The review, division, and minute organization of
the vast army now at the disposal of the Captain-General,
occupied nearly the whole day, which was
unexpectedly propitious, as the rainy season might
be said to have already commenced. Clouds, indeed,
gathered over the sky, in the afternoon,
giving a melancholy aspect to the hills and meadows;
and a thick fog rose from the lake and spread
around, until it had pervaded the lower grounds
on its borders. Yet not a drop of rain fell during
the whole day, and, by sunset, the clouds dispersed,
without having disturbed the firmament with thunder;
and the lake was left to glimmer in the light
of a young moon, and the multitude of stars.

The whole native population of Tezcuco had
been drawn to the meadows, to witness the glories
of military parade, and the city was deserted and
solitary. Nay, even the watchmen on the walls,
forgetting the audacious assault of the past night,
and anxious to share a spectacle from which their
duties should have separated them, stole, one after
another, from their posts, until the northern gates
were left wholly unguarded. The vanity of the
Commander-in-Chief could not permit the absence
of a single effective Spaniard from the scene of display,
and the walls had been left to Tlascalans.

Late in the afternoon, and when the mists were
thickest, and the hues of the fields most mournful,
a single individual passed from that gate at which
Juan Lerma, eight or nine weeks before, had

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

terminated the first chapter of his exile. A friar's
cassock and cowl enveloped his whole form, yet the
dullest eye would have detected in the vigour and
impetuosity of his step, the presence of passions
which could not belong to the holy profession. His
eye was fixed upon a shadowy figure, almost lost
among the mists, that went staggering along, as if
upon a course not yet defined, or over paths difficult
to be traced; and while he was obviously
watching and pursuing the retreating shape, it
seemed to be with a confidence that feared not the
observation of the fugitive. Thus, when the figure
paused, he arrested his steps, and resumed them
only when they were resumed by the other; and,
in this manner, he followed onwards, with little
precaution, until Tezcuco was left far behind, hidden
in the fog. As he moved, he muttered many
expressions, indicative of a deeply disturbed and
even remorseful mind.

“All this have I done,” he exclaimed, bitterly,
and almost wildly. “Mine own sin, though black
as the soot of perdition, is stained a triple dye by
the malefactions it has caused in others—Mea culpa,
mea culpa, mea maxima culpa! Cursed avarice!
cursed ambition! There is a retribution that follows
us even to the grave; sin is punished with sin,—
the first fault lays fire to the train of our vices, and
in their explosions we are further stained,—punished,
destroyed. That sin! and what has come of
it? Where is the gain to balance it? Cajoled
by the demon that seduced me, cheated and flung
aside—suspected, degraded, demoralized—a wanderer,
a villain, a cur—the friend of rogues, and
myself their fittest fellow—Heaven is strong, and
justice oppressive.—Munda cor meum ac labia
mea! for I blaspheme!”

Thus muttered the distracted Camarga, for it was
he who gave vent to such troubled expressions.
Some of these were uttered so loudly, that they

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

seemed to reach the ear of the fugitive, who turned
round, looked back for a moment, and then diving
into a misty hollow, was for a short time concealed
from his eyes.

“Ay,—fly, fly!” he muttered, gnashing his teeth;
“fly, wretch, fly! But wert thou fleeter than the
mountain-deer, thou couldst not escape the fiend
that is already tearing at thy vitals. Fling thyself
into the lake, too, and after death, open thine eyes
upon a phantom of horror, that will sit before thee
for ever!”

Then pursuing with greater activity, he again
caught sight of the fugitive, who was ascending the
little promontory of the cypress-tree, on which Juan
Lerma had first beheld the faces of his countrymen.

“And Hernan Cortes will yet have me speak the
story!” he murmured. “Be it so—live she or die
she, he shall hear it, and curse the curiosity that
compelled it. Ay! and his anguish will be some
set-off to the joy of having triumphed over the poor
wretch he persecuted. God rest thee, Juan Lerma!
for thou at least hast died in ignorance; and but
for this mischance,—this fatal mischance,—hadst
been worthy of a better fate, and therefore saved
from destruction.”

As he uttered these broken words, he perceived
La Monjonaza,—for it was this unhappy creature
whom he followed,—steal over the mound to the
right hand, as if turning her steps from the lake
landward. But being aware that she had beheld
him, and suspecting this to be merely a feint, designed
to mislead him, he directed his course to the
water-side, and stepping among the rocks and
brambles at the base of the hill, passed it in time to
behold Magdalena stalking, with a countenance of
distraction, towards the lake, as if impelled by
some terrible goadings of mind, to self-destruction.

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

“Wretched creature!” he cried, springing forwards,
and staying her frenzied steps, “what is
this you do? Fling not away the grace that is in
wait.—You, at least, may live and be forgiven.”

To his great surprise, the unhappy girl, whose
countenance had indicated all the iron determination
of desperation, offered not the slightest resistance,
while he drew her from the water-side; but
turning towards him with the face of a maiden detected
in some merry and harmless mischief, she
began to laugh; but immediately afterwards, burst
into tears.

“Good heavens!” said Camarga, with compassion,
“are you indeed brought to this pass? What! the
mind that even amazed Don Hernan—is it gone?
wholly gone? Miserable Magdalena! this is the
fruit of sin!”

At the sound of a name, so seldom pronounced
in these lands, the lady rose from the rock, on
which she had suffered herself to be seated, although
it was observable that she showed no symptoms of
surprise. She gazed fixedly at Camarga for an instant,
and a dark frown gathering on her brows,
she turned to depart, without reply. Camarga,
however, detained her, and would have spoken;
but no sooner did she feel his hand laid upon her
mantle than she turned suddenly round, with a look
of inexpressible fierceness, saying with the sternest
accents of a voice always strikingly expressive,

“Who art thou, that comest between me and my
purpose? If a priest or an angel, fly,—for here thou
art with contamination; if a man, and a bad man,
still fly, lest thou be struck dead with the breath of
one deeper plunged in guilt than thyself.—If a devil,
then remain, and claim thy prey from the apostate
and murderess. Dost thou forbid me even to die?”

“Ay—I do,” replied Camarga, trembling, yet less

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

at her terrible countenance than her fearful expressions:
“I am one who, in the name of heaven,—a
name which is alike polluted in thy mouth and in
mine—command thee to recall thy senses, if they
have not utterly fled, and bid thee, thinking of self-slaughter
no longer, leave this land of wretchedness,
and, in a cloister, and with a life of penitence,
obtain the pardon which heaven will not perhaps
withhold.”

“Pardon comes not without punishment,” said
Magdalena, sternly; “and I would not that it
should: and for penitence,—the moaning regret
that exists without torture and suffering,—know
that it is but a mockery. Kill thy friend, and repent,—
yet dream not of paradise. Scourge thyself,
die on the rack or gibbet, and await thy fate
in the grave. Begone; or rest where thou art, and
follow me no more.”

“Till thou die, or till thou art lodged within the
walls of a convent,” said Camarga, grasping her
arm with a strength and determination she could
not resist: “thus far will I follow thee, rave thou
never so much. Oh, wretched creature! and wert
thou about to rush into the presence of thy Maker,
unshriven, unrepenting, unprepared?”

Magdalena surveyed him with a look that changed
gradually from anger to wistful emotion; and
then again shedding tears, she dropped on her
knees, saying, with a tone and manner that went
to his heart,

“I will shrive me then, and then let me go, for
thy presence persecutes me.—Well, and perhaps it
is better; for it is long since I have looked upon a
man of God—long since I have spoken with any
just Christian but one,—and him I have given up
to the murderers. Hear me then, and then absolve
or condemn as thou wilt, for I judge myself;
and I confess to thee, only that my words may drive

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

thee away, as would the moans of a coming pestilence.
Hear me then, friar, and then begone from
me.”

“Arise,” said Camarga, “I seek not thy confession,
at least not now: I have that will draw it
from thee, at a fitter time and place. In this distant
spot, thou art exposed to danger from the infidels.”

“If thou fearest them, away! Why dost thou
trouble me! If thou stayest, listen to my words;
for though they come too late, yet will they cause
thee to do justice to the name, and say masses for
the soul, of Juan Lerma.”

“Speak of Juan Lerma,” said Camarga, with a
trembling voice, “and I will indeed listen to thee.
In nomine Dei Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,
speak and speak truly. Cursed be thou, even by
my lips, if thou speakest that which is false, or concealest
aught that is true!”

“Truth, though I die,—and let me die when it
is spoken,” said Magdalena, placing her lips with
the instinctive reverence of habit to the cross
which Camarga extended. As she kissed it, her
heart seemed to soften, and she shed many bitter
tears, while pouring forth her broken and melancholy
story.

“Know, father,” she said, not once doubting that
she had a true father of the church before her, “that
it was my misfortune never to have known the
kindness and care of a parent.”

“Let that be passed,” said Camarga, hurriedly.
“Speak not of the sins of thy youth, a thousand
times confessed, and a thousand times absolved.
Speak of thy coming to the island,—of thy broken
vows,—thy—” But here perceiving that Magdalena
started with a sort of affright, at finding how
far his knowledge had anticipated her divulgements,
he continued, with better discretion, “Thus much

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

do I know—how I know, ask not; and yet thou
mayst be told, too, that much of thy fate was interwoven
with that of Villafana.”

“My fate, and that of Villafana!” cried Magdalena,
with a withering look of contempt. But instantly
changing to a more submissive air, she
exclaimed, “My story, indeed, father, but not my
fate. If he have confessed to you, then do you
know enough,—perhaps all. He told you, then,
that his avarice, gratified at the expense of a horrible
crime,—the destruction of the ship, and the
lives of all within it, abbess, nuns, sailors, and all,—
was the cause of all my calamities, since it was
my hard fate not to perish with the rest. He robbed
the ship of the golden and silver church-vessels,
when we were near to the port, and made his
escape to the shore, leaving us to sink in the
midst of a storm then rising. Our pilot having no
hope but in running upon the shore, then within
sight, ran the vessel among certain rocks, where
it was beaten to pieces. Father, it chanced to be
my fate, and mine alone, to be plucked out of that
roaring sea, by one to whom, when lying in a gulf
ten times more hideous, I refused to stretch out my
hand. Father! last night a word from my lips
would have saved the life of Juan Lerma, and I
did not speak it!”

“Dwell not on this,” said Camarga, sternly.
“Rather thank heaven that thou wert rendered
unable by any exercise of criminal love, to preserve
on the earth's surface a wretch, at whose
footstep it shuddered.”

“Hah!” cried Magdalena, starting up in a
transport of indignation, and sending daggers from
her eyes, “who art thou, that speakest so falsely
and foully of Juan Lerma? Wert thou, instead of
a pattering friar, a canonized saint in heaven, still

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

wert thou but a thing of dross and earth, compared
with him thou malignest!”

