When Ovid describes the memorable encounter between Perseus and the great sea-monster of Ethiopia, he is at the pains to narrate with what fury the creaturesnapped at the shadowof the flying hero,—a circumstance of trivial importance in itself, though both striking and characteristic; nay, he even relates how the warrior, at the first sight of the fair Andromeda, chained to the rock, and waiting to be devoured, was so moved with admiration that he forgot, for an instant, to flap his wings,—another detail of more fitness than moment. Thus stooping to the consideration of trifles, the poet does not scruple entirely to pass by matters of the most palpable consequence. He disdains, for example, to tell us even whether the monsterdiedor not in the encounter, leaving that to be inferred; and, in like manner, he scorns even to answer the question that might have been anticipated, namely,whyPerseus, like a sensible soldier, did not whip out his gorgon's head, instead of his 'crooked sword,' and, by turning the beast into stone, save himself the trouble of despatching him with his steel.
The writer of historical works, like the present, must claim the privilege of the poet, and be allowed, while expatiating on events of interest so inferior that they have been almost rejected by his predecessors, to leave many others of manifest importance to be supplied, not indeed by the imagination, but by the learning of the reader. Our only desire is to follow the adventures of two individuals, so obscure and so unfortunate, that the worthy and somewhat over-conscientious Bernal Diaz del Castillo has despatched the whole history of the first in the few vague fragments which we have prefixed to the story; while he has scrupulously abstained from saying a single word of the second.
If the reader will turn to the pages of this conscientious historian, of De Solis, or of Clavigero, he will be made acquainted with the stirring exploits of the eight or nine weeks that followed after the arrest of Juan Lerma. In this time, the Captain-General, at the head of all the Spaniards, save those who were left in garrison at Tezcuco, and the few sailors and shipwrights who remained in the dock-yards, to preside over Indian artificers, compelled to work at the brigantines—in this time, we say, and at the head of this force, assisted by many thousand Tlascalans, Cortes commenced and completed the circuit of the whole valley, storming and burning cities and towns without number, resisted valiantly in all that were not disaffected, and sometimes, as at the city of Tacuba, repulsed with great loss and no little dishonour. The whole campaign abounds with singular and exciting incidents, of which, however, it does not suit our purpose to mention any but one, and that almost in a word. At the city of Xochimilco, or the Garden of Flowers, (for this is the signification of the word,) where the resistance was sanguinary and noble, though, in the end, ineffectual, Cortes was wounded, surrounded, struck down from his horse, which was killed, and he himself, for a moment, a prisoner; and he owed his life and liberty only to the extraordinary valour of Gaspar Olea of the Red Beard, who, with the help of a few resolute Tlascalans, succeeded in bringing him off. The aid thus rendered by Olea was the more remarkable, since, from the moment of Juan's arrest, he had become sullen, morose, and was sometimes even charged to be mutinous. In this last imputation, however, as far as it implied any treasonable thoughts or practices, the rude Gaspar was wronged. His dissatisfaction was caused solely by the fall and anticipated fate of his young captain. The heinousness of Juan's crime—the drawing his sword upon an officer in the execution of his duty, as Guzman had been, and, worse yet, the aiming of that at the breast of the General—had left it, apparently, impossible to be forgiven. It was universally expected that Juan would expiate the crime with his life; and the only wonder was, that he had not been immediately tried, condemned, and executed. His destiny was therefore anticipated with more curiosity than doubt, and apparently with less pity than either. Gaspar did not attempt to deny Juan's guilt; but when he remembered the sufferings and perils they had shared together, his heart burned with fury, to think how soon the brave and well-beloved youth should die the death of a caitiff. His dissatisfaction expended itself in anger towards the Captain-General; and hence the surprise of his comrades at his act of daring and generosity. But Gaspar had his own ends in view, when he saved the life of Cortes.
It was now many weeks since his arrest, and Juan yet lay in imprisonment, ignorant not so much of his fate, as of the causes which delayed it. On the fourth day of his captivity, he was apprized, by the sound of trumpets and artillery, the cries of men, and the neighing of horses, and, in general, by the prodigious bustle which accompanies the setting-out of an army from a populous city, that some enterprise was meditated and begun; but of its character he was kept wholly ignorant. The custody of his person seemed to be committed to Villafana and the hunchback Najara, conjointly; but it was observable, that, although Najara frequently entered his den alone, Villafana never made his appearance without being accompanied by the Corcobado.
From Najara he gained not a word of intelligence, the hunchback ever replying to his questions with scowls, or with pithy sarcasms in allusion to the crimes of treason and mutiny. From Villafana, attended, and, as it seemed to Juan, watched, by the jealous Najara, he obtained nothing but unmeaning nods of the head, and sometimes looks, too significant to be doubted, and yet too oraculous to be understood.
After the first fortnight, Villafana failed to visit him altogether, and he saw not the face of a human being, except once each morning, when Najara was accustomed to make his appearance, followed by an Indian slave, bearing food and a jar of water. With this latter being, a decrepit old man, on whose naked shoulder was imprinted the horrible letter G, (forguerra, indicating that he was a prisoner of war,—in other words, a branded bondman,) he endeavoured to speak, using all the native dialects with which he was acquainted; but, though Najara made no offer to prevent such conversation, the barbarian replied only by touching his ear and then his breast, signifying thereby that, though he heard the words, he did not understand them. Though Najara permitted these little attempts at speech, with contemptuous indifference, Juan perceived that he ever kept his eyes fastened upon the Indian, as if to prevent any effort at communication of another sort. Thus, if any benevolent friend had endeavoured to convey a message by letter or otherwise, it was apparent that Najara took the best steps to insure its miscarriage.
Foiled thus in every attempt to exchange thoughts with a fellow-being, and reduced to commune only with his own, the unhappy prisoner ceased, at last, to make any effort; and, yielding gradually to a despair that was not the less consuming for being entirely without complaint, he began, in the end, to be indifferent even to the coming and presence of his jailer, neither rising to meet him, nor even lifting his eyes from the floor, on which they were fixed with a lethargic dejection.
He became also indifferent to his food; and once, when Najara entered, he perceived that the water-jar, the dish oftortillas, or maize-cakes, the savoury wild-fowl, and the fragrantchocolatl, (for in regard to food, he was liberally supplied,) stood upon the little table, where they had been placed the day before, untasted and even untouched. He cast his eyes upon the youth, and, for the first time, began to feel a sentiment of pity for his condition. Indeed, the noble figure of the young man was beginning to waste away; his cheeks were hollow, his neglected beard was springing uncouthly over his lips, and his sunken eyes drooped upon the earth, as if never more to gleam with the light of hope and pleasure. The hunchback hesitated for a moment, and then growled out a few words,—the first he had uttered for a week. But these, though commiseration prompted them, he succeeded in making expressive only of scorn or anger.
"Hark you, señor Juan Lerma," he said, "do you mean to starve?"
At the sound of his voice, so unusual and so unexpected, the young man raised his eyes, but with a vague, wo-begone look, and answered nothing.
"I say, señor," continued Najara, somewhat more blandly, "is it your will to die by starvation rather than in any other way?"
"Ah, Najara! is it thou?" said Juan, rising feebly, or indolently, to his feet. "Heaven give you a good-morrow."
"Pshaw!" returned the jailer, gruffly; "pray me no such prayers: keep them for yourself. I ask you, if it be your purpose to starve yourself to death, out of a mere unsoldierly fear of hanging?"
"Thou hast not said so much to me, I know not when," replied the youth, not with any intention of shuffling off the question, but speaking of what was uppermost in his mind. His voice was very mild, and Najara, by no means without his weaker points, felt it as a reproach.
"I care not," he replied, "if I answer you any two or three questions, that may be nearest to your heart. But first give me to know, wherefore you have eaten nothing? Are you sick?"
