The Fair God; or, The Last of the 'Tzins

The improvisation, if such it was, now wrought its full effect upon Montezuma, who saw the recital coming nearer and nearer to the dread mysteries of the golden chamber in the old Cû. At the beginning of the last sentence, the blood left his face, and he leaned forward as if to check the speech, at the same time some master influence held him wordless. His look was that of one seeing a vision. The vagaries of a mind shaken by days and nights of trouble are wonderful; sometimes they are fearful. How easy for his distempered fancy to change the minstrel, with his white locks and venerable countenance, into a servant of Quetzal’, sent by the god to confirm the interpretation and prophecies of his other servant Mualox. At the last word, he arose, and, with an imperial gesture, cried,—

“Peace—enough!”

Then his utterance failed him,—another vision seemed to fix his gaze. The audience, thrilling with fear, turned to see what he saw, and heard a commotion, which, from the further end of the hall, drew slowly near the throne, and ceased not until Mualox, in his sacrificial robes, knelt upon the step in the minstrel’s place. Montezuma dropped into his throne, and, covering his eyes with his hands, said faintly,—

“Evil betides me, father, evil betides me! But I am a king. Speak what you can!”

Mualox prostrated himself until his white hair covered his master’s feet.

“Again, O king, your servant comes speaking for his god.”

“For the god, Mualox?”

The hall became silent as a tomb.

“I come,” the holy man continued, “to tell the king that Quetzal’ has landed, this time on the sea-shore in Cempoalla. At set of sun his power was collected on the beach. Summon all your wisdom,—the end is at hand.”

All present and hearing listened awe-struck. Of the warriors, not one, however battle-tried, but trembled with undefined terror. And who may accuse them? The weakness was from fear of a supposed god; their heathen souls, after the manner of the Christian, asked, Who may war against Heaven?

“Rise, Mualox! You love me; I have no better servant,” said the king, with dignity, but so sadly that even the prophet’s heart was touched. “It is not for me to say if your news be good or evil. All things, even my Empire, are in the care of the gods. To-morrow I will hold a council to determine how this visit may be best met.” With a mighty effort he freed his spirit of the influence of the untimely visitation, and said, with a show of unconcern, “Leave the morrow to whom it belongs, my children. Let us now to the ceremony which was to crown the night. Come forward, son of ’Hualpilli! Room for the lord Iztlil’, my friends!”

Tula looked down, and the queen Tecalco bowed her face upon the shoulder of the queen Acatlan; and immediately, all differences lost in loving loyalty, the caciques and chiefs gathered before him,—a nobility as true and chivalric as ever fought beneath an infidel banner.

And they waited, but the Tezcucan came not.

“Go, Maxtla. Seek the lord Iztlil’, and bring him to my presence.”

Through the palace and through the gardens they sought the recreant lover. And the silence of the waiting in the great hall was painful. Guest looked in the face of guest, mute, yet asking much. The prince Cacama whispered to the prince Cuitlahua, “It is a happy interference of the gods!”

Tecalco wept on, but not from sorrow, and the eyes of the devoted princess were lustrous for the first time; hope had come back to the darkened soul.

And the monarch said little, and erelong retired. A great portion of the company, despite his injunction, speedily followed his example, leaving the younger guests, with what humor they could command, to continue the revel till morning.

Next day at noon couriers from Cempoalla confirmed the announcement of Mualox. Cortes had indeed landed; and that Good Friday was the last of the perfect glory of Anahuac.

Poor king! Not long now until I may sing for thee the lamentation of the Gothic Roderick, whose story is but little less melancholy than thine.

He look’d for the brave captains that led the hosts of Spain,
But all were fled, except the dead,—and who could count the slain?
Where’er his eye could wander all bloody was the plain;
And while thus he said the tears he shed ran down his cheeks like rain.

Last night I was the king of Spain: to-day no king am I.
Last night fair castles held my train: to-night where shall I lie?
Last night a hundred pages did serve me on the knee,
To-night not one I call my own,—not one pertains to me.[35 - The fifth and sixth verses of the famous Spanish ballad, “The Lamentation of Don Roderic.” The translation I have borrowed from Lockhart’s Spanish Ballads.—Tr.]

BOOK THREE

CHAPTER I

THE FIRST COMBAT

The ’tzin’s companion the night of the banquet, as the reader has no doubt anticipated, was Hualpa, the Tihuancan. To an adventure of his, more luckless than his friend’s, I now turn.

