The Infidel; or, the Fall of Mexico. Vol. I.

"Thou shalt have both," said Cortes, "and the plate-mail also; which being somewhat too gigantic for any cavalier, and too good for a common soldier, I have preserved, thinking some day to bestow it upon the Tlascalan Xicotencal. – Thou art not loath to undertake this business? I will give thee a day to think of it."

"Not an hour, señor," said Juan, ardently. "Give me but time to exchange these heathen weeds and sandals for good armour and a warhorse, and I will depart instantly, with whatsoever force you may think fit to entrust to me."

"Art thou really, then, so hot after danger?"

"God is my protection," said Juan; "I thank heaven, that this duty is the most dangerous your excellency could charge me with: it is, for that reason, the most honourable."

"Sayst thou so?" cried the Captain-General, quickly. "There is one duty, at least, I could impose upon thee, which thou wouldst not be so hasty to accept? No, faith; for the very name of it has caused the boldest soldier in the army to turn pale. – Get thee to the armory; rest and refresh thyself: to-morrow thou shalt to Tochtepec."

"Señor, for your love I will do what others will not: I have years of benefaction to repay. I claim to be appointed to that task which is so dreadful to others."

"By my conscience, no," said Don Hernan: "this would be sending thee to execution indeed. And yet I know none so well fitted as thyself: Thou art fearless, cunning, discreet, – at least thou canst be so; and thou art a master of the barbarous language, I think?"

"Your excellency once commended the success with which I laboured to acquire it: my year's wanderings in the west have made it familiar to me almost as the tongue of Castile."

"It is a good endowment," said Cortes. "What thinkest thou of an embassage to Tenochtitlan?"

As he spoke, pronouncing each word with deliberate emphasis, he bent his eyes searchingly on Juan, and a smile crept over his features, as he perceived the young man lose colour and start.

"The man that would do me that duty," he continued, gravely, "would indeed deserve well, not only of myself, but of his majesty, the king of Spain. But think not I mean to overtask thee, – or that I seriously designed to try thee with this rack of probation. – There are bounds to the courage of us all."

"Your excellency mistakes me," said Juan, dispelling all emotion with a single effort, and speaking with a voice as firm as it was serious: "if there be but one good can come of such an embassy – "

"There might be many," said the general, "not the least of which would be the conquest of the city, and thereby of the whole land, without the loss of Christian lives. Could I but find speech with the prince Guatimozin, I have that which will move him to peaceful submission. But this is impossible."

"Again your excellency is deceived," said Juan, with the composure of one who has taken his resolution. "I will do your bidding, – I will carry your message to Mexico."

"Pho! I did but jest with thee. Three Indian envoys have I sent already: the infidel slew them all."

"And cannot your excellency answer why? Your envoys were Indians, – your excellency's allies, but his subjects, who, in the act of alliance, had committed the crimes of treason and rebellion; for which he punished them with death, as seemed to him right and just. A Spanish ambassador would be received with greater respect, and perhaps dismissed without injury. I will not, with a boastful vanity, proclaim that I fear nothing; but such fears as I have, are not enough to deter me; and again I say, I will do your bidding."

"My bidding!" cried Cortes; "I bid thee not; heaven forfend I should bid thee any such thing. But if thou really thinkest the danger is not great, – if thou art so persuaded – " He paused; his eyes sparkled; he strode to and fro in disorder. Then suddenly halting, he exclaimed, with a faint laugh, "No, by my conscience! no, by heaven! no, by St. James of Compostella! thou art the bravest fool of all, but thou shalt not die the death of a dog! I will not catch thee with tiger-traps!"

To these extraordinary expressions, Juan answered with emotion, but still with unvarying resolution,

"I wait your excellency's orders. I fear not death; I am alone in the world; – father or mother, brother or sister, kinsman or friend, there is not one to lament me, should I come to disaster. If I live, I will, as your excellency has said, have saved the effusion of Christian blood; if I die, heaven will remember the motive, and none will miss me. – I will go to Tenochtitlan."

"Thou art a fool," said Alvarado. "Señor Captain-General, this embassy may not be; I protest against it. The world will cry shame on us."

"I do oppose the same," said Sandoval, "as being the wilful throwing away of a Christian life."

