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

CHAPTER III.

A CHALLENGE

In the valley of Anahuac, at the time I write, are four lakes,—Xaltocan, Chalco, Xochichalco, and Tezcuco. The latter, besides being the largest, washed the walls of Tenochtitlan, and was the especial pride of the Aztecs, who, familiar with its ways as with the city, traversed them all the days of the year, and even the nights.

“Ho, there!” shouted a voyageur, in a voice that might have been heard a long distance over the calm expanse of the lake. “Ho, the canoe!”

The hail was answered.

“Is it Guatamozin?” asked the first speaker.

“Yes.”

“And going to Tenochtitlan?”

“The gods willing,—yes.”

The canoes of the voyageurs—I use that term because it more nearly expresses the meaning of the word the Aztecs themselves were wont to apply to persons thus abroad—were, at the time, about the middle of the little sea. After the ’tzin’s reply, they were soon alongside, when lashings were applied, and together they swept on rapidly, for the slaves at the paddles vied in skill and discipline.

“Iztlil’, of Tezcuco!” said the ’tzin, lightly. “He is welcome; but had a messenger asked me where at this hour he would most likely be found, I should have bade him search the chinampas, especially those most notable for their perfume and music.”

The speech was courteous, yet the moment of reply was allowed to pass. The ’tzin waited until the delay excited his wonder.

“There is a rumor of a great battle with the Tlascalans,” he said again, this time with a direct question. “Has my friend heard of it?”

“The winds that carry rumors seldom come to me,” answered Iztlil’.

“Couriers from Tlascala pass directly through your capital—”

The Tezcucan laid his hand on the speaker’s shoulder.

“My capital!” he said. “Do you speak of the city of Tezcuco?”

The ’tzin dashed the hand away, and arose, saying, “Your meaning is dark in this dimness of stars.”

“Be seated,” said the other.

“If I sit, is it as friend or foe?”

“Hear me; then be yourself the judge.”

The Aztec folded his cloak about him and resumed his seat, very watchful.

“Montezuma, the king—”

“Beware! The great king is my kinsman, and I am his faithful subject.”

The Tezcucan continued. “In the valley the king is next to the gods; yet to his nephew I say I hate him, and will teach him that my hate is no idleness, like a passing love. ’Tzin, a hundred years ago our races were distinct and independent. The birds of the woods, the winds of the prairie, were not more free than the people of Tezcuco. We had our capital, our temples, our worship, and our gods; we celebrated our own festivals, our kings commanded their own armies, our priesthood prescribed their own sacrifices. But where now are king, country, and gods? Alas! you have seen the children of ’Hualpilli, of the blood of the Acolhuan, suppliants of Montezuma, the Aztec.” And, as if overcome by the recollection, he burst into apostrophe. “I mourn thee, O Tezcuco, garden of my childhood, palace of my fathers, inheritance of my right! Against me are thy gates closed. The stars may come, and as of old garland thy towers with their rays; but in thy echoing halls and princely courts never, never shall I be known again!”

The silence that ensued, the ’tzin was the first to break.

“You would have me understand,” he said, “that the king has done you wrong. Be it so. But, for such cause, why quarrel with me?”

“Ah, yes!” answered the Tezcucan, in an altered voice. “Come closer, that the slaves may not hear.”

The Aztec kept his attitude of dignity. Yet lower Iztlil’ dropped his voice.

“The king has a daughter whom he calls Tula, and loves as the light of his palace.”

The ’tzin started, but held his peace.

“You know her?” continued the Tezcucan.

“Name her not!” said Guatamozin, passionately.

“Why not? I love her, and but for you, O ’tzin, she would have loved me. You, too, have done me wrong.”

With thoughts dark as the waters he rode, the Aztec looked long at the light of fire painted on the sky above the distant city.

“Is Guatamozin turned woman?” asked Iztlil’, tauntingly.

“Tula is my cousin. We have lived the lives of brother and sister. In hall, in garden, on the lake, always together, I could not help loving her.”

“You mistake me,” said the other. “I seek her for wife, but you seek her for ambition; in her eyes you see only her father’s throne.”

Then the Aztec’s manner changed, and he assumed the mastery.

“Enough, Tezcucan! I listened calmly while you reviled the king, and now I have somewhat to say. In your youth the wise men prophesied evil from you; they said you were ingrate and blasphemer then: your whole life has but verified their judgment. Well for your royal father and his beautiful city had he cut you off as they counselled him to do. Treason to the king,—defiance to me! By the holy Sun, for each offence you should answer me shield to shield! But I recollect that I am neither priest to slay a victim nor officer to execute the law. I mourn a feud, still more the blood of countrymen shed by my hand; yet the wrongs shall not go unavenged or without challenge. To-morrow is the sacrifice to Quetzal’. There will be combat with the best captives in the temples; the arena will be in the tianguez; Tenochtitlan, and all the valley, and all the nobility of the Empire, will look on. Dare you prove your kingly blood? I challenge the son of ’Hualpilli to share the danger with me.”

