University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.

To those invaders who had not yet witnessed with
their own eyes the peculiar wonders of the interior, the
approach to Tlascala was full of surprise and interest.
As the sun sank, the four hills on which lay the republican
city, and the pyramids and towers that crowned
them, sent their long shadows over the plain to the
feet of the cavaliers; and in the gloom, they beheld a
vast multitude,—the armies of the four tribes which
composed the nation, under their several banners, glittering
with feathers, and marching in regular divisions
to the sound of wild music, as well as a host of
women and children waving knots of flowers, and
uttering cries of welcome,—advancing to do them
honour. Don Amador forgot the valiant appearance
of the warriors of Chinantla, while gazing on the superior
splendour of the armed Tlascalans. These
warlike people, in imitation of their Christian confederates,
had learned to divide their confused throngs
into squadrons and companies, ranked under separate
leaders, and now approached in what seemed well-ordered
columns. Bunches of red and white feathers

waved among their long locks, and ornamented their
wickered shields; the short tunic of nequen, a coarse
white cloth of the maguey, left their muscular and
well-sculptured limbs free for action; and as they
strode along, brandishing their swords of obsidian, (the
maquahuitl,—a heavy bludgeon, armed on either side
with blades of volcanic glass,) or whirling in their
slings those missiles of hardened copper armed with
sharp horns, which were capable of piercing the
toughest armour,—and ever and anon, mingling their
fierce cries with the savage sound of drum and flute,
they made a show not more remarkable than glorious.
At the head of each division, under his peculiar
standard, (the image of some bird of prey, or
wild beast, very gorgeously decorated,) marched
each chieftain, with the great plume of distinction, or
penacho, as it was called, rising full two feet above
his head, and nodding with a more than barbarous
magnificence. Thus appareled and thus displayed,
they advanced to the head of the Christian army, and
dividing on either side, so as to surround the Spanish
host with a guard of honour, each individual, from
the naked slinger to the feather-crowned chief, did
homage to the Christian general, by touching the
earth with his hand, and then kissing the humbled
member; while at the same moment, a number of
priests with black robes and hair trailing almost to
the ground, waved certain pots of incense before
him, as if to a demigod; a mark of distinction which
they afterwards extended to the cavaliers that surrounded
him. The religious ire of Don Amador de
Leste was inflamed, when it became his turn to receive
this fragrant compliment; and looking down
fiercely upon the innocent censer-bearer, and somewhat
forgetting that Castilian was not the language
of the realm, he cried;—

“What dost thou mean, thou pagan dog! to smoke
me in this idolatrous manner, who am neither a god
nor a saint?”

“Señor,” said De Morla, who sat at his side, “be

not offended at this mark of reverence, which the
customs of the country cause to be rendered to every
man of dignity; and which is a harmless compliment,
and no idolatrous homage, as was first thought
among us. Thou wilt presently see them smoke their
own generals and senatorial lawgivers, the last of
whom thou mayest see yonder approaching us in a
group;—those old men with the feather fans in their
hands.”

As De Morla predicted, the priests were no sooner
done smoking their Christian visiters, than they turned
to do similar reverence to their own dignitaries;
and Don Amador's concern was soon changed to
admiration to behold with what lofty state these noble
savages received the tribute due to their rank.

“This fellow with the red plume, and the sword
that seems heavy enough for a giant's battle-axe,” he
cried,—“the knave over whom they hold a great
white bird like an ostrich?—He must needs be a
king! He bends to Cortes, like an emperor doing
courtesy to some brother monarch.”