The other cavaliers present were about to add their voices against the measure, when Cortes cut them short by saying, sternly,

"Are ye all mad, señores? Think ye, this thing was said seriously? I did but try the young man's mettle, and I do think he hath somewhat less of gaingiving about him, as well as much more folly, than any one here present. I must get me an ambassador; but, Juan Lerma, thou art not the man."

"To my thought," said Sandoval, "this old Indian, Ocelotzin, will be a much safer emissary."

Apparently the Ottomi, who had listened throughout the whole conference with great attention, and who understood just enough of it to know the course that affairs were taking, did not at all relish the suggestion of Sandoval. He started, flung the gray curtain of hair from his visage, and began to pour forth a torrent of such objurgations and remonstrances as he could find Spanish to express:

"I am not Ocelotzin, the Tiger," he exclaimed; "very weak and old I am, – no claw, no tooth, no roar." – And here the barbarian, by way of confirming his speech, set up a yell, so wild, shrill, and hideous, that the cavaliers started back, catching at their swords in alarm, and two or three soldiers from the ante-room rushed in, as if apprehending some act of treason. But the dog Befo, who had hitherto maintained his post at the feet of Lerma, now rubbing against his knees, now rearing against his breast, and sometimes, when pushed down and too long neglected, expressing his impatience or affection, by extending his vast jaws, as if to swallow the hand that repelled him, – the dog Befo heard the cry of the savage with such indignation as he would have bestowed upon the howl of a rival. He replied with a lion-like growl, and stalking up to the Ottomi, he stood watching him, ever and anon writhing his lips so as to disclose his huge fangs, and seemed waiting the signal to attack, greatly to the terror of the orator.

A wave of the general's hand dismissed the intruding soldiers from the apartment; and at the voice of Lerma, the dog returned to him.

"I am Techeechee," said the orator, resuming his discourse, but with tones greatly subdued; "I am Techeechee, the Silent Dog, – the Silent Dog I am; Techeechee, the Silent Dog, – the Silent Dog I am. – Techeechee." —

All this time, he kept his eyes fixed upon Befo as if dreading an assault; and, in fact, his solicitude had somewhat overpowered his mind, so that he continued for some moments to reiterate the above phrases, without any seeming consciousness of their absurdity. At last, he fell into his vernacular language, and this happily releasing him from his trammels, he poured forth, with amazing volubility, a string of sounds, so harsh, guttural, inarticulate, and unearthly, that they seemed rather the basso chatterings of an ape than the meaning accents of a human being.

"What says the knave?" cried Cortes.

"He says," replied Juan, "that he is the little dumb dog of the hills, and will harm nobody; that Montezuma was a big dog, like Befo, (wherein he lies,) and that Guatimozin the prince is bigger still, and will eat him, – which is to be understood figuratively. He says, he is the Little Dog, and therefore not fit to be an ambassador; but – Ha! what sayst thou, Techeechee?" —

The young man spoke to the Ottomi in his own tongue, and receiving an answer, turned immediately to Cortes, saying,

"It becomes me to inform your excellency of his words; for savage though he be, this old man I have ever found to be marvellously shrewd, as well as faithful. It is his opinion, that the prince Guatimozin would not injure me, if I went on the embassy; wherefore, I beg your excellency to reconsider your resolution. He says, too, he will go with me."

"Your destiny, señor, is to the rebellious and bloody town Tochtepec," replied the general, quickly and decidedly.

"He adds," continued Juan, "that he is Techeechee and no ambassador; but that he is cousin to Quimichin, the Ground Rat, and that he will be your spy, – for quimichin is the word by which they express a spy throughout the whole land."

"I am Techeechee; I will be Quimichin," said the Indian, as if to confirm the words of Juan, and twisting his withered features into a smile, that was meant to express both cunning and affection.

"Dost thou think him faithful?" said Cortes. "I will find service for him. But go, amigo! I have kept thee till thou art as faint and weary as myself. Get thee to Quinones, and the armory. Make thy preparations and take thy rest. I will see thee on the morrow – perhaps to-night, and acquaint thee with thy force and instructions. God be with you – Nay, heed not the dog – Adieu, señores – He has much of your own fidelity, roam he never so much. Take him with you."