The cacique was silent, and the ’tzin did not disturb him. At his order, however, the slaves bent their dusky forms, and the vessels sped on, like wingless birds.

CHAPTER IV.

TENOCHTITLAN AT NIGHT

The site of the city of Tenochtitlan was chosen by the gods. In the southwestern border of Lake Tezcuco, one morning in 1300, a wandering tribe of Aztecs saw an eagle perched, with outspread wings, upon a cactus, and holding a serpent in its talons. At a word from their priests, they took possession of the marsh, and there stayed their migration and founded the city: such is the tradition. As men love to trace their descent back to some storied greatness, nations delight to associate the gods with their origin.

Originally the Aztecs were barbarous. In their southern march, they brought with them only their arms and a spirit of sovereignty. The valley of Anahuac, when they reached it, was already peopled; in fact, had been so for ages. The cultivation and progress they found and conquered there reacted upon them. They grew apace; and as they carried their shields into neighboring territory, as by intercourse and commerce they crept from out their shell of barbarism, as they strengthened in opulence and dominion, they repudiated the reeds and rushes of which their primal houses were built, and erected enduring temples and residences of Oriental splendor.

Under the smiles of the gods, whom countless victims kept propitiated, the city threw abroad its arms, and, before the passage of a century, became the emporium of the valley. Its people climbed the mountains around, and, in pursuit of captives to grace their festivals, made the conquest of “Mexico.” Then the kings began to centralize. They made Tenochtitlan their capital; under their encouragement, the arts grew and flourished; its market became famous; the nobles and privileged orders made it their dwelling-place; wealth abounded; as a consequence, a vast population speedily filled its walls and extended them as required. At the coming of the “conquistadores,” it contained sixty thousand houses and three hundred thousand souls. Its plat testifies to a high degree of order and regularity, with all the streets running north and south, and intersected by canals, so as to leave quadrilateral blocks. An ancient map, exhibiting the city proper, presents the face of a checker-board, each square, except those of some of the temples and palaces, being meted with mathematical certainty.

Such was the city the ’tzin and the cacique were approaching. Left of them, half a league distant, lay the towers and embattled gate of Xoloc. On the horizon behind paled the fires of Iztapalapan, while those of Tenochtitlan at each moment threw brighter hues into the sky, and more richly empurpled the face of the lake. In mid air, high over all others, like a great torch, blazed the pyre of Huitzil’.[12 - The God of War,—aptly called the “Mexican Mars.”] Out on the sea, the course of the voyageurs was occasionally obstructed by chinampas at anchor, or afloat before the light wind; nearer the walls, the floating gardens multiplied until the passage was as if through an archipelago in miniature. From many of them poured the light of torches; others gave to the grateful sense the melody of flutes and blended voices; while over them the radiance from the temples fell softly, revealing white pavilions, orange-trees, flowering shrubs, and nameless varieties of the unrivalled tropical vegetation. A breeze, strong enough to gently ripple the lake, hovered around the undulating retreats, scattering a largesse of perfume, and so ministering to the voluptuous floramour of the locality.

As the voyageurs proceeded, the city, rising to view, underwent a number of transformations. At first, amidst the light of its own fires,[13 - There was a fire for each altar in the temples which was inextinguishable; and so numerous were the altars, and so brilliant their fires, that they kept the city illuminated throughout the darkest nights. Prescott, Conq. of Mexico, Vol. I., p 72.] it looked like a black sea-shore; directly its towers and turrets became visible, some looming vaguely and dark, others glowing and purpled, the whole magnified by the dim duplication below; then it seemed like a cloud, one half kindled by the sun, the other obscured by the night. As they swept yet nearer, it changed to the likeness of a long, ill-defined wall, over which crept a hum wing-like and strange,—the hum of myriad life.

In silence still they hurried forward. Vessels like their own, but with lanterns of stained aguave at the prows, seeking some favorite chinampa, sped by with benisons from the crews. At length they reached the wall, and, passing through an interval that formed the outlet of a canal, entered the city. Instantly the water became waveless; houses encompassed them; lights gleamed across their way; the hum that hovered over them while out on the lake realized itself in the voices of men and the notes of labor.

Yet farther into the city, the light from the temples increased. From towers, turreted like a Moresco castle, they heard the night-watchers proclaiming the hour. Canoes, in flocks, darted by them, decked with garlands, and laden with the wealth of a merchant, or the trade of a market-man, or full of revellers singing choruses to the stars or to the fair denizens of the palaces. Here and there the canal was bordered with sidewalks of masonry, and sometimes with steps leading from the water up to a portal, about which were companies whose flaunting, parti-colored costumes, brilliant in the mellowed light, had all the appearance of Venetian masqueraders.