They had the Huitzilopochtli ceremony at night, in the
wide yard in front of the church. The guard of Huitzilopochtli,
in sarapes of black, red and yellow stripes, striped
like tigers or wasps, stood holding torches of blazing ocote.
A tall bonfire was built, but unkindled, in the centre of
the yard.
In the towers where the bells had been, fires were blazing
and the heavy drum of Huitzilopochtli went rolling its deep,
sinister notes. It had been sounding all the while since the
sun went down.
The crowd gathered under the trees, outside the gates
in front of the church. The church doors were closed.
There was a bang of four firework cannons exploding
simultaneously, then four rockets shot up into the sky,
leaning in the four directions, and exploding in showers of
red, green, white and yellow.
The church doors opened, and Cipriano appeared, in his
brilliant sarape of Huitzilopochtli, and with three green
parrot feathers erect on his brow. He was carrying a torch.
He stooped and lit the big bonfire, then plucked out four
blazing brands, and tossed them to four of his men, who
stood waiting, naked save for their black breech-cloths.
The men caught the brands as they flew, and ran in the
four directions, to kindle the four bonfires that waited, one
in each corner of the yard.
The guard had taken off their blankets and blouses, and
were naked to the red sash. The lighter drum began to beat
for the dance, and the dance began, the half-naked men
throwing their blazing torches whirling in the air, catching
them as they came down, dancing all the while. Cipriano,
in the centre, threw up brand after brand from the fire.
Now that he was stripped of his blanket, his body was
seen painted in horizontal bars of red and black, while from
his mouth went a thin green line, and from his eyes a band
of yellow.
The five fires, built hollow of little towers of ocote faggots,
sent pure flame in a rush up to the dark sky, illuminating
the dancing men, who sang in deep voices as they danced.
The fires rushed rapidly upwards in flame. The drum
beat without ceasing. And the men of Huitzilopochtli
danced on, like demons. Meanwhile the crowd sat in the
old Indian silence, their black eyes glittering in the firelight.
And gradually the fires began to die down, the white façade
of the church, that had danced also to the yellow flames,
began to go bluish above, merging into the night, rose-coloured
below, behind the dark shapes that danced to the
sinking fires.
Suddenly the dance ceased, the men threw their sarapes
around them, and sat down. Little ocote fires upon the
cane tripods flickered here and there, in a silence that
lasted for some minutes. Then the drum sounded, and a
man began to sing, in a clear, defiant voice, the First Song
of Huitzilopochtli:
The song came to an end. There was a pause. Then
all the men of Huitzilopochtli took it up again, changing
the “I” into “He.”
The big fires had all died down. Only the little flames
on the tripods lit up the scene with a ruddy glow. The
guard withdrew to the outer wall of the yard, holding
bayonets erect. The big drum was going alone, slowly.
The yard was now a clear space, with the glowing red
heaps of the bonfires, and the ocote flames flapping. And
now was seen a platform erected against the white wall of
the church.
In the silence the big doors of the church opened, and
Cipriano came out, in his bright sarape, holding in his hand
a bunch of black leaves, or feathers, and with a tuft of
scarlet feathers, black-tipped, rising from the back of his
head. He mounted the platform and stood facing the
crowd, the light of a torch on his face and on the brilliant
feathers that rose like flames from the back of his head.
After him came a strange procession: a peon in floppy
white clothes, led prisoner between two of the guards of
Huitzilopochtli: who wore their sarapes with red and black
and yellow and white and green stripes: then another peon
prisoner: then another: in all, five, the fifth one tall, limping,
and with a red cross painted on the breast of his white
jacket. Last of all came a woman-prisoner, likewise between
two guards, her hair flowing loose, over a red tunic.
They mounted the platform. The peons, prisoners, were
placed in a row, their guards behind them. The limping
peon was apart, with his two guards behind him: the woman
again was apart, her two guards behind her.
The big drum ceased, and a bugle rang out, a long,
loud triumphant note, repeated three times. Then the
kettle-drums, or the small tom-toms like kettle-drums,
rattled fierce as hail.
