cross, which stood upon the archbishop's writing-table, made in part from a fragment of that miraculous cross, which was found by Sir Francis Drake, upon the west coast. That "terrible fanatic" tried to destroy it, according to a well-known story. The cross was found standing when the Spaniards first arrived and is commonly attributed to St. Thomas. Sir Francis upon seeing this emblem of a hated faith, first gave orders to hew it down with axes; but axes were not sharp enough to harm it. Fires were then kindled to burn it, but had no effect. Ropes were attached to it and many men were set to drag it from the sand; but all their efforts could not move it. So it was left standing, and from that time became an object of especial veneration. Time, however, destroys all things. People were constantly breaking off bits of the sacred emblem for relics until so little was left of the trunk near the ground that it was deemed necessary to remove the cross. The diggers were surprised to find that it had never set more than a foot into the sand. This shows the greatness of the miracle.

[A] Survivals of Paganism in Mexico. The Open Court. 1899.

The padre had been assigned to the parish of Chila, a great indian town, near Tehuacan. Early the next morning he left for his new home.

Not only did the padre, while in Oaxaca, urge us to call upon him in his new parish; after he was settled, he renewed his invitation. So we started for Chila. We had been in the tierra caliente, at Cordoba. From there we went by rail to Esperanza, from which uninteresting town we took a street-car line, forty-two miles long, to Tehuacan. This saved us time, distance, and money, and gave us a brand-new experience. There were three coaches on our train, first-, second-, and third-class. When buying tickets we struck acquaintance with a Syrian peddler. Three of these were travelling together; one of them spoke a little English, being proficient in profanity. He likes the United States, per se, and does not like Mexico; but he says the latter is the better for trade. "In the United States, you sell maybe fifteen, twenty-five, fifty cents a day; here ten, fifteen, twenty-five dollars." The trip lasted three hours and involved three changes of mules at stations, where we found all the excitement and bustle of a true railroad station.

The country was, at first, rolling, with a sparse growth of yuccas, many of which were exceptionally large and fine. On the hills were occasional haciendas. This broken district was succeeded by a genuine desert, covered with fine dust, which rose, as we rode, in suffocating clouds. Here the valley began to close in upon us and its slopes were sprinkled with great cushion cactuses in strange and grotesque forms. After this desert gorge, we came out into a more open and more fertile district extending to Tehuacan. Even this, however, was dry and sunburned.

Our party numbered four. We had written and telegraphed to the padre and expected that he, or Ernst, would meet us in Tehuacan. Neither was there. No one seemed to know just how far it was to Chila. Replies to our inquiries ranged from five to ten leagues.[B] Looking for some mode of conveyance, we refused a coach, offered at fifteen pesos, as the price seemed high. Hunting horses, we found four, which with a foot mozo to bring them back, would cost twenty pesos. Telling the owner that we were not buying horses, but merely renting, we returned to the proprietor of the coach and stated that we would take it, though his price was high, and that he should send it without delay to the railroad station, where our companions were waiting. Upon this the owner of the coach pretended that he had not understood that there were four of us (though we had plainly so informed him); his price was for two. If we were four, he must have forty pesos. A fair price here might be eight pesos for the coach, or four for horses. So we told the coach owner that we would walk to Chila, rather than submit to such extortion. This amused him greatly and he made some facetious observations, which determined me to actually perform the trip on foot. Returning to the railroad station, where two of the party were waiting, I announced my intention of walking to Chila; as the way was long and the sand heavy and the padre's silence and non-appearance boded no great hospitality in welcome, I directed the rest to remain comfortably at Tehuacan until my return on the next day. Herman, however, refused the proposition; my scheme was dangerous; for me to go alone, at night, over a strange road, to Chila was foolhardy; he should accompany me to protect me. Consenting that he should accompany, we began to seek a mozo, as guide to Chila. With difficulty, and some loss of time, one was found who would undertake the business for two pesos. In vain a Jew peddler standing by and the station agent remonstrated with the man; two pesos was a full week's wages; it was ridiculous to demand such a price for guiding two foot travellers to Chila. He admitted that two pesos might be a week's wages; but he did not have to go to Chila and if we wanted him to do so we must pay his price. We capitulated, the station agent loaned us a revolver, we left our friends behind us and started on our journey. It was now dark. In a mysterious voice, our guide said we must go first to his house; there he secured his serape and a heavy club. As we left his house he feared we must be hungry and indicated a bread-shop; we purchased and all three ate as we walked; a moment later he suggested that we would need cigarros of course, and a stock of these were added, at our expense. Then, at last, we came down to business.

