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

“This figure is that of the first king of Tenochtitlan; the others are his followers. The letters record the time of the march from the north. Observe that the first of the writing—its commencement—is here in the north.”

After a little while, they moved on to the second panel.

“Here,” said Mualox, “is represented the march of the king. It was accompanied with battles. See, he stands with lifted javelin, his foot on the breast of a prostrate foe. His followers dance and sound shells; the priests sacrifice a victim. The king has won a great victory.”

They stopped before the third panel.

“And here the monarch is still on the march. He is in the midst of his warriors; no doubt the crown he is receiving is that of the ruler of a conquered city.”

This cartoon Montezuma examined closely. The chief, or king, was distinguished by a crown in all respects like that then in the palace; the priests, by their long gowns; and the warriors, by their arms, which, as they were counterparts of those still in use, sufficiently identified the wanderers. Greatly was the royal inspector troubled. And as the paba slowly conducted him from panel to panel, he forgot the treasure with which the chamber was stored. What he read was the story of his race, the record of their glory. The whole eastern wall, he found, when he had passed before it, given to illustrations of the crusade from Azatlan, the fatherland, northward so far that corn was gathered in the snow, and flowers were the wonder of the six weeks’ summer.

In front of the first panel on the southern wall Mualox said,—

“All we have passed is the first era in the history; this is the beginning of the second; and the first writing on the western wall will commence a third. Here the king stands on a rock; a priest points him to an eagle on a cactus, holding a serpent. At last they have reached the place where Tenochtitlan is to be founded.”

The paba passed on.

“Here,” he said, “are temples and palaces. The king reclines on a couch; the city has been founded.”

And before another panel,—“Look well to this, O king. A new character is introduced; here it is before an altar, offering a sacrifice of fruits and flowers. It is Quetzal’! In his worship, you recollect, there is no slaughter of victims. My hands are pure of blood.”

The Quetzal’, with its pleasant face, flowing curls, and simple costume, seemed to have a charm for Montezuma, for he mused over it a long time. Some distance on, the figure again appeared, stepping into a canoe, while the people, temples, and palaces of the city were behind it. Mualox explained, “See, O king! The fair god is departing from Tenochtitlan; he has been banished. Saddest of all the days was that!”

And so, the holy man interpreting, they moved along the southern wall. Not a scene but was illustrative of some incident memorable in the Aztecan history. And the reviewers were struck with the faithfulness of the record not less than with the beauty of the work.

On the western wall, the first cartoon represented a young man sweeping the steps of a temple. Montezuma paused before it amazed, and Guatamozin for the first time cried out, “It is the king! It is the king!” The likeness was perfect.

After that came a coronation scene. The teotuctli was placing a panache[21 - Or capilli,—the king’s crown. A panache was the head-dress of a warrior.] on Montezuma’s head. In the third cartoon, he was with the army, going to battle. In the fourth, he was seated, while a man clad in nequen,[22 - A garment of coarse white material, made from the fibre of the aloe, and by court etiquette required to be worn by courtiers and suitors in the king’s presence. The rule appears to have been of universal application.] but crowned, stood before him.

“You have grown familiar with triumphs, and it is many summers since, O king,” said Mualox; “but you have not yet forgotten the gladness of your first conquest. Here is its record. As we go on, recall the kings who were thus made to stand before you.”

And counting as they proceeded, Montezuma found that in every cartoon there was an additional figure crowned and in nequen. When they came to the one next the last on the western wall, he said,—

“Show me the meaning of all this: here are thirty kings.”

“Will the king tell his slave the number of cities he has conquered?”

He thought awhile, and replied, “Thirty.”

“Then the record is faithful. It started with the first king of Tenochtitlan; it came down to your coronation; now, it has numbered your conquests. See you not, O king? Behind us, all the writing is of the past; this is Montezuma and Tenochtitlan as they are: the present is before us! Could the hand that set this chamber and carved these walls have been a man’s? Who but a god six cycles ago could have foreseen that a son of the son of Axaya’ would carry the rulers of thirty conquered cities in his train?”

The royal visitor listened breathlessly. He began to comprehend the writing, and thrill with fast-coming presentiments. Yet he struggled with his fears.

“Prophecy has to do with the future,” he said; “and you have shown me nothing that the sculptors and jewellers in my palace cannot do. Would you have me believe all this from Quetzal’, show me something that is to come.”

Mualox led him to the next scene which represented the king sitting in state; above him a canopy; his nobles and the women of his household around him; at his feet the people; and all were looking at a combat going on between warriors.

“You have asked for prophecy,—behold!” said Mualox.