“That,” said De Morla, “is Xicotencal, of the tribe
of the White-Bird, the most famous general of the
Tlascalans, and, in fact, the captain-in-chief of all
their armies. He is not less valiant than famous, and
not less arrogant than valiant; and at this moment,
beshrew me, I think he would rather be knocking his
bludgeon over our heads, out of pure love of war,
than kissing his fingers in friendship. This is the
man who commanded the armies which fought us on
our first approach; and truly I may say, he fought
us so well, that had he not been commanded by the
senators, who are the civil rulers of Tlascala, to
make peace with us, there is much suspicion we
should have seen heaven sooner than the vale of
Mexico. For, señor, after having supplied us with
food, as scorning to be assisted in his victory by
famine, which was somewhat pressing with us, he
fell upon us to win it in person; and I must confess,
as will be recorded in history, he quite broke and

confounded, and would have utterly destroyed us,
had it not been for a providential mutiny in his camp
in the very midst of his triumph; whereby we had
time to rally, and take advantage of his distresses.
The same good fortune might have been his, another
time, without so inconvenient an interruption. But
it seems the senators of Tlascala only made war on
us, to prove whether or not we were valiant men,
and worthy to be received as their allies, according
to our wish; which being now proved to their satisfaction,
they ordered the war to be ended, and welcomed
us as friends. There never were more valiant
men than these soldiers of Tlascala.”

“Of a surety,” said Don Amador, “I begin to
think the captain Gomez of the caravel was somewhat
mistaken as to the courage of these barbarians.”

“Thou seest the second chief,—he of the green
penacho, with whom Cortes confers so very courteously!
That is Talmeccahua, chief of the tribe
Tizatlan, a very young warrior, but second in fame
only to Xicotencal; and being more docile and
friendly, he is much a favourite with our general
and doubtless will be selected to accompany us to
the great city. Of those reverend old senators I
could also give you an account; but we who are
soldiers, care not for lawgivers. It is enough to as
sure you, that they are the rulers of Tlascala; and
that though these proud people, the commoners, call
themselves free republicans, they are to all intents
and purposes the servants of many masters; a sort
of freedom somewhat more questionable than that of
a nation governed by one king. Thou seest, they
kiss their hands to us, as we enter their city. For
my part, I think them rogues to love us, their truest
enemies, better than their domestic rivals, the people
of Tenochtitlan. Wo betide them, who help us to
conquer their foes, when their foes are conquered!”

As De Morla spoke, Don Amador found himself
entering the city of Tlascala. Twilight had darkened
over the hills, and in the obscurity, (for the moon

had not yet risen) he perceived long masses of houses,
not very lofty, but strong, on the terraced roofs of
which stood many human beings, chiefly women and
children, who waved a multitude of torches, and,
as they sung what De Morla told him were songs of
welcome, threw flowers down upon their guests.
Flambeaux were also carried before them in the
streets; and with this sort of pomp, they were ushered
to a great building with extensive courts, sufficient
to lodge the whole army, which was assigned
them for their quarters.

While the cannoniers were arranging the artillery,
the officers of the guard choosing their watchmen,
and preparations were made to hold a conference
with the chiefs of the republic, the neophyte was invited
by De Morla to accompany him to a pyramid
on one of the four hills, whence, as he assured him,
was a noble prospect of those huge mountains which
separated them from the valley of Tenochtitlan. Don
Amador looked about him for his kinsman. He had
retired with the chaplain of the army, in some sudden
disorder of spirit, for prayer or confession; and
Don Amador sighed, as he bethought him that yearly,
about the time of midsummer, the knight's disease
seemed to reach its intensest point.

“If thou couldst but sing to him that holy song of the
Virgin, written many years back by the priest of Hita,

said Don Amador to the Moorish page, (for it was
Jacinto who gave him this information,) “I have
no doubt thou wouldst do him more good than the
reverend father Olmedo; for, though I know not why
it should be so, he ever seems to me more troubled
than relieved by confession.”

`It was a song chanted the evening before that
had thrown the knight's spirit into disorder; and Baltasar
had commanded him never to sing again;' so
said Jacinto.

“Baltasar is an ass! though very zealous for his

master,” said the neophyte in a heat, “and thinks
there is nothing comforts my kinsman's heart, save
the clanging of swords and bucklers; whereas, I
know very well, thy ditties are true medicine to him;
and, with heaven's blessing, thou shalt sing him very
many more.”