Before Camarga could rebuke this burst of passion,
she sank, as before, to the earth, weeping
afresh; for she was in that pitiable state of mental
feebleness, in which life seems only to continue in
impulses,—a chain of convulsions and exhaustions.
“Alas, father,” she continued, with sobs, “you
have been taught, like the rest, to misconceive and
belie the best and most unfortunate of men;—for
such is Juan Lerma;—and you have perhaps joined
with the rest to compass his destruction. Has he
wronged you? no—you have imagined a wrong.
Has he wronged Cortes? no—he has wronged no
one; but the ear of Cortes was open to his enemies.
Hear me, father, and while you condemn
me, listen to the refutation of slander. Father,
when I opened mine eyes to the light, and in the
presence of him who had saved me, I forgot my
vows; nay, I thought that heaven had absolved
them in the wreck, and ordained that I should be
happy in a new existence. Never before had I
looked upon the world, and the people of the world,—
never before had I looked upon Juan Lerma.
When had I seen one smile upon me with affection?
Father, for a second such smile, I would
have moaned again on the wreck, seeing my companions
swept from me one by one. I grew cunning
and deceitful, and when they asked me of the
ship and people, I told them falsehoods, lest they
should bring me the veil and the priest, and carry
me from his presence. Alas! and my deceit
availed not; he smiled no more; and when
Hilario spoke of affection—affection for me,—Juan
Lerma withdrew without a sigh, without a struggle.”

“Saints of heaven!” cried Camarga, starting
with horror, gasping for breath, and, in the sense

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

of suffocation, forgetting his assumed character so
much as to fling back the cowl that had concealed
his features. “Dost thou speak me the truth?
On thy life,—on thy hopes of heaven's forgiveness,—
on thy love even for this lost, perhaps this dead,
youth,—I charge thee speak me the truth. Went
there no more than this between you? And Juan
Lerma loved you not? and Villafana belied ye
both? And you are not—”

He paused in agitation, unable to utter another
word; and Magdalena, surprised as much at his
extraordinary interest in her story, as well as
confounded by the absence of the tonsure, and
the glittering of an iron gorget about his throat,
seemed for a moment unable to answer his questions.
But summoning her spirits at last, she
said,

“Thou art not a priest, but a layman, a stranger,
and a man of sin! But be who thou wilt, friend or
foe, thou knowest now enough of my history to be
entitled to know all. Never did man couple my
name with shame, and think of any but him who
died under the dagger of Villafana. As for Juan
Lerma, not even Cortes, his bitterest enemy, would
dare accuse him of a deed of dishonour. Stranger,
if thou art interested in the betrayed and murdered
Juan, know at least that he died innocent of any
wrong to Magdalena.”

“Now God be praised for this good word!” said
Camarga, dropping on his knees, and speaking with
what seemed a distraction of fervour and delight:
“God be praised that I may not think, at my death-hour,
that my sins have caused among my children
the crime of incest! God be praised! God be
praised!”

“Incest! Thy children!” exclaimed Magdalena,
wildly. “What art thou? What is this thou
sayst?”

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

“What do I say? and why need I say it?” cried
Camarga, springing up and wringing his hands—
“have we not slain him among us? Oh, wretched
Magdalena, if, by thine influence, he was brought
to this pass, know that thou hast slain thine own
brother!”

At this strange and exciting revelation, Magdalena,
who had, in the ecstacy of expectation, seized
upon Camarga's hands with a convulsive grasp, uttered
a scream, wild, loud, and thrilling, and yet how
unlike to that which rose from her breaking heart in
the prison! It was some such cry as might be supposed
to come from a despairing Christian, who finds
that the gates, which he thinks are conducting him
to hell, have suddenly ushered him into the walks of
paradise. It mingled fear and astonishment with
joy, but joy predominant over the others; and
though it sounded as if coming from a bursting
heart, it was as if from one bursting in the over-bound
and expansion of a breast released from a
mountain of oppression. It echoed over the lake,
and seemed to have called up the spirits thereof;
for before its last hysterical echo had vibrated on
the ear, there sprang up, as if they had risen from
the earth or the waters, six or seven athletic barbarians,
flourishing heavy macanas, who rushed
at once upon the pair.

At the sight of such unexpected and formidable
antagonists, though taken entirely by surprise, Camarga
snatched his concealed sword from the scabbard,
leaped with great intrepidity betwixt Magdalena
and the nearest savage, who seemed the
leader of the party, and made a blow at him, while
calling to her,

“Fly! fly! and tell Cortes that thy brother—”
But his lips finished not the sentence. Whether it
was that he was rendered helpless by long continued
disease, was embarrassed by the friar's

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

cassock, or was really unskilful in the use of weapons,
it is certain that his blade dropped harmless on the
macana of the warrior. Before he could recover
his guard, the battle-axe of the Mexican fell upon
his head with deadly violence, and he rolled, to all
appearance a dying man, on the ground.

At the same instant, another warrior clutched
upon Magdalena, who, though pale as death, and
agitated by a long succession of passions, yet drew
the dagger she always carried at her girdle, and
aimed it at the breast of the infidel. Before it could
do him any harm, it was snatched out of her hand,
and she herself caught up as by the grasp of a giant,
in the arms of the leader, and hurried to the water.
In an instant more, she was placed in a piragua,
which her capturers drew from a reed-brake hard
by, and secured, though not rudely, beyond the
possibility of further resistance, among the infidels.
They caught up their paddles, uttered a wild yell,
and the next moment dashed from the shore, and
were hidden among the mists of the lake.

CHAPTER VII.

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

Are the refinements and delicate sensibilities of
the spirit confined to the highborn and polished?
They are undoubtedly the offspring of nature: Education
supplies their place only by the substitutes
of affectation. Though poverty may crush, though
wretchedness and evil habits may corrupt and extinguish
them, yet they throb in the breasts of the
lowly, during the days of youth, and are not always
banished even by the rigours of manhood.
They dwell under the painted lodge of the barbarian,
and they burn even in the heart of the benighted
heathen.

Let us fancy the moonlight streaming over the
lake of Tezcuco. The moon is in her first quarter,
and the evening-star, almost her rival in lustre and
magnitude, precedes her in the blue paths of the
west. The golden radiance of sunset trembles no
more on the mountain peaks; but the thin vapours
floating through the zenith, are yet gleaming faintly
with the last expiring glories of day. The birds
are at rest in the garden of Mexico,—all save the
little madrugadores, that yet chirp merrily in the
trees, and the centzontli, who leaves her ravishing
melody, to mock them with their own music, made
yet more musical. The breeze sleeps among the
boughs, or it stirs only through the poplar leaves,
and its rustling sound is mingled with the hum of a
thousand nocturnal insects. In such a night, one

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

forgets that man is not an angel. We see not the
frown of malevolence in the sky; we hear not the
step of the betrayer on the grass; nor does the dewdrop,
falling from the leaf, admonish us of the tears
that are streaming, hard by, in sorrow. In such a
night, the feelings of the kind are kindest, the
thoughts of the pure, purest; youth gathers about it
the mantle of hope, and hope whispers in the voice
of affection. At such a time, it is good to look into
the hearts of the youthful, and forget the excitements
of years. A draught from the waters of Clitorius
was fabled to extinguish the thirst for
wine.[4] He who can creep into the bosoms of the
young, and drink of the fountain of innocent affections,
will turn with loathing from the impure and
maddening currents, that convert the human family
into a race of moral Bacchanals.

Can we think that among the worshippers of
the ferocious Mexitli, and the fierce invaders of
his people, there were none with natures worthy of
a better belief, and a nobler cause? Destiny had
thrown together two, at least, whose spirits were
but little tainted with the evil of their place and
their day,—in whom, perhaps, feeling rather than
reason, had set a talisman that left them incorruptible.
A good heart is to man what the galvanic bar
of the philosopher was to the ship's copper-sheathing.
It gives this protection, at least, that, through
the whole voyage of life, it preserves the integrity
of the vessel. The barnacle and the remora will
indeed deaden its course, but the metal remains
clean and bright: the billows of the world waste
their corrosive powers only on the protector. Morality
itself is two-fold; it is of the head, and of the
heart. The first belongs to the philosopher, the

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

second to the poet. The one is an abstraction of
reason; the other an exhortation of passion. The
morality of the head is the only one that is just;
but it is loveliest and best when the heart enforces
its precepts. With good hearts, Juan Lerma and
the princess of Mexico, moved among the corruptions
of superstition, uncorrupted; and preserved
to themselves, unabated and unsullied, the pure
and gentle feelings, which nature had showered
upon them at their birth.

The moon, falling aslant upon the garden, lighted
the countenances of the young Spanish exile and
the orphan child of Montezuma, as they rested upon
the summit of a little artificial mound, ornamented
with carved stone seats and rude statuary, constructed
for the purpose of overlooking the walls.
The visage of the Christian was illumined by
pensive smiles, and his lips breathed gently and
fervently the accents that were sweetest to the ears
of the Indian maiden. But did he discourse of
worldly affection and passion to one so ignorant
and artless? A nobler spirit animated the youth.
He spoke of the faith of Christians, and laboured
with more than the zeal, though not perhaps with
the wisdom of the missionary, to impress its divine
truths upon the mind of his hearer. If his arguments
were somewhat less cogent and logical than
might have been spoken, it must be remembered
that his religion was like that which will perhaps
belong to the majority of Christians to the end of
the world,—a faith of the heart, which the head has
not been accustomed to canvass.

He directed her eyes to the moon, to the evening
star, and to those other celestial wanderers, by
which the heart of man was `secretly enticed,' even
before the days of the perfect man of Uz.

“They are the little bright heroes that hang down
from the house of Ometeuctli, king of the city of

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

heaven,” said the poor infidel,—“all save Meztli,” (the
moon) “who is the king of night, brother of Tonatricli,”
(the sun) “god of the burning day. This is
what they say of the two gods: There were men on
the earth, but wicked: the ancient gods, the sons
of Ipalnemoani killed them. Then Ometeuctli sent
forth from the city of heaven his sons, who descended
to Mictlan,—the dark hell,—by the road
that leads between the Fighting Mountains, and the
Eight Deserts,—and stole the bones of men, that
Mictlanteuctli had heaped up in his cavern. The
sons of Ometeuctli sprinkled the bones with their
blood; and these men lived again, and the sons of
Ometeuctli were their rulers and fathers. But the
earth was dark,—it was night over the world, and
the only light was the fire which they kindled and
kept burning in the vale of Teotihuacan. The sons
of Ometeuctli pitied the men they had revived; and,
to give them light, they burned themselves in the
fire. Ometeuctli, their father, then placed them in
the sky,—Tonatricli the first born, to be the sun,
Meztli to be the moon, and the others to be stars.
So they hang in heaven, turned to fire: and men
built pyramids to them, on the place of burning,
Micoatl, the Field of Death.[5] They are very good
gods, for they shine upon us.”