"Surely I am, at heart; but, bodily, I am well."
"And you are not resolute to die of hunger, before the judgment-day?—Pho, if you have that spirit, perhaps it were better. But it is a death of great torment.—Yet, why should one be afraid of the shame? 'Tis nothing, when we are dead."
"Is this thy fear then?" said Juan, patiently. "It is not permitted us to commit suicide in any form. I will eat, to satisfy thee; but food is bitter in prison."
"What a pity," muttered Najara, as Juan ate a morsel of food, "that heaven should give thee such a goodly and godlike body, and such a brave soul, (for, o' my life, I believe thou art entirely without fear,) and yet make thee a madman and traitor!"
"A traitor!" said Juan, without taking any offence, for, indeed, he seemed to have been robbed of all the fire of his spirit. "It is not possible anybody can believe me a traitor."
"Pho! did I not, with mine own eyes, see thee lunge at Cortes? It is base of thee to deny it."
"I do not deny it," said Juan; adding, vehemently, "but I call heaven to witness, I saw not his face, and knew him not. He may persecute me to death, as I believe he is doing. Yet could I do him no wrong; no, Ithink, I could not.—But it is bitter, to feel we are trampled on!"
"Well, señor, it is better you should be in a passion than a trance. But be not utterly without hope. If you can truly make it appear you knew not the general, it is thought by one or two, you may be pardoned. I have talked with Guzman; and I think he may be brought to forgive and even intercede for you."
"I will neither receivehisforgiveness nor his intercession," said Juan, frowning. "And I wonder you mention to me his detested name."
"Oh, señor!" said Najara, sharply, "you may choose your own friends, and hunt them again among heathen Indians.—That you should sell your life for this dog of a noble!—Fare you well, señor, fare you well."
"Stay, Najara," said Juan, following him towards the door: "you said you would answer me such questions as were nearest my heart. Give not over the kindly thought. There are many things, which if I knew, my lot would not be so hard, my dungeon not so killing to my spirit. The army is gone—is Mexico invested?"
"Not so," replied the hunchback; "it has a month or two's grace yet.—The troops have marched against the shore-towns.—But for this mad fit, thou mightst have been with them, or making thyself famous at Tochtepec!"
Juan sighed heavily.
"And the Indian, of whom you spoke,—the young noble,—Olin the orator," he demanded, at first, not without hesitation.
"Oh, the cur," replied Najara; "I think Cortes was even as mad as thyself, touching the knave. But wit is like a river, sometimes too full, washing away its own banks—it may be said to drown itself.—He made the dog his ambassador, swore him to return faithfully from Guatimozin, and waited three days for him in vain. Such rogues are like arrows,—good weapons, when you have the cast of them, but not to be expected in hand again, unless shot back by a foeman."
It was fortunate, perhaps, that Najara had relaxed so far from his austerity as to resume the vein of metaphor common to his softer moments. Had he been as observant as usual, he must have been struck with suspicion at the sudden gleam of satisfaction, with which Juan heard the good fortune of the Mexican. But he marked it not.
"Tell me now," said Juan, "how thou comest to be my jailer; and why it is that Villafana seems to have given up his trust to thee?"
At this question, Najara's good-humour immediately vanished, and he replied, sourly,
"Oh, content you, you shall be in good keeping."
"I doubt it not," said Juan, calmly. "But Villafana is, or methinks he is, more friendly to me than you. I did but desire to know what changes had taken place in the government of the city, from the watchman up to the commandant, since my imprisonment."
"Ay, indeed!" replied Najara, grimly: "such changes, that hadst thou fifty friends waiting to aid thee, thou shouldst be caught, before getting twenty steps from the door. Know then, that I am made Alguazil, as well as Villafana; and what is more, I am captain of the prison. The Alcalde is Antonio de Quinones, master of the armory; and the Corregidor of the city is thy good friend Guzman,—an honour thou gavest him, by hacking his face so freely, and so leaving him in the hospital."
"You speak to me in sarcasm," said Juan, mildly: "I have not deserved it. And methinks you should be more generous of temper, than to oppress with words of insult, a fallen and helpless man.—Well, heed it not—I forgive you. I have but one more question to ask you.—The lady,—this lady, La Monjonaza—"
"Ay!" cried Najara, with singular bitterness, "I have heard of that too. You were seen talking with her in the garden. You will play chamberer with Cortes! ay, and rival too! Pho, canst thou not be at peace? Meddle with the general's fancy. Why that were enough to hang thee. I had some soft thoughts of thee; but everything shows thou art unworthy. Farewell; think of these things no more; but repent and make your peace with heaven."
So saying, the hunchback flung out of the room, and securing the thick door of plank, Juan was again left to his meditations.
Then followed another period of silence and dejection, in which the prisoner wasted away as much in body as in spirit, becoming so listlessly indifferent to everything, that he no longer betrayed any desire to draw Najara into conversation, nor even to meet the advances which his jailer now often made. The thought of escaping from confinement, perhaps, never entered his mind; for, had he been even less resigned to his fate, the strict watch kept over him, and the condition of his prison, added to his apparent friendlessness, must have been enough to banish all such thoughts. His chamber was neither dark nor damp, but made strong by its bulky door, barred on the outside, and by windows, high above the floor, so very narrow that no human being could hope to pass through them.
Narrow as they were, however, it was the jailer's custom to examine them very closely each morning; a degree of vigilance that Juan had, in the earlier days of captivity, remarked with some surprise. He became acquainted with Najara's object at last. One morning, he was roused out of his stupefaction by a harsh exclamation from his jailer, and looking up, he beheld him take from the floor, immediately under one of the loopholes, what seemed a slip of paper, tied to a little stick, which appeared, some time during the night, to have been thus thrust into the prison. What were its contents he never could divine; for Najara had no sooner cast his eyes over it, than mingling a laugh of satisfaction at its miscarriage with some natural compassion for the profound wretchedness which had sealed the ears and eyes of the prisoner, he immediately departed with the prize.
From this time, Juan became more vigilant and wary; but the following night, he was admonished, by the clank of armour and the occasional sound of voices without, that sentinels were now stationed under the windows, thus precluding all hope of friendly communication from that quarter.
Before he had again entirely relapsed into his listless gloom, he began to have a vague consciousness that the Indian slave, who accompanied Najara, was becoming more officious than of old, in setting his meals before him, and particularly in placing the jar of water at his side, instead of depositing it on his table, as he had done before. His suspicion was confirmed, when, one morning, as Najara was making his wonted survey of the windows, the slave gave him a quick, impatient look, and shaking the jar as he set it down, made him sensible, by a rattling sound within it, that there was something besides the innocent element concealed at the bottom. As soon as Najara had departed, he made an examination of the mystery, and drew forth, with some astonishment, a plate of transparent obsidian, on which had been scratched by some hard instrument or precious stone, a few words which he was soon able to decypher. "If thou wilt leave Mexico, and live, take the stone from the pitcher."
He strode about the apartment for a moment in disorder; then, crushing the glassy temptation under his heel, and returning the fragments to the jar, he sat down again to brood over his despair.—The next morning the pitcher contained nothing but water.
Thus, then, the time passed away, in the ordinary listlessness of confinement,—the dull and sleepy torture of solitude; until Najara, waxing more compassionate as his prisoner grew more obviously indifferent to light, to food, and to speech, bethought him of a mode of indulgence from which no danger could be apprehended, and accordingly introduced the dog Befo into the apartment.
The loud yells of joy with which Befo beheld his young master, recalled Juan from his lethargy; and Najara was touched still further with compunction at the sight of the animal's transports.
"He has been whining every day at the prison gate," he muttered; "and doubtless he would have whined full as much, though he were to be let in only to be beaten. Such a fond fool is this young Juan himself: he returns to his master, though he knows the scourge is ready. It were better he had taken my advice, and passed to the sea by Otumba: He should have known Cortes would never forgive him."
