CHAPTER I
The Tree
AS though impelled my some mysterious power, the slender form glides through the dense primeval forest of the lowlands of Yucatan. With sure step the bare foot, protected only by soft sandals of untanned leather, moves from root to root. The slender brown hand bends aside the flowery garlands of lianas and the luxuriant parasitic growths. The pliant body of the dark-skinned woman slips easily through the labyrinth of creepers, ferns as high as trees, and perfumed orchids of many hues.
The rays of the sun, descending vertically at the Tropic of Cancer, find it hard to penetrate the dense leafy roof of the giant trees, countless ages old. A dull, greenish twilight lies beneath the mighty arboreal vault of nature, untouched by human hand. Moist air as in a hothouse rises from the never entirely dry ground of the lush forest, which sends forth the miasmas of fever. The motionless air is filled with an oppressive fragrance by the multitude of tropical flowers reaching from the luxuriant moss to the dome formed by the interlaced tree-tops.
The woman has no eyes for the splendor about her. Without looking around she glides and climbs on. She seems to know the way perfectly, for she does not pause even an instant to consider her course.
Then bright daylight appears through the less crowded treetops. Before her is still a hedge of thorny blackberries to surmount, after which the primeval forest recedes on both sides. A wide clearing flooded with dazzling sunlight comes to view, strewn with fragments of white stone, which shimmer in the intense heat.
Here are the ruins of Uxmal, the sunken city of folklore, in the primeval forest of Mexico...There is a peculiar charm in these silent memorials of bygone civilizations—the high temple pyramids with the broad stone steps, the immense altars, and the richly sculptured columns. It is a sunken world, grown over with waving grass and gay flowers.
In this rich city artists once wielded the chisel and the brush, beauty and ambition celebrated their triumphs, and warriors and statesmen directed destinies. Children were born, youth went a-wooing, and pleasure and pain wove the eternal fabric of life—but now the glory is vanished, and the men with all their hopes and desires are dust.
Only their mighty works outlive the makers and tell us of that dim prehistoric time. These still defy the winds of the ages. But the hour will come for them also, when they will again crumble into the dust of which they are made.
The altars are split asunder. Gigantic roots penetrate the walls and force out the blocks. Mighty trees of the primeval forest encircle the columns and lift the heavy masses from their pedestals with an irresistible force. Creepers embrace the architraves, send them crashing down from the cornices, and hold them fast to the ground with strong arms that clutch like an octopus.
Cyclopes seem to have piled up the rough blocks of stone. Evaporating water, burrowing lizards, and creeping plants are destroying the massive structures which seemed built for all eternity....
With heaving breast the slender woman pauses a moment at the edge of the wood to listen. Nothing stirs. There is deep silence in the ruins. Only the croaking and whistling of monkeys and parrots playing in the tree-tops breaks the deathly stillness of the city of ruins.
The brown figure starts. Was not that the sound of a distant call, echoing in the woods?
Glancing obliquely downward, she bends forward, holding her breath to listen...It must have been some mistake, perhaps the unusually loud blow of a woodpecker. No strange sound comes through the breath of the forest, blended of a hundred murmurs. Quickly she springs up, speeds over the stones, slips silently between the walls, a dark shadow at midday, like a ghost that cannot find repose in a thousand-year old grave.
At a hedge encircling the foot of a high step-pyramid, she stops.
Cautiously she parts the branches, mindful not to break a twig, which might betray the well guarded spot to intrusive eyes. And suddenly the woman has vanished, as though swallowed up by the earth—as though the ghost had returned to the grave. She is gone!
With a gentle rustle the bushes close. Nothing disturbs the peace of the enchanted city in this primeval forest.