University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

In a green nook, exceedingly sequestered, and
peculiarly beautified by banks of the richest flowers,
were five Indian maidens, three of whom danced
under the trees on the smooth grass, to the sound
of a little pipe or flute, that was played by a fourth.
The other, half kneeling, reclined hard by, fastening
a chaplet of flowers round the neck of a fawn,
younger and tamer than that which had fled from
Befo, and which was now seen frisking uneasily,
or perhaps jealously, about its companion.

Young, pretty, and robed with such simplicity as
might have become the Hamadryads of Thessaly,
revelling around the green oaks with which their
fate was so inseparably connected, the dancers
might indeed have been esteemed nymphs of the
wood, as they moved gracefully and a-tiptoe over
the velvet grass, all unconscious of the presence of
any person or anything to make them afraid. Their
naked feet and arms glimmered with ornaments of
gold and native rubies; and the white cueitl, or
cymar, with a peculiar vest or jacket of brilliant
colours, while allowing unrestrained motion to
their limbs, gave almost a classic and statuary
beauty to their figures. The youthful musician
leaned against a tree, pleasantly absorbed in the
melody she was drawing from the pipe; while the
fifth maiden, for whose amusement the diversion
was obviously continued, was too much occupied
with the pet animal, whose ambition seemed rather

to be to browse upon the chaplet than to wear it,—
to give much attention to either the dance or the
roundelay.

The whole scene was one of enchanting innocence
and repose; and even Befo, who was wont
to indicate the presence of a stranger with a growl,
betrayed no token of dissatisfaction, so that Juan
stood for a little time gazing on, entirely unseen.
His looks were fastened upon her to whom the
musician and the dancers were but attendants, and
who, from other circumstances, had a stronger
claim on his regard.

In her he beheld the young infidel, whose influence
over his mind, operating upon it only for good,
had altered the whole current of his fortunes, and
changed what had once seemed a destiny of aggrandisement
and renown, into a career of suffering
and contumely. He was now in the presence
of one, for whom he had incurred the hatred of a
vindictive rival, (for all his miseries were dated
from the period of his quarrel with Guzman;) for
whose sake he had refused the intercession, and
spurned the affection, of the still more unhappy
Magdalena; and for whom he now thought that
even the last and greatest of his griefs, his exile
from Christian companionship, was a happiness,
since it promised her the inestimable gift of a faith,
which he would have gladly purchased her with his
life. How far a barbarian and the daughter of a barbarian
was worthy of, and capable of inspiring, an
affection so romantic and so noble, we must inquire
of our hearts, rather than our reason.

She was of that age, which, in our northern
climes would have constituted her a girl, but which,
in a tropical region, entitled her to the name of woman.
Her figure was neither mean nor low, but
of such exquisite proportions as, in these days of
voluntary degeneration, are seldom found except

among the children of nature. Her skin was, for
her race, wonderfully fair; and yet there were,
even among the men of Mexico, skins much lighter
than those of some of the Spaniards, of which Guatimozin
was a famous example. Her dress was
similar in fashion to that of the other damsels, but
consisted of many more garments, according to the
mode of the very wealthy and noble maidens, who
were accustomed to wear one cueitl over another,
each successive one being shorter than the preceding,
so that the borders of each could be distinguished.
Thus, when they were of different colours,
as was often the case, the whole figure, from
the ankles to the waist, seemed enveloped in one
voluminous garment, distinguished by broad horizontal
stripes, exceedingly gay and brilliant. The
colours upon the garments of this maiden were of
a more modest character, and richness was given
to them rather by borders singularly embroidered
in gold and gems, than by any splendour of tints.
A little vest or bodice of very peculiar fancy was
worn over the shoulders and bosom, secured by a
girdle that might have been called a chain, since it
was composed of links of gold. Her arms were
bare like the others', and her feet, not entirely naked,
as was the case with the rest, were protected by a
sort of pretty shoes, too complete to be called sandals,
and yet too low to be mocasins. With this
graceful figure, was a face, singularly sweet and
even beautiful, with eyes so broad, so large, so dark,
so lustrously mild and saintlike in expression, that
they rivalled those of the young fawn she was caressing,
and perhaps, more than the trivial circumstance
presently to be mentioned, had contributed
to obtain for her a name, by which her countrymen
seemed to compare her to the lights of heaven.
Among the gold ornaments and gems of emerald
and ruby, with which her hair was interwoven in
braids, was a large jewel of pearls, the rarest, and
therefore the most precious, of trinkets in Tenochtitlan.
It was in the form of a star, to which it bore as
much resemblance among the sable midnight of her
hair, as does the snowy blossom of the great Magnolia
amid the dusky obscurity of its evergreen boughs.

