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The Infidel; or, the Fall of Mexico. Vol. II.
To snatch up the weapon he had so vainly cast, to spurn the exhausted warrior from his prey, and to cut the thong that bound Guzman to the stone, were all the work of a second. Almost before the idea had entered the mind of the Mexicans, that the combat was interrupted, so lightning-like were his motions, he had leaped with Guzman from the platform, and, grasping his hand, made his way over the narrow and unoccupied portion of the square, which led to the garden. Even then, the Mexicans stood for awhile dumb with surprise and consternation; for the act was so unexpected, so entirely inexplicable upon any of their principles of action, that they scarce knew if it might not be their Mexitli himself, who thus snatched a victim from the stone of battle.
It has been already mentioned, that the garden wall had, in this quarter, fallen down, and that its place was supplied only by a fence of shrubs and brambles. Its ruins choked the ditch, and gave a passage, which had been formerly effected by a wooden bridge, now buried under the heavy fragments. A single plank spanned over the only gap that was too wide to be passed, except by a bold leap. It was a knowledge of these circumstances, that, in the very tempest of his impulses, determined the course of Juan Lerma, and decided every step he now took to secure life to his wretched companion. He had breathed but a word into Guzman's ear, but it was enough to communicate strength to his heart, and agility to his limbs; and wonderfully adapting his resolutions and movements to those of his guide, he ran with him over the square and across the canal, with such speed, that he rather aided than retarded the steps of his preserver. – They had crossed the plank before the yells of pursuit burst from the astounded assembly, and Juan, striking it now into the ditch with his foot, dragged Guzman through the brambles, exclaiming,
"Quick! quick! If we can but reach the palace, we are saved."
"Is it thou, indeed, Juan Lerma?" cried Guzman, with a voice singularly wild and piteous, but struggling onward. – "Now then thou canst kill me thyself, since thou wouldst not be avenged by infidels."
"Quick! quick! they are following us! they are crossing the ditch! – But fifty paces more!"
"Ten will serve me – and ten words will make up my reckoning – that is, here: the rest hereafter. Stop, fool, – I am dying."
"Courage! courage!" exclaimed Juan, endeavouring, but in vain, to drag further the wretch, for whom his rash humanity seemed to have purchased only the right of expiring in a Christian's arms. "Courage, and move on, – we are close followed."
"Hark, – listen, and speak not," said Guzman, sinking to the earth, for his wounds were mortal, and the exertions of flight caused them to throw out blood with tenfold violence – He was indeed upon the verge of dissolution: "Listen, listen!" he cried, gasping for breath, yet struggling to speak with such extraordinary eagerness, that it seemed as if he held life and salvation to depend upon his giving utterance to what was in his mind. "Listen, Juan Lerma, for I am a snake and a devil. I hated thee for – But, brief, brief, brief! First, Cortes – Hah! they come! – Drag me into a bush, that I may speak and die. No – here – There is no time – Listen. Saints, give me powers of speech! or devils – either! A little reparation – Why not? I belied thee to Cortes – Hark! hark!" he almost screamed, in the fear that he might not be understood, for he was conscious of the incoherency of his expressions; "hark! hark! – Bleeding to death – Concerning – Cortes – his wife – Doña Catalina – jealousy, jealousy! – Poisoned his ear. Understand me! understand me!"
Wild as were his words and confused as was the mind of Juan, yet with these broken expressions, the dying cavalier threw a sudden and terrific light upon the understanding of the outcast.
"Good heaven!" he cried, "my benefactress! my noble lady! Oh villain, how couldst thou? – "
"More – more!" murmured Guzman, with impatient, yet vain ardour. "I know all – Thy father – thy sister – Camarga – killed – Aha! Magdalena – the princess – "
"Ay! the princess?" echoed Juan, imploringly: "the princess? the princess?"
But all he could hear in reply to his frantic demand, was "Garci, Garci – " and this name was immediately lost in the roaring shouts of the infidels, who now surrounded the pair.