“Forget these idle fables,” said Juan, with a
gentleness much more judicious than any zeal
could have been. “Forget, too, Mexitli, Painalton,
Quetzalcoatl, Centeotl, and the thousand vain
beings of imagination, with which your priests have
peopled the world. Think only of the great Teotl,
whom you have called Ipalnemoani,—the great
God, the only God,—for there is no other than He,

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

and the rest are but fables. Yonder moon and
stars are not divinities, but great globes like this
on which we live; and to worship them is a sin—
it angers Ipalnemoani, who is the only God,—the
Creator,—whom all men worship, though under
different names. Worship but Ipalnemoani, and
in mode as I will tell thee, and thou art already
almost a Christian.”

“But is not Christ another god of the Spaniards?”
said the maiden, doubtfully.

“The Son of God, a portion of God, and God
himself,” replied the Christian, lanching at once
into all the theological metaphysics with which he
was acquainted, and succeeding in confounding the
mind of the poor barbarian, without being very sensible
of the confusion of his own. But if he could
not teach her how to distinguish between categories,
not reducible to order and consistency by the poor
aids of human language, he was able to interest her
in the fate and character of the divine Redeemer,
by no other means than that of relating his history.
And it is this, to which men must chiefly look for
instruction, belief, and renovation, without reference
to dogmas and creeds; for here all find the unanimity
of belief and feeling, which entitles them to
the claims of fraternity.

When Juan had excited her sympathy in the
character of the Messiah, he began to discourse
upon the object and the ends of his mission. But
unfortunately the doctrine of original sin, with
which he set out, had in it something extremely
repugnant to the rude ideas of the child of nature.
It inferred a native wickedness in all, to be banished
only by belief; and it seemed at once to place her
in an humble and degraded light, in the eyes of the
young Christian.

“What has Zelahualla done,” she said, with

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

maidenly pride, “that the king's brother should
make her out wicked?”

At this application of the doctrine, Juan was
somewhat staggered in his own belief. He looked
at the mild eyes of the catechumen, beaming as
from a spirit without stain and without guile, and
he said to himself, `How can this be? for she has
known no sin?' His imagination wandered among
the moral and religious precepts stored in his
memory, and settled at last with the triumph of a
controversialist, as well as the satisfaction of a
Christian, upon the first rules of the decalogue,—
broken in ignorance, and therefore he doubted not,
easily atoned. He told her that the worship of
false gods was a sin, and homage shown to idols
of wood and stone a deep iniquity; and these being
common to all benighted people, he satisfied himself,
and perhaps her, that they were unanswerable
proofs of the existence of natural depravity. But
a stronger light was thrown upon the maiden's
mind, when he showed its effects in the scene of
bloodshed, commenced long since in the days of
her sire, and now about to be terminated in a war
of massacre.

“He of whom I speak,” he said, “came into the
world, in order that these things should cease. He
offers men peace and good-will; and when men
acknowledge him and follow his commands, peace
and good-will will reign over the whole world.
Think not, because my countrymen are sometimes
unjust, and often cruel, that our divine Leader is
the less divine. These are the wickednesses of
their nature, not yet removed by full or just belief;
for the belief of some is insufficient, of others perverted,
and some, though they profess it, have no
belief at all. Know, then, that our religion, justly
considered, and with a pure mind not selfish, has
its great element in affection. It teaches love of

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

heaven, and, equally love of man. It denounces
the wrong-doer, who is as a fire, burning away the
cords that bind men together in happiness; and it
exalts the good man, who unites his fellows in affection.
It punishes vicious deeds and forbids evil
thoughts; for with these, there can be no happiness
and peace. This it does upon earth; and it prepares
for the world beyond the grave, in which no
human passion or infirmity can disturb the perfect
purity and enjoyment, of which the immortal spirit
is capable.”

Thus he conversed, and thus, guided by the native
bias of his mind, dwelt upon that feature of our
heavenly faith, of which it requires no aid of enthusiasm
to perceive the amiableness and beauty.
“Peace and good-will to all!”[6] There is a charm
in the holy sentence, at once the watchword and
synopsis of religion, that thrills to the hearts even
of those, who, to obtain the base immortality of
renown, are willing to exchange it for the warcry
of the barbarian, the Vœ victis! of a hero.

Thus far, then, the heart of the Indian maiden
was softened, and tears,—not of penitence, for it
never entered her mind that she had anything to
repent,—tears of gentle and pleasurable emotion
stole into her eyes, as she listened to tenets explained
by one so revered and beloved.

“The religion that my lord loves, is good; and
Zelahualla shall know no other.”

“God be praised for this then,” said Juan,

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

fervently; “for now is the desire of my heart fulfilled,
mine errand accomplished; and I will die, when I
am called, cheerfully; knowing that thou wilt follow
me to heaven. Now do I perceive that heaven
works good in our misfortunes. The miseries
that I have lamented,—the hatred of Don Hernan,
the malice of my foes, my downfall, my condemnation,—
what were they but the steps which have led
me to effect thy conversion and salvation? God be
praised for all things! and God grant that the seeds
of the true faith, now sown in thy heart, may grow
and flourish, till transplanted into paradise!”

Thus saying, Juan fell upon his knees, and invoked
blessings upon the proselyte, who knelt beside
him, confirmed greatly in her new creed by the
evident pleasure her conversion, if it could be so
called, had given him.

“Know now, Zelahualla,” he said, as he raised
her from the ground, and folded her in an embrace
that had more of the gentle affection of a brother,
than the ardent passion of a lover, “that now thou
art dearer to me than all the world beside. While
thou wert a worshipper of idols, I wept for thee;
now that thou art a Christian, I love thee; and
through this storm of war, that is gathering around
thee, I will remain to protect thee, and, if need be,
to perish by thy side.”

“What my lord is, that will I be,” said the young
princess, with such looks of confiding affection as
belong to the unsophisticated child of nature—
“Yes, Zelahualla will be a Christian,—Juan's
Christian,”—for she had been long since instructed
to pronounce the name of her young friend—“and
she will think of none but him—”

She paused suddently, and disengaged herself
from the arms of the Castilian, who, looking round,
beheld almost at his side, surveying him with manifest
satisfaction, the young king of Mexico. The

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

gorgeous mantles of state were upon his shoulders,
the golden sandals and copilli, or crown, bedecked
his feet and head; and though no sceptre-bearers
or other noble attendants followed at his heels, his
appearance was not without dignity, and even majesty.

He stepped forward, and taking the princess by
the hand, said to Juan,

“The Centzontli is the king's sister;—thus said I,
when Montezuma lived no more; for the Spaniards
have killed the sons of the king, and who remains
to be her brother? It is enough—the Eagle of the
east is the king's brother.—The king will speak
with his brother.”

At this signal, the maiden stooped humbly over
Guatimozin's hand, kissed it with mingled love and
respect, and immediately stole from the mound.

“My brother beheld me among my people,” said
Guatimozin, as soon as she was gone. “What
thinks he of the warriors of Mexico?”

“They are numerous as the sands and leaves.
But hear the words of him who knows the Spaniards
as well as the Mexicans. Before a blow is struck,
speak good things to Cortes. Acknowledge thyself
the vassal of Spain, and rule for ever.”

“Is my brother yet a Spaniard? and does he
tell me this thing?”

“If I anger thee, yet must I speak! for I speak
with the heart of one grateful to thyself and
friendly to the race of Montezuma. As a true
Spaniard, I should counsel thee to resist; for resistance
would excuse rapacity. How wilt thou
fight upon this island, with thine enemies round
about thee? They will sit down and sleep, while
the king perishes with hunger.”

“The houses are garners,” replied Guatimozin,
proudly: “There is food provided for many days;

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

and how shall the big ships see the peasant's canoe,
when it brings corn in the night-time?”

“The lake is broad, but thou knowest not of all
the craft and skill of thy foes. Think then of
this: Can a man drink the water of the salt lake
and canals? Are the pipes of Chapoltepec under
the mountains? The Spaniards will tear them up
from the causeways; and the warriors will despair
for drink.”

“Is Guatimozin a fool?” exclaimed the royal
barbarian, with a laugh. “The rains have begun
to fall; and for seven[7] months, the sky will be my
fountain. Is not Malintzin mad, that he should
besiege me at this season? He is not a god!”

“Were it for thrice seven months,” said Juan,
“be assured that Cortes will still remain by thy
city, awaiting its downfall.”

“And what shall be done by the warriors of
Mexico? Will they look from the island, and
wring their hands, till he departs? For every
grain of corn in the garners of Tenochtitlan, there
is an arrow in the quivers of the warriors. Count
the bones that lie in the ditches of Tacuba,—number
the bearded skulls that are piled on the Huitzompan,
the trophies gathered from the Spaniards in
the night of their flight,—there are not so many
living men in the camp of Malintzin, as perished
that night when we drove them from Mexico.”

“Dost thou hold, then, for nothing the two hundred
thousand Tlascalans, Tezcucans, Chalquese,
Totonacs, and other tribes, that follow with
Cortes?”

“There are but three roads to Mexico—Can they
hurt me from the shores?”

“The ships are fourteen more; and by and by,
there will be no canoe that swims the lake, but will

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

bear the soldiers of Don Hernan. Think not resistance
can do aught but protract the fate of thine
empire, and incense the miseries of its subjects.
Its history is written. Heaven is angry with your
gods and with your acts. The blood of human
sacrifices, detestable in the eyes of divinity, calls
for revenge. Alas, thou didst this day condemn a
poor Spaniard to the altar, and thus stain thine
installation with cruelty! God will punish the
Mexicans for this.”

The eyes of Guatimozin flashed in the moonlight
with indignation.

“Is not the prisoner,” he cried, “the prey of the
victor? The Spaniard burns the captive in the
shoulder, and makes him a slave. Which is cruel?
The prisoner and the felon we give to the gods—it
is good. Did the Eagle ever behold a Mexican
chain men to a stake, and burn them with fire?
Yet he saw Malintzin burn the Chief of Nauhtlan
and the fifteen warriors, in the palace-yard, in a
great fire made with Mexican bows and arrows!
Which, then, is cruel?”

“This act I will not defend,” said Juan, “and it
was my presumption in censuring it, that made
Cortes my enemy. But, prince, let us speak of
these things no more, for our arguments shake not
each other's minds. Let me speak of myself, for
it is just thou shouldst know my resolve. I am
thy friend, but I will not lift my hand against my
countrymen.”

The countenance of the king darkened:

“Is not the Great Eagle brave? He fears his
enemies!”

“I fear nothing,” said Juan, with conscious
dignity, “else would I speak no words to lose
thy favour. I will be thy prisoner, thy sacrifice, if
thou wilt.—I lament the fate that is coming upon
thee, but I cannot fight in thy cause.”