Upon this vision Juan could have gazed for
hours; but the fawn which he had followed to the
retreat, perceiving the formidable Befo so close at
hand, bleated out a hasty alarm, and thus directed
upon him the eyes of the whole party. The dance
and the music ceased; the maidens screamed, and
would have fled, but for the sense of duty which
constrained them to await the bidding of their mistress.
She, though much alarmed at the sight of
neighbours so unexpected, yet mingled with her
terror feelings which kept her chained to the spot,
while the attendants clustered around her, confused,
and anxious to fly.

As soon as Juan perceived the alarm of the party,
and saw the eyes of the princess directed upon him,
he bent a knee half to the earth, as if in the presence
of a princess of Christendom, saying gently,

“I am Juan Lerma, a Castilian—an exile from
the Spanish camp, entreating welcome from my enemies,
and yet am no enemy. Fear me not, daughter
of Montezuma; and fear not this animal, who
shall be to thee as harmless as the young fawns.”

At these words, pronounced in their own tongue,
and with a voice so mild and conciliating, the maidens
recovered somewhat from their fright, and assuming
at once an air characteristically sedate, cast
their eyes upon the earth, while the young princess
stood regarding Juan, with a countenance indicative
of many changing emotions. Seeing, when he
had finished, that he preserved an attitude of submissive
respect and expectation, she stepped timidly
forward, and presenting him the garland which

she had failed to secure around the neck of the favourite,
said artlessly, and yet with both dignity
and decision,

“The king is the Great Eagle's friend; the daughter
of Montezuma is his bondmaid—he is welcome
to Mexico. I remember the friend of Montezuma
my father,—I remember the good acts of the
Christian.—He is welcome.”

Then putting the chaplet into his hand, and taking
this into her own, with a confidence that was
perhaps as much the result of unsophisticated feelings
as of peculiar customs, she touched it with
her forehead,—indicating by her words, her gift,
and her act of ceremonious salutation, that, with
her welcome, she confessed the obligation of friendship
and gratitude for acts of past kindness.

“I will wear the garland upon my breast,” said
Juan, with a look of purer satisfaction than he had
shown for many long days; “and if heaven grant
me fulfilment of the hope that is nearest to my
heart, I will wear it there for ever. Noble and
lovely maiden, I am here by the will of Guatimozin,
—I know not well for what purpose, nor how long
I shall be suffered to remain in your presence.
This, at least, is certain: the dark day of war has
arisen, and this happy garden may soon become a
theatre of fierce contention, in which the fairest
and the best may perish at the same hour with the
worst. Let not that day find Zelahualla without
the Christian's cross on her bosom.”

“Guatimozin will drive the wicked from the
land,” said Zelahualla, mildly. “Has my lord the
Great Eagle forsaken his wicked people, and will
he yet cling to their gods? After a time, Centeotl,
the mother of heaven and the earth, will prevail
over Mexitli, and redeem men from sorrow: then
will men bleed no more on the pyramids, but flowers
and fruits will be the only sacrifices demanded

by heaven. How is it with the gods of Spain? do
they not call for victims for ever? The gods of our
land are more just and merciful.”

“Alas,” said Juan, “this is a delusion brought
upon you by our sinful acts, not by any defects of
our holy religion. Know, Zelahualla, that there are
no gods but ONE, and He is both just and merciful,
—the god alike of the heathen and the Christian.
But of this I will not speak to you now; though
perhaps I may never have opportunity to speak
again. If death should come upon you suddenly,
call then, in that grievous hour, upon the name of
the Christian's God, and he will not refuse to hear
you, who are in ignorance, and therefore sinless.
And wear upon your neck this cross, given to me
by one who was a beloved friend.” (It was the
gift of Magdalena.) “Look upon it with reverence,
and heaven may vouchsafe a miracle in your favour.
Let it not be forgotten, when danger comes to
you.”

