The Fair God; or, The Last of the 'Tzins: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico
by Lew Wallace · English · Gutenberg #43340 · 1,038,394 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Fair God; or, The Last of the 'Tzins: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico
Author: Lew Wallace
Illustrator: Eric Pape
Release date: July 28, 2013 [eBook #43340]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
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Transcriber's Note
This original of this text contained numerous punctuation errors
and several other obvious printer's errors. It also suffered from
the age of the volume, particularly near the margins, both left
and right. Wherever the correct characters could be reliably
confirmed, they have been corrected or restored.
Please consult the detailed notes at the end of the text for an
list of those issues, and their resolution, as well as any other
issues that arose during the preparation of this text.
The current format could not reproduce italics characters, which
were used to emphasize non-English words. Italics will be denoted
here with the underscore character as _italics_. The use of "small
capitals" was also not possible, and have all been simply shifted
up to all capital letters.
The 53 footnotes have been gathered at the end of each chapter. The
symbols used in the text (e.g., "*") have replaced with sequential
numbers.
[Illustration: OVER THE BRIDGES, THE HORSEMEN GALLOPED]
THE FAIR GOD
OR, THE LAST OF THE 'TZINS
A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico
BY
LEW WALLACE
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
ERIC PAPE
From Mexico ... a civilization that might have instructed Europe was
crushed out.... It has been her [Spain's] evil destiny to ruin two
civilizations, Oriental and Occidental, and to be ruined thereby
herself.... In America she destroyed races more civilized than
herself.--DRAPER, _Intellectual Development of Europe_.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1873 BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.
COPYRIGHT 1898 BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN & CO.
COPYRIGHT 1901 BY LEW WALLACE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
NOTE BY THE AUTHOR.
A personal experience, though ever so plainly told, is, generally
speaking, more attractive to listeners and readers than fiction. A
circumstance from the tongue or pen of one to whom it actually happened,
or who was its hero or victim, or even its spectator, is always more
interesting than if given second-hand. If the makers of history,
contradistinguished from its writers, could teach it to us directly, one
telling would suffice to secure our lasting remembrance. The reason is,
that the narrative so proceeding derives a personality and reality not
otherwise attainable, which assist in making way to our imagination and
the sources of our sympathy.
With this theory or bit of philosophy in mind, when the annexed book was
resolved upon, I judged best to assume the character of a translator,
which would enable me to write in the style and spirit of one who not
merely lived at the time of the occurrences woven in the text, but was
acquainted with many of the historical personages who figure therein,
and was a native of the beautiful valley in which the story is located.
Thinking to make the descriptions yet more real, and therefore more
impressive, I took the liberty of attributing the composition to a
literator who, whatever may be thought of his works, was not himself a
fiction. Without meaning to insinuate that THE FAIR GOD would have been
the worse for creation by Don Fernando de Alva, the Tezcucan, I wish
merely to say that it is not a translation. Having been so written,
however, now that publication is at hand, change is impossible; hence,
nothing is omitted,--title-page, introductory, and conclusion are given
to the reader exactly as they were brought to the publisher by the
author.
L.W.
Boston Mass. August 8, 1873.
CONTENTS.
BOOK ONE.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. OUR MOTHER HAS A FORTUNE WAITING US YONDER 1
II. QUETZAL', THE FAIR GOD 7
III. A CHALLENGE 13
IV. TENOCHTITLAN AT NIGHT 16
V. THE CHILD OF THE TEMPLE 20
VI. THE CÛ OF QUETZAL', AND MUALOX, THE PABA 25
VII. THE PROPHECY ON THE WALL 30
VIII. A BUSINESS MAN IN TENOCHTITLAN 39
IX. THE QUESTIONER OF THE MORNING 46
X. GOING TO THE COMBAT 50
XI. THE COMBAT 59
XII. MUALOX, AND HIS WORLD 68
XIII. THE SEARCH FOR QUETZAL' 74
BOOK TWO.
I. WHO ARE THE STRANGERS? 83
II. A TEZCUCAN LOVER 89
III. THE BANISHMENT OF GUATAMOZIN 95
IV. GUATAMOZIN AT HOME 103
V. NIGHT AT THE CHALCAN'S 112
VI. THE CHINAMPA 120
VII. COURT GOSSIP 126
VIII. GUATAMOZIN AND MUALOX 130
IX. A KING'S BANQUET 135
X. THE 'TZIN'S LOVE 141
XI. THE CHANT 150
BOOK THREE.
I. THE FIRST COMBAT 162
II. THE SECOND COMBAT 169
III. THE PORTRAIT 180
IV. THE TRIAL 183
BOOK FOUR.
I. THE KING GIVES A TRUST TO HUALPA 192
II. THE KING AND THE 'TZIN 198
III. LOVE ON THE LAKE 207
IV. THE KING DEMANDS A SIGN OF MUALOX 214
V. THE MASSACRE IN CHOLULA 220
VI. THE CONQUEROR WILL COME 230
VII. MONTEZUMA GOES TO MEET CORTEZ 239
VIII. THE ENTRY 246
BOOK FIVE.
I. PUBLIC OPINION 257
II. A MESSAGE FROM THE GODS 261
III. HOW ILLS OF STATE BECOME ILLS OF SOCIETY 267
IV. ENNUYÉ IN THE OLD PALACE 275
V. ALVARADO FINDS THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD 282
VI. THE IRON CROSS 291
VII. THE CHRISTIANS IN THE TOILS 299
VIII. THE IRON CROSS COMES BACK TO ITS GIVER 306
IX. TRULY WONDERFUL--A FORTUNATE MAN HATH A MEMORY 315
X. HOW THE IRON CROSS CAME BACK 317
XI. THE CHRISTIAN TAKES CARE OF HIS OWN 325
BOOK SIX.
I. THE LORD HUALPA FLEES HIS FORTUNE 339
II. WHOM THE GODS DESTROY THEY FIRST MAKE MAD 347
III. THE PUBLIC OPINION MAKES WAY 357
IV. THE 'TZIN'S FAREWELL TO QUETZAL' 364
V. THE CELLS OF QUETZAL' AGAIN 374
VI. LOST IN THE OLD CÛ 379
VII. HOW THE HOLY MOTHER HELPS HER CHILDREN 385
VIII. THE PABA'S ANGEL 392
IX. LIFE IN THE PABA'S WORLD 404
X. THE ANGEL BECOMES A BEADSWOMAN 410
XI. THE PUBLIC OPINION PROCLAIMS ITSELF--BATTLE 427
BOOK SEVEN.
I. THE HEART CAN BE WISER THAN THE HEAD 438
II. THE CONQUEROR ON THE CAUSEWAY AGAIN 449
III. LA VIRUELA 454
IV. MONTEZUMA A PROPHET.--HIS PROPHECY 455
V. HOW TO YIELD A CROWN 462
VI. IN THE LEAGUER 465
VII. IN THE LEAGUER YET 473
VIII. THE BATTLE OF THE MANTAS 481
IX. OVER THE WALL,--INTO THE PALACE 489
X. THE WAY THROUGH THE WALL 499
XI. BATTLE IN THE AIR 510
XII. IN THE INTERVAL OF THE BATTLE--LOVE 524
XIII. THE BEGINNING OF THE END 527
XIV. THE KING BEFORE HIS PEOPLE AGAIN 532
XV. THE DEATH OF MONTEZUMA 544
XVI. ADIEU TO THE PALACE 550
XVII. THE PURSUIT BEGINS 559
XVIII. LA NOCHE TRISTE 562
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
OVER THE BRIDGES, THE HORSEMEN GALLOPED (p. 427) _Frontispiece_
A CLANG OF SANDALED FEET 30
THE FORTUNATE HERO, STANDING SO CALMLY BEFORE THEM 70
THE MONARCH'S FACE CHANGED VISIBLY 158
"OUT OF THE WAY, DOG!" SHOUTED SANDOVAL 246
LOOKED GLOOMILY INTO THE WATER 358
SHE GAVE HIM THE SIGNAL 462
CORTES DREW REIN ONLY AT ITS FOOT 478
THE FAIR GOD.
FROM THE SPANISH OF
FERNANDO DE ALVA.
INTRODUCTORY.
Fernando De Alva,[1] a noble Tezcucan, flourished, we are told, in the
beginning of the sixteenth century. He was a man of great learning,
familiar with the Mexican and Spanish languages, and the hieroglyphics
of Anahuac. Ambitious to rescue his race from oblivion, and inspired by
love of learning, he collected a library, availed himself of his
knowledge of picture-writing, became master of the songs and traditions,
and, in the Castilian language, composed books of merit.
It was scarcely possible that his labors should escape the researches of
Mr. Prescott, who, with such incomparable genius, has given the world a
history of the Conquest of Mexico. From him we have a criticism upon the
labors of the learned Fernando, from which the following paragraph is
extracted.
"Iztlilzochitl's writings have many of the defects belonging to his age.
He often crowds the page with incidents of a trivial and sometimes
improbable character. The improbability increases with the distance of
the period; for distance, which diminishes objects to the natural eye,
exaggerates them to the mental. His chronology, as I have more than once
noticed, is inextricably entangled. He has often lent a too willing ear
to traditions and reports which would startle the more sceptical
criticism of the present time. Yet there is an appearance of good faith
and simplicity in his writings, which may convince the reader that, when
he errs, it is from no worse cause than the national partiality. And
surely such partiality is excusable in the descendant of a proud line,
shorn of its ancient splendors, which it was soothing to his own
feelings to revive again--though with something more than their
legitimate lustre--on the canvas of history. It should also be
considered that, if his narrative is sometimes startling, his researches
penetrate into the mysterious depths of antiquity, where light and
darkness meet and melt into each other; and where everything is still
further liable to distortion, as seen through the misty medium of
hieroglyphics."
Besides his _Relaciones_ and _Historia Chichemeca_, De Alva composed
works of a lighter nature, though equally based upon history. Some were
lost; others fell into the hands of persons ignorant of their value; a
few only were rescued and given to the press. For a considerable period
he served as interpreter to the Spanish Viceroy. His duties as such were
trifling; he had ample time for literary pursuits; his enthusiasm as a
scholar permitted him no relaxation or idleness. Thus favored, it is
believed he composed the books now for the first time given to the
world.
The MSS. were found among a heap of old despatches from the Viceroy
Mendoza to the Emperor. It is quite probable that they became mixed with
the State papers through accident; if, however, they were purposely
addressed to His Majesty, it must have been to give him a completer idea
of the Aztecan people and their civilization, or to lighten the burthens
of royalty by an amusement to which, it is known, Charles V. was not
averse. Besides, Mendoza, in his difficulty with the Marquess of the
Valley (Cortes), failed not to avail himself of every means likely to
propitiate his cause with the court, and especially with the Royal
Council of the Indies. It is not altogether improbable, therefore, that
the MSS. were forwarded for the entertainment of the members of the
Council and the lordly personages of the Court, who not only devoured
with avidity, but, as the wily Mendoza well knew, were vastly obliged
for, everything relative to the New World, and particularly the dazzling
conquest of Mexico.
In the translation, certain liberties have been taken, for which, if
wrong has been done, pardon is besought both from the public and the
shade of the author. Thus, The Books in the original are unbroken
narratives; but, with infinite care and trouble, they have all been
brought out of the confusion, and arranged into chapters. So, there were
names, some of which have been altogether changed; while others, for the
sake of euphony, have been abbreviated, though without sacrificing the
identity of the heroes who wore them so proudly.
And thus beginneth the FIRST BOOK.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Fernando De Alva Iztlilzochitl.
THE FAIR GOD.
BOOK ONE.
CHAPTER I.
OUR MOTHER HAS A FORTUNE WAITING US YONDER.
The Spanish Calendar is simpler than the Aztecan. In fact, Christian
methods, of whatever nature, are better than heathen.
So, then, by the Spanish Calendar, March, 1519, had about half spent
itself in the valley of Anahuac, which was as yet untrodden by
gold-seeker, with cross-hilted sword at his side, and on his lips a
Catholic oath. Near noon of one of its fairest days a traveller came
descending the western slope of the Sierra de Ahualco. Since the dawn
his path had been amongst hills and crags; at times traversing bald
rocks that towered to where the winds blew chill, then dipping into warm
valleys, where were grass, flowers, and streamlets, and sometimes
forests of cedar and fir,--labyrinths in which there reigned a perpetual
twilight.
Toilsome as was the way, the traveller, young and strong, marched
lightly. His dress, of the kind prevalent in his country, was
provincial, and with few signs of rank. He had sandals of buffalo-hide,
fitted for climbing rocks and threading pathless woods; a sort of white
tunic, covering his body from the neck to the knees, leaving bare the
arms from the shoulder; _maxtlatl_ and _tilmatli_--sash and mantle--of
cotton, blue tinted, and void of ornament; on the wrist of his left arm
he wore a substantial golden bracelet, and in both ears jewelled
pendants; while an ebony band, encircling his head, kept his straight
black locks in place, and permitted a snow-white bird's-wing for
decoration. There was a shield on his left arm, framed of wood, and
covered with padded cloth, and in the left hand a javelin barbed with
'itzli; at his back swung a _maquahuitl_, and a quiver filled with
arrows; an unstrung bow in his right hand completed his equipments, and
served him in lieu of staff. An ocelot, trudging stealthily behind him,
was his sole companion.
In the course of his journey he came to a crag that sank bluffly down
several hundred feet, commanding a fine prospect. Though the air was
cold, he halted. Away to the northwest stretched the beautiful valley of
Anahuac, dotted with hamlets and farm-houses, and marked with the silver
tracery of streams. Far across the plain, he caught a view of the fresh
waters of Lake Chalco, and beyond that, blue in the distance and faintly
relieved against the sky, the royal hill of Chapultepec, with its
palaces and cypress forests. In all the New World there was no scene
comparable with that he looked upon,--none its rival for beauty, none
where the heavens seemed so perfectly melted into earth. There were the
most renowned cities of the Empire; from that plain went the armies
whose marches were all triumphs; in that air hovered the gods awaiting
sacrifices; into that sky rose the smoke of the inextinguishable fires;
there shone the brightest suns, and lingered the longest summers; and
yonder dwelt that king--in youth a priest, then a warrior, now the
terror of all nations--whose signet on the hand of a slave could fill
the land with rustling of banners.
No traveller, I ween, could look unmoved on the picture; ours sat down,
and gazed with brimful eyes and a beating heart. For the first time he
was beholding the matchless vale so overhung with loveliness and full of
the monuments of a strange civilization. So rapt was he that he did not
observe the ocelot come and lay its head in his lap, like a dog seeking
caresses. "Come, boy!" he said, at last rousing himself; "let us on. Our
Mother[2] has a fortune waiting us yonder."
And they resumed the journey. Half an hour's brisk walk brought them to
the foot of the mountain. Suddenly they came upon company.
It was on the bank of a considerable stream, which, pouring in noisy
torrent over a rocky bed, appeared to rush with a song forward into the
valley. A clump of giant oaks shaded a level sward. Under them a crowd
of _tamanes_,[3] tawny, half-clad, broad-shouldered men, devoured loaves
of cold maize bread. Near the roots of the trees their masters reclined
comfortably on _petates_, or mats, without which an Aztec trader's
outfit was incomplete. Our traveller understood at a glance the
character of the strangers; so that, as his road led directly to them,
he went on without hesitation. As he came near, some of them sat up to
observe him.
"A warrior going to the city," said one.
"Or rather a king's courier," suggested another.
"Is not that an ocelot at his heels?" asked a third.
"That it is. Bring me my javelin!"
"And mine! And mine!" cried several of them at once, all springing to
their feet.
By the time the young man came up, the whole party stood ready to give
him an armed welcome.
"I am very sorry to have disturbed you," he said, quietly finding
himself obliged to stop.
"You seem friendly enough," answered one of the older men; "but your
comrade there,--what of him?"
The traveller smiled. "See, he is muzzled."
The party laughed at their own fears. The old merchant, however, stepped
forward to the young stranger.
"I confess you have greatly relieved me. I feared the brute might set on
and wound somebody. Come up, and sit down with us."
The traveller was nowise disinclined, being tempted by the prospect of
cheer from the provision-baskets lying around.
"Bring a mat for the warrior," said the friendly trader. "Now give him
bread and meat."
From an abundance of bread, fowl, and fruit the wayfarer helped himself.
A running conversation was meantime maintained.
"My ocelot? The story is simple; for your sakes, good friends, I wish it
were better. I killed his mother, and took him when a whelp. Now he does
me good service hunting. You should see him in pursuit of an antelope!"
"Then you are not a warrior?"
"To be a warrior," replied the hunter, modestly, "is to have been in
many battles, and taken many captives. I have practised arms, and, at
times, boasted of skill,--foolishly, perhaps; yet, I confess, I never
marched a day under the banner of the great king."
"Ah!" said the old man, quizzically, "I understand you. You have served
some free-trading company like our own."
"You are shrewd. My father is a merchant. At times he has travelled with
strong trains, and even attacked cities that have refused him admission
to their market."
"Indeed! He must be of renown. In what province does he live, my son?"
"In Tihuanco."
"Tepaja! old Tepaja, of Tihuanco! Are you son of his?" The good man
grasped the young one's hand enthusiastically. "I knew him well; many
years ago we were as brothers together; we travelled and traded through
many provinces. That was the day of the elder Montezuma, when the Empire
was not as large as now; when, in fact, most gates were closed against
us, because our king was an Aztec, and we had to storm a town, then turn
its square into a market for the sale of our wares. Sometimes we marched
an army, each of us carrying a thousand slaves; and yet our tasks were
not always easy. I remember once, down on the bank of the Great River,
we were beaten back from a walled town, and succeeded only after a four
days' fight. Ah, but we made it win! We led three thousand slaves back
to Tenochtitlan, besides five hundred captives,--a present for the
gods."
So the merchant talked until the hunger of his new acquaintance was
appeased; then he offered a pipe, which was declined.
"I am fond of a pipe after a good meal; and this one has been worthy a
king. But now I have no leisure for the luxury; the city to which I am
bound is too far ahead of me."
"If it is your first visit, you are right. Fail not to be there before
the market closes. Such a sight never gladdened your dreams!"
"So I have heard my father say."
"O, it never was as it will be to-night! The roads for days have been
thronged with visitors going up in processions."
"What is the occasion?"
"Why, to-morrow is the celebration of Quetzal'! Certainly, my son, you
have heard the prophecies concerning that god."
"In rumors only. I believe he was to return to Anahuac."
"Well, the story is long, and you are in a hurry. We also are going to
the city, but will halt our slaves at Iztapalapan for the night, and
cross the causeway before the sun to-morrow. If you care to keep us
company, we will start at once; on the way I will tell you a few things
that may not be unacceptable."
"I see," said the hunter, pleasantly, "I have reason to be proud of my
father's good report. Certainly, I will go a distance with you at least,
and thank you for information. To speak frankly, I am seeking my
fortune."
The merchant spoke to his companions, and raising a huge conch-shell to
his mouth, blew a blast that started every slave to his feet. For a few
minutes all was commotion. The mats were rolled up, and, with the
provision-baskets, slung upon broad shoulders; each _tamane_ resumed his
load of wares, and took his place; those armed put themselves, with
their masters, at the head; and at another peal from the shell all set
forward. The column, if such it may be called, was long, and not without
a certain picturesqueness as it crossed the stream, and entered a tract
covered with tall trees, amongst which the palm was strangely
intermingled with the oak and the cypress. The whole valley, from the
lake to the mountains, was irrigated, and under cultivation. Full of
wonder, the hunter marched beside the merchant.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] The goddess Cioacoatl, called "Our Lady and Mother." Sahagun,
Hist. de Nueva Esp.
[3] Carrier slaves, or porters.
CHAPTER II.
QUETZAL', THE FAIR GOD.
"I was speaking about Quetzal', I believe," said the old man, when all
were fairly on the way. "His real name was Quetzalcoatl.[4] He was a
wonderfully kind god, who, many ages ago, came into the valley here, and
dwelt awhile. The people were then rude and savage; but he taught them
agriculture, and other arts, of which you will see signs as we get on.
He changed the manners and customs; while he stayed, famine was unknown;
the harvests were abundant, and happiness universal. Above all, he
taught the princes wisdom in their government. If to-day the Aztec
Empire is the strongest in the world, it is owing to Quetzal'. Where he
came from, or how long he stayed, is not known. The people and their
governors after a time proved ungrateful, and banished him; they also
overthrew his religion, and set up idols again, and sacrificed men, both
of which he had prohibited. Driven away, he went to Cholula; thence to
the sea-coast, where, it is said, he built him a canoe of
serpent-skins, and departed for Tlapallan, a heaven lying somewhere
toward the rising sun. But before he went, he promised to return some
day, and wrest away the Empire and restore his own religion. In
appearance he was not like our race; his skin was white, his hair long
and wavy and black. He is said to have been wise as a god, and more
beautiful than men. Such is his history; and, as the prophecy has it,
the time of his return is at hand. The king and Tlalac, the
_teotuctli_,[5] are looking for him; they expect him every hour, and,
they say, live in continued dread of him. Wishing to propitiate him,
they have called the people together, and celebrate to-morrow, with
sacrifices and combats and more pomp than was ever seen before, not
excepting the time of the king's coronation."