The presence of this faithful animal, if it did not recall Juan's spirits, at least preserved him from sinking further into stupefaction; and nothing gave him more evident delight, than when, each morning, having prevailed upon Najara to lead his dumb companion into the air for exercise, he could hear Befo, in the joy of a liberty which he did not share, dashing frantically through the garden, now coursing by the water-side, now prancing by the palace, and, all the time, yelping and barking with the most clamorous delight. From these daily sorties the dog was used to return, with fresh spirits and increased attachment, to share, for the remainder of the day, the confinement of his master, upon whom, at his entrance, he jumped and fawned almost as boisterously as when enjoying his sports in the garden.
One day, however, he returned with a much graver aspect than usual, and stalking up to where Juan sat, he stood, wagging his tail, and gazing up with a look exceedingly knowing and significant. Somewhat surprised at this, and finding that Befo refused, even when invited, to begin his usual rough expressions of friendship, he took him by the leathern collar, by which the servants of Cortes had been wont to secure him at night, and pulled him towards him. The motion of the collar released a little packet, that had been carefully secured beneath it, and which now fell upon Juan's knee. As soon as the sagacious animal perceived that he had accomplished a task, not often committed to such a messenger, he returned to his usual demonstrations of satisfaction; and, for a moment, Juan was unable to examine the singular missive. When Befo became composed, he opened it, and read, with no little agitation, the following words: "Not forme, but for thyself.—There is but a day more to choose. Leave Mexico, and shed not thine own blood: make not thy friends curse thee.—Return but a fragment of the paper, or tie but a hair round the collar,—and thou shalt be saved.—Not forme, but forthyself."
The morning came, and Juan, taking the paper from his bosom, tore it to pieces. When Najara offered as usual to liberate the dog, he perceived that Juan held him fast by the collar.
"How now, señor, shall the dog play?"
"It is cruel to rob him of his hour's liberty," said Juan, with a subdued voice; "but, this day, suffer him to remain with me."
"Well, señor, as you will," said Najara; "but I would you had some better friend,—at least, some one who could counsel you. There are runners arrived from the northern towns; and, at midday, Cortes will march into the city."
"The better reason, then, that I should have this friend, who have no other," said Juan, calmly.
"Harkee, señor," said Najara, with a sort of petulant sympathy, "if you would but curse yourself and your foes, or bemoan your fate a little, I should like it better than this stupid, womanish resignation.—Hark ye,—I care not if I tell you: I thought you had come athwart the fancies of Don Hernan, in the matter of the Doña, not that Don Hernan had wronged your own: I knew not that there was any old love between you."
"What art thou speaking of, Najara?" said Juan, with a hasty and troubled voice.
"This does, in some sense, weaken the sin of drawing sword upon him," continued the hunchback, "for no man loves to be robbed of his mistress.—Well,—the señora is sorry for you.—She thought to bribe me to let her speak with you.—Bribe me!—And yet I pitied her, for she was sorely distressed."
"For God's sake," exclaimed Juan, in extreme suffering, "speak me not a word of her; let me not hear her name."
"Well, be not cast down; she has much power with the general, and, doubtless, she will plead for you. Well, fare you well.—I did think to let Cortes know of her acts: but that might harden him against you still more.—Why should I waste thought upon him," muttered the deformed as he passed from the prison. "It is hard, or it seems hard, that heaven should give up a frame so beauteous and majestical, to be marred by the hangman's axe or rope, and leave a deformed lump like me, to scare little Indian girls and boys, and to be jibed at by all the craven loons of the army. But this is naught: if I am crooked, I am neither fool, traitor, nor coward, as most others are, in one degree or other, and sometimes in all."
As Najara had foretold, the army returned to Tezcuco about noon, as was made evident to Juan, by the sound of trumpets and cannon, and other warlike noises of rejoicing; which, continuing to fill the city for many hours, came to his ears like the tumult of a distant storm, and began to die away, only when the last twinkle of sunset, shooting through his narrow windows, had faded from the opposite wall.
It was now midnight. Audience after audience, and council after council, in the great hall of the palace, had shown how rapidly were approaching to a climax the involved events and schemes, which had for their object the overthrow of the Indian empire, as well as some that looked to an end equally dark, though of less public import. The Captain-General had despatched several audiences entirely of a private nature, and hoped to be relieved of his toil, while discharging from his presence an individual already known to the reader as Gaspar of the Red Beard. Whatever might have been the subject of the conference, its conclusion was unsatisfactory to both parties; for Olea departed with a visage both sullen and vindictive, while Cortes strode to and fro, evidently affected by vexation and anger.
As Olea, who had long since got rid of the 'infidel gait,' which had drawn a remark from Cortes, and which, doubtless assumed to assist his disguise, only adhered to him through habit,—as he vanished through the great door, another character made his appearance, entering by one of those doors which opened from the garden. It was the señor Camarga; who, from the friar's habit, again flung over his armour, seemed to have been engaged, a second time, in his maskings.
"What news, señor? what news hast thou?" demanded Cortes, in a low voice, making a sign to the visitor to imitate his cautiousness. "Hast thou gathered aught of my dog Villafana? By my conscience, we are at a fault; the fox is scared into virtue: Najara hath seen no ill in him, Guzman avers he hath detected no sign of guilt, and not a spy is there of all, who does not swear that his fright in the matter of Olin, (that knave, too, cajoled me!) has reduced him into submission and honesty. Hast thou found nothing?"
"Nothing to be thought of, perhaps," replied Camarga. "Villafana is either returned to his allegiance, as your excellency hints, or he is too deep in distrust, to confer with me any further. He swears, if one could believe him, that he has thought better of his schemes, and is now resolved that they were foolish and unjust,—and therefore that he has ended them."
"He lies, the rogue!" said Cortes; "you have pursued him too closely.—It was an ill thought to league Najara with him.—These things have made him suspicious, not penitent. I have taken the hunchback away, restored Villafana to his prisonward, and, in short, taken all means to seduce him into security. You will see the cloven foot again, and that right shortly."
"Perhaps what I have to say will make your excellency believe it is displayed already. He has admitted one to speak with the prisoner—"
"Hah!" cried Cortes,—"a file of spearsmen!—But no; it matters not. There is no fear of escape; and this were too aimless an explosion. Know you the person he has admitted?"
"I do not," said Camarga; "but from the glance of the garment, methought 'twas some such godly brother as myself. And yet 'twas a taller man than Olmedo."
"By my conscience," said Cortes, quickly, "methinks I can divine the mystery: but of that anon. Hark thee, friend Camarga, dost thou still burn for this wretched man's life? I tell thee, there is much intercession made for him. It was but a moment since that the Barba-Roxa,—a good soldier, i'faith,—made certain fierce moans for him, mingled with divers mutinous reproaches. I vow to heaven, I could have struck the knave dead, but that he saved my life at Xochimilco."
"I have heard that Juan Lerma did the same thing, on the plains of Tlascala," replied Camarga, dryly.
"Thou art deceived!" exclaimed Don Hernan, with a sudden shudder. "The attempt, I grant you, the attempt be made; but I needed no help. Yet do I remember the act; and, by heaven, I would I might forgive him,—I would I might! I would I might! for the thought of judging him to death, is like a wolf in my bosom. Once I loved him as my son,—yes, as my very son," he repeated, with extraordinary agitation; "and when he played with my little children, I swear, I looked upon him but as their elder brother. What will men say of the act, since they cannot know the cause?"