“Let the boy follow with us,” said De Morla: “I
like his piping well; and methinks, if he have not
forgotten that tender love-song about the Christian
knight who adored a pagan Morisca, I can listen to
it again with much good will, as I look towards the
mountains of Montezuma.”

“I am loath to have him away, for perhaps my
good knight may call for him when the confession is
over; and there is something raw in this night air,
that may be prejudicial to the youth.”

“Yo seguiré á mi señor—I will follow my master,”
said Jacinto, with simplicity. “My lord the knight
bade me this night to remain by the side of my lord,
lest some evil should happen to me among the infidels.”

“Take up thine instrument then,” said the neophyte,
“for thou seemest to-night to remain by me
in good will; and I am ever glad to have thy foolish
company, when such is the case. If thou wilt carry
a torch also, 'tis very well: 'twill be some half hour
yet ere moonrise.”

The two cavaliers, followed by the page bearing
a torch, as well as his lute, strode through the streets,
which were still thronged with their savage allies, as
in a gala-day, singing and shouting; many of whom,
from affection or curiosity, seemed disposed to add
themselves to the little party. Nevertheless, such
inquisitive individuals were easily repelled by De
Morla pointing in the direction he was pursuing, and
pronouncing a few words in their language, the effect
of which, as Don Amador observed, was always to
check their ardour, and cover their visages, when
these could be seen, with sadness and awe.

“I tell them,” said De Morla, in answer to the inquiries
of the neophyte, “that we are going to the hill

to look upon the fire-mountain, Popocatepetl; and why
they are so stricken with superstition at the name,
I will explain to thee when we reach the temple.”

The temple was soon reached. The city,—a congregation
of cabins and rude stone dwellings, of
vast size,—lying on the prolonged base of a great
mountain, reared its principal sanctuaries on the
spurs of this elevation, on the highest of which stood
that consecrated to the god of the air. This was an
earthen pyramid, huge and lofty, surmounted by
towers such as Don Amador had seen at Zempoala.
As the friends approached this, the deep silence that
surrounded it was broken by the voices of men
speaking vehemently in a strange tongue; and as
they advanced, they beheld two or three figures glide
behind the pyramid, as if to escape observation. This
would not perhaps have attracted the notice of the
neophyte, had not his companion exclaimed,—

“Sidi, the cannonier, again! plotting his knaveries
with the two Moorish slaves of Cortes! There is
some villany in the wind: I have twice or thrice seen
Abdalla in close conference with these two varlets,
and he is often seen talking with his other countrymen
that we have in the army. I will represent this matter
to the general; for there can no good come of
such secret proceedings.—I have all along distrusted
that infidel cannonier to have some mischief in him.”

“Please my lord, my father is no infidel,” said Jacinto,
trembling, perhaps as much at his presumption
in contradicting a noble hidalgo, as at the presumed
danger of his parent,—“no infidel, but a Christian
Moor; as the good padre Olmedo will witness to my
lord.”

“Young page,” said De Morla, pleasantly, “I
should not have said so grievous a thing of thy father,
but that I forgot thou wert in hearing. I will grant
thee Abdalla to be a good Christian, if the padre say
so; but, if thou art as much of a wit as a singer, tell
me, how is it thy father is found so often skulking
about by night, in company with the Moorish slaves,

who are yet unbelievers, instead of resting with
Christian soldiers?”

“Though the Moors be slaves and Mahometans,”
said the page, with much of the submissiveness of his
father, though recovering from his trepidation, “they
were born in the same land with my father, and are
his countrymen. As for the Christian soldiers, they
will not forget, that though a Christian, he was born
of the poor Moriscos: and, my lord knows, it is hard
to rest with those who hate us.”

“I should give thee a ducat for thy argument,”
said De Morla, good-humouredly, “but that I know
thou art so unsophisticated as to prefer sweet praise
to gold; and I intend soon to bestow some of that
upon thee. Thy oration has utterly persuaded me I
have wronged Abdalla; in token of my penitence for
which, I will relieve thee of the burthen of the torch,
whilst thou art climbing up these steps, which are
none of the smoothest nor shortest.”