The hunter listened closely, and at the conclusion said, "Thank you,
uncle. Tell me now of the combats."
"Yes. In the days of the first kings it was the custom to go into the
temples, choose the bravest warriors there set apart for sacrifice,
bring them into the _tianguez_, and make them do battle in the presence
of the people. If they conquered, they were set free and sent home with
presents."[6]
"With whom did they combat?"
"True enough, my son. The fight was deemed a point of honor amongst the
Aztecs, and the best of them volunteered. Indeed, those were royal
times! Of late, I am sorry to say, the custom of which I was speaking
has been neglected, but to-morrow it is to be revived. The scene will be
very grand. The king and all the nobles will be there."
The description excited the listener's fancy, and he said, with flushed
cheeks, "I would not lose the chance for the world. Can you tell me who
of the Aztecs will combat?"
"In the city we could easily find out; but you must recollect I am going
home after a long absence. The shields of the combatants are always
exhibited in the _tianguez_ the evening before the day of the fight. In
that way the public are notified beforehand of those who take the field.
As the city is full of caciques, you may be assured our champions will
be noble."
"Thank you again, uncle. And now, as one looking for service, like
myself, is anxious to know with whom to engage, tell me of the caciques
and chiefs."
"Then you intend entering the army?"
"Well, yes. I am tired of hunting; and though trading is honorable, I
have no taste for it."
The merchant, as if deliberating, took out a box of snuff and helped
himself; and then he replied,--
"The caciques are very numerous; in no former reign, probably, were
there so many of ability and renown. With some of them I have personal
acquaintance; others I know only by sight or reputation. You had better
mention those of whom you have been thinking."
"Well," said the hunter, "there is Iztlil', the Tezcucan."[7]
"Do not think of him, I pray you!" And the good man spoke earnestly. "He
is brave as any, and perhaps as skilful, but proud, haughty, soured, and
treacherous. Everybody fears him. I suppose you have heard of his
father."
"You mean the wise 'Hualpilli?"
"Yes. Upon his death, not long since, Iztlil' denied his brother's right
to the Tezcucan throne. There was a quarrel which would have ended in
blood, had not Montezuma interfered, and given the city to Cacama, and
all the northern part of the province to Iztlil'. Since that, the latter
has been discontented with the great king. So, I say again, do not think
of him, unless you are careless about honor."
"Then what of Cacama?[8] Tezcuco is a goodly city."
"He has courage, but is too effeminate to be a great warrior. A garden
and a soft couch delight him more than camps, and dancing women better
than fighting men. You might grow rich with him, but not renowned. Look
elsewhere."
"Then there is the lord Cuitlahua."[9]
"The king's brother, and governor of Iztapalapan!" said the merchant,
promptly. "Some have thought him better qualified for Chapultepec than
Montezuma, but it is not wise to say so. His people are prosperous, and
he has the most beautiful gardens in the world; unlike Cacama, he cares
nothing for them, when there is a field to be fought. Considering his
influence at court and his love of war, you would do well to bear shield
for him; but, on the other hand, he is old. Were I in your place, my
son, I would attach myself to some young man."
"That brings me to Maxtla, the Tesoyucan."
"I know him only by repute. With scarcely a beard, he is chief of the
king's guard. There was never anything like his fortune. Listen now, I
will tell you a secret which may be of value to you some time. The king
is not as young as he used to be by quite forty summers."
The hunter smiled at the caution with which the old man spoke of the
monarch.
"You see," the speaker continued, "time and palace life have changed
him: he no longer leads the armies; his days are passed in the temples
with the priests, or in the gardens with his women, of whom there are
several hundreds; his most active amusement now is to cross the lake to
his forests, and kill birds and rabbits by blowing little arrows at them
through a reed. Thus changed, you can very well understand how he can be
amused by songs and wit, and make favorites of those who best lighten
his hours of satiety and indolence. In that way Maxtla rose,--a
marvellous courtier, but a very common soldier."
The description amused the young man, but he said gravely, "You have
spoken wisely, uncle, and I am satisfied you know the men well. Really,
I had no intention of entering the suite of either of them: they are not
of my ideal; but there is a cacique, if reports are to be credited,
beyond all exception,--learned and brave, honored alike by high and
low."
"Ah! you need not name him to me. I know him, as who does not?" And now
the merchant spoke warmly. "A nobler than Guatamozin,[10]--or, as he is
more commonly called, the 'tzin Guatamo--never dwelt in Anahuac. He is
the people's friend, and the Empire's hope. His valor and wisdom,--ah,
you should see him, my son! Such a face! His manner is so full of sweet
dignity! But I will give you other evidence."
He clapped his hands three times, and a soldier sprang forward at the
signal.
"Do you know the 'tzin Guatamo?" asked the merchant.
"I am an humble soldier, my master, and the 'tzin is the great king's
nephew; but I know him. When he was only a boy, I served under him in
Tlascala. He is the best chief in Anahuac."
"That will do."
The man retired.
"So I might call up my _tamanes_," the merchant resumed, "and not one
but would speak of him in the same way."
"Strange!" said the Tihuancan, in a low tone.
"No; if you allude to his popularity, it is not strange: if you mean the
man himself, you are right. The gods seldom give the qualities that
belong to him. He is more learned than Tlalac or the king; he is
generous as becomes a prince; in action he is a hero. You have probably
heard of the Tlascalan wall in the eastern valley;[11] few warriors ever
passed it and lived; yet he did so when almost a boy. I myself have
seen him send an arrow to the heart of an eagle in its flight. He has a
palace and garden in Iztapalapan; in one of the halls stand the figures
of three kings, two of Michuaca, and one of the Ottomies. He took them
prisoners in battle, and now they hold torches at his feasts."
"Enough, enough!" cried the hunter. "I have been dreaming of him while
among the hills. I want no better leader."
The merchant cast an admiring glance at his beaming countenance, and
said, "You are right; enter his service."
In such manner the conversation was continued, until the sun fast
declined towards the western mountains. Meantime, they had passed
through several hamlets and considerable towns. In nearly the whole
progress, the way on either hand had been lined with plantations.
Besides the presence of a busy, thriving population, they everywhere saw
evidences of a cultivation and science, constituting the real
superiority of the Aztecs over their neighbors. The country was thus
preparing the stranger for the city, unrivalled in splendor and beauty.
Casting a look toward the sun, he at length said, "Uncle, I have much to
thank you for,--you and your friends. But it is growing late, and I must
hurry on, if I would see the _tianguez_ before the market closes."
"Very well," returned the old trader. "We will be in the city to-morrow.
The gods go with you!"
Whistling to his ocelot, the adventurer quickened his pace, and was soon
far in the advance.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] In Aztec mythology, God of the Air.
[5] Equivalent to Pontiff or Pope.
[6] Sahagun, Hist. de Nueva Esp.
[7] Ixtlilxochitl, son of Nezahualpilli, king of Tezcuco.
[8] King of Tezcuco.
[9] See Prescott's Conq. of Mexico.
[10] Guatamozin, nephew to Montezuma. Of him Bernal Diaz says: "This
monarch was between twenty-three and twenty-four years of age,
and could in all truth be called a handsome man, both as regards
his countenance and figure. His face was rather of an elongated
form, with a cheerful look; his eye had great expression, both
when he assumed a majestic expression, or when he looked
pleasantly around; the color of his face inclined to white more
than to the copper-brown tint of the Indians in general."--DIAZ,
_Conquest of Mexico_, Lockhart's Trans., Vol. IV., p. 110.
[11] Prescott's Conq. of Mexico, Vol. I., p. 417.
CHAPTER III.
A CHALLENGE.
In the valley of Anahuac, at the time I write, are four
lakes,--Xaltocan, Chalco, Xochichalco, and Tezcuco. The latter, besides
being the largest, washed the walls of Tenochtitlan, and was the
especial pride of the Aztecs, who, familiar with its ways as with the
city, traversed them all the days of the year, and even the nights.
"Ho, there!" shouted a _voyageur_, in a voice that might have been heard
a long distance over the calm expanse of the lake. "Ho, the canoe!"
The hail was answered.
"Is it Guatamozin?" asked the first speaker.
"Yes."
"And going to Tenochtitlan?"
"The gods willing,--yes."
The canoes of the _voyageurs_--I use that term because it more nearly
expresses the meaning of the word the Aztecs themselves were wont to
apply to persons thus abroad--were, at the time, about the middle of the
little sea. After the 'tzin's reply, they were soon alongside, when
lashings were applied, and together they swept on rapidly, for the
slaves at the paddles vied in skill and discipline.
"Iztlil', of Tezcuco!" said the 'tzin, lightly. "He is welcome; but had
a messenger asked me where at this hour he would most likely be found, I
should have bade him search the _chinampas_, especially those most
notable for their perfume and music."
The speech was courteous, yet the moment of reply was allowed to pass.
The 'tzin waited until the delay excited his wonder.
"There is a rumor of a great battle with the Tlascalans," he said again,
this time with a direct question. "Has my friend heard of it?"
"The winds that carry rumors seldom come to me," answered Iztlil'.
"Couriers from Tlascala pass directly through your capital--"
The Tezcucan laid his hand on the speaker's shoulder.
"My capital!" he said. "Do you speak of the city of Tezcuco?"
The 'tzin dashed the hand away, and arose, saying, "Your meaning is dark
in this dimness of stars."
"Be seated," said the other.
"If I sit, is it as friend or foe?"
"Hear me; then be yourself the judge."
The Aztec folded his cloak about him and resumed his seat, very
watchful.
"Montezuma, the king--"
"Beware! The great king is my kinsman, and I am his faithful subject."
The Tezcucan continued. "In the valley the king is next to the gods; yet
to his nephew I say I hate him, and will teach him that my hate is no
idleness, like a passing love. 'Tzin, a hundred years ago our races were
distinct and independent. The birds of the woods, the winds of the
prairie, were not more free than the people of Tezcuco. We had our
capital, our temples, our worship, and our gods; we celebrated our own
festivals, our kings commanded their own armies, our priesthood
prescribed their own sacrifices. But where now are king, country, and
gods? Alas! you have seen the children of 'Hualpilli, of the blood of
the Acolhuan, suppliants of Montezuma, the Aztec." And, as if overcome
by the recollection, he burst into apostrophe. "I mourn thee, O Tezcuco,
garden of my childhood, palace of my fathers, inheritance of my right!
Against me are thy gates closed. The stars may come, and as of old
garland thy towers with their rays; but in thy echoing halls and
princely courts never, never shall I be known again!"
The silence that ensued, the 'tzin was the first to break.
"You would have me understand," he said, "that the king has done you
wrong. Be it so. But, for such cause, why quarrel with me?"
"Ah, yes!" answered the Tezcucan, in an altered voice. "Come closer,
that the slaves may not hear."
The Aztec kept his attitude of dignity. Yet lower Iztlil' dropped his
voice.
"The king has a daughter whom he calls Tula, and loves as the light of
his palace."
The 'tzin started, but held his peace.
"You know her?" continued the Tezcucan.
"Name her not!" said Guatamozin, passionately.
"Why not? I love her, and but for you, O 'tzin, she would have loved me.
You, too, have done me wrong."
With thoughts dark as the waters he rode, the Aztec looked long at the
light of fire painted on the sky above the distant city.
"Is Guatamozin turned woman?" asked Iztlil', tauntingly.
"Tula is my cousin. We have lived the lives of brother and sister. In
hall, in garden, on the lake, always together, I could not help loving
her."
"You mistake me," said the other. "I seek her for wife, but you seek her
for ambition; in her eyes you see only her father's throne."
Then the Aztec's manner changed, and he assumed the mastery.
"Enough, Tezcucan! I listened calmly while you reviled the king, and
now I have somewhat to say. In your youth the wise men prophesied evil
from you; they said you were ingrate and blasphemer then: your whole
life has but verified their judgment. Well for your royal father and his
beautiful city had he cut you off as they counselled him to do. Treason
to the king,--defiance to me! By the holy Sun, for each offence you
should answer me shield to shield! But I recollect that I am neither
priest to slay a victim nor officer to execute the law. I mourn a feud,
still more the blood of countrymen shed by my hand; yet the wrongs shall
not go unavenged or without challenge. To-morrow is the sacrifice to
Quetzal'. There will be combat with the best captives in the temples;
the arena will be in the _tianguez_; Tenochtitlan, and all the valley,
and all the nobility of the Empire, will look on. Dare you prove your
kingly blood? I challenge the son of 'Hualpilli to share the danger with
me."
The cacique was silent, and the 'tzin did not disturb him. At his order,
however, the slaves bent their dusky forms, and the vessels sped on,
like wingless birds.
CHAPTER IV.
TENOCHTITLAN AT NIGHT.
The site of the city of Tenochtitlan was chosen by the gods. In the
southwestern border of Lake Tezcuco, one morning in 1300, a wandering
tribe of Aztecs saw an eagle perched, with outspread wings, upon a
cactus, and holding a serpent in its talons. At a word from their
priests, they took possession of the marsh, and there stayed their
migration and founded the city: such is the tradition. As men love to
trace their descent back to some storied greatness, nations delight to
associate the gods with their origin.
Originally the Aztecs were barbarous. In their southern march, they
brought with them only their arms and a spirit of sovereignty. The
valley of Anahuac, when they reached it, was already peopled; in fact,
had been so for ages. The cultivation and progress they found and
conquered there reacted upon them. They grew apace; and as they carried
their shields into neighboring territory, as by intercourse and commerce
they crept from out their shell of barbarism, as they strengthened in
opulence and dominion, they repudiated the reeds and rushes of which
their primal houses were built, and erected enduring temples and
residences of Oriental splendor.
Under the smiles of the gods, whom countless victims kept propitiated,
the city threw abroad its arms, and, before the passage of a century,
became the emporium of the valley. Its people climbed the mountains
around, and, in pursuit of captives to grace their festivals, made the
conquest of "Mexico." Then the kings began to centralize. They made
Tenochtitlan their capital; under their encouragement, the arts grew and
flourished; its market became famous; the nobles and privileged orders
made it their dwelling-place; wealth abounded; as a consequence, a vast
population speedily filled its walls and extended them as required. At
the coming of the "conquistadores," it contained sixty thousand houses
and three hundred thousand souls. Its plat testifies to a high degree of
order and regularity, with all the streets running north and south, and
intersected by canals, so as to leave quadrilateral blocks. An ancient
map, exhibiting the city proper, presents the face of a checker-board,
each square, except those of some of the temples and palaces, being
meted with mathematical certainty.
Such was the city the 'tzin and the cacique were approaching. Left of
them, half a league distant, lay the towers and embattled gate of Xoloc.
On the horizon behind paled the fires of Iztapalapan, while those of
Tenochtitlan at each moment threw brighter hues into the sky, and more
richly empurpled the face of the lake. In mid air, high over all others,
like a great torch, blazed the pyre of Huitzil'.[12] Out on the sea, the
course of the _voyageurs_ was occasionally obstructed by _chinampas_ at
anchor, or afloat before the light wind; nearer the walls, the floating
gardens multiplied until the passage was as if through an archipelago in
miniature. From many of them poured the light of torches; others gave to
the grateful sense the melody of flutes and blended voices; while over
them the radiance from the temples fell softly, revealing white
pavilions, orange-trees, flowering shrubs, and nameless varieties of the
unrivalled tropical vegetation. A breeze, strong enough to gently ripple
the lake, hovered around the undulating retreats, scattering a largesse
of perfume, and so ministering to the voluptuous floramour of the
locality.
As the _voyageurs_ proceeded, the city, rising to view, underwent a
number of transformations. At first, amidst the light of its own
fires,[13] it looked like a black sea-shore; directly its towers and
turrets became visible, some looming vaguely and dark, others glowing
and purpled, the whole magnified by the dim duplication below; then it
seemed like a cloud, one half kindled by the sun, the other obscured by
the night. As they swept yet nearer, it changed to the likeness of a
long, ill-defined wall, over which crept a hum wing-like and
strange,--the hum of myriad life.
In silence still they hurried forward. Vessels like their own, but with
lanterns of stained _aguave_ at the prows, seeking some favorite
_chinampa_, sped by with benisons from the crews. At length they reached
the wall, and, passing through an interval that formed the outlet of a
canal, entered the city. Instantly the water became waveless; houses
encompassed them; lights gleamed across their way; the hum that hovered
over them while out on the lake realized itself in the voices of men and
the notes of labor.
Yet farther into the city, the light from the temples increased. From
towers, turreted like a Moresco castle, they heard the night-watchers
proclaiming the hour. Canoes, in flocks, darted by them, decked with
garlands, and laden with the wealth of a merchant, or the trade of a
market-man, or full of revellers singing choruses to the stars or to the
fair denizens of the palaces. Here and there the canal was bordered with
sidewalks of masonry, and sometimes with steps leading from the water up
to a portal, about which were companies whose flaunting, parti-colored
costumes, brilliant in the mellowed light, had all the appearance of
Venetian masqueraders.
At last the canoes gained the great street that continued from the
causeway at the south through the whole city; then the Tezcucan touched
the 'tzin, and said,--
"The son of 'Hualpilli accepts the challenge, Aztec. In the _tianguez_
to-morrow."
Without further speech, the foemen leaped on the landing, and separated.
FOOTNOTES:
[12] The God of War,--aptly called the "Mexican Mars."
[13] There was a fire for each altar in the temples which was
inextinguishable; and so numerous were the altars, and so
brilliant their fires, that they kept the city illuminated
throughout the darkest nights. Prescott, Conq. of Mexico, Vol.
I., p 72.
CHAPTER V.
THE CHILD OF THE TEMPLE.
There were two royal palaces in the city; one built by Axaya', the other
by Montezuma, the reigning king, who naturally preferred his own
structure, and so resided there. It was a low, irregular pile, embracing
not only the king's abode proper, but also quarters for his guard, and
edifices for an armory, an aviary, and a menagerie. Attached to it was a
garden, adorned with the choicest shrubbery and plants, with fruit and
forest trees, with walks strewn with shells, and fountains of pure water
conducted from the reservoir of Chapultepec.
At night, except when the moon shone, the garden was lighted with lamps;
and, whether in day or night, it was a favorite lounging-place. During
fair evenings, particularly, its walks, of the whiteness of snow, were
thronged by nobles and courtiers.
Shortly after the arrival of Iztlil' and Guatamozin, a party, mostly of
the sons of provincial governors kept at the palace as hostages, were
gathered in the garden, under a canopy used to shield a fountain from
the noonday sun. The place was fairly lighted, the air fresh with the
breath of flowers, and delightful with the sound of falling water.
Maxtla, chief of the guard, was there, his juvenility well hidden under
an ostentatious display. That he was "a very common soldier" in the
opinion of the people was of small moment: he had the king's ear; and
that, without wit and courtierly tact, would have made him what he
was,--the oracle of the party around him.
In the midst of his gossip, Iztlil', the Tezcucan, came suddenly to the
fountain. He coldly surveyed the assembly. Maxtla alone saluted him.
"Will the prince of Tezcuco be seated?" said the chief.
"The place is pleasant, and the company looks inviting," returned
Iztlil', grimly.
Since his affair with Guatamozin, he had donned the uniform of an Aztec
chieftain. Over his shoulders was carelessly flung a crimson
_tilmatli_,--a short, square cloak, fantastically embroidered with gold,
and so sprinkled with jewels as to flash at every movement; his body was
wrapped closely in an _escaupil_, or tunic, of cotton lightly quilted,
over which, and around his waist, was a _maxtlatl_, or sash, inseparable
from the warrior. A casque of silver, thin, burnished, and topped with
plumes, surmounted his head. His features were gracefully moulded, and
he would have been handsome but that his complexion was deepened by
black, frowning eyebrows. He was excessively arrogant; though sometimes,
when deeply stirred by passion, his manner rose into the royal. His
character I leave to history.
"I have just come from Iztapalapan," he said, as he sat upon the
proffered stool. "The lake is calm, the way was very pleasant, I had the
'tzin Guatamo' for comrade."
"You were fortunate. The 'tzin is good company," said Maxtla.
Iztlil' frowned, and became silent.
"To-morrow," continued the courtier, upon whom the discontent, slight as
it was, had not been lost, "is the sacrifice to Quetzal'. I am reminded,
gracious prince, that, at a recent celebration, you put up a thousand
cocoa,[14] to be forfeited if you failed to see the daughter of Mualox,
the paba. If not improper, how runs the wager, and what of the result?"
The cacique shrugged his broad shoulders.
"The man trembles!" whispered one of the party.
"Well he may! Old Mualox is more than a man."
Maxtla bowed and laughed. "Mualox is a magician; the stars deal with
him. And my brother will not speak, lest he may cover the sky of his
fortune with clouds."
"No," said the Tezcucan, proudly; "the wager was not a sacrilege to the
paba or his god; if it was, the god, not the man, should be a warrior's
fear."
"Does Maxtla believe Mualox a prophet?" asked Tlahua, a noble Otompan.
"The gods have power in the sun; why not on earth?"
"You do not like the paba," observed Iztlil', gloomily.
"Who has seen him, O prince, and thought of love? And the walls and
towers of his dusty temple,--are they not hung with dread, as the sky on
a dark day with clouds?"