Had Guzman been able to continue the flight at half the speed with which he had begun it, it is certain they would have reached the palace, considerably in advance of the pursuers; though it is not certain, that would have proved a city of refuge. But his strength failed almost immediately after entering the garden, of which as soon as he became sensible, he began to make his disclosures; and perhaps the haste into which he was driven by the almost instant appearance of the Mexicans, thronging over the broken wall, served as much as the distractions and agonies of death, to make them confused and insufficient. The first word – the name of the lady Catalina, – revealing at once the dreadful delusion, which had converted his best friend into his deadliest enemy, so excited and unsettled Juan's mind, that, in his eagerness to learn still more of the fatal secret, he almost forgot the presence of so many Mexicans, rushing upon him with yells of fury. It was in vain, when they had reached him, that he brandished his sword, and assumed an attitude of defence, calling loudly upon the king. He was thrown down and overpowered, – nay, he was severely wounded, and handled altogether so roughly, that it seemed as if the enraged Mexicans were resolved to drag him to the sacrifice, from which he had rescued Guzman, if not to murder him on the spot; some calling out to kill him, and others roaring, 'The Temalacatl! the Temalacatl!' Their cries were not even stilled when the nobles who waited about the person of the king, drove them away with rods, and Guatimozin himself stalked up to the prisoner. The frown which Juan's rash, and, as he esteemed it, impious act, had brought upon his visage, darkened into one still sterner, when having laid his hand upon the Christian's shoulder, to signify that his person was sacred, the expression of protection was answered only by cries of the most mutinous character.
"We will have the blood of the Spaniard," they screamed. "What said Azcamatzin? It is true – this is a bear we have, that embraces us, and tears open our hearts. He struck the Lord of Death – he takes the victim from Mexitli: he shall be a victim himself – he shall die on the stone!"
It was in vain that Guatimozin employed threats, menaces, and entreaties to allay their passions. Sufferings of a nature and extent so horrible that we have scarce dared to hint at them, had already made them sullen and refractory; and misery and wrath are no observers of allegiance or decorum. The unhappy monarch, now such less in power than in name, feigned to yield to their clamour, for he perceived he could no longer openly save. He commanded Juan to be bound with cords, and carried into a remote corner of the palace, promising, that, when he had recovered a little of his strength and spirits, he should be given up to them, to die on the Temalacatl.
It was perhaps fortunate for Juan, that he was dragged away too suddenly to behold the fate of his rival, who was now in the hands of the priests, apparently reviving – a circumstance hailed with such shouts of joy, that Juan was himself almost forgotten. The infidels carried Don Francisco again from the garden, and hurried him towards the little temple. But before they had passed the square, he expired in their arms – happy only in this, that he fell not by the knives of the priests.
Before the day was over, the citizens were called upon again to resist the Spaniards who had now resumed the offensive, and who continued their approaches with such fierce, determined, and incessant efforts, that they employed the whole time, as well as the whole thoughts, of the besieged.
CHAPTER XIX
The fate of Mexico approached to its consummation. The great streets leading from the causeways, were in the power of the Spaniards. It might be said, indeed, that they had gained possession of the whole island, except the extreme point of the neck of Tlatelolco; for though they did not extend their ravages any great distance from the streets, into the three quarters to the east and south, it was because these were occupied only by women and children – the wounded, the sick, and the dying, – and could be, at any moment, taken possession of. The warriors who yet remained, were concentrated upon the little peninsula, around their monarch, who, obstinate to the last, still resisted, even when resistance was hopeless, refusing the offers of peace and friendship, which Cortes, rendered magnanimous by success, and softened by compassion, now daily sent him. His obstinacy was indeed surprising; for the point was surrounded by brigantines and piraguas, prepared to intercept his flight; and escape, unless by death, seemed evidently impossible. The work of carnage therefore went on, though with mitigated severity; for there were but few left to suffer. The market-place of Tlatelolco was secured and occupied, and upon the day of St. Hippolytus, (the 13th of August,) the Spaniards concluded the labours of the long and bloody siege, by storming, with all their forces, the palace of Guatimozin – the last stronghold of the Mexicans. The garden walls were beaten down by the artillery, and soon after midday, the Spaniards rushed, with tremendous vivas, upon the palace, to which fire had been previously communicated by flaming arrows, shot into the windows by the confederates.
The preparations for the assault, and long before it began, were surveyed by the Captain-General from the terrace of the palace of Axajacatl, the famous scene of his sufferings, when besieged therein by the Mexicans, a year before. It was in the quarter of Tlatelolco, midway between the great pyramid and the market-place, and commanded, from its turrets, not only a view of the palace of Guatimozin, but of the whole surrounding city and lake.
