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

“You have spoken.”

“Very well. I have told you the words of the lord Cuitlahua; they burnt me, like fire. Thinking myself forever disgraced, I descended from the azoteas to the street, and there saw the people’s confusion, and heard their cries and curses. I could not endure myself. I fled the city, like a guilty wretch. Instinctively, I hurried to Tihuanco. There I avoided every habitation, even my father’s. News of evil travels fast. The old merchant, I knew, must needs hear of the king’s seizure and what I regarded as my crime. So I cared not to meet his eyes. I passed the days in the jungles hunting, but the charm of the old occupation was gone; somehow my arrows flew amiss, and my limbs refused a long pursuit. How I subsisted, I scarcely know. At last, however, my ideas began to take form, and I was able to interrogate myself. Through the king’s bounty, I was a lord, and owner of a palace; by his favor, I further reflected, Nenetzin was bound to me in solemn betrothal. What would she think of me? What right had I, so responsible for his great misfortune, to retain his gifts? I could release her from the odious engagement. At his feet I could lay down the title and property; and then, if you refused me as a soldier or slave, I could hide myself somewhere; for the grief-struck and unhappy, like me, earth has its caverns and ocean its islands. And so once more I hurried to Tenochtitlan. Yesterday I crossed the lake. From the Chalcan I heard the story which alone was needed to make my humiliation complete,—how Nenetzin, false to me, betrayed the great purpose of her father, betook herself to the stranger’s house, adopted his religion, and became his wife or—spare me the word, good ’tzin. After that, I lost no time, but went to the palace, made way through the pale-faced guards at the gate and doors, each of whom seemed placed there to attest the good king’s condition and my infamy. Suitors and lords of all degrees crowded the audience-chamber when I entered, and upon every face was the same look of sorrow and dejection which I had noticed upon the faces of the people whom I passed in the street. All who turned eyes upon me appeared to become accusers, and say, ‘Traitor, behold thy victim!’ Imagine the pressure upon my spirit. I made haste to get away,—unseemly haste. What my salutation was I hardly know. I only remember that, in some form of speech, I publicly resigned all his honorable gifts. I remember, also, that when I took what I thought was my last look at him,—friend, patron, king, father,—may the gods, who have forbidden the relation, forgive the allusion!—I could not see him for tears. My heart is in my throat now; then it nearly choked me. And so ends my account. And once more, true friend, I come to you, Hualpa, the Tihuancan, without title, palace, or privilege; without distinction, except as the hero and victim of a marvellous fortune.”

The ’tzin was too deeply touched, too full of sympathy, to reply immediately. He arose, and paced the arena awhile. Resuming his seat again, he asked simply, “And what said the king?”

“To what?”

“Your resignation.”

“He refused to take back his gifts. They could not revert, he said, except for crime.”

“And he was right. You should have known him better. A king cannot revoke a gift in any form.”

After a spell of silence, the ’tzin spoke again.

“One matter remains. You are not guilty, as you supposed; your friends have not lost their faith in you; such being the case, it were strange if your feelings are as when you came here; and as purposes too often follow feelings, I ask about the future. What do you intend? What wish?”

“I see you understand me well, good ’tzin. My folly has been so great that I feel myself unworthy to be my own master. I ought not to claim a purpose, much less a wish. I came to your door seeking to be taken back into service; that was all the purpose I had. I rely upon your exceeding kindness.”

Hualpa moved as if to kneel; but the ’tzin caught him, and said, “Keep your seat.” And rising, he continued, severely, “Lord Hualpa,—for such you still are,—all men, even the best, are criminals; but as for the most part their crimes are against themselves, we take no notice of them. In that sense you are guilty, and in such degree that you deserve forfeiture of all the king refused to take back. Put pass we that,—pass the folly, the misconduct. I will not take you into service; you have your old place of friend and comrade, more fitting your rank.”

Hualpa’s face brightened, and he answered,—

“Command me, O ’tzin! With you I can be brave warrior, good citizen, true friend; without you, I am nothing. Whatever the world thinks of me, this I know,—I can reinstate myself in its good opinion before I can in my own. Show me the way back to self-respect; restore me that, and I will be your slave, soldier, comrade,—what you will.”