When the last of the cavaliers had departed from the chamber, the Captain-General, stepped upon the platform, and throwing himself into the chair of state, sat or reclined thereon, with the air of one worn out by exertion of mind and body, and on the eve of sinking into a swoon.

CHAPTER VIII

According to the apologue, every man carries on his back a satchel, in which are deposited his infirmities and vices, and which, though thus concealed from his own eyes, lies very invitingly open to the inspection of his friends. Not satisfied with this exposure of foibles, there are some good-natured moralists, who would dive deeper into the secrets of their neighbours, and who lament, with the old heathen metaphysician, that heaven had not clapped windows into their breasts, so that they might detect even the iniquity of thoughts. This regret may be avoided by all who are willing to satisfy curiosity at their own expense; for heaven has fitted most bosoms with private loopholes, through which each man may survey at his leisure the workings of his own spirit. A peep through the secret casement will disclose something startling, if not humbling, to many, who, in the vanity of good works, are disposed to uplift themselves above their fellows; – such, perhaps, as rational principles, and even kindly feelings, taking their hue from 'that smooth-faced gentleman,' – that biassing spirit which is more comprehensively expressed in Shakespeare's phrase of Commodity than in the more familiar one of Interest; for it is true of us all, that virtues are sometimes nothing but passions in disguise, and that reason has a marvellous facility in acquiring the tones of worldly-wisdom. If the mere grovelling villain, – the robber, assassin, or slayer of man's peace, – can find some such spectacle near to his heart as the surgeon's knife exposes in the breast of a cankered corse, what may he detect, whose sublimer villany has led, or is leading him, to distinction, upon a highway paved with the miseries of mankind? Methinks, the breast of the ambitious man is a labyrinth of some such caverns as perforate the bowels of a volcano, in whose depths are lost all the petty details of crime, committed, or meditated, – in which there is no light but that which bubbles up from the lava of the vast passion, – and in which there is even no grandeur, that has not arisen from convulsions the most disorganizing and unnatural. Such a heart is, at least to the limited ken of others, a chaos, – but a chaos from which he who imbosoms it, and who alone can understand it, calls up, – less like a god than a demon, – the evil elements, which create the lurid sphere his greatness.

In the bosom of the Conquistador there was a corner, into which the blaze of ambition had not yet penetrated, and where the common passions of our nature were left to rage and struggle as in the heart of a meaner mortal. As he looked therein, he gave himself up to thoughts which devoured him, while his countenance betrayed, for a time at least, nothing beyond such lassitude and faintness as may have characterized the Spartan boy, while bleeding under the fangs of the beast he concealed in his bosom.

As he sat brooding in this apparently calm, yet deeply suffering lethargy, there glided into the apartment, from one of the curtained doors on the right hand, a figure, which, seen for the first time and in the dusky twilight already darkening around, might, to superstitious eyes, have seemed an apparition, – it was so strange, so fair, so majestic, and so mournful. It presented a stature taller than belongs to the beauty of woman, yet not inconsistent with the conception of a divinity; and to this a singular dignity was given by flowing and voluminous robes of a grayish texture, which, both in hue and fashion, bore an air of monastic simplicity, without precisely resembling those of any one order. A sort of hood, or veil, drawn a little aside and resting upon the brow, gave to view a female countenance of wonderful loveliness, and not without a share of that commanding dignity, which distinguished her figure. Her hair, shorn, or perhaps bound behind by a fillet, and thus almost altogether concealed by the hood, gave yet to the gaze two long locks, broad and black, which, falling over either cheek, were lost among the folds of the veil which her right hand held upon her bosom. A complexion dark, yet not tawny, – a chin and nostrils carved like the most exquisite statuary, – lips of dusky crimson, – a brow of marble, and an eye of midnight, made up a countenance both beautiful and characteristic, yet contradictory in the expression of its several parts, and sometimes even in the expression of the same features. Thus, the first impression made upon a spectator by the whole visage, was such as could only be effected by extreme gentleness of disposition; while the second, he scarce knew why, spoke of energy and decision, none the less striking for being concealed under a mask so captivating. Thus, also, the eyes, very large and set widely apart, conveyed, on ordinary occasions, the idea of a spirit passive, melancholy, and inanimate; though the slightest depression of the brow, the smallest motion of the lid, transformed them at once into the brightest torches of passion. If one could conceive the spirit of a Philomela – a compound of sweet tenderness and still sweeter melancholy – dashed with the fire of a Penthesilea, he might conjure up to his mind's eye a correct representation of the mysterious being, (alluded to by Villafana, under the name of La Monjonaza, or the Nun, the word being a sort of cant augmentative of Monja, a nun,) whom an extraordinary destiny had thrown among the warlike invaders of Mexico.