Apparently Camarga looked upon this burst of relenting feeling, (for such it really was,) with too much dissatisfaction and alarm, to notice the allusion to a cause differing from any with which he was acquainted. He exclaimed, hastily, and with a darkening visage,
"If open mutiny and resistance be not excuse enough, have I not spoken an argument that should steel thy heart for ever? Shall I utter it again? I swear to thee then, that this miserable creature, Magdalena,—this wretch that even thou wouldst have made the slave of thy pleasures, and thereby added upon thy soul a sin never to be forgiven,—no, never!—is a true NUN,—forsworn, lost, condemned! Wilt thou refuse to punish the author of a horrible impiety? Would that I had strangled her, when an infant, though with mine own hand!—Thou talkest of a wolf in thy bosom; couldst thou feel one fang of the agony, that this act of horror has planted in mine, thou wouldst deem thyself happy. Let the wretch die: ask not for further cause; think not of any."
"The cause is, indeed, enough," said Cortes, crossing himself with dread, "to ensure not death only, but a death at the stake of fire; and I am not one to think the punishment should be made easy. I could tell thee a story of the end of broken vows, and the vengeance of God upon the robber of convents; but it needs not.—Sleep in thy grave, poor wretch! and be forgotten." He muttered a few words to himself, and then banishing, with an effort, what seemed a mournful recollection, he resumed,—"Tell me but one thing, Camarga, and I am satisfied. The cause is enough, (though this is a crime to be judged by ecclesiastics,) to ensure the young man's fate; but it isnotenough to explain the rancour of thy hatred. Speak me the truth—Is this unhappy creature child of thine?"
"Think so, if thou wilt," said Camarga, with a lip ashy and quivering, "but ask not, ask not now. Give the young man to the block, and commit the girl into my hands, with the means of leaving this land; then, if thou hast the courage to listen, thou shalt hear a story that will freeze thy blood.—Is he not guilty of this thing?"
"Is he not guilty of more?" muttered the Captain-General. "It is enough; thou hast steeled my heart. I leave him in the hands of the Alcaldes and De Olid, who have no such faintness of heart as confounds mine. Fare thee well, señor: I know thee better, and I like thee well. Turn not thine eye from Villafana."
Thus, mingling the suggestions of a native policy with passions not the less constitutional, Cortes dismissed his disguised visitant. The curtain of the great door had scarce concealed the retreating Camarga, before he heard a footstep behind; and looking round, he beheld the figure of La Monjonaza steal in from the garden, and cross the apartment.
"What sayst thounow, Magdalena?" he cried, striding up to her, and viewing with interest a countenance sternly composed, yet bearing the traces of recent and deep passions. "Thou shouldst have told me of this.—Yet what sayst thou now?"
"Nothing," replied the maiden, calmly, but with tones deeper than usual,—"Nothing.—Do thy work."
With these brief and mystic expressions, she passed among the secret chambers; and the Captain-General, stalking into the garden, until the chill breezes from the lake had cooled his feverish temples, betook himself, at last, to his couch, to subdue, in slumber, imaginary empires, and contend with visionary foes.
The day after the Feast of the Holy Ghost, or Whitsunday, early in May, 1521, opened upon the valley of Mexico with clouds and vapours, which, sweeping over the broad lake, collected and lingered, with boding fury, around the island city, discharging thunder and lightning, while the sunbeams shone clear and uninterrupted over Tezcuco, and the rich savannas which surrounded it. It was the morning of a novel and impressive ceremony. A rivulet, deepened by the labours of many thousand Indians, into a navigable canal, and bordered for the space of half a league on either side, by narrow meadows, separated the city from another scarce inferior in magnitude, but which yet seemed only a suburb. The whole space thus extending between the two cities, from the lake, as far as the eye could see, was blackened by the bodies of Indian warriors, armed and decorated as if for battle, while the housetops in the cities were equally thronged with multitudes of aged men and women and children. A narrow space was left vacant on each bank of the canal, from which the feathered barbarians, two hundred thousand in number, were separated by the Spanish army, drawn up in extended lines on either bank, the companies of footmen alternating with little squadrons of mounted cavaliers, from whose spears waved bright pennons.
As they stood thus, in gallant array, a flourish of trumpets drew their eyes up the stream, and they could behold over the housetops, winding with the sinuosities of the canal, a line of masts and of sails half let loose to the breeze, advancing slowly towards the lake, drawn, as it presently appeared, by double rows of natives, gayly apparelled, who occupied the space on the banks left vacant by the military.
As they approached nigh and more nigh, it was seen that each vessel bore no little resemblance to some of those light and open brigantines which have been, from time immemorial, the chosen delights of Mediterranean pirates, and the scourge of the sea from Barbary to the Greek Islands. Each carried twenty-five men, twelve of whom were rowers, the others musketeers, crossbowmen, cannoniers, (for a falconet frowned over the prow of each,) and sailors. Besides a multitude of little pennons with which they were covered, two great banners waved over each, the one bearing the royal arms of Spain, the other being the private standard which had been assigned, along with an appropriate name and a solemn benediction, by a priest, at the dock-yard, after the celebration of the mass of the Holy Ghost; for with such ceremonies of religion and pomp, the fatal galleys were committed, that morning, to their proper element.
One by one they passed into the lake, and ranged in a line before the mouth of the little river, fourteen in number. At this point, the mummeries of celebration were concluded by another and final benediction, pronounced from the shore; which was succeeded by a combined uproar of artillery, trumpets, and human voices, more loud and tumultuous than any which had yet shaken the borders of Tezcuco.
When the smoke of the cannon had cleared away, the brigantines were seen parting and flitting along in different courses, like a flock of wild-fowl, frightened and separated by the explosion. Their evolutions should be rather likened to the gambols of vultures, escaped from some dreary confinement, and now fluttering their wings in the joy of liberation, and the expectation of prey. Castilian navigators were at last launched upon the sea of Anahuac, and they seemed resolved at once to confirm their dominion, by ploughing through each rolling surge, and penetrating to every bay and creek. As they divided thus, some standing out into the lake, and others darting along the shores, the admiring and shouting spectators began to observe and point out to one another certain pillars of smoke, rising one after the other, from the hills and headlands; by which was conveyed from town to town the intelligence of an event long since expected by the watchful infidels.
Another spectacle, however, soon withdrew the eyes of the lookers on from these signal fires. From the bank of vapours which still concealed the towers of Tenochtitlan, they beheld an Indian piragua, or gondola, of some magnitude, and no little splendour, come paddling into view, followed by three canoes of much lighter and plainer structure. An awning of brilliant cloths, running from stem to stern over the piragua, overshadowed and almost hid the rowers.
It was no sooner perceived from the fleet, than three or four brigantines gave chase, as after an undoubted enemy and legal prize. Still, its voyagers advanced on their course, fearlessly, and to all appearance disregardful of the commands of the captains to heave-to, even although one call was accompanied by a musket shot, discharged across their bows. Its director undoubtedly confided in his pacific character, indicated, according to the customs of Anahuac, by a little net of gold, mingled with white feathers, tied to the head of a spear, and displayed high above the awning.
"Well done for the dog, Techeechee!" muttered Cortes into the ear of an hidalgo, of stern appearance, mounted like himself and at his side; "Well done for Techeechee, the Silent Dog! he is worth twenty such hounds as Olin-pilli. He has brought me an embassy. By my conscience, it comes over late though, and I know not what good can spring of it, at this hour.—These fools of the brigantines are over-officious!—'Tis a confident knave; see, he steers for the palace garden! I must ride thither.—Hark thee, De Olid," he continued, still addressing the grim cavalier, but aloud, as if willing that all should hear: "let this thing be despatched: Thou wilt make, at the worst, a just judge. In this trial, it becomes neither my feelings, nor perhaps my honour, that I should myself sit in judgment. The chief Alcaldes will give thee their aid. Judge not in anger, but with justice; bring it not against the young man that he turned his sword upon me—And yet I see not how thou canst avoid it: nevertheless, if thou canst do so, let it be done. There is enough else to condemn him. His life is in thine hands: be just; and yet be not too rigid. If thou canst, by any justifiable leniency, admit him to mercy, do so. Yes, be merciful, if thou canst,—be merciful."
