By : H. Rider Haggard (1856 - 1925)
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PROLOGUE
DON IGNATIO
The circumstances under which the following pages come to be printed
are somewhat curious and worthy of record. Within the last few years a
certain English gentleman, whom we will call Jones, because it was not
his name, chanced to be employed as the manager of a mine not far from
the Usumacinto River, the upper reaches of which divide the Mexican
State of Chiapas from the Republic of Guatemala.
Now life at a mine in Chiapas, though doubtless it has some
compensations, does not altogether fulfil a European's ideal of
happiness. To begin with, the work is hard, desperately hard, and
though the climate is healthy enough among the mountains, there are
valleys where men may die of fever. Of sport, strictly speaking, there
is none, for the forests are too dense to hunt in with any comfort,
and, if they were not, the swarms of venomous insects of various
degree, that haunt them, would make this particular relaxation
impossible.
Society also, as we understand it, is conspicuous by its absence, and
should a man chance even to be married, he could not well bring his
wife into regions that are still very unsettled, across forest paths,
through rivers, and along the brinks of precipices, dangerous and
impassable enough to strike terror to the heart of the stoutest
traveller.
When Mr. Jones had dwelt for a year at the mines of La Concepcion, the
fact of his loneliness, and a desire for acquaintances more congenial
than the American clerk of the stores and his Indian labourers, came
home to him with some force. During the first months of his residence
he had attempted to make friends with the owners of some neighbouring
/fincas/ or farms. This attempt, however, he soon gave up in disgust,
for these men proved to be half-breeds of the lowest class, living in
an atmosphere of monotonous vice.
In this emergency, being a person of intelligence, Jones fell back
upon intellectual resources, and devoted himself, so far as his time
would allow, to the collection of antiquities, and to the study of
such of the numerous ruins of pre-Aztec cities and temples as lay
within his reach. The longer he pursued these researches, the more did
they fascinate his imagination. Therefore, when he chanced to hear
that, on the farther side of the mountain, at a /hacienda/ called
Santa Cruz, there dwelt an Indian, Don Ignatio by name, the owner of
the /hacienda/, who was reported to have more knowledge of the
/antiguos/, their history and relics, than anybody else in this part
of Mexico, he determined to visit him upon the first opportunity.
This, indeed, he would have done before, for Don Ignatio boasted an
excellent reputation, had it not been for the length of the journey to
his home. Now, however, the difficulty was lessened by an Indian who
offered to point out a practicable path over the mountain, which
brought the /hacienda/ of Santa Cruz to within a three-hours' ride on
mule-back from La Concepcion, in place of the ten hours that were
necessary to reach it by the more frequented road. Accordingly, one
day in the dry season, when work was slack at the mine, owing to the
water having fallen too low to turn the crushing-mill, Jones started.
This was on a Saturday, for on the Monday previous he had despatched a
runner to Don Ignatio announcing his intended visit, and received in
reply a most courteous and well-written letter, begging him to pass
the next Sunday at the /hacienda/, "where any English gentleman would
always be most welcome."
As he approached the /hacienda/, he was astonished to see the /façade/
of an enormous white stone building of a semi-Moorish style of
architecture, having towers and ornamented doorways at either end, and
a large dome rising from the centre of its flat roof. Riding through
the /milpas/, or corn-fields, and groves of cocoa and coffee bushes,
all in a perfect state of cultivation, which covered many acres on
every side of the building, Jones came to the gateway of a large
/patio/, or courtyard, where grew several gigantic /ceiba/ trees,
throwing their grateful shade over the mouth of a well. From under
these trees an Indian appeared, who evidently had been watching for
his arrival, and, taking the horse, informed him, with many
salutations, that the Señor Ignatio was at even-song with his people
in the chapel yonder, according to his habit, but that the prayers
would soon be finished.
Leaving his horse in charge of the Indian, Jones went to the chapel,
and, its great doors being open, he entered and sat down. So soon as
his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, he perceived that the
place was unusually beautiful, both in its proportions and its
decorations...
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