Kitabı oku: «The Fair God; or, The Last of the 'Tzins»
NOTE BY THE AUTHOR
A personal experience, though ever so plainly told, is, generally speaking, more attractive to listeners and readers than fiction. A circumstance from the tongue or pen of one to whom it actually happened, or who was its hero or victim, or even its spectator, is always more interesting than if given second-hand. If the makers of history, contradistinguished from its writers, could teach it to us directly, one telling would suffice to secure our lasting remembrance. The reason is, that the narrative so proceeding derives a personality and reality not otherwise attainable, which assist in making way to our imagination and the sources of our sympathy.
With this theory or bit of philosophy in mind, when the annexed book was resolved upon, I judged best to assume the character of a translator, which would enable me to write in the style and spirit of one who not merely lived at the time of the occurrences woven in the text, but was acquainted with many of the historical personages who figure therein, and was a native of the beautiful valley in which the story is located. Thinking to make the descriptions yet more real, and therefore more impressive, I took the liberty of attributing the composition to a literator who, whatever may be thought of his works, was not himself a fiction. Without meaning to insinuate that The Fair God would have been the worse for creation by Don Fernando de Alva, the Tezcucan, I wish merely to say that it is not a translation. Having been so written, however, now that publication is at hand, change is impossible; hence, nothing is omitted,—title-page, introductory, and conclusion are given to the reader exactly as they were brought to the publisher by the author.
L.W.
Boston Mass. August 8, 1873.
INTRODUCTORY
Fernando De Alva,1 a noble Tezcucan, flourished, we are told, in the beginning of the sixteenth century. He was a man of great learning, familiar with the Mexican and Spanish languages, and the hieroglyphics of Anahuac. Ambitious to rescue his race from oblivion, and inspired by love of learning, he collected a library, availed himself of his knowledge of picture-writing, became master of the songs and traditions, and, in the Castilian language, composed books of merit.
It was scarcely possible that his labors should escape the researches of Mr. Prescott, who, with such incomparable genius, has given the world a history of the Conquest of Mexico. From him we have a criticism upon the labors of the learned Fernando, from which the following paragraph is extracted.
“Iztlilzochitl’s writings have many of the defects belonging to his age. He often crowds the page with incidents of a trivial and sometimes improbable character. The improbability increases with the distance of the period; for distance, which diminishes objects to the natural eye, exaggerates them to the mental. His chronology, as I have more than once noticed, is inextricably entangled. He has often lent a too willing ear to traditions and reports which would startle the more sceptical criticism of the present time. Yet there is an appearance of good faith and simplicity in his writings, which may convince the reader that, when he errs, it is from no worse cause than the national partiality. And surely such partiality is excusable in the descendant of a proud line, shorn of its ancient splendors, which it was soothing to his own feelings to revive again—though with something more than their legitimate lustre—on the canvas of history. It should also be considered that, if his narrative is sometimes startling, his researches penetrate into the mysterious depths of antiquity, where light and darkness meet and melt into each other; and where everything is still further liable to distortion, as seen through the misty medium of hieroglyphics.”
Besides his Relaciones and Historia Chichemeca, De Alva composed works of a lighter nature, though equally based upon history. Some were lost; others fell into the hands of persons ignorant of their value; a few only were rescued and given to the press. For a considerable period he served as interpreter to the Spanish Viceroy. His duties as such were trifling; he had ample time for literary pursuits; his enthusiasm as a scholar permitted him no relaxation or idleness. Thus favored, it is believed he composed the books now for the first time given to the world.
The MSS. were found among a heap of old despatches from the Viceroy Mendoza to the Emperor. It is quite probable that they became mixed with the State papers through accident; if, however, they were purposely addressed to His Majesty, it must have been to give him a completer idea of the Aztecan people and their civilization, or to lighten the burthens of royalty by an amusement to which, it is known, Charles V. was not averse. Besides, Mendoza, in his difficulty with the Marquess of the Valley (Cortes), failed not to avail himself of every means likely to propitiate his cause with the court, and especially with the Royal Council of the Indies. It is not altogether improbable, therefore, that the MSS. were forwarded for the entertainment of the members of the Council and the lordly personages of the Court, who not only devoured with avidity, but, as the wily Mendoza well knew, were vastly obliged for, everything relative to the New World, and particularly the dazzling conquest of Mexico.