The party, however they might dislike the cacique, could not listen
coldly to this conversation. They were mostly of that mystic race of
Azatlan, who, ages before, had descended into the valley, like an
inundation, from the north; the race whose religion was founded upon
credulity; the race full of chivalry, but horribly governed by a crafty
priesthood. None of them disbelieved in star-dealing. So every eye fixed
on the Tezcucan, every ear drank the musical syllables of Maxtla. They
were startled when the former said abruptly,--
"Comrades, the wrath of the old paba is not to be lightly provoked; he
has gifts not of men. But, as there is nothing I do not dare, I will
tell the story."
The company now gathered close around the speaker.
"Probably you have all heard," he began, "that Mualox keeps in his
temple somewhere a child or woman too beautiful to be mortal. The story
may be true; yet it is only a belief; no eye has seen footprint or
shadow of her. A certain lord in the palace, who goes thrice a week to
the shrine of Quetzal', has faith in the gossip and the paba. He says
the mystery is Quetzal' himself, already returned, and waiting,
concealed in the temple, the ripening of the time when he is to burst in
vengeance on Tenochtitlan. I heard him talking about it one day, and
wagered him a thousand cocoa that, if there was such a being I would see
her before the next sacrifice to Quetzal'."
The Tezcucan hesitated.
"Is the believer to boast himself wealthier by the wager?" said Maxtla,
profoundly interested. "A thousand cocoa would buy a jewel or a slave:
surely, O prince, surely they were worth the winning!"
Iztlil' frowned again, and said bitterly, "A thousand cocoa I cannot
well spare; they do not grow on my hard northern hills like flowers in
Xochimilco. I did my best to save the wager. Old habit lures me to the
great _teocallis_;[15] for I am of those who believe that a warrior's
worship is meet for no god but Huitzil'. But, as the girl was supposed
to be down in the cells of the old temple, and none but Mualox could
satisfy me, I began going there, thinking to bargain humilities for
favor. I played my part studiously, if not well; but no offering of
tongue or gold ever won me word of friendship or smile of confidence.
Hopeless and weary, I at last gave up, and went back to the _teocallis_.
But now hear my parting with the paba. A short time ago a mystery was
enacted in the temple. At the end, I turned to go away, determined that
it should be my last visit. At the eastern steps, as I was about
descending, I felt a hand laid on my arm. It was Mualox; and not more
terrible looks Tlalac when he has sacrificed a thousand victims. There
was no blood on his hands; his beard and surplice were white and
stainless; the terror was in his eyes, that seemed to burn and shoot
lightning. You know, good chief, that I could have crushed him with a
blow; yet I trembled. Looking back now, I cannot explain the awe that
seized me. I remember how my will deserted me,--how another's came in
its stead. With a glance he bound me hand and foot. While I looked at
him, he dilated, until I was covered by his shadow. He magnified himself
into the stature of a god. 'Prince of Tezcuco,' he said, 'son of the
wise 'Hualpilli, from the sun Quetzal' looks down on the earth. Alike
over land and sea he looks. Before him space melts into a span, and
darkness puts on the glow of day. Did you think to deceive my god, O
prince?' I could not answer; my tongue was like stone. 'Go hence, go
hence!' he cried, waving his hand. 'Your presence darkens his mood. His
wrath is on your soul; he has cursed you. Hence, abandoned of the gods!'
So saying, he went back to the tower again, and my will returned, and I
fled. And now," said the cacique, turning suddenly and sternly upon his
hearers, "who will deny the magic of Mualox? How may I be assured that
his curse that day spoken was not indeed a curse from Quetzal'?"
There was neither word nor laugh,--not even a smile. The gay Maxtla
appeared infected with a sombreness of spirit; and it was not long until
the party broke up, and went each his way.
FOOTNOTES:
[14] The Aztec currency consisted of bits of tin, in shape like a
capital T, of quills of gold-dust, and of bags of cocoa,
containing a stated number of grains. Sahagun, Hist. de Nueva
Esp.
[15] Temple. The term appears to have applied particularly to the
temples of the god Huitzil'.--TR.
CHAPTER VI.
THE CÛ OF QUETZAL', AND MUALOX, THE PABA.
Over the city from temple to temple passed the wail of the watchers, and
a quarter of the night was gone. Few heard the cry without pleasure; for
to-morrow was Quetzal's day, which would bring feasting, music, combat,
crowd, and flowers.
Among others the proclamation of the passing time was made from a temple
in the neighborhood of the Tlateloco _tianguez_, or market-place, which
had been built by one of the first kings of Tenochtitlan, and, like all
edifices of that date properly called Cûs, was of but one story, and had
but one tower. At the south its base was washed by a canal; on all the
other sides it was enclosed by stone walls high, probably, as a man's
head. The three sides so walled were bounded by streets, and faced by
houses, some of which were higher than the Cû itself, and adorned with
beautiful porticos. The canal on the south ran parallel with the
Tlacopan causeway, and intersected the Iztapalapan street at a point
nearly half a mile above the great pyramid.
The antique pile thus formed a square of vast extent. According to the
belief that there were blessings in the orient rays of the sun, the
front was to the east, where a flight of steps, wide as the whole
building, led from the ground to the _azoteas_, a paved area
constituting the roof, crowned in the centre by a round tower of wood
most quaintly carved with religious symbols. Entering the door of the
tower, the devotee might at once kneel before the sacred image of
Quetzal'.
A circuitous stairway outside the tower conducted to its summit, where
blazed the fire. Another flight of steps about midway the tower and the
western verge of the _azoteas_ descended into a court-yard, around
which, in the shade of a colonnade, were doors and windows of habitable
apartments and passages leading far into the interior. And there,
shrouded in a perpetual twilight and darkness, once slept, ate, prayed,
and studied or dreamed the members of a fraternity powerful as the
Templars and gloomy as the Fratres Minores.
The interior was cut into rooms, and long, winding halls, and countless
cellular dens.
Such was the Cû of Quetzal',--stern, sombre, and massive as in its first
days; unchanged in all save the prosperity of its priesthood and the
popularity of its shrine. Time was when every cell contained its
votaries, and kings, returning from battle, bowed before the altar. But
Montezuma had built a new edifice, and set up there a new idol; and as
if a king could better make a god than custom, the people abandoned the
old ones to desuetude. Up in the ancient cupola, however, sat the image
said to have been carved by Quetzal's own hand. Still the fair face
looked out benignly on its realm of air; carelessly the winds waved "the
plumes of fire" that decked its awful head; and one stony hand yet
grasped a golden sceptre, while the other held aloft the painted
shield,--symbols of its dominion.[16] But the servitors and surpliced
mystics were gone; the cells were very solitudes; the last paba lingered
to protect the image and its mansion, all unwitting how, in his
faithfulness of love, he himself had assumed the highest prerogative of
a god.
The fire from the urn on the tower flashed a red glow down over the
_azoteas_, near a corner of which Mualox stood, his beard white and
flowing as his surplice. Thought of days palmier for himself and more
glorious for his temple and god struggled to his lips.
"Children of Azatlan, ye have strayed from his shrine, and dust is on
his shield. The temple is of his handiwork, but its chambers are
voiceless; the morning comes and falls asleep on its steps, and no foot
disturbs it, no one seeks its blessings. Where is the hymn of the choir?
Where the prayer? Where the holiness that rested, like a spell, around
the altar? Is the valley fruitless, and are the gardens without flowers,
that he should be without offering or sacrifice?... Ah! well ye know
that the day is not distant when he will glister again in the valley;
when he will come, not as of old he departed, the full harvest quick
ripening in his footsteps, but with the power of Mictlan,[17] the owl on
his skirt, and death in his hand. Return, O children, and Tenochtitlan
may yet live!"
In the midst of his pleadings there was a clang of sandalled feet on the
pavement, and two men came near him, and stopped. One of them wore the
hood and long black gown of a priest; the other the full military
garb,--burnished casque crested with plumes, a fur-trimmed _tilmatli_,
_escaupil_, and _maxtlatl_, and sandals the thongs of which were
embossed with silver. He also carried a javelin, and a shield with an
owl painted on its face. Indeed, one will travel far before finding,
among Christians or unbelievers, his peer. He was then not more than
twenty-five years old, tall and nobly proportioned, and with a bearing
truly royal. In Spain I have seen eyes as large and lustrous, but none
of such power and variety of expression. His complexion was merely the
brown of the sun. Though very masculine, his features, especially when
the spirit was in repose, were softened by an expression unusually
gentle and attractive. Such was the 'tzin Guatamo', or, as he is more
commonly known in history, Guatamozin,--the highest, noblest type of his
race, blending in one its genius and heroism, with but few of its
debasements.
"Mualox," said the priestly stranger.
The paba turned, and knelt, and kissed the pavement.
"O king, pardon your slave! He was dreaming of his country."
"No slave of mine, but Quetzal's. Up, Mualox!" said Montezuma, throwing
back the hood that covered his head. "Holy should be the dust that
mingles in your beard!"
And the light from the tower shone full on the face of him,--the priest
of lore profound, and monarch wise of thought, for whom Heaven was
preparing a destiny most memorable among the melancholy episodes of
history.
A slight mustache shaded his upper lip, and thin, dark beard covered his
chin and throat; his nose was straight; his brows curved archly; his
forehead was broad and full, while he seemed possessed of height and
strength. His neck was round, muscular, and encircled by a collar of
golden wires. His manner was winsome, and he spoke to the kneeling man
in a voice clear, distinct, and sufficiently emphatic for the king he
was.[18]
Mualox arose, and stood with downcast eyes, and hands crossed over his
breast.
"Many a coming of stars it has been," he said, "since the old shrine has
known the favor of gift from Montezuma. Gloom of clouds in a vale of
firs is not darker than the mood of Quetzal'; but to the poor paba, your
voice, O king, is welcome as the song of the river in the ear of the
thirsty."
The king looked up at the fire on the tower.
"Why should the mood of Quetzal' be dark? A new _teocallis_ holds his
image. His priests are proud; and they say he is happy, and that when he
comes from the golden land his canoe will be full of blessings."
Mualox sighed, and when he ventured to raise his eyes to the king's,
they were wet with tears.
"O king, have you forgotten that chapter of the _teoamoxtli_,[19] in
which is written how this Cû was built, and its first fires lighted, by
Quetzal' himself? The new pyramid may be grand; its towers may be
numberless, and its fires far reaching as the sun itself; but hope not
that will satisfy the god, while his own house is desolate. In the name
of Quetzal', I, his true servant, tell you, never again look for smile
from Tlapallan."
The paba's speech was bold, and the king frowned; but in the eyes of the
venerable man there was the unaccountable fascination mentioned by
Iztlil'.
"I remember the Mualox of my father's day; surely he was not as you
are!" Then, laying his hand on the 'tzin's arm, the monarch added, "Did
you not say the holy man had something to tell me?"
Mualox answered, "Even so, O king! Few are the friends left the paba,
now that his religion and god are mocked; but the 'tzin is faithful. At
my bidding he went to the palace. Will Montezuma go with his servant?"
"Where?"
"Only into the Cû."
The monarch faltered.
"Dread be from you!" said Mualox. "Think you it is as hard to be
faithful to a king as to a god whom even he has abandoned?"
Montezuma was touched. "Let us go," he said to the 'tzin.
FOOTNOTES:
[16] Sahagun, Hist. de Nueva Esp.
[17] The Mexican Hell. The owl was the symbol of the Devil, whose
name signifies "the rational owl."
[18] Bernal Diaz, Hist. de la Conquista.
[19] The Divine Book, or Bible. Ixtlil's Relaciones M.S.
CHAPTER VII.
THE PROPHECY ON THE WALL.
Mualox led them into the tower. The light of purpled lamps filled the
sacred place, and played softly around the idol, before which they
bowed. Then he took a light from the altar, and conducted them to the
_azoteas_, and down into the court-yard, from whence they entered a hall
leading on into the Cû.
The way was labyrinthine, and both the king and the 'tzin became
bewildered; they only knew that they descended several stairways, and
walked a considerable distance; nevertheless, they submitted themselves
entirely to their guide, who went forward without hesitancy. At last he
stopped; and, by the light which he held up for the purpose, they saw in
a wall an aperture roughly excavated, and large enough to admit them
singly.
"You have read the Holy Book, wise king," said Mualox. "Can you not
recall its saying that, before the founding of Tenochtitlan, a Cû was
begun, with chambers to lie under the bed of the lake? Especially, do
you not remember the declaration that, in some of those chambers,
besides a store of wealth so vast as to be beyond the calculation of
men, there were prophecies to be read, written on the walls by a god?"
"I remember it," said the king.
"Give me faith, then, and I will show you all you there read."
Thereupon the paba stepped into the aperture, saying,--
"Mark! I am now standing under the eastern wall of the old Cû."
[Illustration: A CLANG OF SANDALED FEET]
He passed through, and they followed him, and were amazed.
"Look around, O king! You are in one of the chambers mentioned in the
Holy Book."
The light penetrated but a short distance, so that Montezuma could form
no idea of the extent of the apartment. He would have thought it a great
natural cavern but for the floor smoothly paved with alternate red and
gray flags, and some massive stone blocks rudely piled up in places to
support the roof.
As they proceeded, Mualox said, "On every side of us there are rooms
through which we might go till, in stormy weather, the waves of the lake
can be heard breaking overhead."
In a short time they again stopped.
"We are nearly there. Son of a king, is your heart strong?" said Mualox,
solemnly.
Montezuma made no answer.
"Many a time," continued the paba, "your glance has rested on the tower
of the old Cû, then flashed to where, in prouder state, your pyramids
rise. You never thought the gray pile you smiled at was the humblest of
all Quetzal's works. Can a man, though a king, outdo a god?"
"I never thought so, I never thought so!"
But the mystic did not notice the deprecation.
"See," he said, speaking louder, "the pride of man says, I will build
upward that the sun may show my power; but the gods are too great for
pride; so the sun shines not on their especial glories, which as
frequently lie in the earth and sea as in the air and heavens. O mighty
king! You crush the worm under your sandal, never thinking that its
humble life is more wonderful than all your temples and state. It was
the same folly that laughed at the simple tower of Quetzal', which has
mysteries--"
"Mysteries!" said the king.
"I will show you wealth enough to restock the mines and visited valleys
with all their plundered gold and jewels."
"You are dreaming, paba."
"Come, then; let us see!"
They moved past some columns, and came before a great, arched doorway,
through which streamed a brilliance like day.
"Now, let your souls be strong!"
They entered the door, and for a while were blinded by the glare, and
could see only the floor covered with grains of gold large as wheat.
Moving on, they came to a great stone table, and stopped.
"You wonder; and so did I, until I was reminded that a god had been
here. Look up, O king! look up, and see the handiwork of Quetzal'!"
The chamber was broad and square. The obstruction of many pillars,
forming the stay of the roof, was compensated by their lightness and
wonderful carving. Lamps, lit by Mualox in anticipation of the royal
coming, blazed in all quarters. The ceiling was covered with
lattice-work of shining white and yellow metals, the preciousness of
which was palpable to eyes accustomed like the monarch's. Where the bars
crossed each other, there were fanciful representations of flowers,
wrought in gold, some of them large as shields, and garnished with
jewels that burned with star-like fires. Between the columns, up and
down ran rows of brazen tables, bearing urns and vases of the royal
metals, higher than tall men, and carved all over with gods in
_bas-relief_, not as hideous caricatures, but beautiful as love and
Grecian skill could make them. Between the vases and urns there were
heaps of rubies and pearls and brilliants, amongst which looked out
softly the familiar, pale-green lustre of the _chalchuites_, or
priceless Aztecan diamond.[20] And here and there, like guardians of the
buried beauty and treasure, statues looked down from tall pedestals,
crowned and armed, as became the kings and demi-gods of a great and
martial people. The monarch was speechless. Again and again he surveyed
the golden chamber. As if seeking an explanation, but too overwhelmed
for words, he turned to Mualox.
"And now does Montezuma believe his servant dreaming?" said the paba.
"Quetzal' directed the discovery of the chamber. I knew of it, O king,
before you were born. And here is the wealth of which I spoke. If it so
confounds you, how much more will the other mystery! I have dug up a
prophecy; from darkness plucked a treasure richer than all these. O
king, I will give you to read a message from the gods!"
The monarch's face became bloodless, and it had now not a trace of
scepticism.
"I will show you from Quetzal' himself that the end of your Empire is at
hand, and that every wind of the earth is full sown with woe to you and
yours. The writing is on the walls. Come!"
And he led the king, followed by Guatamozin, to the northern corner of
the eastern wall, on which, in square marble panels, _bas-relief_ style,
were hierograms and sculptured pictures of men, executed apparently by
the same hand that chiselled the statues in the room. The ground of the
carvings was coated with coarse gray coral, which had the effect to
bring out the white figures with marvellous perfection.
"This, O king, is the writing," said Mualox, "which begins here, and
continues around the walls. I will read, if you please to hear."
Montezuma waved his hand, and the paba proceeded.
"This figure is that of the first king of Tenochtitlan; the others are
his followers. The letters record the time of the march from the north.
Observe that the first of the writing--its commencement--is here in the
north."
After a little while, they moved on to the second panel.
"Here," said Mualox, "is represented the march of the king. It was
accompanied with battles. See, he stands with lifted javelin, his foot
on the breast of a prostrate foe. His followers dance and sound shells;
the priests sacrifice a victim. The king has won a great victory."
They stopped before the third panel.
"And here the monarch is still on the march. He is in the midst of his
warriors; no doubt the crown he is receiving is that of the ruler of a
conquered city."
This cartoon Montezuma examined closely. The chief, or king, was
distinguished by a crown in all respects like that then in the palace;
the priests, by their long gowns; and the warriors, by their arms,
which, as they were counterparts of those still in use, sufficiently
identified the wanderers. Greatly was the royal inspector troubled. And
as the paba slowly conducted him from panel to panel, he forgot the
treasure with which the chamber was stored. What he read was the story
of his race, the record of their glory. The whole eastern wall, he
found, when he had passed before it, given to illustrations of the
crusade from Azatlan, the fatherland, northward so far that corn was
gathered in the snow, and flowers were the wonder of the six weeks'
summer.
In front of the first panel on the southern wall Mualox said,--
"All we have passed is the first era in the history; this is the
beginning of the second; and the first writing on the western wall will
commence a third. Here the king stands on a rock; a priest points him to
an eagle on a cactus, holding a serpent. At last they have reached the
place where Tenochtitlan is to be founded."
The paba passed on.
"Here," he said, "are temples and palaces. The king reclines on a couch;
the city has been founded."
And before another panel,--"Look well to this, O king. A new character
is introduced; here it is before an altar, offering a sacrifice of
fruits and flowers. It is Quetzal'! In his worship, you recollect, there
is no slaughter of victims. My hands are pure of blood."
The Quetzal', with its pleasant face, flowing curls, and simple costume,
seemed to have a charm for Montezuma, for he mused over it a long time.
Some distance on, the figure again appeared, stepping into a canoe,
while the people, temples, and palaces of the city were behind it.
Mualox explained, "See, O king! The fair god is departing from
Tenochtitlan; he has been banished. Saddest of all the days was that!"
And so, the holy man interpreting, they moved along the southern wall.
Not a scene but was illustrative of some incident memorable in the
Aztecan history. And the reviewers were struck with the faithfulness of
the record not less than with the beauty of the work.
On the western wall, the first cartoon represented a young man sweeping
the steps of a temple. Montezuma paused before it amazed, and Guatamozin
for the first time cried out, "It is the king! It is the king!" The
likeness was perfect.
After that came a coronation scene. The _teotuctli_ was placing a
_panache_[21] on Montezuma's head. In the third cartoon, he was with the
army, going to battle. In the fourth, he was seated, while a man clad
in _nequen_,[22] but crowned, stood before him.
"You have grown familiar with triumphs, and it is many summers since, O
king," said Mualox; "but you have not yet forgotten the gladness of your
first conquest. Here is its record. As we go on, recall the kings who
were thus made to stand before you."
And counting as they proceeded, Montezuma found that in every cartoon
there was an additional figure crowned and in _nequen_. When they came
to the one next the last on the western wall, he said,--
"Show me the meaning of all this: here are thirty kings."
"Will the king tell his slave the number of cities he has conquered?"
He thought awhile, and replied, "Thirty."
"Then the record is faithful. It started with the first king of
Tenochtitlan; it came down to your coronation; now, it has numbered your
conquests. See you not, O king? Behind us, all the writing is of the
past; this is Montezuma and Tenochtitlan as they are: the present is
before us! Could the hand that set this chamber and carved these walls
have been a man's? Who but a god six cycles ago could have foreseen that
a son of the son of Axaya' would carry the rulers of thirty conquered
cities in his train?"
The royal visitor listened breathlessly. He began to comprehend the
writing, and thrill with fast-coming presentiments. Yet he struggled
with his fears.
"Prophecy has to do with the future," he said; "and you have shown me
nothing that the sculptors and jewellers in my palace cannot do. Would
you have me believe all this from Quetzal', show me something that is to
come."
Mualox led him to the next scene which represented the king sitting in
state; above him a canopy; his nobles and the women of his household
around him; at his feet the people; and all were looking at a combat
going on between warriors.
