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

“Stay a moment, most noble chief,—but a moment,” said the Chalcan. “I have invented a drink which I desire you to inaugurate. If I may be counted a judge, it is fit for a god.”

“A judge! You? Where is the man who would deny you that excellence? Your days have been spent in the practice; nay, your whole life has been one long, long drink. Make haste. I will wager pulque is chief in the compound.”

The broker went out, and directly returned, bearing on a waiter a Cholulan goblet full of cool liquor, exquisitely colored with the rich blood of the cactus apple. Maxtla sipped, drank, then swore the drink was without a rival.

“Look you, Chalcan. They say we are indebted to our heroes, our minstrels, and our priests, and I believe so; but hereafter I shall go farther in the faith. This drink is worth a victory, is pleasant as a song, and has all the virtues of a prayer. Do not laugh. I am in earnest. You shall be canonized with the best of them. To show that I am no vain boaster, you shall come to the banquet to-morrow, and the king shall thank you. Put on your best tilmatli, and above all else, beware that the vase holding this liquor is not empty when I call for it. Farewell!”

CHAPTER VIII

GUATAMOZIN AND MUALOX

Up the steps of the old Cû of Quetzal’, early in the evening of the banquet, went Guatamozin unattended. As the royal interdiction rested upon his coming to the capital, he was muffled in a priestly garb, which hid his face and person, but could not all disguise the stately bearing that so distinguished him. Climbing the steps slowly, and without halting at the top to note the signs of the city, all astir with life, he crossed the azoteas, entered the chamber most sanctified by the presence of the god, and before the image bowed awhile in prayer. Soon Mualox came in.

“Ask anything that is not evil, O best beloved of Quetzal’, and it shall be granted,” said the paba, solemnly, laying a hand upon the visitor’s shoulder. “I knew you were coming; I saw you on the lake. Arise, my son.”

Guatamozin stood up, and flung back his hood.

“The house is holy, Mualox, and I have come to speak of the things of life that have little to do with religion.”

“That is not possible. Everything has to do with life, which has all to do with heaven. Speak out. This presence will keep you wise; if your thoughts be of wrong, it is not likely you will give them speech in the very ear of Quetzal’.”

Slowly the ’tzin then said,—

“Thanks, father. In what I have to say, I will be brief, and endeavor not to forget the presence. You love me, and I am come for counsel. You know how often those most discreet in the affairs of others are foolish in what concerns themselves. Long time ago you taught me the importance of knowledge; how it was the divine secret of happiness, and stronger than a spear to win victories, and better in danger than a shield seven times quilted. Now I have come to say that my habits of study have brought evil upon me; out of the solitude in which I was toiling to lay up a great knowledge, a misfortune has arisen, father to my ruin. My stay at home has been misconstrued. Enemies have said I loved books less than power; they charge that in the quiet of my gardens I have been taking council of my ambition, which nothing satisfies but the throne; and so they have estranged from me the love of the king. Here against his order, forbidden the city,”—and as he spoke he raised his head proudly,—“forbidden the city, behold me, paba, a banished man!”

Mualox smiled, and grim satisfaction was in the smile.

“If you seek sympathy,” he said, “the errand is fruitless. I have no sorrow for what you call your misfortune.”

“Let me understand you, father.”

“I repeat, I have no sorrow for you. Why should I? I see you as you should see yourself. You confirm the lessons of which you complain. Not vainly that you wrought in solitude for knowledge, which, while I knew it would make you a mark for even kingly envy, I also intended should make you superior to misfortunes and kings. Understand you now? What matters that you are maligned? What is banishment? They only liken you the more to Quetzal’, whose coming triumph,—heed me well, O ’tzin,—whose coming triumph shall be your triumph.”

The look and voice of the holy man were those of one with authority.

“For this time,” he continued, “and others like it, yet to come, I thought to arm your soul with a strong intelligence. Your life is to be a battle against evil; fail not yourself in the beginning. Success will be equal to your wisdom and courage. But your story was not all told.”