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

Guatimozin eyed him earnestly, as if to read his
soul; and then said, a little softly,

“The Great Eagle knows all things: he shall
rest in the palace all day, and at night, speak wise
things to the king.”

“Neither in this can I aid thee,” replied Juan,
resolutely. “What I know of religion and moral
duties,—nay, all that I know of civilized arts, that
are not military,—this much I am free to communicate;
but nothing more. I can no more help
thee to fight with my knowledge, than with my
arm.”

This was a declaration of principles somewhat
above the powers of the infidel to appreciate, and
it filled him, as Juan saw, with serious displeasure.
He took him by the arm, and spoke sternly and
even menacingly:

“The faith of a Christian is not that of a Mexican.
The Indian kills his foes and the foes of his
friend: the Christian forgets his friend, when his
friend is in trouble.”

Juan was stung by the reproach, and replied with
emphasis:

“The king took me from the prison-house of
Tezcuco: the block was in waiting for me. Who
talked to me of prisons and of blocks, before Olin
came to the garden?”

Guatimozin grasped his hand, and spoke with
impetuosity,—

“I have said the thing that was false, and my
brother does not forget his friend. He did a good
deed to Olin; why should he turn his face from
Guatimozin? Was Olin in greater distress than the
king, beset by enemies who cannot be counted?
My brother has looked in the face of the Centzontli,
my sister.—The princes of the city, and the kings
of the tribes, have said, each one, `Give me the
daughter of Montezuma, and I will die for Mexico.'

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

But the king thought of his brother. Thus it shall
be: the Great Eagle shall take the princess for his
wife, and be a Mexican; and then, when Guatimozin
entreats him to strike his foe, he will call upon
his god of the cross,—the Mexitli of the Spaniards,—
and strike with all his force. Is it not so?”

“Prince!” said Juan, sadly, “even this cannot
be. According to our thoughts, there are sins of
the deepest turpitude in acts which your customs
cause you to esteem virtues. The Spaniard may
change his country, but he cannot become the foe
of his countrymen. What wouldst thou think of
one of thine own people,—thy friend, thy subject—
whom thou shouldst find among the Spaniards, and
aiming his weapon against thee?”

“There are many thousands of them,” said Guatimozin,
giving way to passion. “Malintzin fights
with weapons more destructive than the big thunder-pipes.
He goes among the serfs that pay tribute,
and he says, `Pay no more—Is it not better
to be free?' Thus he seduces them. But my brother
shall think of this again. And now he shall
eat and sleep.”

So saying, and perhaps thinking it unwise to
pursue his designs at the present moment, he drew
Juan from the mound, and was leading him towards
the palace, when the sound of voices and footsteps
came from the bottom of the garden, accompanied
by the fierce barking of Befo, who was still confined
in the cage.

“Now do I remember me,” said Juan, with a
feeling of shame, “that I have suffered the noble
animal—”

But his words were cut short by an unexpected
circumstance. No sooner had his voice sounded,
than a wild cry burst from a neighbouring copse,
and a female figure, pursued by Mexican warriors,

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

rushed forwards, calling upon him by name, and
by a title that had never before blessed his ears.

“Juan! Juan! my brother! oh, my brother!”

It was Magdalena,—her hair disordered and
drooping in the damp air of evening, her face, as
far as it could be seen in the imperfect light, pale
and distracted. No sooner did her eyes behold
him than she redoubled her speed, and throwing
herself upon his neck, she cried, with transports of
emotion, while the pursuers gathered round in no
little amazement.

“Oh, Juan! my brother! pardon me and forgive
me; for I am your sister,—yes, your sister, your
own sister,—and I have come to die with you!”

Confounded as much by the strange declaration
as by her presence, Juan endeavoured gently to
disengage himself from her embrace, but all in vain.
She clasped his neck with tenfold strength, weeping
and exclaiming he scarce knew what; and, though
much affected, he began to think that sorrow and
passion had turned her brain. What therefore was
his surprise, when he gathered from her incoherent
exclamations, that Camarga, the masking stranger,
who had, on three several occasions, betrayed such
an unaccountable desire to take his life, had, even
with his dying lips, pronounced them brother and
sister. His heart thrilled at the thought; for his
affection for the singular being whose destiny of
mourning was so like his own, had ever been great,
though chilled and pained by the belief of her unworthiness.
He pursued the idea with a thousand
questions, the answers to which provoked his curiosity,
while they damped his hope. Was Camarga
their father? and was he dead? What did he say?
What,—no more than this—`He was her brother?'
No more? And no one alive to confirm the story?
“Alas,” he said, his thoughts reverting to what he

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

remembered of his childhood; “this fancy has
made me as distracted as thyself. Camarga was a
dreamer—an evident madman. My father died at
Isabela in the island; for was not I at his side?
This cannot be, Magdalena;—deceive thyself no
longer.”

“Speak not to me of deceit, my brother—for my
brother thou art,” said Magdalena, vehemently.
“Can my heart deceive me? Is it not the work of
heaven, seen in our whole life? Heaven kept thee—
yes, Juan, while heaven punished me the sin of neglected
vows with the torments of unavailing affection—
it kept thee from loving me as much, because
thou wert my brother. Yes, this it is! The
angels spoke with the lips of that man, who
now lies dead on the lake-side! But what of that,
Juan? We will go to Cortes—I can win thy forgiveness.
Alas, alas! I could have saved thee before,
but thou madest me mad. Why didst thou
treat me so, Juan? I was innocent—indeed I was;
and Hilario's recantation—oh believe me, I knew
not of his murder, till it was accomplished! Villafana
killed him from fear, for Hilario had discovered
how he scuttled the ship; and thus it was that Hilario
gained Villafana to corroborate the falsehoods
he spoke of me. I can make all clear to thee, indeed
I can.—But now, dear Juan, cast me not off
again,—for you are my brother. We will go to
Cortes,—he will pardon thee. We will find out the
friends of Camarga, and it must needs be that we
shall discover all. And then I will go to a convent
again,—and then I care not what befalls me; for I
shall have a brother in the world left to love me.”

While Magdalena was pouring forth these wild
expressions, for a time almost unconscious of her
situation in the heart of the pagan city, and in the
presence of so many barbarians, Guatimozin, who
had looked on with an astonishment that was soon

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

converted into the darkest displeasure, turned to
the capturers of Magdalena, who had ceased their
pursuit the moment they beheld the king, and flung
themselves reverently at his feet. The Lord of
Death, who made the like prostration, had assumed
an erect posture, in virtue of his high rank. But
his looks wandered from the king to the Christian
pair, whose endearments he watched with exceeding
great satisfaction, and indeed with exultation.

“What is this that I see?” said the king, in a
low but stern voice; “and who hath brought this
woman to my garden?”

Masquazateuctli bent his head to the earth, replying
with the complacency of one who has achieved
a happy exploit,—

“The king made the Great Eagle of the East his
brother; he took him to the hill of Chapoltepec that
his people might know him, and do him honour.
Shall not Masquazateuctli do a good thing to the
king's brother? He was sorry because of his loneliness
in the king's garden, and the Maiden of the
East was afar in Tezcuco. I thought of this, and
I crept to the gates of Tezcuco: and I said, `I will
take a prisoner for the king, and perhaps I shall
find a maiden with white brows; which will gladden
the heart of the king's brother.' Mexitli was with
me. But I killed the man that came with her, for I
saw she was that daughter of a god, with eyes like
the full moon, of whom the king had spoken, when
he came from Tezcuco alone, and my heart was
very joyful. The Eagle is glad—he will not ask
the king for the daughter of Montezuma!”

Guatimozin muttered a fierce interjection betwixt
his teeth, but replied with dignity,

“The Lord of Death should have spoken this to
the king; but if he be angry, he remembers that
Masquazateuctli was Montezuma's soldier. By and

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

by, I will speak with him in the palace.—I have
said.”

The Lord of Death, thus dismissed, and not a
little mortified at such insufficient thanks, beckoned
to his followers and departed.

Guatimozin strode up to the Christians, and touching
Juan on the shoulder, said, with a stern voice,

“What shall the king say of his brother, to the
daughter of Montezuma?”

The colour rushed into Juan's cheeks; but he
replied immediately, and even firmly,

“That he brings her his sister, to whom, for his
own sake, he prays her to be kind and gentle.”

“Does my brother tell me this?” said the king,
starting. “The Great Eagle said he was alone in
the world, with none of his kin remaining.”

“And so I thought, until this hour,” said Juan,
not without embarrassment: “and now must I tell
the king, that though I call this maiden my sister,
and pray heaven she may prove so, yet neither she
nor I have aught upon which to found our belief,
but the words of one whom the Lord of Death killed,
when he seized her.”

Guatimozin intently eyed the maiden, who watched
with painful interest the changes of his countenance
and Juan's, for she understood not a word of
their speech; and then said,

“Let it be so: Guatimozin will think of this. The
Spanish lady is welcome—the Eagle shall speak
with her a little, and then give her up to the women,
that they may be good to her.—The king's house
is very spacious.”

He then turned gravely away, signing to the outcast
pair to follow him.

They were suffered to be alone together for a
brief hour, in which Magdalena, rejecting impetuously
and passionately all Juan's doubts, poured
out all the secrets of a life full of unhappiness, but

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

not of crime; and Juan himself, forgetting the
weakness of all her claims of consanguinity, melted
into belief, and learned to call her his sister. There
were indeed certain circumstances of mystery about
his birth, which might have often disturbed his
thoughts, had he been of an imaginative turn. The
man whom he had called and esteemed his father,
had died a violent death in the islands, while Juan
was yet very young. He could recollect little of
him that was agreeable to remember; and all that
had afterwards come to his ears, only served to
chill his curiosity; all persons, who had not forgotten
him, representing the elder Lerma as a most
depraved and infamous man. No one knew whence
he had come, or if he had any relatives left in the
world; and Juan remembered well, that the planters
had, on several occasions, when the unnatural
parent, if parent he was, had maltreated and abandoned
him, taken him away from Lerma, and comforted
Juan with the assurance that the villain had
undoubtedly stolen him from some one. It is, however,
very certain that Juan never seriously thought
of doubting that this man was his parent; nor
would he have recalled such trivial circumstances
to his mind, had he not been staggered by the impetuosity
of Magdalena, and by his own feelings of
affection, into a credulity almost as ample as her
own. That he should desire also to find a relative
in one, who, considered without reference to the
weakness shown only in her love for him, was of
a soul as stainless as it was noble, is not to be
doubted; and such love he could be rejoiced to return.
In truth, his reasons for admitting her claims
were as flimsy as hers for making them, as he came
to discover, when left to examine them in solitude.
They made, however, a deep and lasting impression
upon his mind. Perhaps the impression would
have been still deeper, had the two been

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

permitted to remain longer together; but before Magdalena
had yet been able to speak with composure,
there came a train of maidens, bearing chaplets of
flowers, and rich ornaments of feathers, giving Juan
to understand, that it was the king's will his companion
should now leave him.