It will be remembered that the ’tzin left him at the door of the great hall. In a strange scene, without a guide, it was natural for him to be ill at ease; light-hearted and fearless, however, he strolled leisurely about, at one place stopping to hear a minstrel, at another to observe a dance, and all the time half confused by the maze and splendor of all he beheld. In such awe stood he of the monarch, that he gave the throne a wide margin, contented from a distance to view the accustomed interchanges of courtesy between the guests and their master. Finding, at last, that he could not break through the bashfulness acquired in his solitary life among the hills, and imitate the ease and nonchalance of those born, as it were, to the lordliness of the hour, he left the house, and once more sought the retiracy of the gardens. Out of doors, beneath the stars, with the fresh air in his nostrils, he felt at home again, the whilom hunter, ready for any emprise.

As to the walk he should follow he had no choice, for in every direction he heard laughter, music, and conversation; everywhere were flowers and the glow of lamps. Merest chance put him in a path that led to the neighborhood of the museum.

Since the night shut in,—be it said in a whisper,—a memory of wonderful brightness had taken possession of his mind. Nenetzin’s face, as he saw it laughing in the door of the kiosk when Yeteve called the ’tzin for a song, he thought outshone the lamplight, the flowers, and everything most beautiful about his path; her eyes were as stars, rivalling the insensate ones in the mead above him. He remembered them, too, as all the brighter for the tears through which they had looked down,—alas! not on him, but upon his reverend comrade. If Hualpa was not in love, he was, at least, borrowing wings for a flight of that kind.

Indulging the delicious revery, he came upon some nobles, conversing, and quite blocking up the way, though going in his direction. He hesitated; but, considering that, as a guest, the freedom of the garden belonged equally to him, he proceeded, and became a listener.

“People call him a warrior. They know nothing of what makes a warrior; they mistake good fortune, or what the traders in the tianguez call luck, for skill. Take his conduct at the combat of Quetzal’ as an example; say he threw his arrows well: yet it was a cowardly war. How much braver to grasp the maquahuitl, and rush to blows! That requires manhood, strength, skill. To stand back, and kill with a chance arrow,—a woman could do as much.”

The ’tzin was the subject of discussion, and the voice that of Iztlil’, the Tezcucan. Hualpa moved closer to the party.

“I thought his course in that combat good,” said a stranger; “it gave him opportunities not otherwise to be had. That he did not join the assault cannot be urged against his courage. Had you, my lord Iztlil’, fallen like the Otompan, he would have been left alone to fight the challengers. A fool would have seen the risk; a coward would not have courted it.”

“That argument,” replied Iztlil’, “is crediting him with too much shrewdness. By the gods, he never doubted the result,—not he! He knew the Tlascalans would never pass my shield; he knew the victory was mine, two against me as there were. A prince of Tezcuco was never conquered!”

The spirit of the hunter was fast rising; yet he followed, listening.

“And, my friends,” the Tezcucan continued, “who better judged the conduct of the combatants that day than the king? See the result. To-night I take from the faint heart his bride, the woman he has loved from boyhood. Then this banquet. In whose honor is it? What does it celebrate? There is a prize to be awarded,—the prize of courage and skill; and who gets it? And further, of the nobles and chiefs of the valley, but one is absent,—he whose prudence exceeds his valor.”

In such strain the Tezcucan proceeded. And Hualpa, fully aroused, pushed through the company to the speaker, but so quietly that those who observed him asked no questions. Assured that the ’tzin must have friends present, he waited for some one to take up his cause. His own impulse was restrained by his great dread of the king, whose gardens he knew were not fighting-grounds at any time or in any quarrel. But, as the boastful prince continued, the resolve to punish him took definite form with the Tihuancan,—to such degree had his admiration for the ’tzin already risen! Gradually the auditors dropped behind or disappeared; finally but one remained,—a middle-aged, portly noble, whose demeanor was not of the kind to shake the resolution taken.

Hualpa made his first advance close by the eastern gate of the garden, to which point he held himself in check lest the want of arms should prove an apology for refusing the fight.

“Will the lord Iztlil’ stop?” he said, laying his hand on the Tezcucan’s arm.

“I do not know you,” was the answer.

The sleek courtier also stopped, and stared broadly.

“You do not know me! I will mend my fortune in that respect,” returned the hunter, mildly. “I have heard what you said so ungraciously of my friend and comrade,”—the last word he emphasized strongly,—“Guatamozin.” Then he repeated the offensive words as correctly as if he had been a practised herald, and concluded, “Now, you know the ’tzin cannot be here to-night; you also know the reason; but, for him and in his place, I say, prince though you are, you have basely slandered an absent enemy.”

“Who are you?” asked the Tezcucan, surprised.

“The comrade of Guatamozin, here to take up his quarrel.”

“You challenge me?” said Iztlil’, in disdain.

“Does a prince of Tezcuco, son of ’Hualpilli, require a blow? Take it then.”

The blow was given.

“See! Do I not bring you princely blood?” And, in his turn, Hualpa laughed scornfully.