In the translation, certain liberties have been taken, for which, if wrong has been done, pardon is besought both from the public and the shade of the author. Thus, The Books in the original are unbroken narratives; but, with infinite care and trouble, they have all been brought out of the confusion, and arranged into chapters. So, there were names, some of which have been altogether changed; while others, for the sake of euphony, have been abbreviated, though without sacrificing the identity of the heroes who wore them so proudly.
And thus beginneth the First Book.
BOOK ONE
CHAPTER I.
OUR MOTHER HAS A FORTUNE WAITING US YONDER
The Spanish Calendar is simpler than the Aztecan. In fact, Christian methods, of whatever nature, are better than heathen.
So, then, by the Spanish Calendar, March, 1519, had about half spent itself in the valley of Anahuac, which was as yet untrodden by gold-seeker, with cross-hilted sword at his side, and on his lips a Catholic oath. Near noon of one of its fairest days a traveller came descending the western slope of the Sierra de Ahualco. Since the dawn his path had been amongst hills and crags; at times traversing bald rocks that towered to where the winds blew chill, then dipping into warm valleys, where were grass, flowers, and streamlets, and sometimes forests of cedar and fir,—labyrinths in which there reigned a perpetual twilight.
Toilsome as was the way, the traveller, young and strong, marched lightly. His dress, of the kind prevalent in his country, was provincial, and with few signs of rank. He had sandals of buffalo-hide, fitted for climbing rocks and threading pathless woods; a sort of white tunic, covering his body from the neck to the knees, leaving bare the arms from the shoulder; maxtlatl and tilmatli—sash and mantle—of cotton, blue tinted, and void of ornament; on the wrist of his left arm he wore a substantial golden bracelet, and in both ears jewelled pendants; while an ebony band, encircling his head, kept his straight black locks in place, and permitted a snow-white bird’s-wing for decoration. There was a shield on his left arm, framed of wood, and covered with padded cloth, and in the left hand a javelin barbed with ’itzli; at his back swung a maquahuitl, and a quiver filled with arrows; an unstrung bow in his right hand completed his equipments, and served him in lieu of staff. An ocelot, trudging stealthily behind him, was his sole companion.
In the course of his journey he came to a crag that sank bluffly down several hundred feet, commanding a fine prospect. Though the air was cold, he halted. Away to the northwest stretched the beautiful valley of Anahuac, dotted with hamlets and farm-houses, and marked with the silver tracery of streams. Far across the plain, he caught a view of the fresh waters of Lake Chalco, and beyond that, blue in the distance and faintly relieved against the sky, the royal hill of Chapultepec, with its palaces and cypress forests. In all the New World there was no scene comparable with that he looked upon,—none its rival for beauty, none where the heavens seemed so perfectly melted into earth. There were the most renowned cities of the Empire; from that plain went the armies whose marches were all triumphs; in that air hovered the gods awaiting sacrifices; into that sky rose the smoke of the inextinguishable fires; there shone the brightest suns, and lingered the longest summers; and yonder dwelt that king—in youth a priest, then a warrior, now the terror of all nations—whose signet on the hand of a slave could fill the land with rustling of banners.
No traveller, I ween, could look unmoved on the picture; ours sat down, and gazed with brimful eyes and a beating heart. For the first time he was beholding the matchless vale so overhung with loveliness and full of the monuments of a strange civilization. So rapt was he that he did not observe the ocelot come and lay its head in his lap, like a dog seeking caresses. “Come, boy!” he said, at last rousing himself; “let us on. Our Mother2 has a fortune waiting us yonder.”
And they resumed the journey. Half an hour’s brisk walk brought them to the foot of the mountain. Suddenly they came upon company.
It was on the bank of a considerable stream, which, pouring in noisy torrent over a rocky bed, appeared to rush with a song forward into the valley. A clump of giant oaks shaded a level sward. Under them a crowd of tamanes,3 tawny, half-clad, broad-shouldered men, devoured loaves of cold maize bread. Near the roots of the trees their masters reclined comfortably on petates, or mats, without which an Aztec trader’s outfit was incomplete. Our traveller understood at a glance the character of the strangers; so that, as his road led directly to them, he went on without hesitation. As he came near, some of them sat up to observe him.