[B] The Mexican league is 2.7 miles.

Plainly our guide did not enjoy his task. Shortly after we started, the moon rose and, from its shining full on the light sand, it was almost as bright as day. We were in single file, our guide, Herman, and I. At sight of every bush or indistinct object, our guide clutched his club and crossed himself, as he mumbled a prayer. When we met anyone, we kept strictly to our side of the road, they to theirs, and, in passing, barely exchanged a word of greeting. The timidity and terror of our guide increased as we advanced, until I concluded to be prepared for any emergency and carried the revolver in my hand, instead of in my pocket. Mile after mile we trudged along through the heavy sand, into which we sunk so far that our low shoes repeatedly became filled and we had to stop to take them off and empty them. We passed through San Pablo, left the Hacienda of San Andres to one hand, and, finally, at 10:10 found ourselves in the great indian town of San Gabriel de Chila. It was much larger than we had anticipated and almost purely indian. We walked through a considerable portion of the town before we reached the plaza, the church, and the curato. Our journey had probably been one of fifteen miles. All was dark at the curato; an indian was sleeping in the corridor, but he was a traveller and gave us no information on being awakened. At our third or fourth pounding upon the door, Ernst appeared at the window; on learning who we were he hastened to let us in. He reported trouble in the camp; the padre had gone hastily to Oaxaca to see the archbishop; our telegram had not been received; our letter came that morning. We found that things were packed ready for removal. A good supper was soon ready, but while it was being prepared we took a cool bath, by moonlight, in the trough bath-tub out in the patio.

In the morning we heard the full story. Formerly there was here a priest, who devoted his whole life to this parish, growing old in its service; in his old age he was pensioned, with sixty pesos monthly from the parish receipts. The priest who succeeded him, coming something over three years ago, was a much younger man. During his three years of service, he was continually grumbling; the work was hard, his health was bad at Chila, the heat was intolerable; he wished another parish. The archbishop finally took him at his word; without warning he transferred him to another parish, and sent our friend, the archaeologist here, in his place. This did not suit the man relieved; Chila itself was much to his liking; what he really wanted was to be relieved from the support of his superannuated predecessor. No sooner was he transferred than he began to look with longing on his former charge and to make a vigorous effort to regain it. Accusations were hurried to Oaxaca; the new priest was pursuing agriculture as a means of profit; he had not paid the dues to the aged priest; he had himself admitted to parishioners that his object in coming to Chila was more to study antiquities and natural history than to preach the gospel. It is claimed that, immediately on receiving this communication, the archbishop sent a peremptory letter to the padre demanding an explanation; this letter, Ernst said, never was delivered, hence no explanation was sent. The prelate acted promptly; orders were sent to our friend to give up the parish to the former priest, who appeared on the scene to receive his charge. Then, and then only, it is said the delayed letter came to light. The padre had left, at once, for Oaxaca and his archbishop. From there he sent messages by telegraph: "Pack up, and come to Tehuacan;" "Wait until you hear further." A third came the morning we were there: "Pack up; meet me at Tehuacan, ready to go to a new parish."

It was really sad to look about the new home, to which he had come with such buoyant hopes and of which he had been so soon dispossessed. When he arrived, the place was neglected and filthy; two whole days were necessary to clean it. It had contained practically no furniture; he had made it look like a place in which to live. He had improved and beautified its surroundings. He had planted a little corn and set out some young banana trees; he had gathered many species of cactus from the neighboring hills and had built up a fine bed of the strange plants in his patio. Passionately fond of pets, he had two magnificent greyhounds and a pug—all brought from Guatemala—a black collie, doves, hens and turkeys on the place. And now, he was again without a home and his time, money, and labor were lost.

Ernst accompanied us to Tehuacan. We rented three horses and a man on foot went with us to bring them back to the village. And for the whole we paid the regular price of eighty-seven centavos—twenty-five each for the animals, and twelve centavos for the man—something less than the twenty pesos demanded the day before at Tehuacan.