With these instructions, which were pronounced not without discomposure, Cortes put spurs to his steed, and rode into the city and to the palace, followed by some half dozen cavaliers.
He had scarcely assumed the state with which he thought fit to overawe the envoys of the different barbaric tribes, whom the fame of his power and greatness was daily bringing to his court, before an officer entered the audience-chamber from the garden, and acquainted him that ambassadors from Tenochtitlan humbly craved to be admitted to his presence.
"Let them be taken round to the front, that the dogs may look upon the artillery," said the Captain-General; and perhaps added in his thoughts, "that they may creep up to my footstool, taking in my greatness from afar, until their humility dwindles into submissiveness."
Presently the curtain of the great door was pushed aside, and the Mexicans entered, preceded and followed by armed men; the old Ottomi being in advance of all. They were twelve in number, the chief or principal being a man of lofty stature and manly years, wholly differing from the orator Olin, for whom Cortes looked in vain among the others. To indicate the high rank of the ambassador, two attendants sustained over his head, on little rods, a gay canopy or penthouse of feathers. His green mantle (for that was the colour worn by an ambassador,) was of the richest material, the border being wrought into scroll-work with little studs of solid gold. His buskins, for such they might be called, were of crimson leather, and a crimson fillet was wound round his hair, which was, otherwise, almost covered with little tufts or tassels of cotton-down of the same hue. Each of these singular decorations was the evidence and distinguishing badge of some valiant exploit in battle; and it was therefore manifest to all in the slightest degree acquainted with the customs of Anahuac, even at the first sight, that the barbarian was a man of renown among the Mexicans. A cluster of rattling grains of gold, suspended to his nostrils, indicated that he belonged to the order of Teuctli,—a race of nobles inferior only to theTlamantli, or vassal-kings; and the red fillets showed that he was a Prince of the House of Darts, the highest of the several chivalric branches into which this order was divided, the two next appertaining to the House of Eagles and the House of Tigers.—In introducing these barbaric terms, we have no desire to inflict upon the reader a dissertation on Aztec chivalry, but simply to make him aware, that these singular infidels were, in their way, nearly as well provided with the vanities of knighthood and nobility as some of the European nations in the Middle Ages.
The general appearance of the ambassador was commanding; his features were bold and harsh, yet manly,—his forehead expanded, though inclined, and furrowed as with the frowns of battle,—and his eye had a touch of wildness and ferocity, at variance with his modest bearing while advancing towards the Captain-General, and still more strongly contrasted with that melancholy sweetness of mouth, which seems to be a characteristic of all the children of America.—Perhaps it isfitlycharacteristic, since the proclivity of their fate is equally mournful, throughout all the continent. He bore in his hand the gold net and white plume, hanging to a headless spear, which had been displayed and distinguished afar in the piragua,—as well as a golden arrow,—both being the emblems of a Mexican envoy. He was entirely without arms, as were all the rest.
Behind the canopy-bearers came three old men, with tablets of dressed skin, or maguey paper, in their hands, known, at once, to be writers,—secretaries or annalists,—who accompanied ambassadors, and other high officers, in expeditions of importance, to record their actions and preserve the proofs of treaties.
After these followed sixTlamémé, or common carriers, bearing presents, which, with Mexicans of that day, as with Orientals of this, made no small share of the matériel of diplomacy.
As this train was led forward up to the chair of state, Cortes fixed his eye with a smile of approbation on the Ottomi, but did not think fit to honour him with any further evidence of thankfulness. He had other matters to fill his thoughts; for, at the first glance, he recognized in the ambassador a noble, famous even in the days of Montezuma, for skill, audacity, and unconquerable aversion to the strangers, and who, under the ominous title of Masquaza-teuctli,[12]or the Lord of Death, was known to have commanded bodies of reinforcement, sent to several different shore-towns, to oppose the arms of Cortes in the late campaign. In especial, he was known to have devised the plan of cutting the dikes of Iztapalapan, after decoying the Spaniards into that city, where they escaped drowning almost by a miracle; it was equally certain that he had commanded the multitudes of warriors, who, scarce ten days since, had repulsed the Spaniards from Tacuba with considerable loss; and he was even supposed to have been present in the sack of Xochimilco, where Cortes had been in such imminent peril. The appearance of this man was doubly disagreeable, as being heartily detested himself, and as showing the temper of Guatimozin's mind, who chose to send an envoy so little inclined to composition. A murmur of dissatisfaction arose among the Spaniards present, as soon as they were made aware of the ambassador's character; and if looks could have destroyed, it is certain the Lord of Death would have passed to the world of shades, before speaking a word of his embassy.
Without, however, seeming to regard these boding glances any more than he had done the hostile opposition of the brigantines, he began without delay the usual native forms of salutation. But before he could pass to those rhetorical and reverential flourishes of compliment, which constituted the exordium of an ambassador's speech, he was interrupted by Cortes, whose words were interpreted by the same cavalier who had officiated before, in the interview with Olin.
"Masquaza-teuctli, Lord of Death!" said the Captain-General, sternly, "what dost thou here in Tezcuco?"
The infidel looked up with surprise, and having eyed the Spaniard a moment, replied with another question, which was only remarkable as indicating the composure of the speaker, and as giving utterance to tones exceedingly soft and pleasant:
"Was Olin deceived, and did Techeechee lie?" he said. "I bring the words of Guatimozin to Malintzin, son of Quetzalcoatl, and Lord of the Big Canoes with legs of crocodiles and wings of pelicans."
"Art thou not stained with the blood of Castilians?" rejoined Cortes, but little pleased with the frank and unawed bearing of the envoy. "This thing is ill of Guatimozin: why does he send me an enemy from Tenochtitlan?"
The Lord of Death replied with what seemed a lurking smile, if such could be traced in a peculiar and slight motion of lips, always sedate, if not always melancholy;
"Has the Teuctli afriendin Tenochtitlan?—Let Malintzin speak his name: I will return.—My little children are yet awkward with the bow and arrow."
"Hark to the hound!" exclaimed the Captain-General, struck more by the hint conveyed by the last words than by the sarcasm so gently expressed in the first: "He would have me believe the very boys of Mexico are training to resist us! and that he thinks it better honour to encourage the young cubs to malice, than to speak to me for terms of peace.—Hearken, infidel: you spoke of the young man Olin. Why returned not he to Tezcuco?"
"Malintzin was in a hurry for the blood of Iztapalapan: the king saw the glitter of spears on the lakeside, and said to his servant, 'Go not to Tezcuco with gold and sweet words, but to Iztapalapan with axes and spears.'—"
"Ay, marry; but Olin, what of Olin-pilli?—I warrant me, the knavish king discovered the craft of the knavish noble, and so killed him?—I was a fool to give him the beads.—What sayst thou, infidel! what has become of the Speaker of Wise Things? I sent him to Guatimozin for an envoy; and, lo you, this old savage, the Silent Dog, has brought me what Olin could not, or did not. Is Olin living?"
"How shall I answer? Ipalnemoani[13]is the maker of life; it is the king who takes it. Olin-pilli is forgotten."
"Ay then, let him sleep; and to thy work, infidel, to thy work. Will Guatimozin have peace? He is somewhat late of decision; but the great monarch of Spain, who sends me to speak with him, and to enforce the vassalage acknowledged by Montezuma, is merciful. Speak, then, and quickly. My ships are on the lake, my soldiers are thicker than the reeds on its banks, and fiercer than its waters, when the torrents rush down from the mountains. Will he have the blood of his people flow through the streets, as the waters of an inundation, when the dikes are broken? Speak then, Lord of Death; will Guatimozin acknowledge himself the king's vassal, pay tribute, and govern his empire in peace?"