Deeply as his mind was engaged with the approaching climax of his mighty enterprise, – for now he could almost count the minutes that intervened betwixt his hopes and his success, – he was not without thoughts and feelings of another character. The singular disappearance of Magdalena, of which nothing more was known, or even conjectured, than was disclosed in the midnight conversation of the hunchback and Bernal Diaz; the fate of Camarga, over which events not yet narrated, had cast a peculiarly exciting mystery; and the situation of Juan Lerma, upon whose character and unhappy history certain events had shed a new light, as well as what had now become a painful interest; all, by turns, occupied his mind, and sometimes even withdrew it from the contemplation of the scene before him. The few cavaliers in attendance, who enjoyed their immunity from combat only because they were disabled by severe wounds, referred his unusual gloom to the same cause; for he had not yet recovered from the many injuries, the penalty of his rashness on the causeway.
"Thou knowest, Quinones," said one, in a whisper to the captain of his body guard, (for the conspiracy of Villafana had been made, as is usual in such catastrophes of ambition, an excuse for investing his dignity with another engine of power;) – "Thou knowest, the renegade struck him upon the head; and it is a marvel of providence he was not slain; for Lerma strikes with an arm like the wing of a windmill. These blows on the skull, though one may seem to recover from them, have a perilous after-effect on the brain."
"Fy!" muttered Quinones, with a shake of the head; "there is a new word about Lerma, especially since Garci Holguin brought in the princess. Didst thou not hear that Alvarado, who heads the assault, called this morning upon all soldiers who had seen Juan Lerma in the melée, and asked them a thousand questions? I tell thee, there is a new thing in the wind. I did myself last night over-hear Cortes charge Sandoval to watch well for every piragua and canoe, that might leave Tlatelolco, and see that no one taken be harmed. – But this we will see. Talking of canoes, methought I beheld one some half hour since paddling from Tezcuco?"
"Ay," said another; "it landed in the north-eastern quarter. – No more complaints of Guzman now? He will never harry infidels more. Garci's sailors say, he was taken alive!"
"Hist!" whispered Quinones, with a warning gesture. "This thing troubles Cortes. It was his anger, and Guzman's desire to recover favour, which drove him upon the mad feat, that brought him to the block of sacrifice. It weighs upon the general's mind. – And besides, as it is now apparent that Camarga is alive, there is deeper cause for remorse: It was perhaps his wrongful belief in the charge of murder, rather than any other cause, that made him proceed with such rigour against Guzman."
"But is this rumour true?" demanded the other.
"Ay, certain; and I wage ye my life, the very canoe we were looking after, brings the dead-alive to Mexico. Methought I could trace the cut of his sacerdotal maskings, even afar off. They say, after all, the man is a true brother of St. Dominic, under some dispensation. – Ay, faith! you may see now – Alive and shorn into the bargain! They are bringing him up the stairway. – By Santiago, it makes the general's eye flash fire!"
The eye of Cortes, up to this moment peculiarly gloomy and troubled, did indeed flash with lustre, as soon as it fell upon the figure of Camarga; for it was he, who now made his appearance on the terrace, led forward by Indians. He was greatly altered, and seemed indeed like the ghost of his former self, so wan and emaciated was his countenance, and so broken and feeble his step; he looked as if in almost the last stage of atrophy. He was otherwise changed; the hair was shorn from his crown, on which was a ghastly scar, left by the macana of the Lord of Death; his feet were bare; and from the cord that girded on his friar's frock, was suspended a knotted scourge, crusted over with blood. His whole appearance was that of some suicidal ascetic, who mourns with the severest maceration of the body, a sin not to be expiated by mere penitence of spirit.
"Heaven be thanked for thy resurrection!" cried Cortes, grasping him by the hand, and leading him to the seat he had himself occupied. "There is a wolf in my bosom, and now I know that thou canst remove it!"
"Have I come too late?" cried Camarga, eagerly, though with a voice no longer sonorous. "Agnus Dei, dona nobis pacem! The victim of our madness, driven among the infidels, – the poor wretch whom misery cast into the same hands – What of them, señor? what of them?"