Cipriano lifted his hand, and there was silence.
Out of the silence he began to speak, in his short, martial
sentences:
The drums began to beat and the singer began to sing
clear and pure:
The Song of the Grey Dog.
The song ceased, and there was silence. Then Cipriano
beckoned to the men to bring forward the peon with the
black cross painted on his front and back. He limped
forward.
Cipriano: “What man is that, limping?”
Guards: “It is Guillermo, overseer of Don Ramón, who
betrayed Don Ramón, his master.”
Cipriano: “Why does he limp?”
Guards: “He fell from the window on to the rocks.”
Cipriano: “What made him wish to betray his master?”
Guards: “His heart is a grey dog, and a woman, a grey
bitch, enticed him forth.”
Cipriano: “What woman enticed the grey dog forth?”
The guards came forward with the woman.
Guards: “This woman, Maruca, my Lord, with the grey
bitch heart.”
Cipriano: “Is it she, indeed?”
Guards: “It is she.”
Cipriano: “The grey dog, and the grey bitch, we kill, for
their mouths are yellow with poison? Is it well,
men of Huitzilopochtli?”
Guards: “It is very well, my Lord.”
The guards stripped the peon Guillermo of his white
clothes, leaving him naked, in a grey loin-cloth, with a grey-white
cross painted on his naked breast. The woman, too,
had a grey-white cross painted on her body. She stood
in a short petticoat of grey wool.
Cipriano: “The grey dog, and the grey bitch shall run no
more about the world. We will bury their bodies in
quick-lime, till their souls are eaten, and their bodies,
and nothing is left. For lime is the thirsty bone that
swallows even a soul and is not slaked.—Bind them
with the grey cords, put ash on their heads.”
The guards quickly obeyed. The prisoners, ash-grey,
gazed with black, glittering eyes, making not a sound. A
guard stood behind each of them. Cipriano gave a sign,
and quick as lightning the guards had got the throats of the
two victims in a grey cloth, and with a sharp jerk had
broken their necks, lifting them backwards in one movement.
The grey cloths they tied hard and tight round the
throats, laying the twitching bodies on the floor.
Cipriano turned to the crowd:
Then he turned once more, to the other, imprisoned peons.
Cipriano: “Who are these four?”
Guards: “Four who came to kill Don Ramón.”
Cipriano: “Four men, against one man?”
Guards: “They were more than four, my Lord.”
Cipriano: “When many men come against one, what is
the name of the many?”
Guards: “Cowards, my Lord.”
Cipriano: “Cowards it is. They are less than men. Men
that are less than men are not good enough for the
light of the sun. If men that are men will live, men
that are less than men must be put away, lest they
multiply too much. Men that are more than men
have the judgment of men that are less than men.
Shall they die?”
Guards: “They shall surely die, my Lord.”
Cipriano: “Yet my hand has touched the hand of Quetzalcoatl,
and among the black leaves one sprung
green, with the colour of Malintzi.”
An attendant came and lifted Cipriano’s sarape over his
head, leaving his body bare to the waist. The guards likewise
took off their sarapes.
Cipriano lifted up his fist, in which he held a little tuft
of black feathers, or leaves.
Then he said slowly:
Cipriano turned to the four peons. He held out his fist
with the four black twigs, to the first. This first one, a
little man, peered at the leaves curiously.
“There is no green one,” he said sceptically.
“Good!” said Cipriano. “Then receive a black.”
And he handed him a black leaf.
“I knew it,” said the man, and he threw the leaf away
with contempt and defiance.
The second man drew a black leaf. He stood gazing at
it, as if fascinated, turning it round.
The third man drew a leaf whose lower half was green.
“See!” said Cipriano. “The green leaf of Malintzi!”
And he handed the last black leaf to the last man.
“Have I got to die?” said the last man.
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to die, Patrón.”
“You played with death, and it has sprung upon you.”