“Take thou my hand, Jacinto,” said the novice,
benevolently; “for, as my friend says, these steps
are indeed very rugged; and I am willing to show
thee, that though thou art of Moorish blood, I myself
do by no means either hate or despise thee.”

The page humbly and hesitatingly placed his hand
in the grasp of Don Amador, and ascending at his
side, soon stood on the summit of the pyramid.

Here, besides two towers of stone that reared their
lofty bulk over head, the novice perceived in advance
of them, two great urns of rude workmanship, each
apparently carved out of a solid block of stone, and
each glowing with the remains of a fire not yet extinguished,—though
no priests stood by, to guard and
replenish them.—They had forsaken their altars, to
join in the festivities of the evening.

“Let us break these idolatrous censers!” said Don
Amador, “for my blood boils to look upon them.”

“Nay,” said the moderate De Morla, “let us wait
for heaven's own time, as is strenuously advised by
our wise and holy chaplain, who must know better
than ourselves how to attack the impieties of the land.

We have ever found these heathens more easily converted
by gentle persuasions than by violent assaults
on their prejudices; and father Olmedo has shown us
how persecution strengthens instead of overturning
an abused superstition. He has also proved to the
satisfaction of most of us, that it is our bounden duty
to subdue the arms of the pagans, and leave their
faith to be conquered by the good priests who will
follow in our path.—Turn, señor, from these pigmy
vases to the great censers, which God has himself
raised to his majesty!”

As De Morla spoke, he turned from the altars, and
Don Amador, following with his eyes the direction
in which he pointed, beheld a spectacle which instantly
drove from his mind the thought of the idolatrous urns.
Far away in the south-west, at the distance of eight
or ten leagues, among a mass of hills that upheld
their brows in gloomy obscurity, a colossal cone elevated
its majestic bulk to heaven, while the snows
which invested its resplendent sides, glittered in the
fires that crowned its summit. A pillar of smoke, of
awful hue and volume, rose to an enormous altitude
above its head, and then parting and spreading on
either side through the serene heaven, lay still and
solemn, like a funeral canopy, over its radiant pedestal.
From the crater, out of which issued this portentous
column, arose also, time by time, great flames
with a sort of lambent playfulness, in strange and obvious
contrast with their measureless mass and power;
while ever and anon globes of fire, rushing up through
the pillar of vapour, as through a transparent cylinder,
burst at the top, and spangled the grim canopy
with stars. No shock creeping through the
earth, no heavy roar stealing along the atmosphere,
attested the vigour of this sublime furnace; but all in
silence and solemn tranquillity, the spectacle went
on,—now darkling, now waxing temporarily into an
oppressive splendour, as if for the amusement of those
shadowy phantoms who seemed to sit in watch upon
the neighbouring peaks.

“This is indeed,” said Don Amador, reverently,
“if God should require an altar of fire, such a high
place as might be meeter for his worship than any
shrine raised by the hands of man. God is very great
and powerful! The sight of such a spectacle doth
humble me in mine own thoughts: for what is man,
though full of yanity and arrogance, in the sight of
Him who builds the fire-mountains?”

“Padre Olmedo,” said his companion, “will ask
you, what is this fire-mountain, though to the eye
so majestic, and to appearance so eternal, to the
creeping thing whose spark of immortality will burn
on, when the flames of yonder volcano are quenched
forever?”

“It is very true,” said the neophyte, “the mountains
burn away, the sea wastes itself into air, but
the soul that God has given us consumes not. The
life of the body passes away like these flames; the
vitality that is in the spirit, is a gift that heaven has,
not extended to the stars!”