"Hear the words of Guatimozin," said the ambassador, beckoning to the Tlamémé to open their packs: "The king sends you the history of his land,"—taking up, from among many books, which made the contents of the first bundle, a volume of hieroglyphics, and displaying its pictured pages: "He has searched for the time when the king of Castile was the lord of his people; but it is not written. How then shall he kiss the earth before the Teuctli? He has sought to find to what race, besides the race of heaven, the men of Mexico have paid tribute: It is not written,—except this,—that once, when his fathers were poor and few, the men of Cojohuacan called on them for tribute, and they paid it in the skulls of their foes. The men of Castile call for tribute: Guatimozin sends them such tribute as his fathers paid; here it is—twelve skulls of the dogs of Chalco, taken in the act of rebellion." And as he spoke, the grinning orbs rolled under his foot against the platform.
"Hah!" cried Cortes, starting up, with as much admiration as wrath, for he was keenly alive to every burst of audacious and heroic daring, "is not this a merlin of a royal stock, that will try buffets with an eagle? But, pho! the young man is besotted."
"Hear, further, the words of Guatimozin," continued the envoy, taking from the third bundle two more books, and displaying them, as he had done the first: "the king remembers that the wild Ottomies came down from their hills, saying that they were foolish and pitiful, because Ipalnemoani had kept them in darkness, so that they robbed one another, and were blasphemers against heaven. The king gave them religion and laws; and, behold, those that live upon the skirts of the valley, are become wise and happy. The king says, 'Have not the Spaniards come like the Ottomies? and are they not very ignorant and miserable?' These are the king's words to Malintzin: 'Take this book, and learn how to worship the gods: religion is a good thing, and will make you happy. Take this book also, and understand the laws of men: justice is a good thing, and will make you happy."
It would be difficult to express the varied feelings of wonder, anger, scorn, and merriment, with which the Spaniards hearkened to this extraordinary exhortation. Some stared, some frowned, some smiled, and a few laughed outright; but all immediately betook themselves to looks of sympathetic anger, when Cortes, again rising, stamped upon the platform, crying with a fierceness that was in part unassumed,
"Knave of a heathen and savage, dost thou pass this scorn upon the religion of Christ? this slight upon the laws of Castile? this slur upon religious and civilized men? Look upon this cross, and say to Guatimozin, that not a Spaniard shall leave his valley, till every slave that acknowledges his sway, has knelt before it, and, abjuring the fiendish idolatry of Mexitli, has sworn with a kiss, to worship naught else. Look, too, upon this sword, and say to thine insolent prince, that it shall not cease to strike and slay, until his whole people have acknowledged it to be the abrogator of the old, and the teacher of a new law, such as his brutish sages never dreamed of. In one word, give him to know, that my purpose in his land, is to bestow upon it the cross of heaven and the laws of Spain; and these I will bestow,—both,—so help me the sword which I grasp, and the cross that I worship!"
A murmur of satisfaction and responsive resolution passed through the assemblage, which had been considerably increased by the appearance of such officers, returning from the lakeside, as were privileged to enter the presence on such an occasion. But the stern voice of the Captain-General produced no effect on the Mexicans, except, indeed, that one of the three writers who had been all the time busily engaged, as they squatted upon the floor, recording the speeches, in their inexplicable manner, raised his eyes, when the Christian's voice was at the highest, and eyed him askant for a minute or two. The Lord of Death kept his glance firmly fixed on the aspect of the general, while listening to the interpretation of his angry vows. Then, when Cortes had concluded, he turned to the fourth pack, and resumed his discourse, as if it were no part of his duty to reply to anything not immediately touching his instructions.
"Hear, further, the words of Guatimozin," he said, pointing to an ear of maize, a bundle of cacao-berries, a cluster of bananas, and divers other fruits, as well as nuts and esculent roots, which appeared in the pack: "Thus says the king of Mexico:—Is Castile a naked rock, where the food of man grows not? Malintzin said to Montezuma, 'The land is like other lands, with earth over the flint-stone, and with rivers to make it fertile; soil comes down from the mountains, and heaven sends frequent rains.' Look at Mexico: the sun parches it, till it becomes like sand, half the year; the other half, the sky turns to water, and drowns the gardens and corn-fields. But is man a dog, that he should howl when he is hungry, and run abroad for food? God gave these good things to the king; the king gives them to the Spaniard. Let him throw them upon the earth, and sit hard by in patience, while the rain drops upon them; and, by and by, he will have food for himself and his children: he will not be hungry, and run forth, like a dog, to strange lands, seeking for food.—Hear, further, the words of the king," continued the grave barbarian, observing the impatience of Cortes, and turning his anger into admiration, by suddenly displaying the contents of the fifth pack, which consisted of divers ornaments and jewels of gold, with a huge plate of extraordinary value, representing the sun: "Is there no yellow dirt in Castile, to make playthings for the women and children? Thus says the king: 'Let Malintzin take these things to his women and children; and, lest they should, by and by, cry for more, let him send a ship to Guatimozin, at the end of theTlalpilli,[14]and more shall be given him. Thus it shall be while Guatimozin lives; and thus it shall be hereafter, if the king wills,—for what is Guatimozin, that he should make a law for his successors?"
The admiration with which the Captain-General surveyed the gorgeous present, greatly moderated his disgust at the mode of making it. He stepped down from the platform, and taking the massive disk into his hands, gloated over its almost insupportable weight and dazzling splendour, with the relish of one who seemed never to have felt any passion less sordid than that of avarice. While thus engaged, ruddy at once with delight and with the effort of sustaining such a precious burthen, a paper was put into his hand, or rather held out for him to receive, while a voice murmured in his ear,
"The award of the judges, sent to your excellency for confirmation."
The golden luminary fell, with a heavy clang, upon the floor, the flush fled from his cheeks, and the look with which he turned to the untimely and ill-omened messenger, Villafana, was even more ghastly with affright than that which distinguished the aspect of the Alguazil.
"If your excellency thinks of mercy," continued the Alguazil, in the same low and hurried voice,—"it is not yet too late. They have him on the square, and are confessing him.—He has but a dog's life, and a gnat's death, who puts them in the hands of De Olid."—
Cortes cast his eye upon the paper, and beheld, besides the date, a preamble of two lines, and the signatures of the judges, the following brief and pithy sentences:
"Concealing a spy and fugitive from justice—Guilty."Drawing sword upon a Christian—Guilty."Resisting with arms an officer in the execution of his duty—Guilty."Sentence—To be beheaded, his right hand struck off and nailed to the prison-door.—To take effect in half an hour."In the name of God and the king."De Olid,"Marin,"De Ircio."
"Concealing a spy and fugitive from justice—Guilty.
"Drawing sword upon a Christian—Guilty.
"Resisting with arms an officer in the execution of his duty—Guilty.
"Sentence—To be beheaded, his right hand struck off and nailed to the prison-door.—To take effect in half an hour.
"In the name of God and the king.
"De Olid,
"Marin,
"De Ircio."
"Butchers!" cried Cortes, with accents of unspeakable horror. "What ho, a pen! a pen, knave! a pen!"
The agitation and violence of his voice surprised even the stoical Mexicans; and the writers looking up, he became suddenly aware that the implements with which they practised their rude art, would answer all his purpose. Darting forward, he snatched from the hand of the nearest, one of the many reeds which he held. The barbarian, although apparently the oldest and most infirm of the three, mistaking the purpose of the assault, started to his feet with a vivacity of effort, which, at any other moment, would have drawn a sharp look of suspicion from the Captain-General. But his thoughts were too much excited to be diverted by any such seeming inconsistency.
It happened, by a natural accident, (for each reed was appropriated to its peculiar colour,) that that which Cortes had seized contained a dark crimson ink. Still, natural as the circumstance was, it had no sooner touched the paper than he shuddered, and muttering 'Blood! blood!' seemed as if he would have cast it away. But recovering himself in an instant, with a faint and forced laugh, he subscribed the few words,
"Confirmed.—Respite for twenty-four hours."Cortes."