“It is well,” said Guatamozin, smiling at his earnestness. “It is well. I can show you the way. Listen. The war, about which we have so often talked, thanks to the gods! is finally at hand. The public opinion has done its work. The whole nation would throw itself upon the strangers to-morrow, but for the king, who has become their shield; and he must be rescued; otherwise, we must educate the people to see in him an enemy to be removed. We cannot spare the time for that, and consequently have tried rescue in many ways, so far in vain. To-morrow we try again. The plot is arranged and cannot fail, except by the king’s own default. Reserving explanation, I congratulate you. You are in time; the good fortune clings to you. To-morrow I will set your feet in the way you seek.”

Hualpa gazed at him doubtingly. “To-morrow!” he said. “Will you trust me so soon, and in a matter so high?”

“Yes.”

“Will my part take me from you?”

“No.”

“Then I thank you for the opportunity. On the teocallis, that dreadful morning, I lost my assurance; whether it will ever return is doubtful; but with you, at your side, I dare walk in any way.”

“I understand you,” the ’tzin replied. “Go now, and get ready. Unless the king fail us, we will have combat requiring all our strength. To the bath first, then to breakfast, then to find more seemly garments, then to rest. I give you to midnight. Go.”

CHAPTER II

WHOM THE GODS DESTROY THEY FIRST MAKE MAD

The morning after Hualpa’s return Xoli, the Chalcan, as was his wont, passed through his many rooms, making what may be called a domestic reconnoissance.

“What!” he cried, perplexed. “How is this? The house is empty! Where are all the lords?”

The slaves to whom he spoke shook their heads.

“Have there been none for breakfast?”

Again they shook their heads.

“Nor for pulque?”

“Not one this morning,” they replied.

“Not even for a draught of pulque! Wonderful!” cried the broker, bewildered and amazed. Then he hurried to his steward, soliloquizing as he went, “Not one for breakfast; not even a draught of pulque! Holy gods, to what is the generation coming?”

The perplexity of the good man was not without cause. The day the king removed to the palace of Axaya’, the royal hospitality went with him, and had thenceforth been administered there; but though no less princely and profuse than before, under the new régime it was overshadowed by the presence of the strangers, and for that reason became distasteful to the titled personages accustomed to its enjoyment. Consequently, owners of palaces in the city betook themselves to their own boards; others, especially non-residents, quartered with the Chalcan; as a further result, his house assumed the style of a meson, with accommodations equal to those of the palace; such, at least, was the disloyal whisper, and I am sorry to say Xoli did not repudiate the impeachment as became a lover of the king. And such eating, drinking, playing, such conspiring and plotting, such political discussion, such transactions in brokerage went on daily and nightly under his roof as were never before known. Now all this was broken off. The silence was not more frightful than unprofitable.

“Steward, steward!” said Xoli to that functionary, distinguished by the surpassing whiteness of his apron. “What has befallen? Where are the patrons this morning?”

“Good master, the most your slave knows is, that last night a paba from the great temple passed through the chambers, after which, very shortly, every guest departed.”

“A paba, a paba!” And Xoli was more than ever perplexed. “Heard you what he said?”

“Not a word.”

“About what time did he come?”

“After midnight.”

“And that is all you know?”

The steward bowed, and Xoli passed distractedly to the front door, only to find the portico as deserted as the chambers. Sight of the people beginning to collect in the square, however, brought him some relief, and he hailed the first passing acquaintance.

“A pleasant morning to you, neighbor.”

“The same to you.”

“Have you any news?”

“None, except I hear of a crowd of pabas in the city, come, as rumor says, from Tezcuco, Cholula, Iztapalapan, and other lake towns.”

“When did they come?”

“In the night.”

“Oho! There’s something afoot.” And Xoli wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

“So there is,” the neighbor replied. “The king goes to the temple to worship to-day.”

A light broke in upon the Chalcan. “True, true; I had forgotten.”

“Such is the talk,” the citizen continued. “Will you be there? Everybody is going.”

“Certainly,” answered Xoli, dryly. “If I do not go, everybody will not be there. Look for me. The gods keep you!”