"You have asked for prophecy,--behold!" said Mualox.
"I see nothing," replied the king.
"Nothing! Is not this the celebration to-morrow? Since it was ordered,
could your sculptors have executed what you see?"
Back to the monarch's face stole the pallor.
"Look again, O king! You only saw yourself, your people and warriors.
But what is this?"
Walking up, he laid his finger on the representation of a man landing
from a canoe.
"The last we beheld of Quetzal'," he continued, "was on the southern
wall; his back was to Tenochtitlan, which he was leaving with a curse.
All you have heard about his promise to return is true. He himself has
written the very day, and here it is. Look! While the king, his warriors
and people, are gathered to the combat, Quetzal' steps from the canoe to
the sea-shore."
The figure in the carving was scarcely two hands high, but exquisitely
wrought. With terror poorly concealed, Montezuma recognized it.
"And now my promise is redeemed. I said I would give you to read a
message from the sun."
"Read, Mualox: I cannot."
The holy man turned to the writing, and said, with a swelling voice,
"Thus writes Quetzal' to Montezuma, the king! In the last day he will
seek to stay my vengeance; he will call together his people; there will
be combat in Tenochtitlan; but in the midst of the rejoicing I will land
on the sea-shore, and end the days of Azatlan forever."
"Forever!" said the unhappy monarch. "No, no! Read the next writing."
"There is no other; this is the last."
The eastern, southern, and western walls had been successively passed,
and interpreted. Now the king turned to the northern wall: _it was
blank!_ His eyes flashed, and he almost shouted,--
"Liar! Quetzal' may come to-morrow, but it will be as friend. There is
no curse!"
The paba humbled himself before the speaker, and said, slowly and
tearfully, "The wise king is blinded by his hope. When Quetzal' finished
this chapter, his task was done; he had recorded the last day of perfect
glory, and ceased to write because, Azatlan being now to perish, there
was nothing more to record. O unhappy king! that is the curse, and it
needed no writing!"
Montezuma shook with passion.
"Lead me hence, lead me hence!" he cried. "I will watch; and if Quetzal'
comes not on the morrow,--comes not during the celebration,--I swear to
level this temple, and let the lake into its chambers! And you, paba
though you be, I will drown you like a slave! Lead on!"
Mualox obeyed without a word. Lamp in hand, he led his visitors from the
splendid chamber up to the _azoteas_ of the ancient house. As they
descended the eastern steps, he knelt, and kissed the pavement.
FOOTNOTES:
[20] A kind of emerald, used altogether by the nobility. Sahagun,
Hist. de Nueva Esp.
[21] Or _capilli_,--the king's crown. A _panache_ was the head-dress
of a warrior.
[22] A garment of coarse white material, made from the fibre of the
aloe, and by court etiquette required to be worn by courtiers and
suitors in the king's presence. The rule appears to have been of
universal application.
CHAPTER VIII.
A BUSINESS MAN IN TENOCHTITLAN.
Xoli, the Chalcan, was supposed to be the richest citizen, exclusive of
the nobles, in Tenochtitlan. Amongst other properties, he owned a house
on the eastern side of the Tlateloco _tianguez_, or market-place; which,
whether considered architecturally, or with reference to the business to
which it was devoted, or as the device of an unassoilzied heathen, was
certainly very remarkable. Its portico had six great columns of white
marble alternating six others of green porphyry, with a roof guarded by
a parapet intricately and tastefully carved; while cushioned lounges,
heavy curtains festooned and flashing with cochineal, and a fountain of
water pure enough for the draught of a king, all within the columns,
perfected it as a retreat from the sultry summer sun.
The house thus elegantly garnished was not a _meson_, or a café, or a
theatre, or a broker's office; but rather a combination of them all, and
therefore divided into many apartments; of which one was for the sale of
beverages favorite among the wealthy and noble Aztecs,--Bacchic
inventions, with _pulque_ for chief staple, since it had the sanction of
antiquity and was mildly intoxicating; another was a restaurant, where
the _cuisine_ was only excelled at the royal table; indeed, there was a
story abroad that the king had several times borrowed the services of
the Chalcan's _artistes_; but, whether derived from the master or his
slaves, the shrewd reader will conclude from it, that the science of
advertising was known and practised as well in Tenochtitlan as in
Madrid. Nor were those all. Under the same roof were rooms for the
amusement of patrons,--for reading, smoking, and games; one in especial
for a play of hazard called _totoloque_, then very popular, because a
passion of Montezuma's. Finally, as entertainments not prohibited by the
_teotuctli_, a signal would, at any time, summon a minstrel, a juggler,
or a dancing-girl. Hardly need I say that the establishment was
successful. Always ringing with music, and of nights always resplendent
with lamps, it was always overflowing with custom.
"So old Tepaja wanted you to be a merchant," said the Chalcan, in his
full, round voice, as, comfortably seated under the curtains of his
portico, he smoked his pipe, and talked with our young friend, the
Tihuancan.
"Yes. Now that he is old, he thinks war dangerous."
"You mistake him, boy. He merely thinks with me, that there is something
more real in wealth and many slaves. As he has grown older, he has grown
wiser."
"As you will. I could not be a merchant."
"Whom did you think of serving?"
"The 'tzin Guatamo."[23]
"I know him. He comes to my portico sometimes, but not to borrow money.
You see, I frequently act as broker, and take deposits from the
merchants and securities from the spendthrift nobles; he, however, has
no vices. When not with the army, he passes the time in study; though
they do say he goes a great deal to the palace to make love to the
princess. And now that I reflect, I doubt if you can get place with
him."
"Why so?"
"Well, he keeps no idle train, and the time is very quiet. If he were
going to the frontier it would be different."
"Indeed!"
"You see, boy, he is the bravest man and best fighter in the army; and
the sensible fellows of moderate skill and ambition have no fancy for
the hot place in a fight, which is generally where he is."
"The discredit is not to him, by Our Mother!" said Hualpa, laughing.
The broker stopped to cherish the fire in his pipe,--an act which the
inexperienced consider wholly incompatible with the profound reflection
he certainly indulged. When next he spoke, it was with smoke wreathing
his round face, as white clouds sometimes wreathe the full moon.
"About an hour ago a fellow came here, and said he had heard that
Iztlil', the Tezcucan, had challenged the 'tzin to go into the arena
with him to-morrow. Not a bad thing for the god Quetzal', if all I hear
be true!"
Again the pipe, and then the continuation.
"You see, when the combat was determined on, there happened to be in the
temples two Othmies and two Tlascalans, warriors of very great report.
As soon as it became known that, by the king's choice, they were the
challengers, the young fellows about the palace shunned the sport, and
there was danger that the god would find himself without a champion. To
avoid such a disgrace, the 'tzin was coming here to-night to hang his
shield in the portico. If he and the Tezcucan both take up the fight, it
will be a great day indeed."
The silence that ensued was broken by the hunter, whom the gossip had
plunged into revery.
"I pray your pardon, Xoli; but you said, I think, that the lords hang
back from the danger. Can any one volunteer?"
"Certainly; any one who is a warrior, and is in time. Are you of that
mind?"
The Chalcan took down the pipe, and looked at him earnestly.
"If I had the arms--"
"But you know nothing about it,--not even how such combats are
conducted!"
The broker was now astonished.
"Listen to me," he said. "These combats are always in honor of some one
or more of the Aztecan gods,--generally of Huitzil', god of war. They
used to be very simple affairs. A small platform of stone, of the height
of a man, was put up in the midst of the _tianguez_, so as to be seen by
the people standing around; and upon it, in pairs, the champions fought
their duels. This, however, was too plain to suit the tastes of the last
Montezuma; and he changed the ceremony into a spectacle really honorable
and great. Now, the arena is first prepared,--a central space in a great
many rows of seats erected so as to rise one above the other. At the
proper time, the people, the priests, and the soldiers go in and take
possession of their allotted places. Some time previous, the quarters of
the prisoners taken in battle are examined and two or more of the best
of the warriors found there are chosen by the king, and put in training
for the occasion. They are treated fairly, and are told that, if they
fight and win, they shall be crowned as heroes, and returned to their
tribes. No need, I think, to tell you how brave men fight when
stimulated by hope of glory and hope of life. When chosen, their names
are published, and their shields hung up in a portico on the other side
of the square yonder; after which they are understood to be the
challengers of any equal number of warriors who dare become champions of
the god or gods in whose honor the celebration is had. Think of the
approved skill and valor of the foe; think of the thousands who will be
present; think of your own inexperience in war, and of your youth, your
stature hardly gained, your muscles hardly matured; think of everything
tending to weaken your chances of success,--and then speak to me."
Hualpa met the sharp gaze of the Chalcan steadily, and answered, "I am
thought to have some skill with the bow and _maquahuitl_. Get me the
opportunity, and I will fight."
And Xoli, who was a sincere friend, reflected awhile. "There is peril in
the undertaking, to be sure; but then he is resolved to be a warrior,
and if he survives, it is glory at once gained, fortune at once made."
Then he arose, and, smiling, said aloud, "Let us go to the portico. If
the list be not full, you shall have the arms,--yes, by the Sun! as the
lordly Aztecs swear,--the very best in Tenochtitlan."
And they lifted the curtains, and stepped into the _tianguez_.[24] The
light of the fires on the temples was hardly more in strength than the
shine of the moon; so that torches had to be set up at intervals over
the celebrated square. On an ordinary occasion, with a visitation of
forty thousand busy buyers and sellers, it was a show of merchants and
merchantable staples worthy the chief mart of an empire so notable; but
now, drawn by the double attraction of market and celebration, the
multitude that thronged it was trebly greater; yet the order was
perfect.
An officer, at the head of a patrol, passed them with a prisoner.
"Ho, Chalcan! If you would see justice done, follow me."
"Thanks, thanks, good friend; I have been before the judges too often
already."
So the preservation of the peace was no mystery.
The friends made way slowly, giving the Tihuancan time to gratify his
curiosity. He found the place like a great national fair, in which few
branches of industry were unrepresented. There were smiths who worked in
the coarser metals, and jewellers skilful as those of Europe; there
were makers and dealers in furniture, and sandals, and _plumaje_; at one
place men were disposing of fruits, flowers, and vegetables; not far
away fishermen boasted their stock caught that day in the fresh waters
of Chalco; tables of pastry and maize bread were set next the quarters
of the hunters of Xilotepec; the armorers, clothiers, and dealers in
cotton were each of them a separate host. In no land where a science has
been taught or a book written have the fine arts been dishonored; and so
in the great market of Tenochtitlan there were no galleries so rich as
those of the painters, nor was any craft allowed such space for their
exhibitions as the sculptors.
They halted an instant before a porch full of slaves. A rapid glance at
the miserable wretches, and Xoli said, pitilessly, "Bah! Mictlan has
many such. Let us go."
Farther on they came to a platform on which a band of mountebanks was
performing. Hualpa would have stayed to witness their tableaux, but Xoli
was impatient.
"You see yon barber's shop," he said; "next to it is the portico we
seek. Come on!"
At last they arrived there, and mixed with the crowd curious like
themselves.
"Ah, boy, you are too late! The list is full."
The Chalcan spoke regretfully.
Hualpa looked for himself. On a clear white wall, that fairly glistened
with the flood of light pouring upon it, he counted eight shields, or
gages of battle. Over the four to the left were picture-written,
"Othmies," "Tlascalans." They belonged to the challengers, and were
battered and stained, proving that their gathering had been in no field
of peace. The four to the right were of the Aztecs, and all bore devices
except one. A sentinel stood silently beneath them.
"Welcome, Chalcan!" said a citizen, saluting the broker. "You are in
good time to tell us the owners of the shields here."
"Of the Aztecs?"
"Yes."
"Well," said Xoli, slowly and gravely. "The shields I do not know are
few and of little note. At one time or another I have seen them all pass
my portico going to battle."
A bystander, listening, whispered to his friends,--
"The braggart! He says nothing of the times the owners passed his door
to get a pinch of his snuff."
"Or to get drunk on his abominable _pulque_," said another.
"Or to get a loan, leaving their palaces in pawn," said a third party.
But Xoli went on impressively,--
"Those two to the left belong to a surly Otompan and a girl-faced
Cholulan. They had a quarrel in the king's garden, and this is the
upshot. That other,--surely, O citizens, you know the shield of Iztlil',
the Tezcucan!"
"Yes; but its neighbor?"
"The plain shield! Its owner has a name to win. I can find you enough
such here in the market to equip an army. Say, soldier, whose gage is
that?"
The sentinel shook his head. "A page came not long ago, and asked me to
hang it up by the side of the Tezcucan's. He said not whom he served."
"Well, maybe you know the challengers."
"Two of the shields belong to a father and son of the tribe of Othmies.
In the last battle the son alone slew eight Cempoallan warriors for us.
Tlascalans, whose names I do not know, own the others."
"Do you think they will escape?" asked a citizen.
The sentinel smiled grimly, and said, "Not if it be true that yon plain
shield belongs to Guatamo, the 'tzin."
Directly a patrol, rudely thrusting the citizens aside, came to relieve
the guard. In the confusion, the Chalcan whispered to his friend, "Let
us go back. There is no chance for you in the arena to-morrow; and this
new fellow is sullen; his tongue would not wag though I promised him
drink from the king's vase."
Soon after they reached the Chalcan's portico and disappeared in the
building, the cry of the night-watchers arose from the temples, and the
market was closed. The great crowd vanished; in stall and portico the
lights were extinguished; but at once another scene equally tumultuous
usurped the _tianguez_. Thousands of half-naked _tamanes_ rushed into
the deserted place, and all night long it resounded, like a Babel, with
clamor of tongues, and notes of mighty preparation.
FOOTNOTES:
[23] _'Tzin_ was a title equivalent to _lord_ in English.
_Guatamotzin_, as compounded, signifies _Lord Guatamo_.
[24] The great market-place or square of Tlateloco. The Spaniards
called it _tianguez_. For description, see Prescott, Conq. of
Mexico, Vol. II., Book IV. Bernal Diaz's Work, Hist. de la Conq.
CHAPTER IX.
THE QUESTIONER OF THE MORNING.
When Montezuma departed from the old Cû for his palace, it was not to
sleep or rest. The revelation that so disturbed him, that held him
wordless on the street, and made him shrink from his people, wild with
the promise of pomp and combat, would not be shut out by gates and
guards; it clung to his memory, and with him stood by the fountain,
walked in the garden, and laid down on his couch. Royalty had no
medicine for the trouble; he was restless as a fevered slave, and at
times muttered prayers, pronouncing no name but Quetzal's. When the
morning approached, he called Maxtla, and bade him get ready his canoe:
from Chapultepec, the palace and tomb of his fathers, he would see the
sun rise.
From one of the westerly canals they put out. The lake was still rocking
the night on its bosom, and no light other than of the stars shone in
the east. The gurgling sound of waters parted by the rushing vessel, and
the regular dip of the paddles, were all that disturbed the brooding of
majesty abroad thus early on Tezcuco.
The canoe struck the white pebbles that strewed the landing at the
princely property just as dawn was dappling the sky. On the highest
point of the hill there was a tower from which the kings were accustomed
to observe the stars. Thither Montezuma went. Maxtla, who alone dared
follow, spread a mat for him on the tiles; kneeling upon it, and folding
his hands worshipfully upon his breast, he looked to the east.
And the king was learned; indeed, one more so was not in all his realm.
In his student days, and in his priesthood, before he was taken from
sweeping the temple to be arch-ruler, he had gained astrological craft,
and yet practised it from habit. The heavens, with their blazonry, were
to him as pictured parchments. He loved the stars for their sublime
mystery, and had faith in them as oracles. He consulted them always; his
armies marched at their bidding; and they and the gods controlled every
movement of his civil polity. But as he had never before been moved by
so great a trouble, and as the knowledge he now sought directly
concerned his throne and nations, he came to consult and question the
Morning, that intelligence higher and purer than the stars. If Quetzal'
was angered, and would that day land for vengeance, he naturally
supposed the Sun, his dwelling-place, would give some warning. So he
came seeking the mood of the god from the Sun.
And while he knelt, gradually the gray dawn melted into purple and gold.
The stars went softly out. Long rays, like radiant spears, shot up and
athwart the sky. As the indications multiplied, his hopes arose.
Farther back he threw the hood from his brow; the sun seemed coming
clear and cloudless above the mountains, kindling his heart no less than
the air and earth.
A wide territory, wrapped in the dim light, extended beneath his feet.
There slept Tenochtitlan, with her shining temples and blazing towers,
her streets and resistless nationality; there were the four lakes, with
their blue waters, their shores set with cities, villages and gardens;
beyond them lay eastern Anahuac, the princeliest jewel of the Empire.
What with its harvests, its orchards, and its homesteads, its forests of
oak, sycamore, and cedar, its population busy, happy, and faithful,
contented as tillers of the soil, and brave as lions in time of need, it
was all of Aden he had ever known or dreamed.
In the southeast, above a long range of mountains, rose the volcanic
peaks poetized by the Aztecs into "The White Woman"[25] and "The Smoking
Hill."[26] Mythology had covered them with sanctifying faith, as, in a
different age and more classic clime, it clothed the serene mountain of
Thessaly.
But the king saw little of all this beauty; he observed nothing but the
sun, which was rising a few degrees north of "The Smoking Hill." In all
the heavens round there was not a fleck; and already his heart throbbed
with delight, when suddenly a cloud of smoke rushed upward from the
mountain, and commenced gathering darkly about its white summit. Quick
to behold it, he scarcely hushed a cry of fear, and instinctively waved
his hand, as if, by a kingly gesture, to stay the eruption. Slowly the
vapor crept over the roseate sky, and, breathless and motionless, the
seeker of the god's mood and questioner of the Morning watched its
progress. Across the pathway of the sun it stretched, so that when the
disk wheeled fairly above the mountain-range, it looked like a ball of
blood.
The king was a reader of picture-writing, and skilful in deducing the
meaning of men from cipher and hieroglyph. Straightway he interpreted
the phenomenon as a direful portent; and because he came looking for
omens, the idea that this was a message sent him expressly from the gods
was but a right royal vanity. He drew the hood over his face again, and
drooped his head disconsolately upon his breast. His mind filled with a
host of gloomy thoughts. The revelation of Mualox was prophecy here
confirmed,--Quetzal' was coming! Throne, power, people,--all the glories
of his country and Empire,--he saw snatched from his nerveless grasp,
and floating away, like the dust of the valley.
After a while he arose to depart. One more look he gave the sun before
descending from the roof, and shuddered at the sight of city, lake,
valley, the cloud itself, and the sky above it, all colored with an
ominous crimson.
"Behold!" he said, tremulously, to Maxtla, "to-day we will sacrifice to
Quetzal': how long until Quetzal' sacrifices to himself?"
The chief cast down his eyes; for he knew how dangerous it was to look
on royalty humbled by fear. Then Montezuma shaded his face again, and
left the proud old hill, with a sigh for its palaces and the beauty of
its great cypress-groves.
FOOTNOTES:
[25] Iztacoihuatl.
[26] Popocatepetl.
CHAPTER X.
GOING TO THE COMBAT.
As the morning advanced, the city grew fully animate. A festal spirit
was abroad, seeking display in masks, mimes, and processions. Jugglers
performed on the street-corners; dancing-girls, with tambours, and long
elf-locks dressed in flowers, possessed themselves of the smooth
sidewalks. Very plainly, the evil omen of the morning affected the king
more than his people.
The day advanced clear and beautiful. In the eastern sky the smoke of
the volcano still lingered; but the sun rose above it, and smiled on the
valley, like a loving god.
At length the tambour in the great temple sounded the signal of
assemblage. Its deep tones, penetrating every recess of the town and
rushing across the lake, were heard in the villages on the distant
shores. Then, in steady currents, the multitudes set forward for the
_tianguez_. The _chinampas_ were deserted; hovels and palaces gave up
their tenantry; canoes, gay with garlands, were abandoned in the
waveless canals. The women and children came down from the roofs; from
all the temples--all but the old one with the solitary gray tower and
echoless court--poured the priesthood in processions, headed by chanting
choirs, and interspersed with countless sacred symbols. Many were the
pomps, but that of the warriors surpassed all others. Marching in
columns of thousands, they filled the streets with flashing arms and
gorgeous regalia, roar of _attabals_ and peals of minstrelsy.
About the same time the royal palanquin stood at the palace portal,
engoldened, jewelled, and surmounted with a _panache_ of green plumes.
Cuitlahua, Cacama, Maxtla, and the lords of Tlacopan, Tepejaca, and
Cholula, with other nobles from the provinces far and near, were
collected about it in waiting, sporting on their persons the wealth of
principalities. When the monarch came out, they knelt, and every one of
them placed his palm on the ground before him. On the last stone at the
portal he stopped, and raised his eyes to the sky. A piece of _aguave_,
fluttering like a leaf, fell so near him that he reached out his hand
and caught it.
"Read it, my lords," he said, after a moment's study.
The paper contained only the picture of an eagle attacked by an owl, and
passed from hand to hand. Intent on deciphering the writing, none
thought of inquiring whether its coming was of design or accident.
"What does it mean, my lord Cacama?" asked the monarch, gravely.