"Nothing," replied Cortes, "unless thou canst speak it: Nothing, at least, except that both are still in captivity. Yet know, if it will relieve thee, that what I could do by embassies and goodly offers, that I have done to recover them; and I have given such orders, that, if they be not murdered by the Indians, we may see them living this day."
"God be thanked!" cried Camarga, dropping on his knees, and praying with such fervour, though in inaudible accents, as to excite no little curiosity among the attendant cavaliers, whom Cortes had already waved away. He turned upon them again, and sternly bade them descend from the terrace, which they did, followed by the Indians.
As soon as they were alone, Cortes, scarce pausing until Camarga had ceased his devotions, exclaimed,
"Speak, and delay not, either to mourn or to pray: Thou canst do these things hereafter. Enough evil has already come of thy silence. Speak me in a word – What art thou? and what is thy interest in these wretches? What is thine? and what – yes, what is mine?"
The last word was uttered with vehement emphasis, that seemed to recall Camarga to his self-possession. He rolled his eyes upon Cortes with a ghastly smile, and replied,
"Thou shalt know; for thou hast a sin to answer as well as I; and answer it thou must, both to God and thy conscience. Moderate thy impatience: what I have to say, cannot be spoken in a word, but yet it shall be spoken briefly. In thy boyish days, thou hast heard of the Counts of Castillejo – "
The Captain-General bent upon the speaker a look that seemed designed to slay, it was so frowningly fixed and penetrating. He then smote his hands together upon his breast, as if to beat down some dreadful thought, and immediately exclaimed,
"What thou hast to say, speak in God's name, and without further preface. Were I but a dog of the house of Cortes, instead of its son and sole representative, the name of a Castillejo of Merida would be hateful to my ear. Ay, by heaven! be thou layman or monk, my friend or the friend of my enemy, yet know that my rage burns with undiminished fire, though the proud scutcheons of the Castillejos have been turned into funeral hatchments, and the mosses of twenty years have gathered on their graves. – But it is enough. The first word of thy story harmonizes with mine own conceit. A strange accident opened my eyes upon a remembrance of dishonour; which let us rake up no further. – I have heard enough. Keep thine own secret, too," he continued, with a gleaming eye; "for I would not take the life of one, upon whom heaven has itself set the seal of vengeance."
"Yet must thou listen, and I speak," said Camarga, disregarding the menacing words and glance; "for there is a story to be told, of which thou and thy kindred have not dreamed – nay, nor have others, except one – except one! My secret will not throw thee into the frenzy thou fearest; he of whom you think, is beyond the reach of human vengeance. Listen to me, Hernan Cortes, and forbear your rage, until I have done. – Of the Count Sebastian's three brothers; the next in age, Julian, was a slave in Barbary, yet supposed to be dead; the youngest Gregorio, was a monk of St. Dominic; and the third, Juan, was a wild and unhappy profligate."
"Ay, by heaven," said Cortes, with angry emotion; "may he remember his deeds in torment – Amen! Had not Gregorio been an inquisitor as well as a monk, I should have seen him burn at a stake, as was his due."
"Reserve your curses for the true criminal," said Camarga, drawing the cowl over his visage, as if no longer able to endure the fierce looks of Don Hernan: "Among others who had inflamed his wild and fiery affections, was one whom heaven had seemingly placed beyond his reach, – one whose name I need not pronounce to Hernan Cortes."
"I will tell thee who she was," said the general, laying his hand upon Camarga's shoulder, and speaking with a passionate energy; – "the daughter of a family, ancient and noble as his own, though without its wealth, – a novice about to take the vows, (for to this had the poverty of her house and her own religious fervour destined her;) and thus uplifted both by rank and profession above the aims of a seducer. But what thought the young cub of Castillejo of these impediments, when he feared not God, and saw no one left to punish his villany, save an impoverished old man and a rambling schoolboy? Dwell not on this – Speak not her name neither: let it be forgotten. May her soul rest in peace! for her own act of distraction avenged the dishonour of her fall."
He paused in strong emotion, and Camarga, drawing the mantle closer round his head, continued:
"Know, (and I speak thee a truth never before divulged to mortal man,) that the sin of this act, – the abduction of a devotee, whose novitiate was already accomplished, – belongs not to Juan, the debauchee, but to Gregorio, the Dominican."