Magdalena turned pale, when this command was
announced to her by Juan, and seemed at first as if
resolved never to be parted from him more. But
being persuaded by Juan that she had nothing to
fear—that the king was his friend—that they should
certainly meet again,—she at last consented. She
strode to the door—she listened to his words of
farewell, and she sobbed upon his breast; and then
departed with the happy but delusive hope of seeing
him again on the morrow.

It was the last night of peace that ever darkened
over the Mexico of the pagans.

eaf015v2.n4

[4] Clitorio quicunque sitim de fonte levarit
Vina fugit. Metam. Lib. xv.

CHAPTER VIII.

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

To one whose perverted imagination can dwell
with pleasure on `the pomp and circumstance of
glorious war,' no better study can be recommended
than the history of the siege of Mexico, which may
be considered as one single battle, lasting for the
space of ninety-three days, counting from the time
when the different divisions of the besieging army
had taken their positions in form, upon the different
causeways. This does not include the period occupied
in the march of these bodies from Tezcuco,
and which was not devoted to inactivity. On the
contrary, the Captain-General took advantage of the
occasion to discipline his naval force, by sweeping
over the lake from bay to bay, and town to town,
destroying every piragua that made its appearance,
as well as such chinampas, or floating gardens, as
he could approach, and frequently by cannonading
the imperial city itself. Besides this, he assaulted
and took, on each occasion after a most sanguinary
combat, certain fortresses upon two island rocks,
one of which rose near to Iztapalapan: the other,
though no longer insulated, still lies a little to the
east of the republican city, and is called the Peñon,
or Crag, of Montezuma.

The preparations of the Mexicans were extensive
and anticipative of all the peculiar evils which
they thought it in the power of their great enemy
to inflict. They had cut through the causeways
numberless ditches, each of which was furnished

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

with a light bridge, to be withdrawn, when about
to fall into the power of the Spaniards; and the
earth and stones thus removed, were built up before
and behind the chasms, into strong ramparts,
which were still further strengthened with palisades.
In this manner, while opposing the greatest
obstructions to the passage of the foot-soldiers,
they made it impossible for horses to be brought
against them,—a precaution that, for a long time,
robbed the Spaniards of their greatest advantage.

The beginning of the siege of Mexico, then, lay in
the struggles of the besiegers to obtain possession
of the ditches, which were to be filled up, by levelling
the ramparts. This was a work both of infinite
danger and toil, the besieged fighting from behind
the advanced barriers with unexampled
resolution, and, however overpowered, never retreating
beyond the ditch, until their companions
had left but a single plank for their passage, which
was immediately afterwards withdrawn. After
this, the Spaniards were forced to overturn the
first barrier into the chasm, before they could rush
across the slough of mud and water, to attack the
second; and all this was to be done not only
against violent opposition in front, but with a most
dangerous and audacious species of annoyance
practised on one flank or the other, and sometimes
on both. Wherever the shallows admitted,
the Mexicans drove into the bottom of the lake,
and at but a short distance from the dike, strong
piles, to which they secured their canoes, furnished
with high and thick bulwarks of planks, almost
musket-proof; and from these they drove arrows,
darts, and stones against the soldiers with destructive
effect, Nay, with such wisdom had the young
king of Mexico devised means to embarrass his adversary,
that he had even secured his little flotillas
from the possibility of approach, by sinking rows

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

of piles in the lake, parallel with the causeways,
through which the brigantines could not pass, to
disperse battered them. It was to but little purpose that
Cortes battered them from a distance with his falconets;
the following morning saw replaced every
loss of men and canoes. The soldiers were excited
to fury by an annoyance so irritating, and some
were found at times frantic enough to leap into the
lake, where the waters happened to be sufficiently
shallow, and endeavour to carry the flotillas, sword
in hand.

The narrowness and obstructed condition of the
dikes making it impossible that all the forces could
act upon them together, the vast multitudes of
native allies were left in reserve, with the cavalry,
on the shore,—where they were not idle, the numbers,
as well as the boldness of the Mexicans being
so great, that they frequently sent armies to the
shore by night, who, at the dawn, fell upon the
reserved troops with all the rancour of opponents
in a civil war.

This was the condition of the war at its commencement.
The grand desiderata,—the removal
of the flotillas, and the profitable employment
of the confederates, were not effected until Cortes
had seized all the piraguas of the shore-towns, and
sent them, manned with Tlascalans, against the
palisaded posts, where, besides doing what execution
they could upon the enemy, the allies tore
away the piles, and thus admitted some of the
lighter brigantines among the canoes.

Aided in this manner, the soldiers were able to
advance along the several dikes, until they got
possession of certain military stations, on each,
which might have been called the gates of Mexico.

It has been already said, that the causeways of
Iztapalapan and Cojohuacan, coming respectively
from the south and southwest, united together at the

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

distance of less than a league from Mexico. At
the point of junction, the causeway expanded into
a mole or quay, where was a strong and lofty
stone wall, the passage through which was contrived
by the overlapping of the walls, in the manner
described at Tezcuco. This rampart was defended
by very strong towers and by a parapet with
embrasures, from which the defenders could easily
repel any enemy, inferior in strength and determination
to the Spaniards. The point was called
Xoloc, and when wrested from the hands of the
Mexicans, became the head-quarters of Cortes.

A similar expansion of the dike of Tacuba, fortified
in the same way, and at the distance of two
miles from the city, and one from the shore, afforded
a resting-place and garrison for the forces under
Alvarado, whose first act, after reaching Tacuba,
was to destroy the aqueduct of Chapoltepec, which
consisted of a double line of baked earthenware
pipes, carried across the lake on a dike constructed
only for that purpose, and therefore so narrow and
inconsiderable, that it does not appear that the
Spaniards derived any advantage from the possession
of it.

The division of De Olid united with that of
Sandoval at the point Xoloc; the latter of whom
was afterwards directed to take possession of the
northern dike of Tepejacac, the remains of which
may yet be traced between the city and the hill of
Our Lady of Guadalupe, on which was a fortification
resembling the others.

These positions being thus assumed, the Captain-General
divided the fleet of brigantines among
the three captains, to whom they were of vast
service, by protecting the flanks of their divisions.

From this period, the siege may be considered
to have been begun in form; and it was continued

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

with a fury of attack and resistance almost without
parallel in the history of conquest. Foot by foot,
and inch by inch, the invaders advanced, staining
the causeways with their blood, and choking the
lake with the bodies of their foes. Ditch after
ditch was won and filled, and almost as often
lost and re-opened. The day was devoted to battle,
the night to alarms. The only periods of rest
were when the daily tempests, for it was now the
heart of the rainy season, burst over the heads of
the combatants, as if heaven had sent its floods to
efface the horrible dyes of carnage, and its thunders
to drown the roar of man's more destructive artillery.
Then, the exhausted soldier and the fainting
barbarian flung themselves to rest upon the trodden
mud of their ramparts, within sight of each other,
regardless of the wrath of the elements, so much
less enduring than their own.

At first, the Spaniards after winning a ditch and
filling it, were content to return for the night to the
fortified stations, to shelter themselves in the towers,
and in miserable huts of reeds which they had constructed,
from the rains, that, usually, continued
until midnight. But finding that the infidels, more
manly or more desperate, devoted the night to
repair the losses of the day, by again opening the
chasms, they denied themselves even this poor
solace, and threw themselves to sleep on the spots
where they fought, ready to resume the conflict at
the first glimmer of dawn.

Thus, day by day, the approaches were effected,
and by the end of the second month, the besiegers
had advanced almost to the suburbs, which jutted
out into the lake along the three causeways, supported
upon foundations of piles, and sometimes
piers of stone. The houses stood apart from each
other, but were connected, in seasons of peace, by
light wooden drawbridges, running from terrace to

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

terrace; so that the streets of these quarters may
be said to have been on the tops of the houses,—
and the same thing was true of the gardens.
The communication below was effected always
by means of canoes. Among these edifices, the
water was often of sufficient depth to float the
brigantines of lighter draught, which sometimes
entered them, to fire the buildings, that were so
many fortresses, from which the soldiers on the
causeways could be annoyed.

The labours and sufferings of the besiegers were
constant, and almost intolerable; yet they endured
them with a patience derived from the assurance of
a certain though tardy success. The toils and distresses
of the Mexicans were greater, and endured
with heroism still more noble, because almost
without hope; and it may be said with justice of
these poor barbarians, whose memory has almost
vanished from the earth, that never yet did a people
fight for their altars and firesides with greater
courage and devotion. They saw themselves each
day confined to narrow limits,—they fought the
more resolutely; they beheld all the marine forces
of the neighbouring towns, late their feudatories,
led against them,—they sent navies of their own to
chastise the insurgents, and still kept their ground
against the Spaniards.

It was certain that Cortes had found in the young
king an antagonist far more formidable than he
had expected. The resistance at the ramparts,
the sallies by night that were often made with
fatal effect, the secret expeditions against the
shores, and the stratagems put in execution to
cripple the brigantines, all indicated, in the infidel
prince, a capacity of mind worthy of his unconquerable
courage. A single exploit will prove his
daring and his craft. He decoyed two of the
largest brigantines into a certain bay, where many

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

of his strongest piraguas lay in ambush among the
reeds. With these, he attacked, boarded, and carried
the two vessels, and had he possessed any
knowledge of the management of sails, would have
conducted them in safety to his palace walls. As
it was, they were maintained against an overpowering
force, sent to retake them, and not yielded until
the captors had destroyed every Christian on board,
fifty in number, as well as the sails and cordage,
and cast the falconets into the lake.

Another stratagem of a still more daring character,
and infinitely more fatal to the Spaniards,
was conceived and executed, almost at the moment
when they thought the young monarch reduced to
despair. But of that we shall have occasion to
speak more at length hereafter. The thousand
conflicts on land and water, that marked the progress
of a siege so extraordinary, have but little
connexion with the adventures of the two outcasts;
and we are glad of the privilege to pass them by.

CHAPTER IX.

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

When Magdalena was led from the presence of
Juan, she was conducted through many chambers
and passages, which gave her an idea of the immense
extent of the palace, to the quarter especially
appropriated to the women, and which was as
carefully guarded from the approach of the other
sex as the harem of an oriental monarch. It consisted
of a series of dormitories and other small
apartments, as well as a vast hall, covered with
pictured tapestry and knots of flowers, in which
the daily labour of the loom and spindle was shared
by all, the princess and the slave alike, mingled with
the more elegant occupations of embroidery and
feather-painting.

But the toil of the day had been long since over,
and when she entered, the maidens were amusing
themselves, some talking and laughing, and others
dancing to the sound of flutes, and all unconscious
or heedless of the perils that were about to hem
them in.