“I see nothing,” replied the king.

“Nothing! Is not this the celebration to-morrow? Since it was ordered, could your sculptors have executed what you see?”

Back to the monarch’s face stole the pallor.

“Look again, O king! You only saw yourself, your people and warriors. But what is this?”

Walking up, he laid his finger on the representation of a man landing from a canoe.

“The last we beheld of Quetzal’,” he continued, “was on the southern wall; his back was to Tenochtitlan, which he was leaving with a curse. All you have heard about his promise to return is true. He himself has written the very day, and here it is. Look! While the king, his warriors and people, are gathered to the combat, Quetzal’ steps from the canoe to the sea-shore.”

The figure in the carving was scarcely two hands high, but exquisitely wrought. With terror poorly concealed, Montezuma recognized it.

“And now my promise is redeemed. I said I would give you to read a message from the sun.”

“Read, Mualox: I cannot.”

The holy man turned to the writing, and said, with a swelling voice, “Thus writes Quetzal’ to Montezuma, the king! In the last day he will seek to stay my vengeance; he will call together his people; there will be combat in Tenochtitlan; but in the midst of the rejoicing I will land on the sea-shore, and end the days of Azatlan forever.”

“Forever!” said the unhappy monarch. “No, no! Read the next writing.”

“There is no other; this is the last.”

The eastern, southern, and western walls had been successively passed, and interpreted. Now the king turned to the northern wall: it was blank! His eyes flashed, and he almost shouted,—

“Liar! Quetzal’ may come to-morrow, but it will be as friend. There is no curse!”

The paba humbled himself before the speaker, and said, slowly and tearfully, “The wise king is blinded by his hope. When Quetzal’ finished this chapter, his task was done; he had recorded the last day of perfect glory, and ceased to write because, Azatlan being now to perish, there was nothing more to record. O unhappy king! that is the curse, and it needed no writing!”

Montezuma shook with passion.

“Lead me hence, lead me hence!” he cried. “I will watch; and if Quetzal’ comes not on the morrow,—comes not during the celebration,—I swear to level this temple, and let the lake into its chambers! And you, paba though you be, I will drown you like a slave! Lead on!”

Mualox obeyed without a word. Lamp in hand, he led his visitors from the splendid chamber up to the azoteas of the ancient house. As they descended the eastern steps, he knelt, and kissed the pavement.

CHAPTER VIII.

A BUSINESS MAN IN TENOCHTITLAN

Xoli, the Chalcan, was supposed to be the richest citizen, exclusive of the nobles, in Tenochtitlan. Amongst other properties, he owned a house on the eastern side of the Tlateloco tianguez, or market-place; which, whether considered architecturally, or with reference to the business to which it was devoted, or as the device of an unassoilzied heathen, was certainly very remarkable. Its portico had six great columns of white marble alternating six others of green porphyry, with a roof guarded by a parapet intricately and tastefully carved; while cushioned lounges, heavy curtains festooned and flashing with cochineal, and a fountain of water pure enough for the draught of a king, all within the columns, perfected it as a retreat from the sultry summer sun.

The house thus elegantly garnished was not a meson, or a café, or a theatre, or a broker’s office; but rather a combination of them all, and therefore divided into many apartments; of which one was for the sale of beverages favorite among the wealthy and noble Aztecs,—Bacchic inventions, with pulque for chief staple, since it had the sanction of antiquity and was mildly intoxicating; another was a restaurant, where the cuisine was only excelled at the royal table; indeed, there was a story abroad that the king had several times borrowed the services of the Chalcan’s artistes; but, whether derived from the master or his slaves, the shrewd reader will conclude from it, that the science of advertising was known and practised as well in Tenochtitlan as in Madrid. Nor were those all. Under the same roof were rooms for the amusement of patrons,—for reading, smoking, and games; one in especial for a play of hazard called totoloque, then very popular, because a passion of Montezuma’s. Finally, as entertainments not prohibited by the teotuctli, a signal would, at any time, summon a minstrel, a juggler, or a dancing-girl. Hardly need I say that the establishment was successful. Always ringing with music, and of nights always resplendent with lamps, it was always overflowing with custom.

“So old Tepaja wanted you to be a merchant,” said the Chalcan, in his full, round voice, as, comfortably seated under the curtains of his portico, he smoked his pipe, and talked with our young friend, the Tihuancan.

“Yes. Now that he is old, he thinks war dangerous.”

“You mistake him, boy. He merely thinks with me, that there is something more real in wealth and many slaves. As he has grown older, he has grown wiser.”