"These are the words of a madman," said Cortes, sternly; but he was interrupted by Camarga hastily exclaiming,
"Misunderstand me not. The lover and the convent-robber was indeed Juan; but it was Gregorio who provoked him to the outrage, and gave him the means of success. The sacrilege had not been otherwise attempted, and the fickle-minded Juan would have soon forgotten the object of a passion both criminal and dangerous."
"If you speak the truth," said Cortes, "you have exposed an atrocity, of which, as you said, truly no man ever dreamed. On what improbable ground do you make Gregorio a villain so monstrous?"
"On that of knowledge," replied Camarga, with a voice firmer than he had yet displayed. "Dost thou think ambition lies not as often under a cowl as a corslet? or that guilt can only be meditated by a soldier? When the young monk Gregorio beheld the two sons of his brother, the Count Sebastian, taken up dead from the river, into which an evil accident had plunged them, and knew that the Count was dying – surely dying – of a broken heart, the fiend of darkness put a thought into his brain, which had never before dishonoured it. Yet it slumbered again, until his evil fate showed him his brother Juan, meditating a crime, which, if attempted, must bring him under the ban of the church, and into the dungeons of the Inquisition. Then he said, in his heart, 'If Sebastian die of grief, childless, and if Juan destroy himself by an act of impiety, where shall men look for the Count of Castillejo, except in the cell of Gregorio?' It was this thought of darkness that brought the thunderbolt upon his house, and upon thine."
"Ay! thou sayst it now," said Cortes with a smothered voice. "But this monk, this devil, this Gregorio! Let me know more of the wretch, whose flagitious ambition, not satisfied with destroying his father's house and his brother's soul, must end by bringing to a dishonourable grave a daughter – I speak it now– a daughter of Martin Cortes of Medellin!"
"It is spoken in a word; but let the iniquitous details be forgotten. The power of Gregorio, unknown even to Juan, (for the connivance was concealed and unsuspected,) opened the doors of the convent, and the lovers fled, were united in marriage, and then parted for ever."
"United? married? Now by heavens, thou mockest me! Even this had been some mitigation of our shame. But it is not true. Why dost thou say it?"
"Thou wert deceived – all were deceived," said Camarga; "nay, even the scheming Gregorio was deceived; for before he had dreamed that such a fatal blow could be given to his ambition, the knot was tied, and the children of Juan became the heirs of Sebastian. Behold how treachery overshoots its mark! Gregorio opened a path, that the lovers might meet, not that they might escape. This was reserved until the time when the vows should be taken; after which the crime of abduction and flight could not be pardoned. They fled a day too early, and it was within the power of Sebastian to obtain both a pardon and dispensation; for Juan was now his heir, in the place of his children."
"Good heavens!" cried Cortes, "was this indeed possible? But no; thou deceivest me. Had the offence been so venial, Juan Castillejo had not perished among the vaults of the Inquisition."
"Canst thou compass thine own vindictive purposes, and attribute no similar power to others?" cried Camarga, with a laugh, that sounded hollow and unnatural under the mantle. "Did a venial offence, or a malignant and perfidious stratagem, drive Juan Lerma among the pagans of Mexico? – Listen: – Juan Castillejo was dragged from his hiding-place, and that perhaps the earlier, that Gregorio knew of their marriage. The crime of carrying off a novice was not indeed inexpiable, but it demanded a deep cell in the office of the Brotherhood; and such Juan obtained. Now, Cortes, ask not for reasons to explain the acts of Gregorio. The dying Sebastian exerted his powers to save his brother, and would have succeeded, had not Gregorio, visiting the dungeons, in virtue of his office, subtly attacked the prisoner's mind with the fear of torture and final condemnation; until, in a fit of distraction, he laid violent hands upon himself, and so ended a tragedy, for which Gregorio designed another catastrophe. Ay, believe me! Think not that even Gregorio planned out a climax so cruel. He desired only to work upon Juan's terrors, in order to banish him from the land for ever; for it was his purpose to provide him with the means of escape, when this was accomplished. He foresaw not the consequences of the desperation he had produced. Upon the morrow, Sebastian came with an indulgence – almost a pardon. The shock of the spectacle of Juan's dead body, broke away the last feeble cords that bound him to life; and Gregorio, absolved from his vows by the papal dispensation, easily obtained, was now the Count of Castillejo."