The ’tzin’s face flushed, and he replied, with some faltering,—

“You have known and encouraged the love I bear the princess Tula, and counted on it as the means of some great fortune in store for me. Yet, in part at least, I am banished on that account. O Mualox, the banquet which the king holds to-night is to make public the betrothal of Tula to Iztlil’, the Tezcucan!”

“Well, what do you intend?”

“Nothing. Had the trouble been a friend’s, I might have advised him; but being my own, I have no confidence in myself. I repose on your discretion and friendship.”

Mualox softened his manner, and said, pleasantly at first, “O ’tzin, is humanity all frailty? Must chief and philosopher bow to the passion, like a slave or a dealer in wares?” Suddenly he became serious; his eyes shone full of the magnetism he used so often and so well. “Can Guatamozin find nothing higher to occupy his mind than a trouble born of a silly love? Unmanned by such a trifle? Arouse! Ponder the mightier interests in peril! What is a woman, with all a lover’s gild about her, to the nation?”

“The nation?” repeated the ’tzin, slowly.

The paba looked reverently up to the idol. “I have withdrawn from the world, I live but for Quetzal’ and Anahuac. O, generously has the god repaid me! He has given me to look out upon the future; all that is to come affecting my country he has shown me.” Turning to the ’tzin again, he said with emphasis, “I could tell marvels,—let this content you: words cannot paint the danger impending over our country, over Anahuac, the beautiful and beloved; her existence, and the glory and power that make her so worthy love like ours, are linked to your action. Your fate, O ’tzin, and hers, and that of the many nations, are one and the same. Accept the words as a prophecy; wear them in memory; and when, as now, you are moved by a trifling fear or anger, they should and will keep you from shame and folly.”

Both then became silent. The paba might have been observing the events of the future, as, one by one, they rose and passed before his abstracted vision. Certain it was, with the thoughts of the warrior there mixed an ambition no longer selfish, but all his country’s.

Mualox finally concluded. “The future belongs to the gods; only the present is ours. Of that let us think. Admit your troubles worthy vengeance: dare you tell me what you thought of doing? My son, why are you here?”

“Does my father seek to mortify me?”

“Would the ’tzin have me encourage folly, if not worse? And that in the presence of my god and his?”

“Speak plainly, Mualox.”

“So I will. Obey the king. Go not to the palace to-night. If the thought of giving the woman to another is so hard, could you endure the sight? Think: if present, what could you do to prevent the betrothal?”

A savage anger flashed from the ’tzin’s face, and he answered, “What could I? Slay the Tezcucan on the step of the throne, though I died!”

“It would come to that. And Anahuac! What then of her?” said Mualox, in a voice of exceeding sorrow.

The love the warrior bore his country at that moment surpassed all others, and his rage passed away.

“True, most true! If it should be as you say, that my destiny—”

“If! O ’tzin, if you live! If Anahuac lives! If there are gods!—”

“Enough, Mualox! I know what you would say. Content you; I give you all faith. The wrong that tortures me is not altogether that the woman is to be given to another; her memory I could pluck from my heart as a feather from my helm. If that were all, I could curse the fate, and submit; but there is more: for the sake of a cowardly policy I have been put to shame; treachery and treason have been crowned, loyalty and blood disgraced. Hear me, father! After the decree of interdiction was served upon me, I ventured to send a messenger to the king, and he was spurned from the palace. Next went the lord Cuitlahua, uncle of mine, and true lover of Anahuac; he was forbidden the mention of my name. I am not withdrawn from the world; my pride will not down at a word; so wronged, I cannot reason; therefore I am here.”

“And the coming is a breach of duty; the risk is great. Return to Iztapalapan before the midnight is out. And I,—but you do not know, my son, what a fortune has befallen me.” The paba smiled faintly. “I have been promoted to the palace; I am a councillor at the royal table.”

