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

“Arise, and get you down now,” the arch-priest said; “we would be alone awhile.”

On a pedestal of stone, or rather of many stones, rested the brazier, or urn, that held the sacred fire. In it crackled the consuming fagots, while over it, with unsteady brilliancy, leaped the flames which, for so many leagues away, were as a beacon in the valley. The three stopped in the shadow of the urn, and might have studied the city, or those subjects greater and more fascinating,—mysteries now, to-night, forever,—Space, and its children, the Stars; but it was not to indulge a common passion or uncertain speculations that Tlalac had brought from their temples and altars his companions, the high-priests of Cholula and Tezcuco. And there for a long time they remained, the grave and holy servants of the gods of the New World, talking earnestly, on what subject and with what conclusion we may gather.

“He is of us no longer,” said Tlalac, impressively. “He has abandoned his people; to a stranger he has surrendered himself, his throne and power; he spends his days learning, from a new priesthood, a new creed, and the things that pertain to a god of whom everything is unknown to us, except that he is the enemy of our gods. I bore his desertion patiently, as we always bear with those we love. By permission, as you heard, he came one day to worship Huitzil’; the permission was on condition that there should be no sacrifices. Worship without sacrifice, my brethren! Can such thing be? When he came, he was offered rescue; the preparations were detailed to him; he knew they could not fail; the nobles begged him to accept the offer; I warned him against refusal; yet, of choice, he went back to Malinche. Then patience almost forsook me. Next, as you also know, came the unpardonable sin. In the chamber below—the chamber sanctified by the presence of the mighty Huitzil’—I will give you to see, if you wish, a profanation the like of which came never to the most wicked dream of the most wicked Aztec,—an altar to the new and unknown God. And to-morrow, if you have the curiosity, I will give you to see the further sight,—a service, mixed of singing and prayer, by priests of the strange God, at the same time, and side by side with the worship of our gods,—all with the assent—nay, by order—of Montezuma. Witness these crimes once, and your patience will go quickly, whereas mine went slowly; but it is gone, and in its stead lives only the purpose to do what the gods command.”

“Let us obey the gods!” said the reverend high-priest of Cholula.

“Let us obey the gods!” echoed his holy brother of Tezcuco.

“Hear me, then,” said Tlalac, with increased fervor. “I will give their command. ‘Raise up a new king, and save yourselves, by saving our worship in the land!’ so the gods say. And I am ready.”

“But the law,” said the Tezcucan.

“By the law,” answered Tlalac, “there can be kings only in the order of election.”

“And so?”

“Montezuma—must—DIE!”

Tlalac said these terrible words slowly, but firmly.

“And who will be the instrument?” they asked.

“Let us trust the gods,” he answered. “For love of them men go down to death every day; and of the many lovers, doubt not some one will be found to do their bidding.”

And so it was agreed.

And so, slowly but surely, the Public Opinion made its way, permeating all classes,—laborers, merchants, warriors, and priests.

CHAPTER IV

THE ’TZIN’S FAREWELL TO QUETZAL’

If I were writing history, it would delight me to linger over the details of Cortes’ management after the arrest of Montezuma; for in them were blent, fairly as ever before seen, the grand diversities of war, politics, and governmental administration. Anticipating interference from the headquarters in Cuba, he exercised all his industry and craft to recommend himself directly to his Majesty, the Emperor Charles. The interference at last came in the form of a grand expedition under Panfilo de Narvaez; but in the interval,—a period of little more than five months,—he had practically reduced the new discovery to possession, as attested by numerous acts of sovereignty,—such, for instance, as the coast of the gulf surveyed; colonies established; plantations opened and worked with profit; tribute levied: high officials arrested, disseized, and executed; the collection and division of a treasure greater than ever before seen by Christians in the New World; communication with the capital secured by armed brigantines on the lakes; the cross set up and maintained in the teocallis; and last, and, by custom of the civilized world, most absolute, Montezuma brought to acknowledge vassalage and swear allegiance to the Emperor; and withal, so perfect was the administration of affairs, that a Spaniard, though alone, was as safe in the defiles between Vera Cruz and Tenochtitlan as he would have been in the caminos reales of old Spain, as free in the great tianguez as on the quay of Cadiz.

Narvaez’s expedition landed in May, six months after Cortes entered Tenochtitlan; and to that time I now beg to advance my reader.

Cortes himself is down in Cempoalla; having defeated Narvaez, he is lingering to gather the fruits of his extraordinary victory. In the capital Alvarado is commanding, supported by the Tlascalans, and about one hundred and fifty Christians. Under his administration, affairs have gone rapidly from bad to worse; and in selecting him for a trust so delicate and important, Cortes has made his first serious mistake.

At an early hour in the evening Mualox came out of the sanctuary of his Cû, bearing an armful of the flowers which had been used in the decoration of the altar. The good man’s hair and beard were whiter than when last I noticed him; he was also feebler, and more stooped; so the time is not far distant when Quetzal’ will lose his last and most faithful servant. As he was about to ascend the stairway of the tower, his name was called, and, stopping, he was overtaken by two men.

“Guatamozin!” he exclaimed, in surprise.

“Be not alarmed, father, but put down your burden, and rest awhile. My friend here, the lord Hualpa, has brought me news, which calls me away. Rest, therefore, and give me time for thanks and explanation.”

“What folly is this?” asked Mualox, hastily, and without noticing Hualpa’s salutation. “Go back to the cell. The hunters are abroad and vigilant as ever. I will cast these faded offerings into the fire, and come to you.”