As she passed from the thick curtain and advanced towards the platform, on which sat the moody general, her visage presented none of its ordinary mildness; on the contrary, her brows were knit together, her lip retracted, and the look with which she regarded him whom all others were learning to fear, was bold, stern, and even fiercely hostile.

The rustling of the curtain, the light sound of her footstep, the bright glance of her eye, when she paused before him, all alike failed to make an impression on the general's senses. She perceived that he was in a waking dream, absorbingly profound and painful, and she stood in silence, from disdainful pride, or perhaps with a woman's curiosity, endeavouring to trace the workings of his spirit from the revelations of his countenance, which, by this time, had changed from a stony inexpressiveness to agitation and distortion. At this moment, the head of the Conqueror was bent forwards, and his eyes directed upon the floor; but she saw enough in the writhing features, and the forehead almost impurpled with blood, to know that the passions then convulsing his bosom, were dark and deadly.

At this sight, the frown gradually passed away from her own visage, and she stood regarding him for the space of several minutes, with a calm and melancholy intentness. Then, perceiving that his lips, though moving as if in speech, gave out no articulate sound, she exclaimed, with a voice that thrilled to his soul, though subdued to the lowest accents,

"Arise, assassin! It is not just, it is not expedient; and he shall NOT perish!"

It seemed as if she had read his heart. He started up, surprised and confounded; and his first act was to cross himself, as if to exorcise a fiend, conjured up by the mere spell of evil thoughts. He even gave voice to two or three interjections of alarm, before perceiving that the rebuke came only from lips of earth.

"Hah! hah! Santa Maria! Santos y Angeles! hah! – Ho! ho! Infeliz! Magdalena! fair conqueror of hearts! bright converter of souls that shalt be! is it thou, Monja mia Santisima? most devout saint of the veil?" he cried, recovering his self-possession, and banishing every trace of passion with astonishing address. "By thy bright eyes of heaven, – and thanks be thine for the good deed, – thou hast waked me from a dream of night-mare, a most horrible vision. These naps o' the afternoon are but provokers of Incubus, – ay, and Succuba into the bargain. I thank thee, bright Infeliz: it is better to be waked by thy voice, than by sweet music!"

"And dost thou think," said the lady, with a voice whose deep but not unfeminine tones suited so well with the mournfulness of her emphasis, – "dost thou think, I see not, this moment, into thy bosom? Visions and sleep! Speak of visions to thy dull conquerors: they who dream of immortal renown, can best appreciate a vision of bloodshed. Speak of sleep to thy duller victims: the stupid wretches who slumber with the chain at their necks, may well believe that the enslaver has also his seasons of repose. But talk not of these to me, who look upon thee neither with the eyes of follower nor of foe. Thou canst not sleep, thou dost not dream: thy head is too full of fame, thy foot too deep in blood, thy heart too black with evil thoughts – No, nevermore canst thou sleep, nevermore, nevermore!"

The last words were uttered with a cadence so extremely melancholy, and with a manner so much like that of one who apostrophizes self, that a stranger overhearing them, and marking the look and gesture – the upturned eye and the folding of arms on the breast – would have naturally supposed they referred rather to herself than to another. This was, indeed, a suspicion, entertained, in part, by Cortes, who, somewhat confounded by the calm decision with which she rejected a deceitful attempt to explain expressions of countenance so ominous as those he had displayed, now recovered himself, and said, with an air of grave sympathy, in which earnestness could not conceal a vein of sarcasm and bagatelle, that were parts of his nature,

"Fair Infeliz, the Unhappy, (since by this lugubrious epithet you choose to be called,) it is now some two months since you dropped among us from the clouds, the fairest, shrewdest and strangest, as well as the most broken-hearted, and self-accusing of all the angels that have fallen from paradise. For mine own part, however fervently I may thank heaven for sending me such a minister, I have not yet got over my amazement at your presence; which I indeed regard with much the same wonder wherewith I should behold the sun of heaven take up his quarters at my tent-door."