“A councillor! You, father?”

The good man’s face grew serious again. “I accepted the appointment, thinking good might result. But, alas! the hope was vain. Montezuma, once so wise, is past counsel. He will take no guidance. And what a vanity! O ’tzin, the asking me to the palace was itself a crime, since it was to make me a weapon in his hand with which to resist the holy Quetzal’. As though I could not see the design!”

He laughed scornfully, and then said, “But be not detained, my son. What I can, I will do for you; at the council-table, and elsewhere, as opportunity may offer, I will exert my influence for your restoration to the city and palace. Go now. Farewell; peace be with you. To-morrow I will send you tidings.”

Thereupon he went out of the tower, and down into the temple.

CHAPTER IX

A KING’S BANQUET

At last the evening of the royal banquet arrived,—theme of incessant talk and object of preparation for two days and a night, out of the capital no less than in it; for all the nobler classes within a convenient radius of the lake had been bidden, and, with them, people of distinction, such as successful artists, artisans, and merchants.

It is not to be supposed that a king of Montezuma’s subtlety in matters governmental could overlook the importance of the social element, or neglect it. Education imports a society; more yet, academies, such as were in Tenochtitlan for the culture of women, always import a refined and cultivated society. And such there was in the beautiful valley.

My picture of the entertainment will be feeble, I know, and I give it rather as a suggestion of the reality, which was gorgeous enough to be interesting to any nursling even of the court of His Most Catholic Majesty; for, though heathen in religion, Montezuma was not altogether barbarian in taste; and, sooth to say, no monarch in Christendom better understood the influence of kingliness splendidly maintained. About it, moreover, was all that makes chivalry adorable,—the dance, the feast, the wassail; brave men, fair women, and the majesty of royalty in state amidst its most absolute proofs of power.

On such occasions it was the custom of the great king to throw open the palace, with all its accompaniments, for the delight of his guests, admitting them freely to aviary, menagerie, and garden, the latter itself spacious enough for the recreation of thirty thousand persons.

The house, it must be remembered, formed a vast square, with patios or court-yards in the interior, around which the rooms were ranged. The part devoted to domestic uses was magnificently furnished. Another very considerable portion was necessary to the state and high duties of the monarch; such were offices for his functionaries, quarters for his guards, and chambers for the safe deposit of the archives of the Empire, consisting of maps, laws, decrees and proclamations, accounts and reports financial and military, and the accumulated trophies of campaigns and conquests innumerable. When we consider the regard in which the king was held by his people, amounting almost to worship, and their curiosity to see all that pertained to his establishment, an idea may be formed of what the palace and its appurtenances were as accessaries to one of his entertainments.

Passing from the endless succession of rooms, the visitor might go into the garden, where the walks were freshly strewn with shells, the shrubbery studded with colored lamps, the fountains all at play, and the air loaded with the perfume of flowers, which were an Aztec passion, and seemed everywhere a part of everything.

And all this convenience and splendor was not wasted upon an inappreciative horde,—ferocious Caribs or simple children of Hispaniola. At such times the order requiring the wearing of nequen was suspended; so that in the matter of costume there were no limits upon the guest, except such as were prescribed by his taste or condition. In the animated current that swept from room to room and from house to garden might be seen citizens in plain attire, and warriors arrayed in regalia which permitted all dazzling colors, and pabas hooded, surpliced, and gowned, brooding darkly even there, and stoled minstrels, with their harps, and pages, gay as butterflies, while over all was the beauty of the presence of lovely women.

Yet, withal, the presence of Montezuma was more attractive than the calm night in the garden; neither stars, nor perfumed summer airs, nor singing fountains, nor walks strewn with shells, nor chant of minstrels could keep the guests from the great hall where he sat in state; so that it was alike the centre of all coming and all going. There the aged and sedate whiled away the hours in conversation; the young danced, laughed, and were happy; and in the common joyousness none exceeded the beauties of the harem, transiently released from the jealous thraldom that made the palace their prison.