“A warrior going to the city,” said one.
“Or rather a king’s courier,” suggested another.
“Is not that an ocelot at his heels?” asked a third.
“That it is. Bring me my javelin!”
“And mine! And mine!” cried several of them at once, all springing to their feet.
By the time the young man came up, the whole party stood ready to give him an armed welcome.
I am very sorry to have disturbed you,” he said, quietly finding himself obliged to stop.
“You seem friendly enough,” answered one of the older men; “but your comrade there,—what of him?”
The traveller smiled. “See, he is muzzled.”
The party laughed at their own fears. The old merchant, however, stepped forward to the young stranger.
“I confess you have greatly relieved me. I feared the brute might set on and wound somebody. Come up, and sit down with us.”
The traveller was nowise disinclined, being tempted by the prospect of cheer from the provision-baskets lying around.
“Bring a mat for the warrior,” said the friendly trader. “Now give him bread and meat.”
From an abundance of bread, fowl, and fruit the wayfarer helped himself. A running conversation was meantime maintained.
“My ocelot? The story is simple; for your sakes, good friends, I wish it were better. I killed his mother, and took him when a whelp. Now he does me good service hunting. You should see him in pursuit of an antelope!”
“Then you are not a warrior?”
“To be a warrior,” replied the hunter, modestly, “is to have been in many battles, and taken many captives. I have practised arms, and, at times, boasted of skill,—foolishly, perhaps; yet, I confess, I never marched a day under the banner of the great king.”
“Ah!” said the old man, quizzically, “I understand you. You have served some free-trading company like our own.”
“You are shrewd. My father is a merchant. At times he has travelled with strong trains, and even attacked cities that have refused him admission to their market.”
“Indeed! He must be of renown. In what province does he live, my son?”
“In Tihuanco.”
“Tepaja! old Tepaja, of Tihuanco! Are you son of his?” The good man grasped the young one’s hand enthusiastically. “I knew him well; many years ago we were as brothers together; we travelled and traded through many provinces. That was the day of the elder Montezuma, when the Empire was not as large as now; when, in fact, most gates were closed against us, because our king was an Aztec, and we had to storm a town, then turn its square into a market for the sale of our wares. Sometimes we marched an army, each of us carrying a thousand slaves; and yet our tasks were not always easy. I remember once, down on the bank of the Great River, we were beaten back from a walled town, and succeeded only after a four days’ fight. Ah, but we made it win! We led three thousand slaves back to Tenochtitlan, besides five hundred captives,—a present for the gods.”
So the merchant talked until the hunger of his new acquaintance was appeased; then he offered a pipe, which was declined.
“I am fond of a pipe after a good meal; and this one has been worthy a king. But now I have no leisure for the luxury; the city to which I am bound is too far ahead of me.”
“If it is your first visit, you are right. Fail not to be there before the market closes. Such a sight never gladdened your dreams!”
“So I have heard my father say.”
“O, it never was as it will be to-night! The roads for days have been thronged with visitors going up in processions.”
“What is the occasion?”
“Why, to-morrow is the celebration of Quetzal’! Certainly, my son, you have heard the prophecies concerning that god.”
“In rumors only. I believe he was to return to Anahuac.”
“Well, the story is long, and you are in a hurry. We also are going to the city, but will halt our slaves at Iztapalapan for the night, and cross the causeway before the sun to-morrow. If you care to keep us company, we will start at once; on the way I will tell you a few things that may not be unacceptable.”
“I see,” said the hunter, pleasantly, “I have reason to be proud of my father’s good report. Certainly, I will go a distance with you at least, and thank you for information. To speak frankly, I am seeking my fortune.”
The merchant spoke to his companions, and raising a huge conch-shell to his mouth, blew a blast that started every slave to his feet. For a few minutes all was commotion. The mats were rolled up, and, with the provision-baskets, slung upon broad shoulders; each tamane resumed his load of wares, and took his place; those armed put themselves, with their masters, at the head; and at another peal from the shell all set forward. The column, if such it may be called, was long, and not without a certain picturesqueness as it crossed the stream, and entered a tract covered with tall trees, amongst which the palm was strangely intermingled with the oak and the cypress. The whole valley, from the lake to the mountains, was irrigated, and under cultivation. Full of wonder, the hunter marched beside the merchant.