"In this particular," said the lady, with the utmost tranquillity, "you should have been satisfied, (had it accorded with your nature to believe any solution of a problem, that was not suggested by your own imagination,) that the deceptions of others, and no will of my own, brought me from Santiago to Mexico, in a ship which should have carried me to Jamaica. – Your allies do not fit out vessels openly for this land, under the eye of Velasquez. – But why ask you me this? Hast thou no better device to lure me from my purpose? I came, not to speak of myself, but of others. Thou couldst have played the lapwing more subtly, hadst thou dwelt upon the whispers, the nods, the smiles of contempt and the words of scorn, that heralded a compelled coming, find which requite an inevitable stay. But learn, if thou hast not yet learned it, that these things are felt more than they are feared, and that she who has not deserved it, may sometimes have the courage to endure even a degrading misconstruction. Why hast thou not insinuated this?" continued the singular being, with a voice that betrayed more feeling than her pride confessed: "this would have drowned every other thought in a true woman; for to woman, good name and fame are more than life-blood, – yes, more than life! – I save thee, however, the trouble; I am reminded of my condition, – a woman alone in thy camp, alone in thy hands; – and yet I return to my purpose, which concerns not myself, but another. Wilt thou have me speak further of myself? If it last till the midnight, be sure I will yet speak of that which I have in view."

"Of thyself, then, beauteous Infeliz," said Cortes, admiringly; "for I vow to heaven, thou art the marvel of womankind, whom I desire to understand even more than to adore. Sit thou upon my barbarian throne, and I will fling me at thy feet, in token that I acknowledge thy supremacy in wit, wisdom, subtle observation, determination, and all other virtues that can grace woman, – ay, or man either; for I swear by my conscience, I think thou art valiant also, fearing nothing that walks under heaven or above the abyss. To the throne then, as queen of my mystery."

"I will answer thee where I stand," said Infeliz, calmly disengaging the hand which the Conquistador had taken to lead her to the platform; "and think not, this gallant folly will make me a whit quicker of apprehension, or reply. Make thy demands, and gain thereby what time thou wilt to answer mine; for this is thy purpose."

"Well then," said the Captain-General, with a look of not less respect than curiosity, "make me acquainted with this. Wherefore, as thy coming hither was so much against thy will, hast thou not once demanded to be taken back to the islands?"

"Because it is not yet my will to be discharged from your presence," replied the lady, calmly.

"Be thou of this mind for ever," said the general, with an air of sincerity. "Now let me know, I pray you, why it is that I am somewhat more forward in confiding to thy scrutiny my secret thoughts than to the best and wisest of my bold cavaliers?"

"Because thou knowest I neither love thee nor hate thee; because I lose not good-will by asking honours and spoils, nor by boasting of services and ability; but chiefly am I troubled with your confidence, because I am the only one who lists not to have it."

"By my faith, thou art very right, especially in the last reason of all," said Cortes, with a laugh; "for secrets are like gnats and musket-bullets, they ever crowd thickest after those who strive most to avoid them. – Tell me now, fair and most provoking Infeliz, why, when I have flung thee open the whole book of my confidence, thou givest me not a single chapter of thine?"

"Because it extends not beyond that single chapter," replied La Monjonaza, patiently, "hath neither beginning nor end, and is, beside, in a language which thou canst not understand."

"Pho, you put me off with nothing," said Don Hernan, again taking the hand of his remarkable guest. "I have but one more question to ask you. Why is it, (and I pray you to forgive me the question,) that, with the consciousness that your situation in this mad land and knavish army, exposes you not only to degrading suspicion, but even to absolute personal danger, you betray no apprehension of the wild reprobates among whom you are placed? that you show no dread even of me?"

"Because," said the maiden, removing her right hand, which she had, up to this moment, preserved upon her breast, and drawing aside the thick folds of veil and mantle, – "because, for the wretch who fears not the woman's arms of modesty and helplessness, I bear with me a weapon which will secure his respect."