From the house-tops, or from the dykes, or out on the water, the common people of the capital, in vast multitudes, witnessed the coming of the guests across the lake. The rivalry of the great lords and families was at all times extravagant in the matter of pomp and show; a king’s banquet, however, seemed its special opportunity, and the lake its particular field of display. The king Cacama, for example, left his city in a canoe of exquisite workmanship, pranked with pennons, ribbons, and garlands; behind him, or at his right and left, constantly ploying and deploying, attended a flotilla of hundreds of canoes only a little less rich in decoration than his own, and timed in every movement, even that of the paddles, by the music of conch-shells and tambours; yet princely as the turn-out was, it did not exceed that of the lord Cuitlahua, governor of Iztapalapan. And if others were inferior to them in extravagance, nevertheless they helped clothe the beloved sea with a beauty and interest scarcely to be imagined by people who never witnessed or read of the grand Venetian pageants.

Arrived at the capital, the younger warriors proceeded to the palace afoot; while the matrons and maids, and the older and more dignified lords, were borne thither in palanquins. By evening the whole were assembled.

About the second quarter of the night two men came up the great street to the palace, and made their way through the palanquins stationed there in waiting. They were guests; so their garbs bespoke them. One wore the gown and carried the harp of a minstrel; very white locks escaped from his hood, and a staff was required to assist his enfeebled steps. The other was younger, and with consistent vanity sported a military costume. To say the truth, his extremely warlike demeanor lost nothing by the flash of a dauntless eye and a step that made the pave ring again.

An official received them at the door, and, by request, conducted them to the garden.

“This is indeed royal!” the warrior said to the minstrel. “It bewilders me. Be yours the lead.”

“I know the walks as a deer his paths, or a bird the brake that shelters its mate. Come,” and the voice was strangely firm for one so aged,—“come, let us see the company.”

Now and then they passed ladies, escorted by gallants, and frequently there were pauses to send second looks after the handsome soldier, and words of pity for his feeble companion. By and by, coming to an intersection of the walk they were pursuing, they were hailed,—“Stay, minstrel, and give us a song.”

By the door of a summer-house they saw, upon stopping, a girl whose beauty was worthy the tribute she sought. The elder sat down upon a bench and replied,—

“A song is gentle medicine for sorrows. Have you such? You are very young.”

Her look of sympathy gave place to one of surprise.

“I would I were assured that minstrelsy is your proper calling.”

“You doubt it! Here is my harp: a soldier is known by his shield.”

“But I have heard your voice before,” she persisted.

“The children of Tenochtitlan, and many who are old now, have heard me sing.”

“But I am a Chalcan.”

“I have sung in Chalco.”

“May I ask your name?”

“There are many streets in the city, and on each they call me differently.”

The girl was still perplexed.

“Minstrels have patrons,” she said, directly, “who—”

“Nay, child, this soldier here is all the friend I have.”

Some one then threw aside the vine that draped the door. While the minstrel looked to see who the intruder was, his inquisitor gazed at the soldier, who, on his part, saw neither of them; he was making an obeisance so very low that his face and hand both touched the ground.

“Does the minstrel intend to sing, Yeteve?” asked Nenetzin, stepping into the light that flooded the walk.

The old man bent forward on his seat.

“Heaven’s best blessing on the child of the king! It should be a nobler hand than mine that strikes a string to one so beautiful.”

The comely princess replied, her face beaming with pleasure, “Verily, minstrel, much familiarity with song has given you courtly speech.”

“I have courtly friends, and only borrow their words. This place is fair, but to my dull fancy it seems that a maiden would prefer the great hall, unless she has a grief to indulge.”

“O, I have a great grief,” she returned; “though I do borrow it as you your words.”

“Then you love some one who is unhappy. I understand. Is this child in your service?” he asked, looking at Yeteve.