Cacama's eyes dropped as he replied,--
"When we write of you, O king, we paint an eagle; When we write of the
'tzin Guatamo, we paint an owl."
"What!" said the lord Cuitlahua, "would the 'tzin attack his king?"
And the monarch looked from one to the other strangely, saying only,
"The owl is the device on his shield."
Then he entered the palanquin; whereupon some of the nobles lifted it on
their shoulders, and the company, in procession, set out for the
_tianguez_. On the way they were joined by Iztlil', the Tezcucan; and it
was remarkable that, of them all, he was the only one silent about the
paper.
The Iztapalapan street, of great width, and on both sides lined with
gardens, palaces, and temples, was not only the boast of Tenochtitlan;
its beauty was told in song and story throughout the Empire. The signal
of assemblage for the day's great pastime found Xoli and his provincial
friend lounging along the broad pave of the beautiful thoroughfare. They
at once started for the _tianguez_. The broker was fat, and it was
troublesome for him to keep pace with the hunter; nevertheless, they
overtook a party of _tamanes_ going in the same direction, and bearing a
palanquin richly caparisoned. The slaves, very sumptuously clad,
proceeded slowly and with downcast eyes, and so steadily that the
carriage had the onward, gliding motion of a boat.
"Lower,--down, boy! See you not the green _panache_?" whispered Xoli,
half frightened.
Too late. The Chalcan, even as he whispered, touched the pavement, but
Hualpa remained erect: not only that; he looked boldly into the eyes of
the occupants of the palanquin,--two women, whose beauty shone upon him
like a sudden light. Then he bent his head, and his heart closed upon
the recollection of what he saw so that it never escaped. The picture
was of a girl, almost a woman, laughing; opposite her, and rather in the
shade of the fringed curtain, one older, though young, and grave and
stately; her hair black, her face oval, her eyes large and lustrous. To
her he made his involuntary obeisance. Afterwards she reminded many a
Spaniard of the dark-eyed _hermosura_ with whom he had left love-tokens
in his native land.
"They are the king's daughters, the princesses Tula and Nenetzin," said
Xoli, when fairly past the carriage. "And as you have just come up from
the country, listen. Green is the royal color, and belongs to the king's
family; and wherever met, in the city or on the lake, the people salute
it. Though what they meet be but a green feather in a slave's hand, they
salute. Remember the lesson. By the way, the gossips say that Guatamozin
will marry Tula, the eldest one."
"She is very beautiful," said the hunter, as to himself, and slackening
his steps.
"Are you mad?" cried the broker, seizing his arm. "Would you bring the
patrol upon us? They are not for such as you. Come on. It may be we can
get seats to see the king and his whole household."
At the entrance to the arena there was a press which the police could
hardly control. In the midst of it, Xoli pulled his companion to one
side, saying, "The king comes! Let us under the staging here until he
passes."
They found themselves, then, close by the spears, which, planted in the
ground, upheld the shields of the combatants; and when the Tihuancan
heard the people, as they streamed in, cheer the champions of the god,
he grieved sorely that he was not one of them.
The heralds then came up, clearing the way; and all thereabout knelt,
and so received the monarch. He stopped to inspect the shields; for in
all his realm there was not one better versed in its heraldry. A diadem,
not unlike the papal tiara, crowned his head; his tunic and cloak were
of the skins of green humming-birds brilliantly iridescent; a rope of
pearls large as grapes hung, many times doubled, from his neck down over
his breast; his sandals and sandal-thongs were embossed with gold, and
besides anklets of massive gold, _cuishes_ of the same metal guarded his
legs from knee to anklet. Save the transparent, lustrous gray of the
pearls, his dress was of the two colors, green and yellow, and the
effect was indescribably royal; yet all the bravery of his trappings
could not hide from Hualpa, beholding him for the first time, that, like
any common soul, he was suffering from some trouble of mind.
"So, Cacama," he said, pleasantly, after a look at the gages, "your
brother has a mind to make peace with the gods. It is well!"
And thereupon Iztlil' himself stepped out and knelt before him in battle
array, the javelin in his hand, and bow, quiver, and _maquahuitl_ at his
back; and in his homage the floating feathers of his helm brushed the
dust from the royal feet.
"It is well!" repeated the king, smiling. "But, son of my friend, where
are your comrades?"
Tlahua, the Otompan, and the young Cholulan, equipped like Iztlil',
rendered their homage also. Over their heads he extended his hands, and
said, softly, "They who love the gods, the gods love. Put your trust in
them, O my children. And upon you be their blessing!"
And already he had passed the spears: one gage was forgotten, one
combatant unblessed. Suddenly he looked back.
"Whose shield is that, my lords?"
All eyes rested upon the plain gage, but no one replied.
"Who is he that thus mocks the holy cause of Quetzal'? Go, Maxtla, and
bring him to me!"
Then outspake Iztlil'.
"The shield is Guatamozin's. Last night he challenged me to this combat,
and he is not here. O king, the owl may be looking for the eagle."
A moment the sadly serene countenance of the monarch knit and flushed as
from a passing pain; a moment he regarded the Tezcucan. Then he turned
to the shields of the Othmies and Tlascalans.
"They are a sturdy foe, and I warrant will fight hard," he said,
quietly. "But such victims are the delight of the gods. Fail me not, O
children!"
When the Tihuancan and his chaperone climbed half-way to the upper row
of seats, in the quarter assigned to the people, the former was amazed.
He looked down on a circular arena, strewn with white sand from the
lake, and large enough for manœuvring half a thousand men. It was
bounded by a rope, outside of which was a broad margin crowded with
rank on rank of common soldiery, whose shields were arranged before them
like a wall impervious to a glancing arrow. Back from the arena extended
the staging, rising gradually seat above seat, platform above platform,
until the whole area of the _tianguez_ was occupied.
"Is the king a magician, that he can do this thing in a single night?"
asked Hualpa.
Xoli laughed. "He has done many things much greater. The timbers you see
were wrought long ago, and have been lying in the temples; the _tamanes_
had only to bring them out and put them together."
In the east there was a platform, carpeted, furnished with lounges, and
protected from the sun by a red canopy; broad passages of entrance
separated it from the ruder structure erected for the commonalty; it was
also the highest of the platforms, so that its occupants could overlook
the whole amphitheatre. This lordlier preparation belonged to the king,
his household and nobles. So, besides his wives and daughters, under the
red canopy sat the three hundred women of his harem,--soft testimony
that Orientalism dwelt not alone in the sky and palm-trees of the
valley.
As remarked, the margin around the arena belonged to the soldiery; the
citizens had seats in the north and south; while the priesthood,
superior to either of them in sanctity of character, sat aloof in the
west, also screened by a canopy. And, as the celebration was regarded in
the light of a religious exercise, not only did women crowd the place,
but mothers brought their children, that, from the examples of the
arena, they might learn to be warriors.
Upon the appearance of the monarch there was a perfect calm. Standing
awhile by his couch, he looked over the scene; and not often has royal
vision been better filled with all that constitutes royalty. Opposite
him he saw the servitors of his religion; at his feet were his warriors
and people almost innumerable. When, at last, the minstrels of the
soldiery poured their wild music over the theatre, he thrilled with the
ecstasy of power.
The champions for the god then came in; and as they strode across to the
western side of the arena the air was filled with plaudits and flying
garlands; but hardly was the welcome ended before there was a great hum
and stir, as the spectators asked each other why the fourth combatant
came not with the others.
"The one with the bright _panache_, asked you? That is Iztlil', the
Tezcucan," said Xoli.
"Is he not too fine?"
"No. Only think of the friends the glitter has made him among the women
and children."
The Chalcan laughed heartily at the cynicism.
"And the broad-shouldered fellow now fixing the thong of his shield?"
"The Otompan,--a good warrior. They say he goes to battle with the will
a girl goes to a feast. The other is the Cholulan; he has his renown to
win, and is too young."
"But he may have other qualities," suggested Hualpa. "I have heard it
said that, in a battle of arrows, a quick eye is better than a strong
arm."
The broker yawned. "Well, I like not those Cholulans. They are proud;
they scorn the other nations, even the Aztecs. Probably it is well they
are better priests than soldiers. Under the red canopy yonder I see his
father."
"Listen, good Xoli. I hear the people talking about the 'tzin? Where can
he be?"
Just then within the wall of shields there came a warrior, who strode
swiftly toward the solitary gage. His array was less splendid than his
comrades'; his helm was of plain leather without ornament; his
_escaupil_ was secured by a simple loop: yet the people knew him, and
shouted; and when he took down the plain shield and fixed it to his
arm, the approbation of the common soldiery arose like a storm. As they
bore such shields to battle, he became, as it were, their peculiar
representative. It was Guatamozin.
And under the royal canopy there was rapid exchange of whispers and
looks; every mind reverted to the paper dropped so mysteriously into the
king's hand at the palace door; and some there were, acuter than the
rest, who saw corroboration of the meaning given the writing in the fact
that the shield the 'tzin now chose was without the owl, his usual
device. Whether the monarch himself was one of them might not be said;
his face was as impassive as bronze.
Next, the Othmies and Tlascalans, dignified into common challengers of
the proudest chiefs of Tenochtitlan, were conducted into the arena.
The Tlascalans were strong men used to battle; and though, like their
companions in danger, at first bewildered by the sudden introduction to
so vast a multitude, they became quickly inured to the situation. Of the
Othmies, a more promising pair of gladiators never exhibited before a
Roman audience. The father was past the prime of life, but erect,
broad-shouldered, and of unusual dignity; the son was slighter, and not
so tall, but his limbs were round and beautiful, and he looked as if he
might outleap an antelope. The people were delighted, and cheered the
challengers with scarcely less heartiness than their own champions.
Still, the younger Othmi appeared hesitant, and, when the clamor
somewhat abated, the sire touched him, and said,--
"Does my boy dream? What voice is in his ear that his heart is so
melted? Awake! the shield is on the arm of the foe."
The young man aroused. "I saw the sun on the green hills of Othmi. But
see!" he said, proudly, and with flashing eyes, "there is no weakness in
the dreamer's arm." And with the words, he seized a bow at his feet,
fitted an arrow upon the cord, and, drawing full to the head, sent it
cleaving the sunshine far above them. Every eye followed its flight but
his own. "The arm, O chief, is not stronger than the heart," he added,
carelessly dropping the bow.
The old warrior gazed at him tenderly; but as that was no time for the
indulgence of affection, he turned to the Tlascalans, and said, "We must
be ready: let us arm."
Each donned a leathern helm, and wrapped himself in a quilted
_escaupil_; each buckled the shield on his arm, and tightened the thongs
of his sandals. Their arms lay at hand.
Such were the preparations for the combat, such the combatants. And as
the foemen faced each other, awaiting the signal for the mortal strife,
I fancy no Christian has seen anything more beautiful than the theatre.
Among the faces the gaze swam as in a sea; the gleaming of arms and
ornaments was bewildering; while the diversity of colors in the costumes
of the vast audience was without comparison. With the exception of the
arena, the royal platform was the cynosure. Behind the king, with a
shield faced with silver, stood Maxtla, vigilant against treachery or
despair. The array of nobles about the couch was imperial; and what with
them, and the dark-eyed beauties of his household, and the canopy
tingeing the air and softly undulating above him, and the mighty
congregation of subjects at his feet, it was with Montezuma like a
revival of the glory of the Hystaspes. Yet the presence of his power but
increased his gloom; in a short time he heard no music and saw no
splendor; everything reminded him of the last picture on the western
wall of the golden chamber.
CHAPTER XI.
THE COMBAT.
The champions for the god drew themselves up in the west, while their
challengers occupied the east of the arena. This position of parties was
the subject of much speculation with the spectators, who saw it might
prove a point of great importance if the engagement assumed the form of
single combats.
Considering age and appearance, the Tlascalans were adjudged most
dangerous of the challengers,--a palm readily awarded to the Tezcucan
and the 'tzin on their side. The common opinion held also, that the
Cholulan, the youngest and least experienced of the Aztecs, should have
been the antagonist of the elder Othmi, whose vigor was presumed to be
affected by his age; as it was, that combat belonged to Tlahua, the
Otompan, while the younger Othmi confronted the Cholulan.
And now the theatre grew profoundly still with expectancy.
"The day grows old. Let the signal be given." And so saying, the king
waved his hand, and sunk indolently back upon his couch.
A moment after there was a burst of martial symphony, and the combat
began.
It was opened with arrows; and to determine, if possible, the
comparative skill of the combatants, the spectators watched the
commencement with closest attention. The younger Othmi sent his missile
straight into the shield of the Cholulan, who, from precipitation
probably, was not so successful. The elder Othmi and his antagonist each
planted his arrow fairly, as did Iztlil' and the Tlascalans. But a
great outcry of applause attended Guatamozin, when his bolt, flying
across the space, buried its barb in the crest of his adversary. A score
of feathers, shorn away, floated slowly to the sand.
"It was well done; by Our Mother, it was well done!" murmured Hualpa.
"Wait!" said the Chalcan patronizingly. "Wait till they come to the
_maquahuitl_!"
Quite a number of arrows were thus interchanged by the parties without
effect, as they were always dexterously intercepted. The passage was but
the preluding skirmish, participated in by all but the 'tzin, who, after
his first shot, stood a little apart from his comrades, and, resting his
long bow on the ground, watched the trial with apparent indifference.
Like the Chalcan, he seemed to regard it as play; and the populace after
a while fell into the same opinion: there was not enough danger to fully
interest them. So there began to arise murmurs and cries, which the
Cholulan was the first to observe and interpret. Under an impulse which
had relation, probably, to his first failure, he resolved to avail
himself of the growing feeling. Throwing down his bow, he seized the
_maquahuitl_ at his back, and, without a word to his friends, started
impetuously across the arena. The peril was great, for every foeman at
once turned his arrow against him.
Then the 'tzin stirred himself. "The boy is mad, and will die if we do
not go with him," he said; and already his foot was advanced to follow,
when the young Othmi sprang forward from the other side to meet the
Cholulan.
The eagerness lest an incident should be lost became intense; even the
king sat up to see the duel. The theatre rang with cries of
encouragement,--none, however, so cheery as that of the elder Othmi,
whose feelings of paternity were, for the moment, lost in his passion of
warrior.
"On, boy! Remember the green hills, and the hammock by the stream.
Strike hard, strike hard!"
The combatants were apparently well matched, being about equal in height
and age; both brandished the _maquahuitl_, the deadliest weapon known to
their wars. Wielded by both hands and swung high above the head, its
blades of glass generally clove their way to the life. About midway the
arena the foemen met. At the instant of contact the Cholulan brought a
downward blow, well aimed, at the head of his antagonist; but the lithe
Othmi, though at full speed, swerved like a bird on the wing. A great
shout attested the appreciation of the audience. The Cholulan wheeled,
with his weapon uplifted for another blow; the action called his left
arm into play, and drew his shield from its guard. The Othmi saw the
advantage. One step he took nearer, and then, with a sweep of his arm
and an upward stroke, he drove every blade deep into the side of his
enemy. The lifted weapon dropped in its half-finished circle, the shield
flew wildly up, and, with a groan, the victim fell heavily to the sand,
struggled once to rise, fell back again, and his battles were ended
forever. A cry of anguish went out from under the royal canopy.
"Hark!" cried Xoli. "Did you hear the old Cholulan? See! They are
leading him from the platform!"
Except that cry, however, not a voice was heard; from rising
apprehension as to the result of the combat, or touched by a passing
sympathy for the early death, the multitude was perfectly hushed.
"That was a brave blow, Xoli; but let him beware now!" said Hualpa,
excitedly.
And in expectation of instant vengeance, all eyes watched the Othmi.
Around the arena he glanced, then back to his friends. Retreat would
forfeit the honor gained: death was preferable. So he knelt upon the
breast of his enemy, and, setting his shield before him, waited sternly
and in silence the result. And Iztlil' and Tlahua launched their arrows
at him in quick succession, but Guatamozin was as indifferent as ever.
"What ails the 'tzin?" said Maxtla to the king. "The Othmi is at his
mercy."
The monarch deigned no reply.
The spirit of the old Othmi rose. On the sand behind him, prepared for
service, was a dart with three points of copper, and a long cord by
which to recover it when once thrown. Catching the weapon up, and
shouting, "I am coming, I am coming!" he ran to avert or share the
danger. The space to be crossed was inconsiderable, yet such his
animation that, as he ran, he poised the dart, and exposed his hand
above the shield. The 'tzin raised his bow, and let the arrow fly. It
struck right amongst the supple joints of the veteran's wrist. The
unhappy man stopped bewildered; over the theatre he looked, then at the
wound; in despair he tore the shaft out with his teeth, and rushed on
till he reached the boy.
The outburst of acclamation shook the theatre.
"To have seen such archery, Xoli, were worth all the years of a hunter's
life!" said Hualpa.
The Chalcan smiled like a connoisseur, and replied, "It is nothing.
Wait!"
And now the combat again presented a show of equality. The advantage, if
there was any, was thought to be with the Aztecs, since the loss of the
Cholulan was not to be weighed against the disability of the Othmi. Thus
the populace were released from apprehension, without any abatement of
interest; indeed, the excitement increased, for there was a promise of
change in the character of the contest; from quiet archery was growing
bloody action.
The Tlascalans, alive to the necessity of supporting their friends,
advanced to where the Cholulan lay, but more cautiously. When they were
come up, the Othmies both arose, and calmly perfected the front. The
astonishment at this was very great.
"Brave fellow! He is worth ten live Cholulans!" said Xoli. "But now
look, boy! The challengers have advanced half-way; the Aztecs must meet
them."
The conjecture was speedily verified. Iztlil' had, in fact, ill brooked
the superior skill, or better fortune, of the 'tzin; the applause of the
populace had been worse than wounds to his jealous heart. Till this
time, however, he had restrained his passion; now the foe were ranged as
if challenging attack: he threw away his useless bow, and laid his hand
on his _maquahuitl_.
"It is not for an Aztec god that we are fighting, O comrade!" he cried
to Tlahua. "It is for ourselves. Come, let us show yon king a better
war!"
And without waiting, he set on. The Otompan followed, leaving the 'tzin
alone. The call had not been to him, and as he was fighting for the god,
and the Tezcucan for himself, he merely placed another arrow on his bow,
and observed the attack.
Leaving the Otompan to engage the Othmies, the fierce Tezcucan assaulted
the Tlascalans, an encounter in which there was no equality; but the
eyes of Tenochtitlan were upon him, and at his back was a hated rival.
His antagonists each sent an arrow to meet him; but, as he skilfully
caught them on his shield, they, too, betook themselves to the
_maquahuitl_. Right on he kept, until his shield struck theirs; it was
gallantly done, and won a furious outburst from the people. Again
Montezuma sat up, momentarily animated.
"Ah, my lord Cacama!" he said, "if your brother's love were but equal to
his courage, I would give him an army."
"All the gods forfend!" replied the jealous prince. "The viper would
recover his fangs."
The speed with which he went was all that saved Iztlil' from the blades
of the Tlascalans. Striking no blow himself, he strove to make way
between them, and get behind, so that, facing about to repel his
returning onset, their backs would be to the 'tzin. But they were wary,
and did not yield. As they pushed against him, one, dropping his more
cumbrous weapon, struck him in the breast with a copper knife. The blow
was distinctly seen by the spectators.
Hualpa started from his seat. "He has it; they will finish him now! No,
he recovers. Our Mother, what a blow!"
The Tezcucan disengaged himself, and, maddened by the blood that began
to flow down his quilted armor, assaulted furiously. He was strong,
quick of eye, and skilful; the blades of his weapon gleamed in circles
around his head, and resounded against the shields. At length a
desperate blow beat down the guard of one of the Tlascalans; ere it
could be recovered, or Iztlil' avail himself of the advantage, there
came a sharp whirring through the air, and an arrow from the 'tzin
pierced to the warrior's heart. Up he leaped, dead before he touched the
sand. Again Iztlil' heard the acclamation of his rival. Without a pause,
he rushed upon the surviving Tlascalan, as if to bear him down by stormy
dint.
Meantime, the combat of Tlahua, the Otompan, was not without its
difficulties, since it was not singly with the young Othmi.
"Mictlan take the old man!" cried the lord Cuitlahua, bending from his
seat. "I thought him done for; but, see! he defends, the other fights."
And so it was. The Otompan struck hard, but was distracted by the
tactics of his foemen: if he aimed at the younger, both their shields
warded the blow; if he assaulted the elder, he was in turn attacked by
the younger; and so, without advantage to either, their strife continued
until the fall of the Tlascalan. Then, inspired by despairing valor, the
boy threw down his _maquahuitl_, and endeavored to push aside the
Otompan's shield. Once within its guard, the knife would finish the
contest. Tlahua retreated; but the foe clung to him,--one wrenching at
his shield, the other intercepting his blows, and both carefully
avoiding the deadly archery of the 'tzin, who, seeing the extremity of
the danger, started to the rescue. All the people shouted, "The 'tzin,
the 'tzin!" Xoli burst into ecstasy, and clapped his hands. "There he
goes! Now look for something!"
The rescuer went as a swift wind; but the clamor had been as a warning
to the young Othmi. By a great effort he tore away the Otompan's shield.