"Confirmed.—Respite for twenty-four hours.
"Cortes."
and putting the paper into Villafana's hands, he dismissed him with the hurried charge,
"Away—see to it."
He then flung the reed back to the writer who had already resumed his squatting attitude, and reascended the platform.
On those who surmised the cause of this sudden interruption, the agitation of Don Hernan had the good effect of banishing from their minds any lingering suspicions of his entertaining personal ill-will towards the unfortunate Lerma. All went to show that he was shocked at the young man's fate, and the necessity of ministering to it, even in the simple act of confirming a judgment, awarded by others; but, unhappily, the same feeling that exonerated the judge, still further increased the odium attached to the criminal. How great, they thought, must be the guilt of him whom it causes Cortes so much suffering to condemn.—But the Captain-General, recovering himself, gave them little time for such speculations.
"Well, infidel, thou speakest well," he cried, his voice becoming firmer with each syllable; "What hidest thou in the sixth bundle?—or rather, what if I should accept thy master's niggardly offer, and depart with these baubles for women and children, as thou hast rightly called them?"
"Hear the words of Guatimozin," replied the ambassador, with a careless emphasis, as if properly understanding the futility of the proposal, and, indeed, with a look of scorn, as if learning to despise one capable of Don Hernan's late weakness: "If Malintzin depart with the fifth pack, cast the sixth into the lake, and tell him, that, in its place, he shall have sent after him to the seaside, a thousand sacks of robes and four thousand sacks of corn, to clothe and feed his people as they sail over the endless sea. Say to him besides—"
"Pho," interrupted Cortes, "have done with this mummery, and get thee to the sixth sack, which I am impatient to examine. What hast thou there?"
"The riches which are more precious to Mexico than the trinkets of her children," replied the stately barbarian; and, as he spoke, he rolled upon the floor, arrowheads and spearpoints of bright copper, sharp blades of itzli and heavy maces of flint, which made up the contents of the last bundle: "Hear the words of Guatimozin," he continued, with a dignity of bearing that might have become a Spartan envoy in the camp of the Persian; "thus says the king: 'What is the Lord of Castile, that Guatimozin should call him master? what is Malintzin, that Guatimozin should make him his friend? The Teuctli burns my cities, murders my children, and spits in the face of my gods. His religion is murder, his law robbery: he is strong, yet very unjust; he is wise, yet he makes men mad. Guatimozin has called together the chiefs and the planters of corn, the wise men and the foolish, the strong and the feeble, the old men, the women and the children. He has spoken to them, and they have replied: 'Is not the sword better than the whip? is not the arrow softer than the brand? is not the fagot of fire pleasanter than the chain of captivity? is not death sweeter than slavery?' Thus says the old man,—'I am old; wherefore, then, should I be a slave for a day?' Thus says the little infant,—'I am a little child; why should I be a slave for many years?' This, then, is the word of the whole people; it is Guatimozin who speaks it: 'If the gods desert me, what have I to yield but life? if they help me, as they have helped my fathers, what have I to do, but to drive away my foe? Let Malintzin look at my weapons, and put two plates of the black-copper of Castile on his bosom, for I am very strong in my sorrow, and I will strike very hard. Let Malintzin fear: the rebels of Tezcuco and Cholula, the traitors of Chalco and Otumba, are but straws to help him: can they look in the face of a Mexican? Let Malintzin fear: is he stronger than when he fled from Tenochtitlan, in the month of Mourning?[15]has not Mexico more fighting men than when the horn of the gods sounded at midnight, and the Teuctli sat on the stone and wept?—on the stone of Tacuba, by the water-side, when the morning came, and his people slept in the ditches? If Malintzin will fight, so will Guatimozin.' These are the words of the king; these are the words of the people: they are said. The gods behold us."
So spake the bold savage; and as if to show that even the basest and feeblest shared his courage, and sanctioned his defiance, the very Tlamémé looked around them with a show of spirit, and the three old men expressed their satisfaction with audible murmurs.
The Spaniards were surprised at the fearless tones of the Lord of Death, and not a few were impressed with alarm as well as anger, when he referred so unceremoniously to the events of the fatal Noche Triste. As for Cortes himself, though the frown with which he listened to the whole oration, had become darker and darker as the warrior-noble proceeded, yet, apparently, he had become sensible, both from the tenor of the discourse and the resolute bearing of the speaker, that it should be answered with gravity rather than anger. Hence, when he came to reply, it was in terms briefly impressive and solemn:
"My young brother Guatimozin is unwise, and he is digging the grave of his whole people. He has evil counsellors about him. I have somewhat to say to him; and, to-morrow, you shall be sent back with an answer, which will perhaps dispel his foolish dream of resistance."—He observed that the Lord of Death looked displeased and even alarmed, when the interpreter made him sensible that he was to be detained until the morrow. "Be not alarmed," he continued, sternly: "when didst thou ever hear of a Christian aping the treachery of thy native princes, and doing wrong to an ambassador? I tell thee, fellow, infidel though thou be, I will do thee honour, in respect of thy young master. To-morrow thou shalt eat at my board, for it is a day of banqueting; and to-morrow, also, shalt thou be made acquainted with my answer to the king's message, which it is not possible I should speak to-day. Rest you then content.—Hark thee, Villafana," (for the Alguazil had returned,) "have thou charge of this bitter-tongued knave and his dumb companions. Entreat them well, but see that they neither escape nor communicate with anyone in this army, Christian or misbeliever. And look well to thy prison too.—This knave, Techeechee,—bring him to me when thou changest guards at the prison."
Then, breaking up the audience, he remained for a time in conference with a few of the chief officers, debating subjects of great importance, but which would be of no interest to the readers of this history.
Some two hours after nightfall, as the unhappy Lerma lay in darkness and solitude, (for Befo was no longer permitted to be his companion,) the door of the prison opened, and the Alguazil, Villafana, entered, bearing a lantern, which emitted just sufficient light to allow his features to be distinguished, together with what seemed a flask of wine—a luxury now to be occasionally obtained, since vessels arrived not unfrequently from the islands.
"How now, what cheer, señor?" he exclaimed, setting down the flask upon the table, and turning the light full upon Juan's face; "are you saying your prayers? Here's that shall give you better comfort,—something from the vineyards of Xeres de la Frontera,—stout Sherry, that shall make your heart bounce, were it broken twice over.—Come, faith, it will make you merry."
"I shall never be merry more," said Juan; "and why should I? It is better I should not. I thank you for your good-will, Villafana; but I would that, instead of this wine, if it be not contrary to your duty, you would fetch me the good father Olmedo, to finish the confession, begun upon the block, and so abruptly interrupted, this morning."
"Pho, be not in such a hurry: you have time enough. The priest is busy, and knowing he must shrive you to-morrow, he will be ill inclined to trouble himself superfluously to-night. Come, sit up, drink, laugh, and curse thy foes. Come, now,—a merry God's blessing! may you live a thousand years!—Dzoog! bah! dzoog!—Now could I fight seven tigers!"
"It is better thou shouldst drink it than I," said Juan, observing the strong and somewhat fantastic gestures with which the Alguazil expressed his approbation, after having taken a hearty draught of the liquor; "yet bethink thee, Villafana,—"
"'Slid!" interrupted the jailer, "bethink thyself! and bethink thee that this will make thee a good fellow of a warhorse mettle, whereas, now, thou art but a sick lambkin. What makes a beggar a king, hah? a tailor's 'prentice a Cid Ruy Diaz of Castile,—a doughty Campeador? Pho, there is more of this, and to-morrow it will flow: Dost thou not know, Don Demonios, our king, has invited us to a banquet to-morrow? Thou shalt hear this banquet spoken of for a thousand years. Ah, the good ship! the good ship! there is a better thing she brings us than wine.—But that is neither here nor there. Why dost thou not drink?"