The appearance of a vision so strange, so often
imagined, yet never before seen—a woman of the
race of the invaders, and one at once so majestic
and lovely as Magdalena—produced an immediate
sensation throughout the merry crew. The dancing
ceased, the music of the pipe was exchanged for a
murmur of admiration, and all eyes were turned
upon the novel apparition. But it was observable,
that the maidens indulged in no rude demonstrations

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

of curiosity or surprise. They neither thronged
about her, nor uttered any loud exclamations; and
however ardently they gazed, when unperceived,
each cast her looks modestly to the floor, the moment
she found the eyes of the stranger directed
upon her.

Troubled as were Magdalena's thoughts by the
strangeness of her situation, and conscious of her
inability to exchange a word with these new companions,
she yet felt a sort of relief, and even pleasure,
to find herself once more surrounded by individuals
of her own sex, who, as was evident from
their appearance, were neither rude in manners nor
degraded in mind.

In this happier frame of feeling, she suffered herself
to be conducted to a chamber, where two
young female slaves attended her with refreshments
of meats, fruits, and confections, and pointing to
a couch of robes, upon a little platform under a
canopy, left her to her meditations.

She rose from a troubled and dreamy slumber at
the dawn, and waited impatiently for the moment
when she should be led to Juan. The slaves again
made their appearance, bearing, besides food, which
they set before her, rich garments of the most splendid
hues, which they desired her by signs to substitute
for her monastic attire. To this she acceded,
after some hesitation, thinking it needful to
humour the wishes of those upon whose friendship
her existence, as well as that of Juan, so obviously
depended. She exchanged, at least, the gray veil
for a broad mantle embroidered with feathers and
gold, and placed over her other dress three several
tunics, each of a different hue, and each gorgeously
ornamented. Her toilet was completed when the
slaves had encircled her arms and neck with jewels,
and wreathed her hair with chains of gold; to all
which she passively, yet impatiently, submitted.

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

Thus dressed and decorated, she was conducted
again to the great hall, and seated upon a throne
cushioned over with feathers of every hue, when,
to her great surprise, she found herself the object
upon whom was to be showered marks of the most
extraordinary honour. The crowd of maidens was
huddled in the farther end of the apartment, where
they stood with downcast eyes, giving place to a
female, evidently of exalted rank, who came from
among them, followed by five or six girls, much
more splendidly dressed than the others, one of
whom bore in her arms a sleeping infant.

The Indian lady was distinguished from her attendants
by apparel similar in hues and splendour
to that worn by Magdalena, and she had on her
head a little cap or caul of emeralds, mingled with
pearls. Her face was prepossessing, her figure
well proportioned, and her bearing not without dignity.
Yet there was in her aspect something of
trouble and hesitation, and she went through the
business of salutation, or rather homage, for so it
appeared, with visible reluctance. She approached
the throne, and kneeling before it, took Magdalena's
hand, and laid it upon her head, speaking a few
words which the Christian did not comprehend.
Then taking the infant from the girl who bore it,
she laid Magdalena's hand upon its innocent brows,
in the same manner; after which she stepped aside,
and the young attendants went each separately
through the same ceremony. This accomplished,
she stole from the apartment, and in a few moments,
the spindle rolled, the shuttle of the simple
loom rattled, and the fingers of the embroiderers
and feather-painters moved over their tasks.

The morning passed away, and Magdalena still
expected a summons to the presence of Juan. The
evening darkened, the fragrant torches were lighted,
the pipe and dance were again summoned to close

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

the labours of the day, and Magdalena was, a second
time, conducted to her chamber, to muse with
fear and distrust over her singular situation.

The second day beheld the same ceremonies, succeeded
by the same labours and diversions, and
still not a movement indicated the approach of a
messenger. She looked upon the maidens around,—
their faces were grave and placid. They gazed
upon her no more, except when her eyes were
averted. She imagined a thousand reasons to account
for her seclusion. Was her brother, not withstanding
his assurances to the contrary, in a state
of as much restraint as herself? Or—was it possible?—
did it not depend upon himself?—was it possible,
he did not desire to see her? She thought of
his slowness to admit her claim of consanguinity;
she thought of the words of Camarga,—of their
wildness—Had not Juan said he was insane?—of
their insufficiency. Nay, she remembered that Juan
spoke of his father, whom he well remembered;
and among the tears she shed of doubt and disappointment,
she blushed at the boldness and warmth
with which she had advocated her claims.

Another day came,—another, and still another;
and her heart sickened and her cheek grew pale
with suspense and humiliation. Then impatience
waxed into anger, and she stalked among the maidens
with looks of determination, as if she would
have commanded them to lead her from what she
justly conceived to be imprisonment. But how command
them? Her language was as the language of
the gods to them, and their words were to her as unmeaning
as the songs of the birds at the windows.
Eyes can speak many things, but not all; and
signs are of too arbitrary a nature to serve as the
medium of communication betwixt two hemispheres.
If she strove to depart from the chamber,
she was followed by the two slaves, who seemed to

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

be specially devoted to her service, and who, attending
her from room to room, yet arrested her with
humble and supplicating gestures, when she seemed
to be overstepping the limits of the harem. If she
persisted, she found herself in the power of certain
antique beldames, who prowled around the sacred
chambers, bearing wands to indicate their authority,
and who opposed themselves, though without rudeness,
to further egress. If she still made her way
through these, she found herself stopped by passages,
in which were armed barbarians, who did not
hesitate to block up the avenues with their shields
and spears. In other words, she found that she
was a prisoner, confined to a society as recluse, as
peaceful, and perhaps as happy as that from which
it had been her misfortune to be released. The
pride and energy of her nature were here lost; for
there was nothing with which to contend, except
her feelings, and nothing to excite, save a sense
of wrong, inflicted she knew not by whom, nor
why.

This was precisely the state of things to tame
her spirit into submission and inaction; and, almost
insensibly to herself, she began to accommodate
her deportment to her condition, substituting
anxiety for anger, and despondence for decision.
She began to think that Juan was, like herself, a
prisoner; and the apprehension of his distresses
weighed on her heart more heavily than the sense
of her own; and, as with all her strength of mind
and passion, there was a tinge of superstition
running through all her thoughts, she beheld, in
the singular train of calamities that had brought her
so often to his side, a revelation and proof that she
was ordained, finally, to rescue him from this,
as well as the other ills, which oppressed him.
Another thought brooded also in her bosom.
Hitherto, whatsoever efforts she had made for his

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

good, had ministered only to his griefs; and what
had they brought to her? From the moment in
which she had first attempted deceit, by concealing
the sanctity of her profession, her life had been but
a history of agony and shame. Had she avowed
herself, immediately after the shipwreck, the bride
of the cross, Hilario had not died under the knife
of the assassin, Juan Lerma had not forfeited the
favour of his general, and she herself had, perhaps,
closed her life in the peace with which it had begun.
She began to picture to herself the sinfulness
of her evasions of vows, and to consider these the
causes of her sufferings. Such thoghts as these,
and a thousand others, divided and harassed her
mind by turns, and confounded while they tormented.
But one idea never left her—and that was, the
uncertainty of the fate of Juan Lerma, and the hope
that it might be reserved for her to free him from
the bondage of infidels. But how was this to be
effected? She knew not.

Her first vague desire was to gain a friend
among the grave and passionless creatures, by
whom she was surrounded. She examined all
their countenances, and soon fixed upon several
in which she thought she could trace kindly feelings
and simplicity of character. She strove also
to acquire a little of their language,—an effort
which she soon gave up, not so much from the
difficulty of acquisition, as from the remoteness of
any benefit to be derived in that way.

She perceived that the Mexican lady who, each
morning, for the first fortnight of her captivity,
(after which time she was seen no more,) commenced
the ceremonies of salutation, so humble, and
indeed to her so irksome, must be of the highest rank,—
perhaps the queen of Guatimozin himself; though
it seemed improbable that one so exalted would
condescend to homage so servile. She was

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

conscious also, that the six maidens who attended upon
this princess were of no mean rank; for though
they frequently remained in the hall, engaged in
labour, like the rest, it was clear that the others
looked upon them with the greatest deference. Of
these she had long singled out one who was superior
to the others in beauty and mildness of countenance;
and it seemed to her that this one, in
going through the morning ceremony, endeavoured
to make her sensible that she did so with sincerity
and feeling. Thus, besides placing Magdalena's
hand on her head, she carried it also to her lips,
expressing as much desire as her countenance
could convey, to be esteemed the Christian's friend.

These things almost escaped Magdalena's notice
at first; but she afterwards remembered them,
and strove to respond with manifestations of
similar inclination. She observed, however, that
the maiden gradually changed from tranquillity to
melancholy, as if something preyed upon her spirits.
She repeated, indeed, her salutation each morning,
but it was no longer with smiles, and with a disposition
to linger about Magdalena's person. On
the contrary, she retired without delay to a little
nook under a window, where she continued her
task among feathers and flowers, seldom stirring
from the spot. It was evident to the penetrating
eye of Magdalena, that the Indian maiden was
wasting away under some grief as poignant and
enduring as her own; and though she attributed
it only to some of the evils of war, the commencement
of which had long since been indicated by the
distant explosions of artillery, she was the more
favourably impressed by the damsel's emotion,
since none of the others seemed to share it, nor to
betray either fear or anxiety.

She attempted then to come to some understanding
with this maiden. She sat down by her in her

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

little nook, and watched, with what, had she been
in a better frame of mind, would have been admiration,
the progress of her toils, as well as the
effects of previous labours. She beheld, with surprise,
garlands and bouquets of flowers, constructed
of feathers, and imitated with such wonderful precision,
that when they were mingled with a few
natural ones, and impregnated with their odours, it
seemed almost impossible that they could be artificial.
The same art has existed in other parts of the
continent, and is practised to this day, in some of
the nunneries of Brazil. There were also pictures,
worked with the same beautiful materials, upon a
groundwork of prepared cloth, which were chiefly
confined to the representation of flowers and birds.
When Magdalena first visited the maiden, she
found her engaged upon what seemed a wood-pigeon,
surrounded by a little wilderness of flowers
and leaves. The design, though simple, was pretty
and spirited; yet the maiden seemed dissatisfied
with her work, and altered it daily, as if each day
still more displeased; until, at last, she seemed to
have hit upon a plan more to her taste, when she
pursued her task with what seemed a morbid ardour.
When Magdalena looked at it last, she found
the whole design and character of the work changed.
The flowers had been displaced by stones and
brambles; an arrow was represented sticking
through the neck of the bird; and the story of a
wounded heart was told in the metaphor of the
poor flutterer, harmed by some wanton bolt, and
left dying in a desert place.