In vain the latter struggled. There was a flash, sharp, vivid, like the
sparkle of the sun upon restless waters. Then his head drooped forward,
and he staggered blindly. Once only the death-stroke was repeated; and
so still was the multitude that the dull sound of the knife driving home
was heard. The 'tzin was too late.
The prospect for the Aztecs was now gloomy. The Cholulan and Otompan
were dead; the Tezcucan, wounded and bleeding, was engaged in a doubtful
struggle with the Tlascalan; the 'tzin was the last hope of his party.
Upon him devolved the fight with the Othmies. In the interest thus
excited Iztlil's battle was forgotten.
Twice had the younger Othmi been victor, and still he was scathless.
Instead of the _maquahuitl_, he was now armed with the javelin, which,
while effective as a dart, was excellent to repel assault.
From the crowded seats of the theatre not a sound was heard. At no time
had the excitement risen to such a pitch. Breathless and motionless,
the spectators awaited the advance of the 'tzin. He was, as I have said,
a general favorite, beloved by priest and citizen, and with the wild
soldiery an object of rude idolatry. And if, under the royal canopy
there were eyes that looked not lovingly upon him, there were lips there
murmuring soft words of prayer for his success.
When within a few steps of the waiting Othmies, he halted. They glared
at him an instant in silence; then the old chief said tauntingly, and
loud enough to be heard above the noise of the conflict at his side,--
"A woman may wield a bow, and from a distance slay a warrior; but the
_maquahuitl_ is heavy in the hand of the coward, looking in the face of
his foeman."
The Aztec made no answer; he was familiar with the wile. Looking at the
speaker as if against him he intended his first attack, with right hand
back he swung the heavy weapon above his shoulder till it sung in
quickening circles; when its force was fully collected, he suddenly
hurled it from him. The old Othmi crouched low behind his shield: but
his was not the form in the 'tzin's eyes; for right in the centre of the
young victor's guard the flying danger struck. Nor arm nor shield might
bar its way. The boy was lifted sheer above the body of the Otompan, and
driven backward as if shot from a catapult.
Guatamozin advanced no further. A thrust of his javelin would have
disposed of the old Othmi, now unarmed and helpless. The acclamation of
the audience, in which was blent the shrill voices of women, failed to
arouse his passion.
The sturdy chief arose from his crouching; he looked for the boy to whom
he had so lately spoken of home; he saw him lying outstretched, his face
in the sand, and his shield, so often bound with wreaths and garlands,
twain-broken beneath him; and his will, that in the fight had been
tougher than the gold of his bracelets, gave way; forgetful of all
else, he ran, and, with a great cry, threw himself upon the body.
The Chalcan was as exultant as if the achievement had been his own. Even
the prouder souls under the red canopy yielded their tardy praise; only
the king was silent.
As none now remained of the challengers but the Tlascalan occupied with
Iztlil',--none whom he might in honor engage,--Guatamozin moved away
from the Othmies; and as he went, once he allowed his glance to wander
to the royal platform, but with thought of love, not wrong.
The attention of the people was again directed to the combat of the
Tezcucan. The death of his comrades nowise daunted the Tlascalan; he
rather struck the harder for revenge; his shield was racked, the
feathers in his crest torn away, while the blades were red with his
blood. Still it fared but ill with Iztlil' fighting for himself. His
wound in the breast bled freely, and his equipments were in no better
plight than his antagonist's. The struggle was that of the hewing and
hacking which, whether giving or taking, soon exhausts the strongest
frame. At last, faint with loss of blood, he went down. The Tlascalan
attempted to strike a final blow, but darkness rushed upon him; he
staggered, the blades sunk into the sand, and he rolled beside his
enemy.
With that the combat was done. The challengers might not behold their
"land of bread" again; nevermore for them was hammock by the stream or
echo of tambour amongst the hills.
And all the multitude arose and gave way to their rejoicing; they
embraced each other, and shouted and sang; the pabas waved their
ensigns, and the soldiers saluted with voice and pealing shells; and up
to the sun ascended the name of Quetzal' with form and circumstance to
soften the mood of the most demanding god; but all the time the
audience saw only the fortunate hero, standing so calmly before them,
the dead at his feet, and the golden light about him.
And the king was happy as the rest, and talked gayly, caring little for
the living or the dead. The combat was over, and Quetzal' not come.
Mualox was a madman, not a prophet; the Aztecs had won, and the god was
propitiated: so the questioner of the Morning flattered himself!
"If the Othmi cannot fight, he can serve for sacrifice. Let him be
removed. And the dead--But hold!" he cried, and his cheeks blanched
with mortal pallor. "Who comes yonder? Look to the arena,--nay, to the
people! By my father's ashes, the paba shall perish! White hairs and
prophet's gifts shall not save him."
While the king was speaking, Mualox, the keeper of the temple, rushed
within the wall of shields. His dress was disordered, and he was
bareheaded and unsandalled. Over his shoulders and down his breast
flowed his hair and beard, tangled and unkempt, wavy as a billow and
white as the foam. Excitement flashed from every feature; and far as his
vision ranged,--in every quarter, on every platform,--in the blood of
others he kindled his own unwonted passion.
CHAPTER XII.
MUALOX AND HIS WORLD.
Mualox, after the departure of the king and 'tzin, ascended the tower of
the old Cû, and remained there all night, stooped beside the sacred
fire, sorrowing and dreaming, hearkening to the voices of the city, or
watching the mild-eyed stars. So the morning found him. He, too, beheld
the coming of the sun, and trembled when the Smoking Hill sent up its
cloud. Then he heaped fresh fagots on the dying fire, and went down to
the court-yard. It was the hour when in all the other temples
worshippers came to pray.
He took a lighted lamp from a table in his cell, and followed a passage
on deeper into the building. The way, like that to the golden chamber,
was intricate and bewildering. Before a door at the foot of a flight of
steps he stopped. A number of earthen jars and ovens stood near; while
from the room to which the door gave entrance there came a strong,
savory perfume, very grateful to the sense of a hungry man. Here was the
kitchen of the ancient house. The paba went in.
This was on a level with the water of the canal at the south base; and
when the good man came out, and descended another stairway, he was in a
hall, which, though below the canal, was dusty and perfectly dry. Down
the hall further he came to a doorway in the floor, or rather an
aperture, which had at one time been covered and hidden by a ponderous
flag-stone yet lying close by. A rope ladder was coiled up on the stone.
Flinging the ladder through the door, he heard it rattle on the floor
beneath; then he stooped, and called,--
"Tecetl, Tecetl!"
No one replied. He repeated the call.
"Poor child! She is asleep," he said, in a low voice. "I will go down
without her."
Leaving the lamp above, he committed himself to the unsteady rope, like
one accustomed to it. Below all was darkness; but, pushing boldly on, he
suddenly flung aside a curtain which had small silver bells in the
fringing; and, ushered by the tiny ringing, he stepped into a chamber
lighted and full of beauty,--a grotto carven with infinite labor from
the bed-rock of the lake.
And here, in the day mourned by the paba, when the temple was honored,
and its god had worshippers, and the name of Quetzal' was second to no
other, not even Huitzil's, must have been held the secret conclaves of
the priesthood,--so great were the dimensions of the chamber, and so far
was it below the roll of waters. But now it might be a place for
dwelling, or for thought and dreaming, or for pleasure, or in which the
eaters of the African lotus might spend their hours and days of
semi-consciousness sounding of a life earthly yet purely spiritual.
There were long aisles for walking, and couches for rest; there were
pictures, flowers, and a fountain; the walls and ceiling glowed with
frescoing; and wherever the eye turned it rested upon some cunning
device intended to instruct, gladden, comfort, and content. Lamplight
streamed into every corner, ill supplying the perfect sunshine, yet
serving its grand purpose. The effect was more than beautiful. The world
above was counterfeited, so that one ignorant of the original and
dwelling in the counterfeit could have been happy all his life long.
Scarcely is it too much to say of the master who designed and finished
the grotto, that, could he have borrowed the materials of nature, he had
the taste and genius to set a star with the variety and harmony that
mark the setting of the earth's surface, and of themselves prove its
Creator divine.
[Illustration: THE FORTUNATE HERO, STANDING SO CALMLY BEFORE THEM]
In the enchantment of the place there was a peculiarity indicative of a
purpose higher than mere enjoyment, and that was the total absence of
humanity in the host of things visible. Painted on the ceiling and walls
were animals of almost every kind common to the clime; birds of wondrous
plumage darted hither and thither, twittering and singing; there, also,
were flowers the fairest and most fragrant, and orange and laurel
shrubs, and pines and cedars and oaks, and other trees of the forest,
dwarfed, and arranged for convenient carriage to the _azoteas_; in the
pictures, moreover, were the objects most remarkable in the face of
nature,--rivers, woods, plains, mountains, oceans, the heavens in storm
and calm; but nowhere was the picture of man, woman, or child. In the
frescoing were houses and temples, grouped as in hamlets and cities, or
standing alone on a river's bank, or in the shadow of great trees; but
of their habitants and builders there was not a trace. In fine, the
knowledge there taught was that of a singular book. A mind receiving
impressions, like a child's, would be carried by it far enough in the
progressive education of life to form vivid ideas of the world, and yet
be left in a dream of unintelligence to people it with fairies, angels,
or gods. Almost everything had there a representation but humanity, the
brightest fallen nature.
Mualox entered as one habituated to the chamber. The air was soft,
balmy, and pleasant, and the illumination mellowed, as if the morning
were shut out by curtains of gossamer tinted with roses and gold. Near
the centre of the room he came to a fountain of water crystal clear and
in full play, the jet shooting from a sculptured stone up almost to the
ceiling. Around it were tables, ottomans, couches, and things of
_vertu_, such as would have adorned the palace; there, also, were vases
of flowers, culled and growing, and of such color and perfume as would
have been estimable in Cholula, and musical instrument, and pencils and
paints.
It was hardly possible that this conception, so like the Restful World
of Brahma, should be without its angel; for the atmosphere and all were
for a spirit of earth or heaven softer than man's. And by the fountain
it was,--a soul fresh and pure as the laughing water.
The girl of whom I speak was asleep. Her head lay upon a cushion; over
the face, clear and almost white, shone a lambent transparency, which
might have been the reflection of the sparkling water. The garments
gathered close about her did not conceal the delicacy and childlike
grace of her form. One foot was exposed, and it was bare, small, and
nearly lost in the tufted mattress of her couch. Under a profusion of
dark hair, covering the cushion like the floss of silk, lay an arm; a
hand, dimpled and soft, rested lightly on her breast. The slumber was
very deep, giving the face the expression of dreamless repose, with the
promise of health and happiness upon waking.
The paba approached her tenderly, and knelt down. His face was full of
holy affection. He bent his cheek close to her parted lips, listening to
her breathing. He brought the straying locks back, and laid them across
her neck. Now and then a bird came and lighted on the table, and he
waved his mantle to scare it away. And when the voice of the fountain
seemed, under an increased pulsation of the water, to grow louder, he
looked around, frowning lest it might disturb her. She slept on, his
love about her like a silent prayer that has found its consummation in
perfect peace.
And as he knelt, he became sad and thoughtful. The events that were to
come, and his faith in their coming, were as actual sorrows. His
reflections were like a plea addressed to his conscience.
"God pardon me, if, after all, I should be mistaken! The wrong would be
so very great as to bar me from the Sun. Is any vanity like that which
makes sorrows for our fellows? And such is not only the vanity of the
warrior, and that of the ruler of tribes; sometimes it is of the priests
who go into the temples thinking of things that do not pertain to the
gods. What if mine were such?
"The holy Quetzal' knows that I intended to be kind to the child. I
thought my knowledge greater than that of ordinary mortals; I thought it
moved in fields where only the gods walk, sowing wisdom. The same
vanity, taking words, told me, 'Look up! There is no abyss between you
and the gods; they cannot make themselves of the dust, but you can
reach their summit almost a god.' And I labored, seeking the principles
that would accomplish my dream, if such it were. Heaven forgive me, but
I once thought I had found them! Other men looking out on creation could
see nothing but Wisdom--Wisdom everywhere; but I looked with a stronger
vision, and wherever there was a trace of infinite WISDOM, there was
also for me an infinite WILL.
"Here were the principles, but they were not enough. Something said to
me, 'What were the Wisdom and Will of the gods without subjects?' It was
a great idea: I thought I stood almost upon the summit!
"And I set about building me a world, I took the treasure of Quetzal',
and collected these marvels, and bought me the labor of art. Weavers,
florists, painters, masons,--all toiled for me. Gold, labor, and time
are here,--there is little beauty without them. Here is my world," he
said aloud, glancing around the great hall.
"I had my world; next I wanted a subject for my will. But where to go?
Not among men,--alas, they are their own slaves! One day I stood in the
_tianguez_ where a woman was being sold. A baby in her arms smiled, it
might have been at the sunshine, it might have been at me. The mother
said, 'Buy.' A light flashed upon me--I bought you, my poor child. Men
say of the bud, It will be a rose, and of the plant, It will be a tree;
you were so young then that I said, 'It will be a mind.' And into my
world I brought you, thinking, as I had made it, so I would make a
subject. This, I told you, was your birthplace; and here passed your
infancy and childhood; here you have dwelt. Your cheeks are pale, my
little one, but full and fresh; your breath is sweet as the air above a
garden; and you have grown in beauty, knowing nothing living but the
birds and me. My will has a subject, O Tecetl, and my heart a child.
And judge me, holy Quetzal', if I have not tried to make her happy! I
have given her knowledge of everything but humanity, and ignorance of
that is happiness. My world has thus far been a heaven to her; her
dreams have been of it; I am its god!"
And yet unwilling to disturb her slumber, Mualox arose, and walked away.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE SEARCH FOR QUETZAL'.
By and by he returned, and standing by the couch, passed his hand
several times above her face. Silent as the movements were, she awoke,
and threw her arms around his neck.
"You have been gone a long while," she said, in a childish voice. "I
waited for you; but the lamps burned down low, and the shadows, from
their hiding among the bushes, came creeping in upon the fountain, and I
slept."
"I saw you," he answered, playing with her hair. "I saw you; I always
see you."
"I tried to paint the fountain," she went on; "but when I watched the
water to catch its colors, I thought its singing changed to voices, and,
listening to them, they stole my thoughts away. Then I tried to blend my
voice with them, and sing as they sung; but whenever mine sank low
enough, it seemed sad, while they went on gayer and more ringing than
ever. I can paint the flowers, but not the water; I can sing with the
birds, but not with the fountain. But you promised to call me,--that you
would always call me."
"I knew you were asleep."
"But you had only to think to waken me."
He smiled at this acknowledgment of the power of his will. Just then a
bell sounded faintly through the chamber; hastening away, he shortly
returned with breakfast on a great shell waiter; there were maize bread
and honey, quails and chocolate, figs and oranges. Placing them on a
table, he rolled up an ottoman for the girl; and, though she talked much
and lightly, the meal was soon over. Then he composed himself upon the
couch, and in the quiet, unbroken save by Tecetl, forgot the night and
its incidents.
His rest was calm; when he awoke, she was sitting by the basin of the
fountain talking to her birds gleefully as a child. She had given them
names, words more of sound pleasant to the ear than of signification; so
she understood the birds, whose varied cries were to her a language. And
they were fearless and tame, perching on her hand, and courting her
caresses; while she was as artless, with a knowledge as innocent, and a
nature as happy. If Quetzal' was the paba's idol in religion, she was
his idol in affection.
He watched her awhile, then suddenly sat up; though he said not a word,
she flung her birds off, and came to him smiling.
"You called me, father."
He laid his hand upon her shoulder, all overflowed with the dark hair,
and said in a low voice, "The time approaches when Quetzal' is to come
from the home of the gods; it may be he is near. I will send you over
the sea and the land to find him; you shall have wings to carry you into
the air; and you shall fly swifter than the birds you have been talking
to."
Her smile deepened.
"Have you not told me that Quetzal' is good, and that his voice is like
the fountain's, and that when he speaks it is like singing? I am ready."
He kissed her, and nearer the basin rolled the couch, upon which she
sat reclined against a heap of cushions, her hands clasped over her
breast.
"Do not let me be long gone!" she said. "The lamps will burn low again,
and I do not like to have the shadows come and fold up my flowers."
The paba took a pearl from the folds of his gown, and laid it before
her; then he sat down, and fixed his eyes upon her face; she looked at
the jewel, and composed herself as for sleep. Her hands settled upon her
bosom, her features grew impassive, the lips slowly parted; gradually
her eyelids drooped, and the life running in the veins of her cheeks and
forehead went back into her heart. Out of the pearl seemed to issue a
spell that stole upon her spirits gently as an atomy settles through the
still air. Finally, there was a sigh, a sob, and over the soul of the
maiden the will of Mualox became absolute. He took her hand in his.
"Wings swifter than the winds are yours, Tecetl. Go," he said, "search
for the god; search the land."
She moved not, and scarcely breathed.
"Speak," he continued; "let me know that I am obeyed."
The will was absolute; she spoke, and though at first the words came
slowly, yet he listened like a prophet waiting for revelation. She spoke
of the land, of its rivers, forests, and mountains; she spoke of the
cities, of their streets and buildings, and of their people, for whom
she knew no name. She spoke of events transpiring in distant provinces,
as well as in Tenochtitlan. She went into the temples, markets, and
palaces. Wherever men travelled, thither her spirit flew. When the
flight was done, and her broken description ceased, the holy man sighed.
"Not yet, Tecetl; he is not found. The god is not on the land. Search
the air."
And still the will was absolute, though the theme of the seer changed;
it was not of the land now, but of the higher realm; she spoke of the
sunshine and the cloud, of the wind rushing and chill, of the earth far
down, and grown so small that the mountains levelled with the plains.
"Not yet, not yet," he cried; "the god is not in the air. Go search the
sea!"
In the hollow of his hand he lifted water, and sprinkled her face; and
when he resumed his seat she spoke, not slowly as before, but fast and
free.
"The land is passed; behind me are the cities and lakes, and the great
houses and blue waters, such as I have seen in my pictures. I am
hovering now, father, where there is nothing before me but waves and
distance. White birds go skimming about careless of the foam; the winds
pour upon me steadily; and in my ear is a sound as of a great voice. I
listen, and it is the sea; or, father, it may be the voice of the god
whom you seek."
She was silent, as if waiting for an answer.
"The water, is it? Well, well,--whither shall I go now?"
"Follow the shore; it may lead where only gods have been."
"Still the waves and the distance, and the land, where it goes down into
the sea sprinkled with shells. Still the deep voice in my ear, and the
wind about me. I hurry on, but it is all alike,--all water and sound.
No! Out of the waves rises a new land, the sea, a girdle of billows,
encircling it everywhere; yet there are blue clouds ascending from the
fields, and I see palm-trees and temples. May not thy god dwell here?"
"No. You see but an island. On!"
"Well, well. Behind me fades the island; before me is nothing but sheen
and waves and distance again; far around runs the line separating the
sea and sky. Waste, all waste; the sea all green, the sky all blue; no
life; no god. But stay!"
"Something moves on the waste: speak, child!"
But for a time she was still.
"Speak!" he said, earnestly. "Speak, Tecetl!"
"They are far off,--far off," she replied, slowly and in a doubting way.
"They move and live, but I cannot tell whether they come or go, or what
they are. Their course is unsteady, and, like the flight of birds, now
upon the sea, then in air, a moment seeming of the waves, then of the
sky. They look like white clouds."
"You are fleeter than birds or clouds,--nearer!" he said, sternly, the
fire in his eyes all alight.
"I go,--I approach them,--I now see them coming. O father, father! I
know not what your god is like, nor what shape he takes, nor in what
manner he travels; but surely these are his! There are many of them, and
as they sweep along they are a sight to be looked at with trembling."
"What are they, Tecetl?"
"How can I answer? They are not of the things I have seen in my
pictures, nor heard in my songs. The face of the sea is whitened by
them; the largest leads the way, looking like a shell,--of them I have
heard you speak as coming from the sea,--a great shell streaked with
light and shade, and hollow, so that the sides rise above the reach of
the waves,--wings--."
"Nay, what would a god of the air with wings to journey upon the sea!"
"Above it are clouds,--clouds white as the foam, and such as a god might
choose to waft him on his way. I can see them sway and toss, but as the
shell rushes into the hollow places, they lift it up, and drive it on."
A brighter light flashed from his eyes. "It is the canoe, the canoe!" he
exclaimed. "The canoe from Tlapallan!"
"The canoe, father! The waves rush joyously around it; they lift
themselves in its path, and roll on to meet it; then, as if they knew
it to be a god's, in peace make way for its coming. Upon the temples in
my pictures I have seen signs floating in the air--"
"You mean banners,--banners, child," he said, tremulously.
"I remember now. Above the foremost canoe, above its clouds, there is a
banner, and it is black--"
"'Tis Quetzal's! 'Tis Quetzal's!" he muttered.
"It is black, with golden embroidery, and something picture-written on
it, but what I cannot tell."
"Look in the canoe."
"I see--O, I know not what to call them."
"Of what shape are they, child?"
"Yours, father."
"Go on: they are gods!" he said, and still the naming of men was unheard
in the great chamber.