"Am I not condemned to death for the infraction of a decree?" said Juan, somewhat sternly, for he thought he perceived in Villafana's levity a symptom of undue excitement; "and dost thou not remember that there is a decree also against drunkenness? Thou hast suffered somewhat from this already."
"Dost thou suppose there is a hell?" said Villafana, with some such look as that which had appalled Juan, when he walked with him over the meadows beyond the city: "For, if thou dost, know then, that I make my promise to the infernal fiend, to broil with him seven times seven thousand years, if I do not, with a stab for every lash, make up my reckoning with the man who degraded me!Ojalaand Amen!—So now, there's enough to keep thee quiet.—Hast thou any gall any where but in thy liver?"
"Thou art besotted, or insane, I think," said Juan, angrily. "I am a dying man: begone, and suffer me to make my peace with heaven."
"Come, you think I am drunk," said Villafana, somewhat more rationally: "I grant you; but it is with a stuff stronger than strong drink;—ay, faith, for, to-morrow, I see my way to heaven!—Answer me, truly: have you no thirst for vengeance on those who have brought you to this pass?—You see I am sober, hah? One would not die like a sheep.—You may play the wolf yet. What if you had an opportunity—"
"Tempt me not, knave," said Juan, turning away his face—"Avoid thee, Satan!"
"What if I should knock open thy doors, and put a sword into thy hand?" said Villafana, bending over, so as to whisper into his ear; "what wouldst thou do with it?"
"Break it," replied the prisoner, wrapping his mantle about his head, as if to shut out all further temptation.
"Thou art a fool," said the Alguazil, with a growl, and left the apartment.
Juan heard his retreating steps, followed by the clanking of the chain, which, with a strong padlock, on the outside, secured the door of the prison; yet he neither raised his head, nor removed the mantle from his face, but endeavoured to drive from his heart the thoughts of passion, excited by the words of the tempter. From this gloomy task he was roused by a soft voice, murmuring, as it seemed to him from the air, for he was not aware of the presence of any human being in the apartment,—
"Does the Great Eagle fear the face of his friend?"
He started to his feet, and beheld in the light of the lantern, which Villafana had left on the table, the figure of an ancient Indian, standing hard by.
"Techeechee!" he exclaimed—"But no; thy speech is pure, thy tongue is another's. Who art thou, gray-head of Mexico?"
"To-day, Cojotl, the cunning fox of scribes,—yesterday, Olin, the tongue of nobles,—but before, and hereafter, Guatimozin, the friend of the Great Eagle," replied the Indian, and as he spoke, he exchanged the decrepit stoop of age for the lofty demeanour of youth, and parted the gray locks which had hitherto almost concealed his countenance.
"Rash prince," said Juan, "will you yet wear the chains of Montezuma? Why dost thou again entrust thyself among Spaniards?"
"How came the Great Eagle into the place of Guatimozin?" demanded the young Mexican, expressively: "Shall he die for Guatimozin, and Guatimozin stand afar off?"
"Alas, prince," said Juan, "thy friendship is noble, but can do me no good. Leave this place, where thou art in great danger, and think of me no more. I am beyond the reach of help. Think of thyself,—of thy people, (for, surely, it is thy duty to protect them,) and depart while thou canst."
"And what am I, that I should do this thing?" said Guatimozin. "Listen to me, son of the day-spring: the children of Spain are wolves and reptiles; the iztli is sharp for them, and it must not spare. But thou, the young Eagle, shalt remain the friend of Guatimozin. Has not Malintzin eaten of thy blood? is he not like the big tiger that takes by the throat? and who shall draw him away? Canst thou remain, and smile on another sunset? I bring thee liberty."
"How!" said Juan; "is Villafana this traitor, that he will permit me to escape?"
"He is a rat with two faces," said the prince, significantly; "he fears the wrath of Malintzin; he loves gold, but he says thou shalt not go till to-morrow, and to-morrow thou wilt be in Mictlan, the world of caves. But Guatimozin can do what the traitor Christian will not. The Eagle is very brave: he shall kill his foe."
As Guatimozin spoke, he drew from his cloak a Spanish dagger, long, sharp and exceedingly bright,—a relic of the spoils won from the invaders in the Night of Sorrow,—and offered it to the prisoner, adding,
"When I depart, a soldier will fasten the door. If thou art strong-hearted, thou canst rush by, dealing him a blow. At the water's edge, by the broken wall, thou wilt find a friend with a canoe; it is Techeechee. Is not Tenochtitlan hard by? Guatimozin, the king of Mexico, will make his friend welcome."
"Prince," said Juan, sadly, "this thing cannot be. Why should I strike down the poor sentinel? He has done me no wrong. What would become of thee? Thou couldst not escape. What would become of Villafana, who, knave though he be, has yet done much to serve me? And what, to conclude, would become ofme, escaping from Christians, to take refuge among thy unbelieving people? I can die, prince, but I can be neither renegade nor apostate."
"Is there nothing in Tenochtitlan, that dwells in the thoughts of the captive? I will be very good to thee; and thou shalt drink the blood of thy foe."
"Prince," said Juan, firmly, "thine eye cannot search the soul of a Christian. Malintzin has done me a great wrong, yet would I not harm a hair of his head; no, heaven is my witness! I can forgive him even my death, however unjust and cruel."
"It is a dove of Cholula that speaks in the voice of my friend," said the infidel, struck with as much disdain as surprise at the want of spirit, which his barbarous code of honour discovered in a lack of vindictiveness: "Is a man a worm that he should be trampled on?"
"No," said Juan, bitterly,—for he could not resist his feelings of indignation, when he suffered himself to consider his degradation in this light. "Had I resisted him in his first anger, had I resented his first injustice, had I provoked him by any complaint, then might I think of his course with submission. But I have not; I have been, indeed, as thou sayest, a worm, at all times helpless, at all times unresisting. Others have complained, some have defied him, but they passed unpunished. I, who have yielded, like a woman, escape not: I creep from the path of his anger, but his foot follows me,—turn which way I will, it crushes me. Even Befo will show his teeth sometimes—I have seen him growl when Cortes struck him—and by mine honour, I think he struck him, because he was once mine!"
How far, by indulging such thoughts, he might have wrought himself into the very spirit which Guatimozin was surprised to find absent, we will not venture to say. He was interrupted by the sudden re-entrance of Villafana, who immediately exclaimed,
"Will you have my brother Najara diving in upon you? Pho, you talk too loud: 'tis well you were gabbling in Mexican. Hark ye, Olin, you knave, get you gone! to your den, sirrah!—Pray, señor Juan, tell this rascal, in his own gibberish, that he cannot remain a moment longer from his lock-up, without being discovered.—Come, fellow, come: you shall have more talk to-morrow."
So saying, the Alguazil conducted the Mexican away. A few moments after, he returned alone. Juan, still disordered and brooding over his wrongs, paced to and fro over the narrow limits of his cell. His agitation Increased with each step, and, at last, finding that Villafana did not speak, he exclaimed,
"Come, Villafana,—I know what thou wilt say,—am I not used dog-like? He disdained even to sit upon the trial, to ask me what I had to urge in excuse of my folly; but left this to judges, who were content to ask 'Didst thou this?' and 'Didst thou that?' without permitting me a word of defence. Surely, I had much provocation in the matter of Guzman; and as for the decree, it should have been remembered, that I was come into the camp too short a time to have made it as fast in my mind as others, who had heard it daily proclaimed for months. I must die for this!—die like a hunted assassin!—my hand stuck against the prison-door, my body given, perhaps, to fatten the lean hogs that will fatten my judges! Oh, by heaven, this is intolerable to think on!"