“Call it mine. She loves me well enough to serve me.”

The minstrel struck the strings of his harp softly, as if commencing a mournful story.

“I have a friend,” he said, “a prince and warrior, whose presence here is banned. He sits in his palace to-night, and is visited by thoughts such as make men old in their youth. He has seen much of life, and won fame, but is fast finding that glory does not sweeten misfortune, and that of all things, ingratitude is the most bitter. His heart is set upon a noble woman; and now, when his love is strongest, he is separated from her, and may not say farewell. O, it is not in the ear of a true woman that lover so unhappy could breathe his story in vain. What would the princess Nenetzin do, if she knew a service of hers might soothe his great grief?”

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1

Fernando De Alva Iztlilzochitl.

2

The goddess Cioacoatl, called “Our Lady and Mother.” Sahagun, Hist. de Nueva Esp.

3

Carrier slaves, or porters.

4

In Aztec mythology, God of the Air.

5

Equivalent to Pontiff or Pope.

6

Sahagun, Hist. de Nueva Esp.

7

Ixtlilxochitl, son of Nezahualpilli, king of Tezcuco.

8

King of Tezcuco.

9

See Prescott’s Conq. of Mexico.

10

Guatamozin, nephew to Montezuma. Of him Bernal Diaz says: “This monarch was between twenty-three and twenty-four years of age, and could in all truth be called a handsome man, both as regards his countenance and figure. His face was rather of an elongated form, with a cheerful look; his eye had great expression, both when he assumed a majestic expression, or when he looked pleasantly around; the color of his face inclined to white more than to the copper-brown tint of the Indians in general.”—Diaz, Conquest of Mexico, Lockhart’s Trans., Vol. IV., p. 110.

11

Prescott’s Conq. of Mexico, Vol. I., p. 417.

12

The God of War,—aptly called the “Mexican Mars.”

13

There was a fire for each altar in the temples which was inextinguishable; and so numerous were the altars, and so brilliant their fires, that they kept the city illuminated throughout the darkest nights. Prescott, Conq. of Mexico, Vol. I., p 72.

14

The Aztec currency consisted of bits of tin, in shape like a capital T, of quills of gold-dust, and of bags of cocoa, containing a stated number of grains. Sahagun, Hist. de Nueva Esp.

15

Temple. The term appears to have applied particularly to the temples of the god Huitzil’.—Tr.

16

Sahagun, Hist. de Nueva Esp.

17

The Mexican Hell. The owl was the symbol of the Devil, whose name signifies “the rational owl.”

18

Bernal Diaz, Hist. de la Conquista.

19

The Divine Book, or Bible. Ixtlil’s Relaciones M.S.

20

A kind of emerald, used altogether by the nobility. Sahagun, Hist. de Nueva Esp.

21

Or capilli,—the king’s crown. A panache was the head-dress of a warrior.

22

A garment of coarse white material, made from the fibre of the aloe, and by court etiquette required to be worn by courtiers and suitors in the king’s presence. The rule appears to have been of universal application.

23

’Tzin was a title equivalent to lord in English. Guatamotzin, as compounded, signifies Lord Guatamo.

24

The great market-place or square of Tlateloco. The Spaniards called it tianguez. For description, see Prescott, Conq. of Mexico, Vol. II., Book IV. Bernal Diaz’s Work, Hist. de la Conq.

25

Iztacoihuatl.

26

Popocatepetl.

27

Cortes’ squadron reached the mouth of the river Tabasco on the 12th of March, 1519.

28

Prescott, Conq. of Mexico.

29

God of the sea.

30

The allusion was doubtless to the expeditions of Hernandez de Cordova, in 1517, and Juan de Grijalva, in 1518.

31

These are the proper names of the queens. MSS of Muñoz. Also, note to Prescott, Conq. of Mexico, Vol. II., p. 351.

32

A species of fig.

33

Prescott, Conq. of Mexico.