When Magdalena beheld this painted sentiment,
she took the hand of the artist, and pressing it as
if with sympathy, pointed to her bosom. A faint
tinge of blood passed over her embrowned visage,
but she looked confidingly into Magdalena's face,
as if not ashamed to confess her grief. When

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

Magdalena was persuaded she was understood,
she directed the painter's eyes to the bird, and then
pointed expressively to her own bosom, as if to
signify that she also was unhappy. The maiden
bowed her head upon her breast, and Magdalena
saw that tears were stealing from her eyes. She
thought they were the tears of sympathy; and
when the damsel looked up, she cast off all reserve,
and indicated as plainly as she could, by
gestures, that she desired to make her way into
the garden.

The maiden shook her head, and would have
departed, but that Magdalena, rendered indiscreet
by her impatience, arrested her, to make trial of a
new appeal. She took the jewels from her hair,
and without reflecting that the rank of the maiden,
indicated by gems quite as valuable as her own,
might render her inaccessible to such temptation, she
made as if she would have thrown them upon her
head and neck. She was sorry for the act; for as
soon as the maiden understood what she designed,
she drew back with a look of offended dignity, and
with cheeks burning at once with mortification and
anger. Then, gathering up her little picture, her
bodkins, and basket of coloured feathers, she left
the apartment, and returned to it no more that day.

Amid all her grief at the disappointment of her
hopes, Magdalena had yet generosity enough to
appreciate the spirit of the young pagan, and to
lament having outraged her feelings.

That night, when the female slaves had departed
from her chamber, and she was musing disconsolately
in the light of a little night-lantern, consisting
of a taper of resinous wood, surrounded by thin
plates of gold, perforated with holes in many fantastic
figures, which transmitted the light, she was
roused by a sigh; and looking up, she beheld, to
her great surprise, the young artist standing before

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

her, in an attitude of sad and patient humility. As
soon as the visitor perceived that she was seen, she
approached, and knelt at Magdalena's feet, who
now saw, with a touch of shame, and, at first, even
of resentment, that, as if in requital of the insult of
the morning, she held in her hands all the jewels
that had decorated her hair and person, and offered
them for her acceptance. But Magdalena's displeasure
soon passed away; for the jewels were
proffered with the deepest humility, and the damsel's
eyes were suffused with tears. She murmured
out some words, too, and the tone was expressive
of grief.

All this was mysterious to Magdalena, who
puzzled herself in vain to account for the act and
the donation. She restored the jewels, and the
maiden being wholly submissive, she replaced them
about her person with her own hands; and then,
taking advantage of the opportunity, made another
effort to come to a better understanding with her.
She remembered that her companion was a painter,
and being herself a little skilled in the art, she drew
with a bodkin from her hair, upon the soft wood
of the table that supported her lamp, the figure of
a man in Spanish costume, bound in a cell. The
representation was awkward, yet it appeared that
the damsel understood it; for she took the bodkin,
and immediately, though with a trembling hand,
completed the picture by the addition of another
figure, representing a Mexican, with a crown like
that Magdalena had seen on the head of Guatimozin,
who, with one hand, extended to him the handle
of a macana, while threatening him with another,
brandished above his head.

This was expressive enough, and Magdalena's
alarm for the safety of the young man was only
removed when the maiden drew what was plainly

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

designed for a buckler, interposed between the
weapon and his head.

Magdalena then, without further hesitation, leaped
to the grand object of her desires, by drawing the
figure of a man paddling in a canoe. This also her
companion understood, and replied to it significantly
enough, by surrounding the little vessel with
many others, filled with Indians, or other human
beings, who attacked it with showers of arrows
and darts.

“Alas! is there no hope for us then? no hope
for my poor brother?” exclaimed Magdalena, wringing
her hands. “Maiden! maiden! carry me but to
him!—Alas, I speak as to a stone statue!”

She then resumed the bodkin, and returning to
the first sketch, she drew the figure of two women,
entering the cell. The response to this ended her
hopes immediately. The Indian girl sketched the
outlines of men, armed with spears, circling around
the whole cell.

Magdalena sank upon the couch in despair, and
almost in a frenzy. The maiden, frighted by the
vehemence of her grief, endeavoured to soothe her,
by pressing her hand to her bosom and forehead,
and covering it with kisses and tears; after which
she stole quietly from the chamber.

It was many weeks before Magdalena beheld
her again. She vanished from the hall, she came
no more to kneel on her footstool in the morning,
and display her melancholy visage to the stranger.
Magdalena's heart died within her. She was in a
solitude among living creatures,—the most oppressive
of all solitudes. Her suspense was intolerable,
and preyed upon her health, until she was wasted
to a shadow, and the pagan damsels eyed her,
when she appeared among them, with looks of pity.
She succumbed at last to her fate; the fever of her
mind extended to her body; and she was missed

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

from the hall, as well as the young artist. She became
ill, and she threw herself upon her couch, to
waste away with passion and delirium. But there
was still a gleam of happiness to break upon her.

One night, when the dancing,—now no longer
pursued with spirit, for the cannon of the Spaniards
sounded each day louder and nearer,—had ceased,
and the flutes were breathed upon no more, she felt
her hand pressed with a gentle grasp. She looked
up, and beheld the Indian girl at her side, eyeing
her with compassion. She sprang to her feet, in
an ecstacy of delight, and embraced her; for she
hailed her appearance as the herald of joy.

“Oh, maiden! maiden!” she cried, “what news
of my brother?”

The damsel replied with the only words in her
power, but the best she could have used, had she
been acquainted with the whole speech of Castile.
She looked sadly but firmly into Magdalena's face,
and murmured softly,

“Juan Lelma”—

The accent was imperfect and false, but the
sounds were music to Magdalena. She clasped the
young barbarian again in her arms, but her caresses
were only responded to by tears and sobs,
which seemed to increase in proportion to her own
raptures. But Magdalena was too wild with hope
to think of the sorrows of her friend. She saw that
the Indian held in her hand, two long and capacious
mantles of a plain stuff, which, she knew, were to
veil them from evil eyes, while they crept to the
cell of her brother. But the maiden checked her
impetuosity. She removed the trinkets from her
head and person, and again offered them to the
Christian; and persisted to do so, though still most
gently and humbly, until Magdalena, thinking this
might be some important ceremony, a proof perhaps
of friendship offered and received, and

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

perceiving, what was more influential still, that it was
necessary to hasten the proceedings of her visitor,
consented to receive them. She yielded to her importunities,
and the Indian girl clasped around her
ankles, arms, and neck, and twisted in her hair, all
the jewels that had decorated her own person, besides
hanging round her neck the silver cross and
rosary,—Magdalena's own gift to Juan,—which she
received with rapture, not doubting that he had sent
it to her as a token and a full warrant to submit herself
to the guidance of the young infidel. This accomplished,
she assisted Magdalena to secure the larger
mantle about her figure, and wrapped herself in
the other. Then beckoning the Christian to follow,
and signing to her to preserve silence, she led the
way from the chamber.

CHAPTER X.

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

A short passage through which they stole, darkly,
for it was not lighted, conducted them to a
chamber, where the guide paused a moment, as if
in doubt and fear. A strong light beamed through
the curtained door. They listened for a time, until
hearing no one stir within, the Indian maiden pulled
the curtain timidly aside, and then beckoned Magdalena
to follow her. It was a spacious apartment,
richly tapestried, and lighted by many such masked
torches as Magdalena had seen in her own chamber.
The hangings were even continued over the
ceiling, so that it resembled a pavilion rather than
the sleeping apartment of a king,—for such it was.
In the centre was suspended a magnificent canopy,
wrought with feathers, overhanging a couch blazing
with gold, and bedecked with the richest spoils
of the parrot and flamingo, with little pedestals both
at the head and foot, on which incense was burning
before golden idols. Upon this lay sleeping
the Indian lady, whom Magdalena had so often
seen during the two first weeks of her durance;
and the infant slept clasping her neck. Magdalena
doubted no longer that she beheld the queen of the
young monarch. But she crept softly after her
guide, and was soon buried again in darkness.
After many turnings and windings, which made
her fancy the palace was a great labyrinth, she suddenly
found herself conducted into the open air, by

[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]

a door exceedingly narrow, and concealed by a
mass of trailing vines. But secret as this entrance
appeared, it was not unguarded. A tall savage
with a spear, started up from the bushes, as if to
dispute their right of egress. But a word from his
companion, low as the whisper of a breeze, removed
his opposition. He flung himself upon the earth,
as if to his divinity, and thus remained, until the
maidens had passed.

It was by this time midsummer—for so long a
period had elapsed since the departure from Tezcuco;
but it was the season of the rains, and the
chill winds from the lake penetrated Magdalena to
the heart. The sky was overcast, the grass loaded
with moisture, and every gust shook down a shower
from the trees.

It was very dark, and she knew not well to what
quarter she was bending her steps. But she could
see a line of fires running as it seemed across the
lake, from a point in the city to the right hand, and
lost in the distance or obscurity of the left. This
was, in fact, the northern causeway, or dike of
Tepejacac, the nearest point of which was scarce a
mile distant from the garden. It was occupied by
the troops of Sandoval, who had extended his approach
already within the limits of the water suburb.
Two or three of his brigantines were also perceived
anchored near to the calzada,—at least, their lanterns
were seen shining from their prows.

While Magdalena was yet stealing along after
her guide, her eyes fixed upon this line of fires, she
heard suddenly a great tumult begin among them,
in which the yells of men were faintly distinguished
amid the crash of fire-arms and artillery.
Shocked and frighted as she was, at being thus
made a witness, though afar, of the terrors of human
wrath, she soon began to look upon the conflict
as of good omen for herself. It would certainly

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be a more attractive spectacle to any wandering
infidels in the garden than might be furnished by
the obscure figures of herself and companion.

Apparently the Indian maiden thought so too;
for she increased her pace, and instead of skulking
as before, among green-arched and shadowy alleys,
she walked boldly along in a broad exposed path,
that led directly to a corner of the palace. But
from this very corner they saw rushing a tumultuous
throng of barbarians, some of whom ran
directly towards them, though the course of others
was in another direction.

The young guide drew Magdalena into a sheltered
walk, and crept timorously along until she
reached the palace wall, when she sank down, from
fatigue or fear, signing to Magdalena to do the
same thing, and thus remained, until the last of the
barbarians had vanished. The path now seemed
clear, but still the Indian maiden remained cowering
on the earth; and Magdalena, whose impatience
distracted her mind and almost hardened her heart,
perceived that she was sobbing bitterly. She
touched her arm. The guide shrank away, but
seemed to collect her spirits and courage at the
sign. She rose up, and led the way to a broad
door, where an armed Indian stood, holding a flambeau.
He seemed alarmed, though not surprised
at the sight of the pair, and spoke earnestly to the
guide, as if to dissuade her from entering. She
passed him, however, with a word, and the next
moment stopped, in great agitation, before the curtain
of a door. Magdalena looked eagerly to her
to confirm her hopes; but before the maiden could
lift her finger, signing to her to enter, she heard,
from within the apartment, the well known growl
of Befo.