CHAPTER II.
QUETZAL’, THE FAIR GOD
“I was speaking about Quetzal’, I believe,” said the old man, when all were fairly on the way. “His real name was Quetzalcoatl.4 He was a wonderfully kind god, who, many ages ago, came into the valley here, and dwelt awhile. The people were then rude and savage; but he taught them agriculture, and other arts, of which you will see signs as we get on. He changed the manners and customs; while he stayed, famine was unknown; the harvests were abundant, and happiness universal. Above all, he taught the princes wisdom in their government. If to-day the Aztec Empire is the strongest in the world, it is owing to Quetzal’. Where he came from, or how long he stayed, is not known. The people and their governors after a time proved ungrateful, and banished him; they also overthrew his religion, and set up idols again, and sacrificed men, both of which he had prohibited. Driven away, he went to Cholula; thence to the sea-coast, where, it is said, he built him a canoe of serpent-skins, and departed for Tlapallan, a heaven lying somewhere toward the rising sun. But before he went, he promised to return some day, and wrest away the Empire and restore his own religion. In appearance he was not like our race; his skin was white, his hair long and wavy and black. He is said to have been wise as a god, and more beautiful than men. Such is his history; and, as the prophecy has it, the time of his return is at hand. The king and Tlalac, the teotuctli,5 are looking for him; they expect him every hour, and, they say, live in continued dread of him. Wishing to propitiate him, they have called the people together, and celebrate to-morrow, with sacrifices and combats and more pomp than was ever seen before, not excepting the time of the king’s coronation.”
The hunter listened closely, and at the conclusion said, “Thank you, uncle. Tell me now of the combats.”
“Yes. In the days of the first kings it was the custom to go into the temples, choose the bravest warriors there set apart for sacrifice, bring them into the tianguez, and make them do battle in the presence of the people. If they conquered, they were set free and sent home with presents.”6
“With whom did they combat?”
“True enough, my son. The fight was deemed a point of honor amongst the Aztecs, and the best of them volunteered. Indeed, those were royal times! Of late, I am sorry to say, the custom of which I was speaking has been neglected, but to-morrow it is to be revived. The scene will be very grand. The king and all the nobles will be there.”
The description excited the listener’s fancy, and he said, with flushed cheeks, “I would not lose the chance for the world. Can you tell me who of the Aztecs will combat?”
“In the city we could easily find out; but you must recollect I am going home after a long absence. The shields of the combatants are always exhibited in the tianguez the evening before the day of the fight. In that way the public are notified beforehand of those who take the field. As the city is full of caciques, you may be assured our champions will be noble.”
“Thank you again, uncle. And now, as one looking for service, like myself, is anxious to know with whom to engage, tell me of the caciques and chiefs.”
“Then you intend entering the army?”
“Well, yes. I am tired of hunting; and though trading is honorable, I have no taste for it.”
The merchant, as if deliberating, took out a box of snuff and helped himself; and then he replied,—
“The caciques are very numerous; in no former reign, probably, were there so many of ability and renown. With some of them I have personal acquaintance; others I know only by sight or reputation. You had better mention those of whom you have been thinking.”
“Well,” said the hunter, “there is Iztlil’, the Tezcucan.”7
“Do not think of him, I pray you!” And the good man spoke earnestly. “He is brave as any, and perhaps as skilful, but proud, haughty, soured, and treacherous. Everybody fears him. I suppose you have heard of his father.”
“You mean the wise ’Hualpilli?”
“Yes. Upon his death, not long since, Iztlil’ denied his brother’s right to the Tezcucan throne. There was a quarrel which would have ended in blood, had not Montezuma interfered, and given the city to Cacama, and all the northern part of the province to Iztlil’. Since that, the latter has been discontented with the great king. So, I say again, do not think of him, unless you are careless about honor.”
“Then what of Cacama?8 Tezcuco is a goodly city.”