"There are many of them," she continued; "their garments flash and
gleam; around one like themselves they are met; to me he seems the
superior god; he is speaking, they are listening. He is taller than you,
father, and has a fair face, and hair and beard like the hue of his
banner. His garments are the brightest of all."
"You have described a god; it is Quetzal', the holy, beautiful
Quetzal'!" he said, with rising voice. "Look if his course be toward the
land."
"Every canoe moves toward the shore."
"Enough!" he cried. "The writing on the wall is the god's!" And, rising,
he awoke the girl.
As Tecetl awake had no recollection of her journey, or of what she had
seen in its course, she wondered at his trouble and excitement, and
spoke to him, without answer.
"Father, what has Tecetl done that you should be so troubled?"
He put aside her arms, and in silence turned slowly from the pleasant
place, and retraced his steps back through the halls of the Cû to the
court-yard and _azoteas_.
The weight of the secret did not oppress him; it rested upon him lightly
as the surplice upon his shoulders; for the humble servant of his god
was lifted above his poverty and trembling, and, vivified by the
consciousness of inspiration, felt more than a warrior's strength. But
what should he do? Where proclaim the revelation? Upon the temple?
"The streets are deserted; the people are in the theatre; the king is
there with all Anahuac," he muttered. "The coming of Quetzal' concerns
the Empire, and it shall hear the announcement: so not on the temple,
but to the _tianguez_. The god speaks to me! To the _tianguez_!"
In the chapel he exchanged his white surplice for the regalia of
sacrifice. Never before, to his fancy, wore the idol such seeming of
life. Satisfaction played grimly about its mouth; upon its brow, like a
coronet, sat the infinite Will. From the chapel he descended to the
street that led to the great square. Insensibly, as he hurried on, his
steps quickened; and bareheaded and unsandalled, his white beard and
hair loose and flowing, and his face beaming with excitement, he looked
the very embodiment of direful prophecy. On the streets he met only
slaves. At the theatre the entrance was blocked by people; soldiery
guarded the arena: but guard and people shrunk at his approach; and
thus, without word or cry, he rushed within the wall of shields, where
were none but the combatants, living and dead.
Midway the arena he halted, his face to the king. Around ran his
wondrous glance, and, regardless of the royalty present, the people
shouted, "The paba, the paba!" and their many voices shook the theatre.
Flinging the white locks back on his shoulders, he tossed his arms
aloft; and the tumult rose into the welkin, and a calm settled over the
multitude. Montezuma, with the malediction warm on his lips, bent from
his couch to hear his words.
"Woe is Tenochtitlan, the beautiful!" he cried, in the unmeasured
accents of grief. "Woe to homes, and people, and armies, and king! Why
this gathering of dwellers on the hills and in the valleys! Why the
combat of warriors? Quetzal' is at hand. He comes for vengeance. Woe is
Tenochtitlan, the beautiful! * * * * This, O king, is the day of the
fulfilment of prophecy. From out the sea, wafted by clouds, even now the
canoes of the god are coming. His power whitens the waves, and the
garments of his warriors gleam with the light of the sky. Woe is
Tenochtitlan! This day is the last of her perfect glory; to-morrow
Quetzal' will glisten on the sea-shore, and her Empire vanish forever.
* * * * People, say farewell to peace! Keepers of the temples, holy men,
go feed the fires, and say the prayer, and sacrifice the victim! And
thou, O king! summon thy strong men, leaders in battle, and be thy
banners counted, and thy nations marshalled. In vain! Woe is
Tenochtitlan! Sitting in the lake, she shines lustrously as a star; and
though in a valley of gardens, she is like a great tree shadowing in a
desert. But the ravager comes, and the tree shall be felled, and the
star go out darkling forever. The fires shall fade, the bones of the
dead kings be scattered, altars and gods overthrown, and every temple
levelled with the streets. Woe is Tenochtitlan! Ended,--ended forever is
the march of Azatlan, the mighty!"
His arms fell down, and, without further word, his head bowed upon his
breast, the prophet departed. The spell he left behind him remained
unbroken. As they recovered from the effects of his bodement, the people
left the theatre, their minds full of indefinite dread. If perchance
they spoke of the scene as they went, it was in whispers, and rather to
sound the depths of each other's alarm. And for the rest of the day they
remained in their houses, brooding alone, or collected in groups,
talking in low voices, wondering about the prescience of the paba, and
looking each moment for the development of something more terrible.
The king watched the holy man until he disappeared in the crowded
passage; then a deadly paleness overspread his face, and he sunk almost
to the platform. The nobles rushed around, and bore him to his
palanquin, their brave souls astonished that the warrior and priest and
mighty monarch could be so overcome. They carried him to his palace, and
left him to a solitude full of unkingly superstitions.
Guatamozin, serene amid the confusion, called the _tamanes_, and ordered
the old Othmi and the dead removed. The Tezcucan still breathed.
"The reviler of the gods shall be cared for," he said to himself. "If he
lives, their justice will convict him."
Before the setting of the sun, the structure in the _tianguez_ was taken
down and restored to the temples, never again to be used. Yet the
market-place remained deserted and vacant; the whole city seemed
plague-smitten.
And the common terror was not without cause, any more than Mualox was
without inspiration. That night the ships of Cortes, eleven in number,
and freighted with the materials of conquest, from the east of Yucatan,
came sweeping down the bay of Campeachy. Next morning they sailed up the
Rio de Tabasco, beautiful with its pure water and its banks fringed with
mangroves. Tecetl had described the fleet, the sails of which from afar
looked like clouds, while they did, indeed, whiten the sea.
Next evening a courier sped hotly over the causeway and up the street,
stopping at the gate of the royal palace. He was taken before the king;
and, shortly after, it went flying over the city how Quetzal' had
arrived, in canoes larger than temples, wafted by clouds, and full of
thunder and lightning. Then sank the monarch's heart; and, though the
Spaniard knew it not, his marvellous conquest was half completed before
his iron shoe smote the shore at San Juan de Ulloa.[27]
FOOTNOTES:
[27] Cortes' squadron reached the mouth of the river Tabasco on the
12th of March, 1519.
BOOK TWO.
CHAPTER I.
WHO ARE THE STRANGERS?
March passed, and April came, and still the strangers, in their great
canoes, lingered on the coast. Montezuma observed them with becoming
prudence; through his lookouts, he was informed of their progress from
the time they left the Rio de Tabasco.
The constant anxiety to which he was subjected affected his temper; and,
though roused from the torpor into which he had been plunged by the
visit to the golden chamber, and the subsequent prophecy of Mualox, his
melancholy was a thing of common observation. He renounced his ordinary
amusements, even _totoloque_, and went no more to the hunting-grounds on
the shore of the lake; in preference, he took long walks in the gardens,
and reclined in the audience-chamber of his palace; yet more remarkable,
conversation with his councillors and nobles delighted him more than the
dances of his women or the songs of his minstrels. In truth, the monarch
was himself a victim of the delusions he had perfected for his people.
Polytheism had come to him with the Empire; but he had enlarged upon it,
and covered it with dogmas; and so earnestly, through a long and
glorious reign, had he preached them, that, at last, he had become his
own most zealous convert. In all his dominions, there was not one whom
faith more inclined to absolute fear of Quetzal' than himself.
One evening he passed from his bath to the dining-hall for the last meal
of the day. Invigorated, and, as was his custom, attired for the fourth
time since morning in fresh garments, he walked briskly, and even droned
a song.
No monarch in Europe fared more sumptuously than Montezuma. The room
devoted to the purpose was spacious, and, on this occasion, brilliantly
lighted. The floor was spread with figured matting, and the walls hung
with beautiful tapestry; and in the centre of the apartment a luxurious
couch had been rolled for him, it being his habit to eat reclining;
while, to hide him from the curious, a screen had been contrived, and
set up between the couch and principal door. The viands set down by his
steward as the substantials of the first course were arranged upon the
floor before the couch, and kept warm and smoking by chafing-dishes. The
table, if such it may be called, was supplied by contributions from the
provinces, and furnished, in fact, no contemptible proof of his
authority, and the perfection with which it was exercised. The ware was
of the finest Cholulan manufacture, and, like his clothes, never used by
him but the once, a royal custom requiring him to present it to his
friends.[28]
When he entered the room, the evening I have mentioned, there were
present only his steward, four or five aged councillors, whom he was
accustomed to address as "uncles," and a couple of women, who occupied
themselves in preparing certain wafers and confections which he
particularly affected. He stretched himself comfortably upon the couch,
much, I presume, after the style of the Romans, and at once began the
meal. The ancients moved back several steps, and a score of boys, noble,
yet clad in the inevitable _nequen_, responding to a bell, came in and
posted themselves to answer his requests.
Sometimes, by invitation, the councillors were permitted to share the
feast; oftener, however, the only object of their presence was to afford
him the gratification of remark. The conversation was usually irregular,
and hushed and renewed as he prompted, and not unfrequently extended to
the gravest political and religious subjects. On the evening in question
he spoke to them kindly.
"I feel better this evening, uncles. My good star is rising above the
mists that have clouded it. We ought not to complain of what we cannot
help; still, I have thought that when the gods retained the power to
afflict us with sorrows, they should have given us some power to correct
them."
One of the old men answered reverentially, "A king should be too great
for sorrows; he should wear his crown against them as we wear our
mantles against the cold winds."
"A good idea," said the monarch, smiling; "but you forget that the
crown, instead of protecting, is itself the trouble. Come nearer,
uncles; there is a matter more serious about which I would hear your
minds."
They obeyed him, and he went on.
"The last courier brought me word that the strangers were yet on the
coast, hovering about the islands. Tell me, who say you they are, and
whence do they come?"
"How may we know more than our wise master?" said one of them.
"And our thoughts,--do we not borrow them from you, O king?" added
another.
"What! Call you those answers? Nay, uncles, my fools can better serve
me; if they cannot instruct, they can at least amuse."
The king spoke bitterly, and looking at one, probably the oldest of them
all, said,--
"Uncle, you are the poorest courtier, but you are discreet and honest. I
want opinions that have in them more wisdom than flattery. Speak to me
truly: who are these strangers?"
"For your sake, O my good king, I wish I were wise; for the trouble they
have given my poor understanding is indeed very great. I believe them to
be gods, landed from the Sun." And the old man went on to fortify his
belief with arguments. In the excited state of his fancy, it was easy
for him to convert the cannon of the Spaniards into engines of thunder
and lightning, and transform their horses into creatures of Mictlan
mightier than men. Right summarily he also concluded, that none but gods
could traverse the dominions of Haloc,[29] subjecting the variant winds
to their will. Finally, to prove the strangers irresistible, he referred
to the battle of Tabasco, then lately fought between Cortes and the
Indians.
Montezuma heard him in silence, and replied, "Not badly given, uncle;
your friends may profit by your example; but you have not talked as a
warrior. You have forgotten that we, too, have beaten the lazy
Tabascans. That reference proves as much for my caciques as for your
gods."
He waved his hand, and the first course was removed. The second
consisted for the most part of delicacies in the preparation of which
his _artistes_ delighted; at this time appeared the _choclatl_, a rich,
frothy beverage served in _xicaras_, or small golden goblets. Girls,
selected for their rank and beauty, succeeded the boys. Flocking around
him with light and echoless feet, very graceful, very happy, theirs was
indeed the service that awaits the faithful in Mahomet's Paradise. To
each of his ancients he passed a goblet of _choclatl_, then continued
his eating and talking.
"Yes. Be they gods or men, I would give a province to know their
intention; that, uncles, would enable me to determine my
policy,--whether to give them war or peace. As yet, they have asked
nothing but the privilege of trading with us; and, judging them by our
nations, I want not better warrant of friendship. As you know, strangers
have twice before been upon our coast in such canoes, and with such
arms;[30] and in both instances they sought gold, and getting it they
departed. Will these go like them?"
"Has my master forgotten the words of Mualox?"
"To Mictlan with the paba!" said the king, violently. "He has filled my
cities and people with trouble."
"Yet he is a prophet," retorted the old councillor, boldly. "How knew he
of the coming of the strangers before it was known in the palace?"
The flush of the king's face faded.
"It is a mystery, uncle,--a mystery too deep for me. All the day and
night before he was in his Cû; he went not into the city even."
"If the wise master will listen to the words of his slave, he will not
again curse the paba, but make him a friend."
The monarch's lip curled derisively.
"My palace is now a house of prayer and sober life; he would turn it
into a place of revelry."
All the ancients but the one laughed at the irony; that one repeated his
words.
"A friend; but how?" asked Montezuma.
"Call him from the Cû to the palace; let him stand here with us; in the
councils give him a voice. He can read the future; make of him an
oracle. O king, who like him can stand between you and Quetzal'?"
For a while Montezuma toyed idly with the _xicara_. He also believed in
the prophetic gifts of Mualox, and it was not the first time he had
pondered the question of how the holy man had learned the coming of the
strangers; to satisfy himself as to his means of information, he had
even instituted inquiries outside the palace. And yet it was but one of
several mysteries; behind it, if not superior, were the golden chamber,
its wealth, and the writing on the walls. They were not to be attributed
to the paba: works so wondrous could not have been done in one lifetime.
They were the handiwork of a god, who had chosen Mualox for his servant
and prophet; such was the judgment of the king.
Nor was that all. The monarch had come to believe that the strangers on
the coast were Quetzal' and his followers, whom it were vain to resist,
if their object was vengeance. But the human heart is seldom without its
suggestion of hope; and he thought, though resistance was impossible,
might he not propitiate? This policy had occupied his thoughts, and most
likely without result, for the words of the councillor seemed welcome.
Indeed, he could scarcely fail to recognize the bold idea they
conveyed,--nothing less, in fact, than meeting the god with his own
prophet.
"Very well," he said, in his heart. "I will use the paba. He shall come
and stand between me and the woe."
Then he arose, took a string of pearls from his neck, and with his own
hand placed it around that of the ancient.
"Your place is with me, uncle. I will have a chamber fitted for you here
in the palace. Go no more away. Ho, steward! The supper is done; let the
pipes be brought, and give me music and dance. Bid the minstrels come. A
song of the olden time may make me strong again."
FOOTNOTES:
[28] Prescott, Conq. of Mexico.
[29] God of the sea.
[30] The allusion was doubtless to the expeditions of Hernandez
de Cordova, in 1517, and Juan de Grijalva, in 1518.
CHAPTER II.
A TEZCUCAN LOVER.
Traces of the supper speedily disappeared. The screen was rolled away,
and pipes placed in the monarch's hand for distribution amongst his
familiars. Blue vapor began to ascend to the carved rafters, when the
tapestry on both sides of the room was flung aside, and the sound of
cornets and flutes poured in from an adjoining apartment; and, as if
answering the summons of the music, a company of dancing-girls entered,
and filled the space in front of the monarch; half nude were they, and
flashing with ornaments, and aerial with gauze and flying ribbons;
silver bells tinkled with each step, and on their heads were wreaths,
and in their hands garlands of flowers. Voluptuous children were they of
the voluptuous valley.
Saluting the monarch, they glided away, and commenced a dance. With
dreamy, half-shut eyes, through the scented cloud momently deepening
around him, he watched them; and in the sensuous, animated scene was
disclosed one of the enchantments that had weaned him from the martial
love of his youth.
Every movement of the figure had been carefully studied, and a kind of
æsthetic philosophy was blent with its perfect time and elegance of
motion. Slow and stately at first, it gradually quickened; then, as if
to excite the blood and fancy, it became more mazy and voluptuous; and
finally, as that is the sweetest song that ends with a long decadence,
it was so concluded as to soothe the transports itself had awakened.
Sweeping along, it reached a point, a very climax of abandon and beauty,
in which the dancers appeared to forget the music and the method of the
figure; then the eyes of the king shone brightly, and the pipe lingered
on his lips forgotten; and then the musicians began, one by one, to
withdraw from the harmony, and the dancers to vanish singly from the
room, until, at last, there was but one flute to be heard, while but one
girl remained. Finally, she also disappeared, and all grew still again.
And the king sat silent and listless, surrendered to the enjoyment which
was the object of the diversion; yet he heard the music; yet he saw the
lithe and palpitating forms of the dancers in posture and motion; yet he
felt the sweet influence of their youth and grace and beauty, not as a
passion, but rather a spell full of the suggestions of passion, when a
number of men came noiselessly in, and, kneeling, saluted him. Their
costume was that of priests, and each of them carried an instrument of
music fashioned somewhat like a Hebrew lyre.
"Ah, my minstrels, my minstrels!" he said, his face flushing with
pleasure. "Welcome in the streets, welcome in the camp, welcome in the
palace, also! What have you to-night?"
"When last we were admitted to your presence, O king, you bade us
compose hymns to the god Quetzal'--"
"Yes; I remember."
"We pray you not to think ill of your slaves if we say that the verses
which come unbidden are the best; no song of the bird's so beautiful as
the one it sings when its heart is full."
The monarch sat up.
"Nay, I did not command. I know something of the spirit of poetry. It is
not a thing to be driven by the will, like a canoe by a strong arm;
neither is it a slave, to come or go at a signal. I bid my warriors
march; I order the sacrifice; but the lays of my minstrels have ever
been of their free will. Leave me now. To you are my gardens and
palaces. I warrant the verses you have are good; but go ask your hearts
for better."
They retired with their faces toward him until hidden behind the
tapestry.
"I love a song, uncles," continued the king; "I love a hymn to the gods,
and a story of battle chanted in a deep voice. In the halls of the Sun
every soul is a minstrel, and every tale a song. But let them go; it is
well enough. I promised Iztlil', the Tezcucan, to give him audience
to-night. He comes to the palace but seldom, and he has not asked a
favor since I settled his quarrel with the lord Cacama. Send one to see
if he is now at the door."
Thereupon he fell to reflecting and smoking; and when next he spoke, it
was from the midst of an aromatic cloud.
"I loved the wise 'Hualpilli; for his sake, I would have his children
happy. He was a lover of peace, and gave more to policy than to war. It
were grievous to let his city be disturbed by feuds and fighting men;
therefore I gave it to the eldest son. His claim was best; and, besides,
he has the friendly heart to serve me. Still--still, I wish there had
been two Tezcucos."
"There was but one voice about the judgment in Tezcuco, O king; the
citizens all said it was just."
"And they would have said the same if I had given them Iztlil'. I know
the knaves, uncle. It was not their applause I cared for; but, you see,
in gaining a servant, I lost one. Iztlil' is a warrior. Had he the will,
he could serve me in the field as well as his brother in the council. I
must attach him to me. A strong arm is pleasant to lean on; it is better
than a staff."
Addressing himself to the pipe again, he sat smoking, and moodily
observing the vapor vanish above him. There was silence until Iztlil'
was ushered in.
The cacique was still suffering from his wounds. His step was feeble, so
that his obeisance was stopped by the monarch himself.
"Let the salutation go, my lord Iztlil'. Your courage has cost you much.
I remember you are the son of my old friend, and bid you welcome."
"The Tlascalans are good warriors," said the Tezcucan, coldly.
"And for that reason better victims," added the king, quickly. "By the
Sun, I know not what we would do without them. Their hills supply our
temples."
"And I, good king--I am but a warrior. My heart is not softened by
things pertaining to religion. Enough for me to worship the gods."
"Then you are not a student?"
"I never studied in the academies."
"I understand," said the king, with a low laugh. "You cannot name as
many stars as enemies whom you have slain. No matter. I have places for
such scholars. Have you commanded an army?"
"It pleased you to give me that confidence. I led my companies within
the Tlascalan wall, and came back with captives."
"I recollect now. But as most good warriors are modest, my son, I will
not tell you what the chiefs said of your conduct; you would blush--"
Iztlil' started.
"Content you, content you; your blush would not be for shame."
There was a pause, which the king gave to his pipe. Suddenly he said,
"There have been tongues busy with your fame, my son. I have heard you
were greatly dissatisfied because I gave your father's city to your
elder brother. But I consider that men are never without detractors, and
I cannot forget that you have perilled your life for the gods. Actions
I accept as the proofs of will. If the favor that brought you here be
reasonable, it is yours for the asking. I have the wish to serve you."
"I am not surprised that I have enemies," said Iztlil', calmly. "I will
abuse no one on that account; for I am an enemy, and can forgive in
others what I deem virtue in myself. But it moves me greatly, O king,
that my enemies should steal into your palace, and, in my absence, wrong
me in your opinion. But pardon me; I did not come to defend myself--"
"You have taken my words in an evil sense," interposed the king, with an
impatient gesture.
"Or to conceal the truth," the Tezcucan continued. "There is kingly
blood in me, and I dare speak as my father's son. So if they said merely
that I was dissatisfied with your judgment, they said truly."
Montezuma frowned.
"I intend my words to be respectful, most mighty king. A common wisdom
teaches us to respect the brave man and dread the coward. And there is
not in your garden a flower as beautiful, nor in your power a privilege
as precious, as free speech; and it would sound ill of one so great and
secure as my father's friend if he permitted in the streets and in the
farmer's hut what he forbade in his palace. I spoke of dissatisfaction;
but think not it was because you gave Tezcuco to my brother, and to me
the bare hills that have scarcely herbage enough for a wolf-covert. I am
less a prince than a warrior; all places are alike to me; the earth
affords me royal slumber, while no jewelled canopy is equal to the
starred heavens; and as there is a weakness in pleasant memories, I have
none. To such as I am, O king, what matters a barren hill or a proud
palace? I murmured, nay, I did more, because, in judging my quarrel, you
overthrew the independence of my country. When my father visited you
from across the lake, he was not accustomed to stand before you, or hide
his kingly robes beneath a slave's garb."