“My friend,” said De Morla, willing to pass to
more interesting discussions, “will now perceive for
what reason it was that the Tlascalans were dismayed
and sorrowful when I pronounced the name of
Popocatepetl. The name signifies the Mountain of
Smoke; for this great chimney, though ever pouring
forth dark vapours, has not often been known to kindle
into flames. The present eruption, beginning
about the time of our descent upon the coast, has ever
since continued; and was considered to have heralded
our appearance. The Tlascalans, though as
securely fettered under the sway of their senators,
as are the people of Anahuac under their kings, are,
as I told thee, very intolerant of such chiefs as carry
the open names of masters. Nay, so bitterly do they
detest all tyrants, that they have constructed a fable,
which they now believe as a truth,—namely, that the
souls of such persons are concocted and elaborated
among the flames of yonder awful crater; whence,
at the times of eruptions, they are sent forth, in the

shape of meteros and fire-balls, to afflict and desolate
the world. The globes that fall back into the
cavity, they think, are despots recalled by their relenting
gods; whereas, those that fall beyond the
brim and roll down the sides of the mountain, are
tyrants let loose upon them without restraint. This
being their belief, it may seem strange to you, they
have conceived so preposterous an affection for ourselves,
who are much liker to prove their tyrants
than any of the lords of Anahuac; but yet, so savage
is their detestation of these native kings, that, though
nightly terrified with the spectacle of so many fiery
tyrants flying through the air, they seem quite to have
lost sight of the danger of entrusting their liberties
to our care.”

“I hope,” said Don Amador, “we have come to
rid them of the bondage of idolatry, not to reduce
them to a new slavery.”

“We will see that by-and-by,” said De Morla.
“We broke the chains of superstition in the islands,
but we followed them with more galling fetters; and
what better fate awaits the good Montezuma, is more
than I can tell.”

“Dost thou call that savage emperor the good
Montezuma?” demanded the novice.

“I cannot do otherwise,” said De Morla, mildly,”
“A thousand times might he have swept us from the
face of the earth; for his armies are numberless. A
grain of sand from the hand of each of his warriors,
would have covered us with a mountain. But age
has come to him with a disgust of blood; and all
his actions have proved him rather a humane host
than a barbarous destroyer. I must confess, we have
repaid his gentleness and beneficence both with perfidy
and cruelty; yet, notwithstanding all this, and
notwithstanding that he is sorely afflicted by our
harshness, such is the goodness of his heart, that he
will not permit his people to do us any injury, nor,
by any violence, rescue him out of our hands.”

“I have heard another story from Don Hernan,”

said Amador: “and, truly, I thought these ferocious
assaults upon the garrison left with the señor Alvarado
in the city, were proof enough of his deceitful
malice.”

“I will not take upon me to contradict what is
averred by Don Hernan,” said De Morla. “But, señor,
we have had other representations of these tumults,
by envoys from Montezuma himself, which, if Cortes
had not refused to hear them, would have entirely
changed the nature of our belief. I have myself
spoken with these ambassadors,” continued the young
cavalier earnestly, “some of whom were sent to us
at Zempoala, and others have met us at divers places
since, though without being hearkened to,—and having
no inducements to remain in a rage, like Cortes
himself, I was very easily persuaded, to my shame, that
the fault lay all on the side of the garrison.—Señor,
for the sake of lucre, we have done many unjust
things! We were received with all hospitality by
Montezuma, the great lord of Tenochtitlan; he gave
us a palace to live in, supplied us with food and raiment,
and enriched us with many costly presents.
We repaid all this kindness, by seizing him, in a moment
of confidence, and conveying him to our dwelling,
where we have kept him ever since a prisoner,
forcing him, by the fear of death, to submit to many
indignities unworthy his high rank and benevolent
character; and once even forcing him to sit in chains
and witness the cruel execution of some of his own
officers for a certain crime in which he could have
had no part. He forgave us this, as well as other
insults, and, while we were absent against Zempoala,
preserved his promise sacred, to remain in ward of
Alvarado until our return. Now, señor, you shall
hear the truth of the assault, of which so much is
said by Cortes, as fully proving the iniquitous duplicity
of the captive emperor. While we were gone,
there occurred the anniversary of the great festival
of Mexitli, the war-god, in which it is customary for
all the nobles, arrayed in their richest attire, to dance