“He has courage, but is too effeminate to be a great warrior. A garden and a soft couch delight him more than camps, and dancing women better than fighting men. You might grow rich with him, but not renowned. Look elsewhere.”
“Then there is the lord Cuitlahua.”9
“The king’s brother, and governor of Iztapalapan!” said the merchant, promptly. “Some have thought him better qualified for Chapultepec than Montezuma, but it is not wise to say so. His people are prosperous, and he has the most beautiful gardens in the world; unlike Cacama, he cares nothing for them, when there is a field to be fought. Considering his influence at court and his love of war, you would do well to bear shield for him; but, on the other hand, he is old. Were I in your place, my son, I would attach myself to some young man.”
“That brings me to Maxtla, the Tesoyucan.”
“I know him only by repute. With scarcely a beard, he is chief of the king’s guard. There was never anything like his fortune. Listen now, I will tell you a secret which may be of value to you some time. The king is not as young as he used to be by quite forty summers.”
The hunter smiled at the caution with which the old man spoke of the monarch.
“You see,” the speaker continued, “time and palace life have changed him: he no longer leads the armies; his days are passed in the temples with the priests, or in the gardens with his women, of whom there are several hundreds; his most active amusement now is to cross the lake to his forests, and kill birds and rabbits by blowing little arrows at them through a reed. Thus changed, you can very well understand how he can be amused by songs and wit, and make favorites of those who best lighten his hours of satiety and indolence. In that way Maxtla rose,—a marvellous courtier, but a very common soldier.”
The description amused the young man, but he said gravely, “You have spoken wisely, uncle, and I am satisfied you know the men well. Really, I had no intention of entering the suite of either of them: they are not of my ideal; but there is a cacique, if reports are to be credited, beyond all exception,—learned and brave, honored alike by high and low.”
“Ah! you need not name him to me. I know him, as who does not?” And now the merchant spoke warmly. “A nobler than Guatamozin,10—or, as he is more commonly called, the ’tzin Guatamo—never dwelt in Anahuac. He is the people’s friend, and the Empire’s hope. His valor and wisdom,—ah, you should see him, my son! Such a face! His manner is so full of sweet dignity! But I will give you other evidence.”
He clapped his hands three times, and a soldier sprang forward at the signal.
“Do you know the ’tzin Guatamo?” asked the merchant.
“I am an humble soldier, my master, and the ’tzin is the great king’s nephew; but I know him. When he was only a boy, I served under him in Tlascala. He is the best chief in Anahuac.”
“That will do.”
The man retired.
“So I might call up my tamanes,” the merchant resumed, “and not one but would speak of him in the same way.”
“Strange!” said the Tihuancan, in a low tone.
“No; if you allude to his popularity, it is not strange: if you mean the man himself, you are right. The gods seldom give the qualities that belong to him. He is more learned than Tlalac or the king; he is generous as becomes a prince; in action he is a hero. You have probably heard of the Tlascalan wall in the eastern valley;11 few warriors ever passed it and lived; yet he did so when almost a boy. I myself have seen him send an arrow to the heart of an eagle in its flight. He has a palace and garden in Iztapalapan; in one of the halls stand the figures of three kings, two of Michuaca, and one of the Ottomies. He took them prisoners in battle, and now they hold torches at his feasts.”
“Enough, enough!” cried the hunter. “I have been dreaming of him while among the hills. I want no better leader.”
The merchant cast an admiring glance at his beaming countenance, and said, “You are right; enter his service.”
In such manner the conversation was continued, until the sun fast declined towards the western mountains. Meantime, they had passed through several hamlets and considerable towns. In nearly the whole progress, the way on either hand had been lined with plantations. Besides the presence of a busy, thriving population, they everywhere saw evidences of a cultivation and science, constituting the real superiority of the Aztecs over their neighbors. The country was thus preparing the stranger for the city, unrivalled in splendor and beauty. Casting a look toward the sun, he at length said, “Uncle, I have much to thank you for,—you and your friends. But it is growing late, and I must hurry on, if I would see the tianguez before the market closes.”
“Very well,” returned the old trader. “We will be in the city to-morrow. The gods go with you!”
Whistling to his ocelot, the adventurer quickened his pace, and was soon far in the advance.