The spirit of the Propaganda had infected the
minds of all the Spaniards in America. The ambition
of conversion was inseparably linked with that
of conquest; and on all occasions, except those of
actual battle, the rage of making proselytes was uppermost
in the minds of many. This was undoubtedly
fanaticism, and, in the case of the fierce and
avaricious, it developed itself with all the odious
features of superstition. With a few of more gentle
and kindly natures, it was a nobler and more benignant
passion. While others sought proselytes
for the glory of the church, these thought only of
doing good to man. The best, the most enthusiastic
and successful missionaries, were those whose
efforts were prompted by affection. The first impulse,
therefore, of Juan, who had long since felt
and cherished, even among distant deserts, a strong
interest in the fate of this young princess, was to

secure to her the blessings of salvation, which his
religious instruction could not lead him to hope for
any one dying in unbelief. It was a consequence
and evidence of affection; but a still stronger proof
was given, when he drew from his breast a little
silver cross, which, up to this moment, he had treasured
with the most jealous regard, and proffered
it to Zelahualla. It was, as has been mentioned,
the gilt of Magdalena, presented before the evil acts
of Hilario and Villafana had interrupted the affection
fast ripening in Juan's heart, and accepted because
it possessed little value beyond that imputed
by consecration and superstition. It was, indeed,
as Magdalena had told him, the gift of her deceased
mother, and she had always been taught to believe
it possessed some of the extraordinary virtues of a
talisman. In these virtues Juan was sufficiently
benighted to believe; and it was perhaps for this
reason, rather than from any grateful memory of
the giver, that he had from that day worn it in
secret upon his bosom, so that it had even escaped
the hands of his jailers in Mechoacan, and from the
eyes of his Spanish companions. It was a proof of
the pure and disinterested nature of his regard for
the Indian princess, as well as of his reliance upon
its heavenly protection, that he could rob himself of
a relic so prized, in order that its presence might
secure to her the benefits of a belief she neither
understood nor professed.

If such were his own superstition, it could not
be supposed that Zelahualla's was less in degree.
On the contrary, she received the humble trinket
with a look of respect as well as gratitude, saying
with the greatest simplicity,

“What the Great Eagle loves must be good, and
Zelahualla will listen when his god speaks to her.”

“Is it possible,” thought Juan, while flinging the
chain of silver beads by which it was secured

round his neck, “that a creature so beautiful and
so good—so pure, so innocent, so lovely to the
eye and the thought—should be really a pagan and
barbarian?”

The question was indeed natural enough. A
sweeter impersonation of beauty both mental and
corporeal, could scarcely be imagined; and the
light of her eyes was so mild and seraphic, that one
might wonder whence it came, if not from the operation
of that divine belief, which chases from the
heart the impurer traits of nature.

What further thoughts might have crowded into
Juan's breast, and what might have been the conclusion
of an interview so interesting, it is not necessary
to imagine. While he was yet securing
the chain around the bended neck of the princess,
a step, previously heralded by the growl of Befo,
rang upon the walk, and the Lord of Death, followed
at a little distance by Techeechee, stalked
into the covert, arrayed in all the Mexican panoply
of war and knighthood. Instead of a tunic of cotton
cloth or other woven material, he wore, doubtless
over some stronger protection, a sort of hauberk
of dressed tiger's skin, fitting tight to his
massive chest, and bordered by a skirt of long
feathers, reaching nearly to his knees. On his
head was a helmet or cap which had once adorned
the skull of the same ferocious animal, the teeth
and ears flapping about his temples, and the skin
of the legs, with the talons remaining, hanging at
the sides over his shoulders and breast, waving
about in connexion with his long black locks and
the scarlet tufts among them. His shield of stout
cane-work, painted, and ornamented with a long
waving penacho of feathers, hung at his back, and
a macana of gigantic size swung from his wrist.
His legs were swathed, merry-andrew-wise, with
ribands of scarlet and gilded leather, that seemed

to begin at his sandals; and his arms, otherwise
naked, were ornamented up to the elbow in a similar
way. On the whole, his appearance was
highly formidable and impressive, and not the less
so that many marks of blood, crusted about his
person, as well as divers rents in his spotted hauberk,
told how recently and how valiantly he had
borne his part in the terrors of conflict.

As he entered the covert, his step was bold,
springy, and majestic, such as belongs to the native
American warrior, when he treads the prairie and
the mountain, beyond the ken of the white man.
It happened that his ear being struck by the growl
of Befo, his attention was not immediately directed
to the princess and her companion; but, seeing
the dog, and conceiving at once, though not without
surprise, the cause of his presence, he turned
round in search of his master, and beheld him engaged
securing the relic around the neck of the
daughter of Montezuma.

At this sight, his countenance changed from the
haughty joy of a soldier, and darkened with gloom
and displeasure. He even grasped his macana,
and took a stride towards the pair, who were unconscious
of his intrusion, until Befo made it evident
by a louder growl, and by taking a stand,
ready to dispute the warrior's right of approach.