on the terrace of the great pyramid, before the emperor.
Alvarado, dreading lest such an assemblage
of chiefs, heated, as we well knew them to be, on account
of the imprisonment of their king, might encourage
them to rescue him from his thrall, refused
to let the Mitotes, (for so they call this ceremony,) be
danced on the temple; and, at his invitation, the Tlatoani
assembled in the court-yard of the palace which
Montezuma gave us for our quarters; and here the rite
began. Now, señor,” continued De Morla, speaking
indignantly, “you will blush to hear, that our Christian
garrison were so inflamed with cupidity at the
sight of the rich and precious jewels, with which their
guests were decorated, that they resolved to possess
them, though at the cost of blood-guiltiness; and
falling upon these poor unsuspicious and unarmed
revellers, when wearied with the dance, and calling
out `Treason!' as if to justify themselves, though there
was no treason, except that in their own hearts, they
butchered all that could not leap the high walls, and
rifled the corses, even in the sight of the emperor.
This, as you may well believe, excited the people to
fury, and drove them to vengeance. They assaulted
the palace, killed many of the perfidious garrison,
and would have destroyed all, but that Montezuma,
whom they call the traitor and murderer, moved by
the intreaties and excuses of Alvarado, commanded
them to retire; and such are their love and subjection
to this monarch, that they instantly obeyed him, and
have remained in peace ever since, waiting the return
and the judgment of Don Hernan.—And Don
Hernan will doubtless command us to give them
justice, by slaying as many as shall dare to demand
it.”

“By heaven!” said Don Amador, “if this be the
truth, there are more barbarians than those who
worship pagan idols; and I vow to God, if I find
thy narrative well confirmed, I will draw no sword,
not even at the bidding of my knight Calavar, on
the people of Tenochtitlan. Were I even sworn,

like a vowed knight of Rhodes, to keep no peace
with the infidel, I could not fight in an unjust cause.”

“I am glad to hear you say so,” said De Morla,
frankly; “for I have often, ever since I have been
assured of the friendly and docile character of the
Mexicans, been persuaded it would be wiser, as well
as juster, to teach them than to destroy. Your
favour will find the nobles very civilized; and surely
their daughters, if converted to the true faith, would
make more honourable wives for Spanish hidalgos
than the Moorish ladies of our own land.”

A sigh came from the lips of Jacinto, as he
heard this narrative, to which he had listened with
boyish interest, terminated with a slur so degrading
to his people. But his mortification was appeased
by Don Amador, exclaiming with great emphasis,—

“That these Mexican princesses may make very
good wives, when true Christians, I can well believe;
but I have my doubts whether they have any such
superiority over the Moorish ladies of Granada, who
possess the religion of Christ. I have, once or twice,
known very noble Moriscas, honoured among the
wives of Granada as much as those who boasted the
pure blood of Castile; and for myself, without pretending
to say I shall ever condescend to such a
marriage, I may aver, that I have seen at least one
fair maiden, and she of no very royal descent, whom,
—that is, if I had loved her,—I should not have
scorned to wed. But these things go by fate: a
Christian Moor is perhaps as much regarded by
heaven as a Christian Spaniard; and surely there
are some of them very lovely to look on, and with
most angelical eyes!”

The gentle cavalier smiled in his own conceits, as
he listened to the argument of his friend; but, without
answering it, he said,—

“While we have the authority of the Cid Ramon
of Leon before our eyes, I am much disposed to
agree with Don Amador; for the Cid adored an infidel,
and why should not we love proselytes? Come,

now, my pretty page: of all thy ballads, I like best
that which treats of the loves of Cid Ramon; and
if thou hast not forgotten it, I shall rejoice to hear
thee chant it once more, while we sit under the tower
and gaze on the fire-mountain, that looks down on
Mexico.”

The boy agreed with unusual alacrity, and sitting
down at the feet of the cavaliers, on the flags that
surrounded the sanctuary, with the torch stuck in
the earth near him, he tuned his instrument with a
willing hand.