“Juan! dear Juan!” she exclaimed, and darted
through the curtain.

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The young man was pacing to and fro, not
bound hand and foot, as her fears had anticipated,
but evidently excited in the most painful degree by
the distant firing. He turned at the sound of her
voice, and threw himself into her arms.

“Sister! for I believe thou art my sister,” he
cried,—“else how could I love thee with a love so
unlike that of man for woman? God be praised
that I have seen thee once again: for it is time thou
wert wrested out of this place. But what is this?
Thou art wasted and thin! very thin: thy hands
burn, thy cheek is hot—Sister, dear sister, thou
art ill!”

“Think of it not,” said Magdalena, with the delight
of a maiden, listening for the first time to the
voice of affection, and caressing him without reserve:
“Oh, Juan, I could die twice over, to hear
you speak so; and I care not if I do die, so you are
but saved; for you have made me very happy.—
You are a prisoner, Juan,—we are both prisoners.
An Indian girl brought me here—she will help you
to escape, for you can speak her language. You
can go to Cortes, and tell him you are the brother
of Magdalena. He will not wrong you then,—no,
he will not dare—Or perhaps we can fly together—
we can fly in a canoe. The maiden will help us,
the good maiden: She is at the door—I will call
her in.”

At this moment, the Indian girl, driven in, immediately
after Magdalena, by some sudden alarm,
stood at a distance, near the door, muffled in her
cloak, and shrinking almost within herself. A
single dim and half expiring torch twinkled in the
apartment; and its light scarcely reaching her, she
remained unobserved, a spectator of every thing,
but of course unable to understand a word of the
conversation.

“Go not, dear Magdalena,” said Juan, folding her

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in his arms; “for it may be that we have but a
moment more to share together. Tarry, and hear
what I have to say. I am, as I may say, a prisoner;
yet it seems, if I can believe the young king, more
because I have incurred the wrath of the Mexicans
than his own. Thus it is: the king rescued me
from prison in Tezcuco, first, because I had not
long before given him liberty, to my own great
misfortune, and secondly, because he doubted not,
that the wrongs I have suffered would incense me
to take part with him, and fight against my countrymen;
whereby, as he thinks, he would gain an
invaluable auxiliary. On the day of his coronation,
he presented me to his people, and called me his
brother; nevertheless, they gave me but sour looks,
for bitterly do they hate the sight of a Spaniard. If I
will fight with them and for them, I win their love,—
so he assures me, and so I can well believe; but this
is clearly impossible. I have not fought, and I will
not; and they say, therefore, that the king should
give me up to be sacrificed; and twice already,
after having suffered some severe losses, they have
come turbulently to the palace, to demand me.
For this reason, I dare not appear among them,
unless to be torn to pieces.—Tremble not, fear
not,” he continued, as Magdalena clasped him, as
if to shield him from approaching weapons: “I
have seen thee bold and resolute among roaring
breakers,—else how could I have saved thee, dear
sister?—Heaven pardon Hilario! and heaven pardon
me, my sister, that I imputed his death to thy
warrant!—I have seen thee bold and intrepid.
Now summon back what courage thou hast; and,
if heaven will, I will save thee yet again from destruction.
I can myself escape, but not with
thee—”

“Think not of me, Juan, think not of me,” said
Magdalena, earnestly and fondly. “Thou canst

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do nothing to make me so happy, as to tell me how
I can die for thee. Fly, then; pause not a moment,
but fly; and know, that, if I meet thee not again
but in heaven, yet thou wilt leave me in heaven,
even upon earth, knowing that thou art saved, and
that I have ministered somewhat to thy liberation.”

“Be of this heart, Magdalena,” said Juan, “and
rest assured that I will soon return, if I have life,
with such a force as will rescue thee likewise from
thraldom. My plan of escape involves duplicity,
nay, even perfidy; yet are mine ends all pure,
honourable, and humane. I perceive that Guatimozin
is incapable of resisting much longer. His
people are slain by thousands each day, and thousands
must soon perish from want. Cortes has
already his foot upon the island; and house by
house, the city is tumbled into ruins. The poor
king is distracted, and resolved to die, burying
himself and his whole people under the ruins of his
capital. This may be excused in a soldier, and in
men; but the town is thronged with poor women
and children; there are thousands of them—tens
of thousands; and they must perish, if the siege be
longer continued. To save them—to save the king
himself (for thus only can he be saved,) I will break
faith with him; and thus also will I save thee. My
only fear is, that his anger may fall upon thee, when
he finds I have deceived him; yet this he may not
discover. There is one here, with whom, could I
but find speech, I could secure thee a protector.
Magdalena, I have one friend here, who will be
thine. An unfortunate attempt to escape has perhaps
robbed me of her assistance. Yet I spoke of
thee to her, and—But, dear Magdalena, thou art
sick and feeble!—I talk to thee too much. If thou
art alarmed, I will not leave thee: we will await
our fate together.”

“I am sick, Juan, and I know not what is the

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matter with me,” said Magdalena, faintly, suffering
the young man to place her upon a seat. “But
who is this of whom you speak? Your friend,
Juan—surely I shall love your friends.”

At this moment, Juan, as he bent over her,
caught sight of the jewels which the Indian maiden
had placed upon her head and neck, and among
others, beheld the star of pearls which had gained
for the daughter of Montezuma the name of Zelahualla,
or the Lady of the Star, and the silver
crucifix.

“Good heaven!” he cried, “do you wear her
jewels, and yet ask me who she is?”

Magdalena started to her feet, and both turning
together, they beheld the Indian princess, shrinking
in the shadow of the room, behind Befo, who
seemed to consider her an old friend, her arms
crossed upon her breast, her head drooping, and
her whole attitude and appearance indicative of a
spirit entirely crushed and broken.

“Zelahualla!” cried Juan, with a voice of delight;
and rushing towards her, he folded her in
his arms, and strove to draw her towards his sister.
“Why didst thou not speak to me, Zelahualla?
Why dost thou turn from me, Zelahualla?”

The maiden sobbed, and strove to disengage
herself from his embrace, saying,

“There is no Zelahualla now—The bright lady
of the east is Zelahualla. Juan and the bright lady
shall go. Why should Juan think there are two?”

In these broken expressions, Magdalena, had
they not been in an unknown tongue, would have
traced the workings of jealous and wounded affection.
They filled Juan with surprise.

“What is this you say to me, Zelahualla?” he
cried, “and what do you mean? Did not Zelahualla
promise she would love my sister?”

“She did,” replied the princess, without abating

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her grief: “she will love Juan's sister, and any
one that Juan loves; and she has brought the
bright lady to Juan, and she has given her her
jewels, that Juan may love her more, and forget
Zelahualla,—and the cross of his God, too, that he
may not be sorry.”

“Alas, Zelahualla, what evil-eye has struck thee?
Dost thou think I deceive thee? Wilt thou not believe
this is my sister?”

The princess looked at him doubtfully and
sadly:

“It is all as Juan says: but the king has asked
questions, and the nobles have spoken to him with
the words of captives; and they say, he has spoken
falsely of the bright lady.”

“Wilt thou believe them, and not me?” said
Juan, not without emotion, for he was touched by
the deep and unreproachful sorrow of the young
princess, though greatly surprised to find how her
ear had been abused. “I swear to thee, and may
heaven judge me according to my truth, that, in
this matter, I deceive thee not. There is but one
Zelahualla, and she is the daughter of Montezuma.”

The maiden sank upon his breast, sobbing, but
now with rapture. Then running to Magdalena,
who had surveyed the scene with varying and extraordinary
emotion, she threw herself at her feet,
and embraced her knees.

Magdalena stood like one entranced, until Juan,
raising up the princess, placed her in her arms,
saying,

“Dear sister, give her thy friendship; for there is
no one more pure or noble of spirit, though artless,
than this poor ignorant maiden; and let the cross
again hang on her bosom, for she has confessed her
Redeemer. She will watch thee and guard thee

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while I am gone;—nay, she will nurse thee too, for
thou art very ill, and needest kind nurture.”

Magdalena returned the embraces of the Indian
maiden, but it was with a wildness of manner, that
greatly disturbed her brother, and even frighted the
princess. He took her hand,—it was hot and
trembling. He kissed her, and found her lips burning
with fever; and he perceived that excitement
had wrought her indisposition into a degree of
illness that might prove serious.

“Compose thyself, dear Magdalena,” he said.
“All now depends upon thy coolness and courage.
If thou becomest ill, my scheme must needs miscarry—
Nay, I cannot attempt it, until thou art better;
for it seems to me now thou art almost delirious.”

“Delirious, Juan? No, I am not delirious. Yet
I am ill,—very ill, I think. Thou goest alone, dost
thou not? Tarry not a moment.—We will leave
thee,—we will not stay longer, lest the guards
should return and find us.”

“Listen to me, Magdalena,” said Juan, earnestly,
as if he feared lest her senses should wander. “If
I fall into the Spaniards' hands alive, I will come to
this garden in canoes, with a proper force, and enter
it by surprise. If it be possible, I will seize the
person of the king, having previously secured him
such terms from Cortes as shall protect him in person
and in his government, as the vassal of Spain.
This will end the war at once. But in this I may
not succeed, yet be able to liberate both thee and
the princess. Through her address, thou wilt be
enabled to walk often in the garden. Walk therein,
as near to the lake as possible, especially late in
the day, and in the first hours of the evening. The
dog Befo I will leave in a cage: when you are in
fear, give him liberty.—The princess hath often fed
him, and he will guard you well; and his voice, if
I come in the night-time, will show me where to

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seek you.—Do you understand me, dear sister?
Struggle but a little against this fever, and perhaps
it may leave you. At all events, the thought of
your suffering will arm me with double strength,
when I return, bringing you relief. Alas, Magdalena,
I am sorry to see you thus!”

“It shall be as you say, Juan,” said Magdalena,
a little incoherently. “I will be governed by this
maiden, and for your sake, I will love her well.
We will walk in the garden, too. Yet think not of
us. If you are safe, we will be content.”

“Farewell, Magdalena, dear Magdalena,” said
Juan. “Walk, if thou art able, even to-morrow;
for in the morning I will essay to depart. At any
rate, be thou sick or well, if thou hearest a bugle
winded in the garden, at any hour, be it morn or
midnight, then be sure that you sally out, and Zelahualla
with you.—Farewell, sister, farewell!—
and farewell, thou, dear princess. When thou
thinkest of me, let the cross be in thy hands and
on thy lips!”

With these words, and having tenderly embraced
them both, Juan led them to the door, and putting
their hands together, he had soon the satisfaction
to hear them step from the passage into the open
air.

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