Montezuma half started from his seat. "Holy gods! Is rebellion so bold?"
"I meant no disrespect, great king. I only sought to justify myself, and
in your royal presence say what I have thought while fighting under your
banner. But, without more abuse of your patience, I will to my purpose,
especially as I came for peace and friendship."
"The son of my friend forgets that I have ways to make peace without
treating for it," said the king.
The Tezcucan smothered an angry reply.
"By service done, I have shown a disposition to serve you, O king. Very
soon every warrior will be needed. A throne may be laid amid hymns and
priestly prayers, yet have no strength; to endure, it must rest upon the
allegiance of love. Though I have spoken unpleasant words, I came to ask
that, by a simple boon, you give me cause to love. I have reflected that
I, too, am of royal blood, and, as the son of a king, may lead your
armies, and look for alliance in your house. By marriage, O king, I
desire, come good or evil, to link my fortune to yours."
Montezuma's countenance was stolid; no eye could have detected upon it
so much as surprise. He quietly asked, "Which of my daughters has found
favor in your eyes?"
"They are all beautiful, but only one of them is fitted for a warrior's
wife."
"Tula?"
Iztlil' bowed.
"She is dear to me," said the king, softly, "dearer than a city; she is
holy as a temple, and lovelier than the morning; her voice is sweet as
the summer wind, and her presence as the summer itself. Have you spoken
to her of this thing?"
"I love her, so that her love is nothing to me. Her feelings are her
own, but she is yours; and you are more powerful to give than she to
withhold."
"Well, well," said the monarch, after a little thought; "in my realm
there are none of better quality than the children of 'Hualpilli,--none
from whom such demand is as proper. Yet it is worthy deliberation. It is
true, I have the power to bestow, but there are others who have the
right to be consulted. I study the happiness of my people, and it were
unnatural if I cared less for that of my children. So leave me now, but
take with you, brave prince, the assurance that I am friendly to your
suit. The gods go with you!"
And Iztlil', after a low obeisance, withdrew; and then the overture was
fully discussed. Montezuma spoke freely, welcoming the opportunity of
securing the bold, free-spoken cacique, and seeing in the demand only a
question of policy. As might be expected, the ancients made no
opposition; they could see no danger in the alliance, and had no care
for the parties. It was policy.
CHAPTER III.
THE BANISHMENT OF GUATAMOZIN.
The palace of Montezuma was regarded as of very great sanctity, so that
his household, its economy, and the exact relation its members bore to
each other were mysteries to the public. From the best information,
however, it would seem that he had two lawful and acknowledged wives,
the queens Tecalco and Acatlan,[31] who, with their families, occupied
spacious apartments secure from intrusion. They were good-looking,
middle-aged women, whom the monarch honored with the highest respect and
confidence. By the first one, he had a son and daughter; by the second,
two daughters.
"Help me, Acatlan! I appeal to your friendship, to the love you bear
your children,--help me in my trouble." So the queen Tecalco prayed the
queen Acatlan in the palace the morning after the audience given the
Tezcucan by the king.
The two were sitting in a room furnished with some taste. Through the
great windows, shaded by purple curtains, streamed the fresh breath of
the early day. There were female slaves around them in waiting; while a
boy nearly grown, at the eastern end of the apartment, was pitching the
golden balls in _totoloque_. This was prince Io', the brother of Tula,
and son of Tecalco.
"What is the trouble? What can I do?" asked Acatlan.
"Listen to me," said Tecalco. "The king has just gone. He came in better
mood than usual, and talked pleasantly. Something had happened; some
point of policy had been gained. Nowadays, you know, he talks and thinks
of nothing but policy; formerly it was all of war. We cannot deny,
Acatlan, that he is much changed. Well, he played a game with Io', then
sat down, saying he had news which he thought would please me. You will
hardly believe it, but he said that Iztlil', the proud Tezcucan, asked
Tula in marriage last night. Think of it! Tula, my blossom, my soul! and
to that vile cacique!"
"Well, he is brave, and the son of 'Hualpilli," said Acatlan.
"What! You!" said Tecalco, despairingly. "Do you, too, turn against me?
I do not like him, and would not if he were the son of a god. Tula hates
him!"
"I will not turn against you, Tecalco. Be calmer, and tell me what more
the king said."
"I told him I was surprised, but not glad to hear the news. He frowned,
and paced the floor, now here, now there. I was frightened, but could
bear his anger better than the idea of my Tula, so good, so beautiful,
the wife of the base Tezcucan. He said the marriage must go on; it was
required by policy, and would help quiet the Empire, which was never so
threatened. You will hardly believe I ventured to tell him that it
should not be, as Tula was already contracted to Guatamozin. I supposed
that announcement would quiet the matter, but it only enraged him; he
spoke bitterly of the 'tzin. I could scarcely believe my ears. He used
to love him. What has happened to change his feeling?"
Acatlan thrummed her pretty mouth with her fingers, and thought awhile.
"Yes, I have heard some stories about the 'tzin--"
"Indeed!" said Tecalco, opening her eyes.
"He too has changed, as you may have observed," continued Acatlan. "He
used to be gay and talkative, fond of company, and dance; latterly, he
stays at home, and when abroad, mopes, and is silent; while we all know
that no great private or public misfortune has happened him. The king
appears to have noticed it. And, my dear sister,"--the queen lowered her
voice to a confidential whisper,--"they say the 'tzin aspires to the
throne."
"What! Do you believe it? Does the king?" cried Tecalco, more in anger
than surprise.
"I believe nothing yet, though there are some grounds for his accusers
to go upon. They say he entertains at his palace near Iztapalapan none
but men of the army, and that while in Tenochtitlan, he studies the
favor of the people, and uses his wealth to win popularity with all
classes. Indeed, Tecalco, somehow the king learned that, on the day of
the celebration of Quetzal', the 'tzin was engaged in a direct
conspiracy against him."
"It is false, Acatlan, it is false! The king has not a more faithful
subject. I know the 'tzin. He is worth a thousand of the Tezcucan, who
is himself the traitor." And the vexed queen beat the floor with her
sandalled foot.
"As to that, Tecalco, I know nothing. But what more from the king?"
"He told me that Tula should never marry the 'tzin; he would use all his
power against it; he would banish him from the city first. And his rage
increased until, finally, he swore by the gods he would order a banquet,
and, in presence of all the lords of the Empire, publicly betroth Tula
and the Tezcucan. He said he would do anything the safety of the throne
and the gods required of him. He never was so angry. And that, O
Acatlan, my sister, that is my trouble. How can I save my child from
such a horrid betrothal?"
Acatlan shook her head gloomily. "The king brooks defeat better than
opposition. We would not be safe to do anything openly. I acknowledge
myself afraid, and unable to advise you."
Tecalco burst into tears, and wrung her hands, overcome by fear and
rage. Io' then left his game, and came to her. He was not handsome,
being too large for his years, and ungraceful; this tendency to
homeliness was increased by the smallness of his face and head; the
features were actually childish.
"Say no more, mother," he said, tears standing in his eyes, as if to
prove his sympathy and kindliness. "You know it would be better to play
with the tigers than stir the king to anger."
"Ah, Io', what shall I do? I always heard you speak well of the 'tzin.
You loved him once."
"And I love him yet."
Tecalco was less pacified than ever.
"What would I not give to know who set the king so against him! Upon the
traitor be the harm there is in a mother's curse! If my child must be
sacrificed, let it be by a priest, and as a victim to the gods."
"Do not speak so. Be wise, Tecalco. Recollect such sorrows belong to our
rank."
"Our rank, Acatlan! I can forget it sooner than that I am a mother! O,
you do not know how long I have nursed the idea of wedding Tula to the
'tzin! Since their childhood I have prayed, plotted, and hoped for it.
With what pride I have seen them grow up,--he so brave, generous, and
princely, she so staid and beautiful! I have never allowed her to think
of other destiny: the gods made them for each other."
"Mother," said Io', thoughtfully, "I have heard you say that Guatamozin
was wise. Why not send him word of what has happened, and put our trust
in him?"
The poor queen caught at the suggestion eagerly; for with a promise of
aid, at the same time it relieved her of responsibility, of all burthens
the most dreadful to a woman. And Acatlan, really desirous of helping
her friend, but at a loss for a plan, and terrified by the idea of the
monarch's wrath incurred, wondered they had not thought of the proposal
sooner, and urged the 'tzin's right to be informed of the occurrence.
"There must be secrecy, Tecalco. The king must never know us as
traitors: that would be our ruin."
"There shall be no danger; I can go myself," said Io'. "It is long since
I was at Iztapalapan, and they say the 'tzin has such beautiful gardens.
I want to see the three kings who hold torches in his hall; I want to
try a bow with him." After some entreaty, Tecalco assented. She
required him, however, to put on a costume less likely to attract
attention, and take some other than a royal canoe across the lake. Half
an hour later, he passed out of a garden gate, and, by a circuitous
route, hurried to the canal in which lay the vessels of the Iztapalapan
watermen. He found one, and was bargaining with its owner, when a young
man walked briskly up, and stepped into a canoe close by. Something in
the gay dress of the stranger made Io' look at him a second time, and he
was hardly less pleased than surprised at being addressed,--
"Ho, friend! I am going to your city. Save your cocoa, and go with me."
Io' was confused.
"Come on!" the stranger persisted, with a pleasant smile. "Come on! I
want company. You were never so welcome."
The smile decided the boy. He set one foot in the vessel, but instantly
retreated--an ocelot, crouched in the bottom, raised its round head, and
stared fixedly at him. The stranger laughed, and reassured him, after
which he walked boldly forward. Then the canoe swung from its mooring,
and in a few minutes, under the impulsion of three strong slaves, went
flying down the canal. Under bridges, through incoming flotillas, and
past the great houses on either hand they darted, until the city was
left behind, and the lake, colored with the borrowed blue of the sky,
spread out rich and billowy before them. The eyes of the stranger
brightened at the prospect.
"I like this. By Our Mother, I like it!" he said, earnestly. "We have
lakes in Tihuanco on which I have spent days riding waves and spearing
fish; but they were dull to this. See the stretch of the water! Look
yonder at the villages, and here at the city and Chapultepec! Ah, that
you were born in Tenochtitlan be proud. There is no grander birthplace
this side of the Sun!"
"I am an Aztec," said Io', moved by the words.
The other smiled, and added, "Why not go further, and say, 'and son of
the king?'"
Io' was startled.
"Surprised! Good prince, I am a hunter. From habit, I observe
everything; a track, a tree, a place, once seen is never forgotten; and
since I came to the city, the night before the combat of Quetzal', the
habit has not left me. That day you were seated under the red canopy,
with the princesses Tula and Nenetzin. So I came to know the king's
son."
"Then you saw the combat?"
"And how brave it was! There never was its match,--never such archery as
the 'tzin's. Then the blow with which he killed the Othmi! I only
regretted that the Tezcucan escaped. I do not like him; he is envious
and spiteful; it would have been better had he fallen instead of the
Otompan. You know Iztlil'?"
"Not to love him," said Io'.
"Is he like the 'tzin?"
"Not at all."
"So I have heard," said the hunter, shrugging his shoulders. "But----
Down, fellow!" he cried to the ocelot, whose approaches discomposed the
prince. "I was going to say," he resumed, with a look which, as an
invitation to confidence, was irresistible, "that there is no reason why
you and I should not be friends. We are both going to see the 'tzin----"
Io' was again much confused.
"I only heard you say so to the waterman on the landing. If your visit,
good prince, was intended as a secret, you are a careless messenger. But
have no fear. I intend entering the 'tzin's service; that is, if he will
take me."
"Is the 'tzin enlisting men?" asked Io'.
"No. I am merely weary of hunting. My father is a good merchant whose
trading life is too tame for me. I love excitement. Even hunting deer
and chasing wolves are too tame. I will now try war, and there is but
one whom I care to follow. Together we will see and talk to him."
"You speak as if you were used to arms."
"My skill may be counted nothing. I seek the service more from what I
imagine it to be. The march, the camp, the battle, the taking captives,
the perilling life, when it is but a secondary object, as it must be
with every warrior of true ambition, all have charms for my fancy.
Besides, I am discontented with my condition. I want honor, rank, and
command,--wealth I have. Hence, for me, the army is the surest road.
Beset with trials, and needing a good heart and arm, yet it travels
upward, upward, and that is all I seek to know."
The _naïveté_ and enthusiasm of the hunter were new and charming to the
prince, who was impelled to study him once more. He noticed how exactly
the arms were rounded; that the neck was long, muscular, and widened at
the base, like the trunk of an oak; that the features, excited by the
passing feeling, were noble and good; that the very carriage of the head
was significant of aptitude for brave things, if not command. Could the
better gods have thrown Io' in such company for self-comparison? Was
that the time they had chosen to wake within him the longings of mind
natural to coming manhood? He felt the inspiration of an idea new to
him. All his life had been passed in the splendid monotony of his
father's palace; he had been permitted merely to hear of war, and that
from a distance; of the noble passion for arms he knew nothing.
Accustomed to childish wants, with authority to gratify them, ambition
for power had not yet disturbed him. But, as he listened, it was given
him to see the emptiness of his past life, and understand the advantages
he already possessed; he said to himself, "Am I not master of grade and
opportunities, so coveted by this unknown hunter, and so far above his
reach?" In that moment the contentment which had canopied his existence,
like a calm sky, full of stars and silence and peace, was taken up, and
whirled away; his spirit strengthened with a rising ambition and a
courage royally descended.
"You are going to study with the 'tzin. I would like to be your
comrade," he said.
"I accept you, I give you my heart!" replied the hunter, with beaming
face. "We will march, and sleep, and fight, and practise together. I
will be true to you as shield to the warrior. Hereafter, O prince, when
you would speak of me, call me Hualpa; and if you would make me happy,
say of me, 'He is my comrade!'"
The sun stood high in the heavens when they reached the landing.
Mounting a few steps that led from the water's edge, they found
themselves in a garden rich with flowers, beautiful trees, running
streams, and trellised summer-houses,--the garden of a prince,--of
Guatamozin, the true hero of his country.
FOOTNOTES:
[31] These are the proper names of the queens. MSS of Muñoz. Also,
note to Prescott, Conq. of Mexico, Vol. II., p. 351.
CHAPTER IV.
GUATAMOZIN AT HOME.
Guatamozin inherited a great fortune, ducal rank, and an estate near
Iztapalapan. Outside the city, midst a garden that extended for miles
around, stood his palace, built in the prevalent style, one story high,
but broad and wide enough to comfortably accommodate several thousand
men. His retainers, a legion in themselves, inhabited it for the most
part; and whether soldier, artisan, or farmer, each had his quarters,
his exclusive possession as against every one but the 'tzin.
The garden was almost entirely devoted to the cultivation of fruits and
flowers. Hundreds of slaves, toiling there constantly under tasteful
supervision, made and kept it beautiful past description. Rivulets of
pure water, spanned by bridges and bordered with flowers, ran through
every part over beds of sand yellow as gold. The paths frequently led to
artificial lagoons, delightful for the coolness that lingered about
them, when the sun looked with his burning eye down upon the valley; for
they were fringed with willow and sycamore trees, all clad with vines as
with garments; and some were further garnished with little islands,
plumed with palms, and made attractive by kiosks. Nor were these all.
Fountains and cascades filled the air with sleepy songs; orange-groves
rose up, testifying to the clime they adorned; and in every path small
_teules_, on pedestals of stone, so mingled religion with the loveliness
that there could be no admiration without worship.
Io' and Hualpa, marvelling at the beauty they beheld, pursued a path,
strewn with white sand, and leading across the garden, to the palace. A
few armed men loitered about the portal, but allowed them to approach
without question. From the antechamber they sent their names to the
'tzin, and directly the slave returned with word to Io' to follow him.
The study into which the prince was presently shown was furnished with
severe plainness. An arm-chair, if such it may be called, some rude
tables and uncushioned benches, offered small encouragement to idleness.
Sand, glittering like crushed crystal, covered the floor, and, instead
of tapestry, the walls were hung with maps of the Empire, and provinces
the most distant. Several piles of MSS.,--the books of the Aztecs,--with
parchment and writing-materials, lay on a table; and half concealed
amongst them was a harp, such as we have seen in the hands of the royal
minstrels.
"Welcome, Io', welcome!" said the 'tzin, in his full voice. "You have
come at length, after so many promises,--come last of all my friends.
When you were here before, you were a child, and I a boy like you now.
Let us go and talk it over." And leading him to a bench by a window,
they sat down.
"I remember the visit," said Io'. "It was many years ago. You were
studying then, and I find you studying yet."
A serious thought rose to the 'tzin's mind, and his smile was clouded.
"You do not understand me, Io'. Shut up in your father's palace, your
life is passing too dreamily. The days with you are like waves of the
lake: one rolls up, and, scarcely murmuring, breaks on the shore;
another succeeds,--that is all. Hear, and believe me. He who would be
wise must study. There are many who live for themselves, a few who live
for their race. Of the first class, no thought is required; they eat,
sleep, are merry, and die, and have no hall in heaven: but the second
must think, toil, and be patient; they must know, and, if possible, know
everything. God and ourselves are the only sources of knowledge. I would
not have you despise humanity, but all that is from ourselves is soon
learned. There is but one inexhaustible fountain of intelligence, and
that is Nature, the God Supreme. See those volumes; they are of men,
full of wisdom, but nothing original; they are borrowed from the book of
deity,--the always-opened book, of which the sky is one chapter, and
earth the other. Very deep are the lessons of life and heaven there
taught. I confess to you, Io', that I aspire to be of those whose lives
are void of selfishness, who live for others, for their country. Your
father's servant, I would serve him understandingly; to do so, I must be
wise; and I cannot be wise without patient study."
Io's unpractised mind but half understood the philosophy to which he
listened; but when the 'tzin called himself his father's servant,
Acatlan's words recurred to the boy.
"O 'tzin," he said, "they are not all like you, so good, so true. There
have been some telling strange stories about you to the king."
"About me?"
"They say you want to be king,"--the listener's face was passive,--"and
that on Quetzal's day you were looking for opportunity to attack my
father." Still there was no sign of emotion. "Your staying at home, they
say, is but a pretence to cover your designs."
"And what more, Io'?"
"They say you are taking soldiers into your pay; that you give money,
and practise all manner of arts, to become popular in Tenochtitlan; and
that your delay in entering the arena on the day of the combat had
something to do with your conspiracy."
For a moment the noble countenance of the 'tzin was disturbed.
"A lying catalogue! But is that all?"
"No,"--and Io's voice trembled,--"I am a secret messenger from the queen
Tecalco, my mother. She bade me say to you, that last night Iztlil', the
Tezcucan, had audience with the king, and asked Tula for his wife."
Guatamozin sprang from his seat more pallid than ever in battle.
"And what said Montezuma?"
"This morning he came to the queen, my mother, and told her about it;
on your account she objected; but he became angry, spoke harshly of you,
and swore Tula should not wed with you; he would banish you first."
Through the silent cell the 'tzin strode gloomily; the blow weakened
him. Mualox was wrong; men cannot make themselves almost gods; by having
many ills, and bearing them bravely, they can only become heroes. After
a long struggle he resumed his calmness and seat.
"What more from the queen?"
"Only, that as she was helpless, she left everything to you. She dares
not oppose the king."
"I understand!" exclaimed the 'tzin, starting from the bench again. "The
Tezcucan is my enemy. Crossing the lake, night before the combat, he
told me he loved Tula, and charged me with designs against the Empire,
and cursed the king and his crown. Next day he fought under my
challenge. The malice of a mean soul cannot be allayed by kindness. But
for me the _tamanes_ would have buried him with the Tlascalans. I sent
him to my house; my slaves tended him; yet his hate was only sharpened."
He paced the floor to and fro, speaking vehemently.
"The ingrate charges me with aspiring to the throne. Judge me, holy
gods! Judge how willingly I would lay down my life to keep the crown
where it is! He says my palace has been open to men of the army. It was
always so,--I am a warrior. I have consulted them about the Empire, but
always as a subject, never for its ill. Such charges I laugh at; but
that I sought to slay the king is too horrible for endurance. On the day
of the combat, about the time of the assemblage, I went to the Cû of
Quetzal' for blessing. I saw no smoke or other sign of fire upon the
tower. Mualox was gone, and I trembled lest the fire should be dead. I
climbed up, and found only a few living embers. There were no fagots on
the roof, nor in the court-yard; the shrine was abandoned, Mualox old.
The desolation appealed to me. The god seemed to claim my service. I
broke my spear and shield, and flung the fragments into the urn, then
hastened to the palace, loaded some _tamanes_ with wood, and went back
to the Cû. I was not too late there; but, hurrying to the _tianguez_, I
found myself almost dishonored. So was I kept from the arena; that
service to the god is now helping my enemy as proof that I w
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