The person of the Lord of Death was at first
unknown to Juan; but he beheld enough in his
visage to convince him it was not that of a friend.
Still, he knew too much of the almost slavish reverence
with which even the highest nobles regarded
their king and the child of a king, to apprehend any
danger from the warrior's wrath. In this belief he
was justified by the act of the barbarian, who, perceiving
Zelahualla look towards him with surprise,
released the weapon from his grasp, and sinking
into the lowest obeisance of humility, kissed the

earth at her feet. Then rising and surveying her
with a melancholy, but deeply respectful look, he
said,

“What am I but a slave before the daughter of
Montezuma? The young man of the east is the
king's brother. I speak the words of Guatimozin:
`My brother shall look to-day upon the king of
Mexico, with the crown upon his head, at the
rock of Chapoltepec, among the people.' These
are the words of the king. Shall the king's brother
obey the king?”

“Doth Guatimozin call the Eagle his brother?”
exclaimed Zelahualla, with a look of the greatest
satisfaction. “Then shall no evil befall him among
the people. Let my lord the Christian and Great
Eagle depart, and fear not: for the men of Mexico
know that he was good to the king and the king's
daughter, when the king was a captive; and therefore
Zelahualla will remember what he says of the
god of the silver cross.”

Thus summoned, and thus dismissed, Juan withdrew
his eyes from the beaming and singularly
engaging countenance of the maiden, and looked
to the Lord of Death, as if to signify his readiness
to depart. But the Lord of Death seemed for a
moment to have lost his powers of locomotion. He
remained gazing upon the princess with an aspect
increasing in gloom, and once or twice seemed as
if he would have spoken something in anger and
reprehension. Yet deterred by the divinity of
royalty that hedged about her, or more probably
by the divinity of her beauty, he roused up at last,
and, after making another deep reverence, which
was as if a lion had bowed down at the feet of a
doe, he strode away without speaking, followed by
Juan and Techeechee.

From Techeechee Juan learned what he had in
in part gathered from the obscure expressions of the

noble: He was summoned to witness the coronation
of the young king in form before the assembled
Mexicans, on the consecrated hill of Chapoltepec,
on which occasion he was to be honoured and
his person made sacred, by the king bestowing on
him the title of friend and brother.

The path led Juan as before through the royal
menagerie; and while passing among the wild
beasts, Techeechee signified to the Christian that
the presence of Befo among the Mexicans would
subject him to much difficulty, if not danger; and
would certainly, the moment he was seen, produce
a confusion in the assemblage, indecorous to the
occasion, and highly displeasing to the king and the
Mexican dignitaries. To this Juan justly assented,
and not knowing in what other manner he could
dispose of his faithful attendant, he agreed, at Techeechee's
suggestion, to confine him in one of the
several empty cages, wherein he was assured and
believed, he would remain in safety. This being
accomplished, and not without trouble, he endeavoured
with caresses to reconcile the animal to his
novel imprisonment, and then left him.

He found the Lord of Death at the pool, with a
piragua, very singularly carved and ornamented, in
which were six Mexicans, known at once by their
dress to be warriors of established reputation, the
rules of Mexican chivalry not allowing any soldier,
even if the son of the king, to wear, in time of war,
any but the plainest white garment, until he had
accomplished deeds worthy of distinction. These
were arrayed in escaupil, variously ornamented
with plumes and gilded leather; they had war-clubs
and quivers, and their appearance was both martial
and picturesque.

At a signal from Masquazateuctli, they seized
their paddles and began to urge the piragua towards
the water-gate of the wall, and Techeechee

leaping into the little canoe, Juan prepared to follow
after him. He was arrested by the Lord of Death,
who touched his arm, though not rudely, and looking
into his face for awhile, with an expression in
which anger seemed to struggle with melancholy,
said,

“The Great Eagle is the brother of Guatimozin,
—Masquazateuctli is but his slave. Where would
the king's brother have been this day, had the king
not taken him from the prison-house?”

“In heaven, if it becomes me to say so—certainly,
at least, in the grave,” replied Juan, in some
surprise. “In this capture, or this rescue, as I may
call it, the king will bear witness, I did not myself
concur; for such concurrence I esteemed unbecoming
to my state as a Christian and Spaniard. Yet
I am not the less grateful to Guatimozin, and I
acknowledge he has given me a life.”