The eyes of the three men were blindfolded with black
cloths, their blouses and pantaloons were taken away.
Cipriano took a bright, thin dagger.
“The Lords of Life are Masters of Death,” he said in
a loud, clear voice.
And swift as lightning he stabbed the blindfolded men
to the heart, with three swift, heavy stabs. Then he
lifted the red dagger and threw it down.
“The Lords of Life are Masters of Death,” he repeated.
The guards lifted the bleeding bodies one by one, and
carried them into the church. There remained only the
one prisoner, with the green leaf.
“Put the green leaf of Malintzi between his brows; for
Malintzi pardons once, and no more,” said Cipriano.
“Yes, my Lord!” replied the guard.
And they led the man away into the church.
Cipriano followed, the last of his guard after him.
In a few minutes the drums began to beat and men came
slowly streaming into the church. Women were not
admitted. All the interior was hung with red and black
banners. At the side of the chancel was a new idol: a
heavy, seated figure of Huitzilopochtli, done in black lava
stone. And round him burned twelve red candles. The
idol held the bunch of black strips, or leaves in his hand.
And at his feet lay the five dead bodies.
The fire on the altar was flickering high, to the dark
statue of Quetzalcoatl. On his little throne Ramón sat,
wearing his blue and white colours of Quetzalcoatl. There
was another corresponding throne next him, but it was
empty. Six of the guard of Quetzalcoatl stood by Ramón:
but Huitzilopochtli’s side of the chancel was empty save
for the dead.
The hard drums of Huitzilopochtli were beating incessantly
outside, with a noise like madness. Inside was
the soft roll of the drum of Quetzalcoatl. And the men
from the crowd outside thronged slowly in, between the
guard of Quetzalcoatl.
A flute sounded the summons to close the doors. The
drums of Quetzalcoatl ceased, and from the towers was
heard again the wild bugle of Huitzilopochtli.
Then down the centre of the church, in silence, barefoot,
came the procession of Huitzilopochtli, naked save for the
black loin-cloths and the paint, and the scarlet feathers of
the head-dresses. Cipriano had his face painted with a
white jaw, a thin band of green stretched from his mouth,
a band of black across his nose, yellow from his eyes, and
scarlet on his brow. One green feather rose from his forehead,
and behind his head a beautiful head-dress of scarlet
feathers. A band of red was painted round his breast,
yellow round his middle. The rest was ash-grey.
After him came his guard, their faces red, black and
white, their bodies painted as Cipriano’s, and a scarlet
feather rising from the back of their head. The hard, dry
drum of Huitzilopochtli beat monotonously.
As the Living Huitzilopochtli came near the altar steps,
the Living Quetzalcoatl rose and came to meet him. The
two saluted, each covering his eyes with his left hand for
a moment, then touching fingers with the right hand.
Cipriano stood before the statue of Huitzilopochtli,
dipped his hand in a stone bowl, and giving the loud cry
or whoop of Huitzilopochtli, lifted up his red hand. His
guard uttered the loud cry, and quickly filed past, each
man dipping his hand and raising his wet, red fist. The
hard drums of Huitzilopochtli rattled like madness in the
church, then fell suddenly silent.
Ramón: “Why is your hand red, Huitzilopochtli, my
brother?”
Cipriano: “It is the blood of the treacherous, Oh Quetzalcoatl.”
Ramón: “What have they betrayed?”
Cipriano: “The yellow sun and the heart of darkness;
the hearts of men, and the buds of women. While
they lived, the Morning Star could not be seen.”
Ramón: “And are they verily dead?”
Cipriano: “Verily dead, my Lord.”
Ramón: “Their blood is shed?”
Cipriano: “Yes, my Lord, save that the grey dogs shed
no blood. Two died the bloodless death of the grey
dogs, three died in blood.”
Ramón: “Give me the blood of the three, my brother
Huitzilopochtli, to sprinkle the fire.”
Cipriano brought the stone bowl, and the little bunch
of black leaves from Huitzilopochtli’s idol. Ramón slowly,
gently, sprinkled a little blood on the fire, with the black
leaves.