The ’tzin was in the guise of a paba. To quiet the good man’s alarm, he drew closer the hood that covered his head, remarking, “The hunters will not come. Give Hualpa the offerings; he will carry them for you.”

Hualpa took them, and left; then Mualox said, “I am ready to hear. Speak.”

“Good father,” the ’tzin began, “not long since, in the sanctuary there, you told me—I well remember the words—that the existence of my country depended upon my action; by which I understood you to prefigure for me an honorable, if not fortunate, destiny. I believe you had faith in what you said; for on many occasions since you have exerted yourself in my behalf. That I am not now a prisoner in the old palace with Cacama and the lord Cuitlahua is due to you; indeed, if it be true, as I was told, that the king gave me to Malinche to be dealt with as he chose, I owe you my life. These are the greatest debts a man can be bound for; I acknowledge them, and, if the destiny should be fortunate as we hope, will pay them richly; but now all I can give you is my thanks, and what I know you will better regard,—my solemn promise to protect this sacred property of the holy Quetzal’. Take the thanks and the promise, and let me have your blessing. I wish now to go.”

“Whither?” asked Mualox.

“To the people. They have called me; the lord Hualpa brings me their message.”

“No, you will not go,” said the paba, reproachfully. “Your resolution is only an impulse; impatience is not a purpose; and—and here are peace, and safety, and a holy presence.”

“But honor, father,—”

“That will come by waiting.”

“Alas!” said the ’tzin, bitterly, “I have waited too long already. I have most dismal news. When Malinche marched to Cempoalla, he left in command here the red-haired chief whom we call Tonatiah. This, you know, is the day of the incensing of Huitzil’—”

“I know, my son,—an awful day! The day of cruel sacrifice, itself a defiance of Quetzal’.”

“What!” said Guatamozin, in angry surprise. “Are you not an Aztec?”

“Yes, an Aztec, and a lover of his god, the true god, whose return he knows to be near, and,”—to gather energy of expression, he paused, then raised his hands as if flinging the words to a listener overhead,—“and whom he would welcome, though the land be swimming in the blood of unbelievers.”

The violence and incoherency astonished the ’tzin, and as he looked at the paba fixedly, he was sensible for the first time of a fear that the good man’s mind was affected. And he considered his age and habits, his days and years spent in a great, cavernous house, without amusement, without companionship, without varied occupation; for the thinker, it must be remembered, knew nothing of Tecetl or the world she made so delightful. Moreover, was not mania the effect of long brooding over wrongs, actual or imaginary? Or, to put the thought in another form, how natural that the solitary watcher of decay, where of all places decay is most affecting, midst antique and templed splendor, should make the cause of Quetzal’ his, until, at last, as the one idea of his being, it mastered him so absolutely that a division of his love was no longer possible. If the misgiving had come alone, the pain that wrung the ’tzin would have resolved itself in pity for the victim, so old, so faithful, so passionate; but a dreadful consequence at once presented itself. By a strange fatality, the mystic had been taken into the royal councils, where, from force of faith, he had gained faith. Now,—and this was the dread,—what if he had cast the glamour of his mind over the king’s, and superinduced a policy which had for object and end the peaceable transfer of the nation to the strangers?

This thought thrilled the ’tzin indefinably, and in a moment his pity changed to deep distrust. To master himself, he walked away; coming back, he said quietly, “The day you pray for has come; rejoice, if you can.”

“I do not understand you,” said Mualox.

“I will explain. This is the day of the incensing of Huitzil’, which, you know, has been celebrated for ages as a festival religious and national. This morning, as customary, lords and priests, personages the noblest and most venerated, assembled in the court-yard of the temples. To bring the great wrong out in clearer view, I ought to say, father, that permission to celebrate had been asked of Tonatiah, and given,—to such a depth have we fallen! And, as if to plunge us into a yet lower deep, he forbade the king’s attendance, and said to the teotuctli, ‘There shall be no sacrifice.’”

“No victims, no blood!” cried Mualox, clasping his hands. “Blessed be Quetzal’!”

The ’tzin bore the interruption, though with an effort.

“In the midst of the service,” he continued, “when the yard was most crowded, and the revelry gayest, and the good company most happy and unsuspecting, dancing, singing, feasting, suddenly Tonatiah and his people rushed upon them, and began to kill, and stayed not their hands until, of all the revellers, not one was left alive; leaders in battle, ministers at the altar, old and young,—all were slain![47 - Sahagun, Hist. de Nueva Esp. Gomara, Cronica. Prescott, Conq. of Mexico.] O such a piteous sight! The court is a pool of blood. Who will restore the flower this day torn from the nation? O holy gods, what have we done to merit such calamity?”

Mualox listened, his hands still clasped.

“Not one left alive! Not one, did you say?”

“Not one.”

The paba arose from his stooping, and upon the ’tzin flashed the old magnetic flame.

“What have you done, ask you? Sinned against the true and only god—”

“I?” said the ’tzin, for the moment shrinking.

“The nation,—the nation, blind to its crimes, no less blind to the beginning of its punishment! What you call calamity, I call vengeance. Starting in the house of Huitzil’,—the god for whom my god was forsaken,—it will next go to the city; and if the lords so perish, how may the people escape? Let them tremble! He is come, he is come! I knew him afar, I know him here. I heard his step in the valley, I see his hand in the court. Rejoice, O ’tzin! He has drunk the blood of the sacrificers. To-morrow his house must be made ready to receive him. Go not away! Stay, and help me! I am old. Of the treasure below I might make use to buy help; but such preparation, like an offering at the altar, is most acceptable when induced by love. Love for love. So said Quetzal’ in the beginning; so he says now.”