“It was a good thing of the king,” said the barbarian;
“but what is this? Are you a Spaniard in
Mexico, and alive? neither upon the block of the
pyramid, nor in the cage at the temple-yard? The
king feeds you in his house, he gives you water
from his fountain, and robes from his bed,—he takes
you by his side, and, among his people, he says,
`This man is my brother; therefore look upon him
with love.' Is not this good also of the king?”

“It is,” replied Juan, gravely; “and I need not
be instructed, that it becomes me to be grateful,
even by a warrior so renowned and noble as the
Lord of Death.”

The eyes of the barbarian sparkled with a fierce
fire while he continued,—

“What then should you look for in Mexico, but
shelter and food?—a house to hide you from the
angry men of Spain, and bread to eat in your hiding-place?
Where are the quiver and the maca

na? Will the king's brother fight the king's enemies?”

“If they be my countrymen, the Spaniards, no,”
replied Juan, with great resolution, yet not without
uneasiness; for he read in the question, an early
attempt to seduce him into apostacy. “I am the
king's guest,—his prisoner, if he will,—his victim,
if it must be,—but not his soldier.”

“Hearken then to me,” said the Indian, with a
stern and magisterial voice: “The king is the lord
of the valley, the master of men's lives, and the
beloved of Mexico; but he has not the heart of the
old man gray with wisdom, and he knows not the
guile of the stranger. Why should his brother do
him a wrong? The king thinks his brother a green
snake from the corn-field, to play with;[1] but he has
the teeth of the rattling adder!”

“Mexican!” said Juan, indignantly, “these words
from the mouth of a Spaniard, would be terms of
mortal injury; and infidel though you be, yet you
must know, they bear the sting of insult. What
warrior art thou, that canst abuse the helplessness
of a captive, and do wrong to an unarmed man?”

“Do I wrong thee, then?” replied the Lord of
Death, grimly. “Lo, thou art here safe from thy
bitter-hearted people, and wilt not even repay the
goodness of the king, by striking the necks of his
enemies, who are also thine! Is not this enough?
Put upon thee the weeds of a woman, and go sleep
in the garden of birds, afar from danger,—yet call
not the birds down from the tree; hide thee in the
bush of flowers, yet pluck not the flowers from the
stem. Let the guest remember he is a guest, and
steal not from the house that gives him shelter.—
Does the king's brother understand the words of
the king's slave?”

“I do not,” said Juan, with a frown. “They are
the words of a dreamer;—” and he would have
passed on towards the canoe, which he now perceived
was waiting him near the wicket, but that
the Lord of Death again arrested him.

“The king is good,” he said with deep and
meaning accents, “but the wrong-doer shall not
escape. Perhaps,”—and here he softened the severity
of his speech, and even assumed a look of
friendly interest,—“perhaps the Great Eagle has
left his best friend among the fighting-men of Tezcuco?
Let him be patient for a little, and his friend
shall be given to him.”

“You speak to me in riddles,” replied Juan,
impatiently. “Let us be gone.”

The Mexican gave the youth a look of the
darkest and most menacing character, and uttering
the figurative name which Guatimozin had already
applied to the princess, said,

“The Centzontli is the daughter of Montezuma,
—the bird that is not to be called from the tree,
the flower that is not to be pulled from the stem.—
The king is good to his brother; but Mexico is not
a dog, that the Spaniard should steal away the
daughter of heaven.”

Then, clutching his war-axe, as if to give more
emphasis to his warning, the nature of which was
no longer to be mistaken, he gave the young man
one more look, exceedingly black and threatening,
and strode rapidly away. The next moment, he
leaped, with the activity of a mountain-cat, into
the piragua, and speaking but a word to the rowers,
was instantly paddled into the lake.

Juan followed, not a little troubled and displeased
by the complexion and tone of the menace, and
stepping into the canoe, was soon impelled from
the garden. He perceived the piragua floating hard
by, and the Lord of Death standing erect among
the rowers. As soon as the canoe drew nigh, the

warrior-noble made certain gestures to Techeechee,
signifying that he should conduct the youth on the
voyage alone. Then giving a sign to his attendants,
the prow of the piragua was turned towards
the east, and, much to the surprise of Juan, and not a
little even to that of the Ottomi, was urged in that
direction with the most furious speed. As they
started, the rowers set up a yell, as if animated by
the prospect of some stirring and adventurous exploit.

Techeechee gazed after them for a moment, and
then handling his paddle, he directed the canoe
round the point of Tlatelolco, and was soon lost
among a multitude of similar vessels, all proceeding
to the south-west, in the direction of the hill of
Chapoltepec.