He gave back the bowl and the leaves to Huitzilopochtli,
who placed them by the black idol.
Ramón: “Thou who didst take the lives of the three,
Huitzilopochtli, my brother, what wilt thou do with
the souls?”
Cipriano: “Even give them to thee, my Lord, Quetzalcoatl,
my Lord of the Morning Star.”
Ramón: “Yea, give them to me and I will wrap them in
my breath and send them the longest journey, to
the sleep and the far awakening.”
Cipriano: “My Lord is lord of two ways.”
The naked, painted guard of Huitzilopochtli came and
carried the dead bodies of the three stabbed men, carried
them on red biers, and laid them at the foot of the Quetzalcoatl
statue.
Ramón: “So, there is a long way to go, past the sun to
the gate of the Morning Star. And if the sun is
angry he strikes swifter than a jaguar, and the whirr
of the winds is like an angry eagle, and the upper
waters strike in wrath like silver-coloured snakes.
Ah, three souls, make peace now with the sun and
winds and waters, and go in courage, with the breath
of Quetzalcoatl around you like a cloak. Fear not
and shrink not and fail not; but come to the end of
the longest journey, and let the fountain cover your
face. So shall all at length be made new.”
When he had spoken to the dead, Ramón took incense
and threw it on the fire, so clouds of blue smoke arose.
Then with a censer he swung the blue smoke over the dead.
Then he unfolded three blue cloths and covered the dead.
Then the guards of Quetzalcoatl lifted the biers, and the
flute of Quetzalcoatl sounded.
“Salute the Morning Star!” cried Ramón, turning to
the light beyond the statue of Quetzalcoatl, and throwing
up his right arm in the Quetzalcoatl prayer. Every man
turned to the light and threw up his arm in the passion.
And the silence of the Morning Star filled the church.
The drum of Quetzalcoatl sounded: the guards slowly
moved away with the three blue-wrapped dead.
Then came the voice of the Living Huitzilopochtli:
“Upon the dead grey dogs the face of Quetzalcoatl cannot
look. Upon the corpses of grey dogs rises no Morning
Star. But the fire of corpses shall consume them.”
There was a sharp rattle of the dry drums of Huitzilopochtli.
Ramón remained with his back to the church, his
arm upraised to the Morning Star. And the guard of
Huitzilopochtli lifted the strangled bodies, laid them on
biers, covered them with grey cloths, and bore them away.
The bugle of Huitzilopochtli sounded.
Cipriano: “The dead are on their way. Quetzalcoatl
helps them on the longest journey.—But the grey dogs
sleep within the quick-lime, in the slow corpse-fire.—It
is finished.”
Ramón dropped his arm and turned to the church. All
men dropped their hands. The soft drums of Quetzalcoatl
sounded, mingling with the hard drums of Huitzilopochtli.
Then both guards began to sing together:
Huitzilopochtli’s Watch.
At the beginning of each stanza, the Guard of Huitzilopochtli
struck their left palm with their scarlet right fist,
and the drums gave a great crash, a terrific splash of noise.
When the song ended, the drums gradually died down, like
subsiding thunder, leaving the hearts of men re-echoing.
Ramón: “Why is your hand so red, Huitzilopochtli?”
Cipriano: “With blood of slain men, Brother.”
Ramón: “Must it always be red?”
Cipriano: “Till green-robed Malintzi brings her water-bowl.”
The bugle and the flute both sounded. The guard of
Huitzilopochtli put out the red candles, one by one, the
guard of Quetzalcoatl extinguished the blue candles. The
church was dark, save for the small, but fierce blue-white
light beyond the Quetzalcoatl statue, and the red smouldering
on the altar.
Ramón began slowly to speak:
The church was utterly still, all men standing with a
hand pressed over their eyes.
Till there was one note of a silver gong, and the green
candles of Malintzi were being lighted in the altar place.—Ramón’s
voice was heard again:
