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THERE was a bluster of trumpets and drums, and out
of the main gate of the palace in which he was lodged,
under the eyes of a concourse of spectators too vast to be
nearly estimated, Cortes marched with the greater part of his
Christians. The column was spirited, even brilliant. Good
steeds had improved with rest; while good fare, not to speak
of the luxury of royal baths, had reconstituted both footmen
and riders. At the head, as guides, walked four commissioners
of the king, — stately men, gorgeous in escaupiles and
plumed helms.

The Spaniards were full of glee, vented broad exaggerations,
and manifested the abandon I have seen in sailors
ashore the first time after a long voyage.

“Be done, good horse!” said Sandoval to Motilla, whose
blood warmed under the outcry of trumpet and clarion.
“Be done!”

Montejo laughed. “Chide her not! She feels the silver
on her heels as a fine lady the ribbons on her head.”

“No,” said Alvarado, laying his lance half in rest, “Motilla
is a Christian, and the scent of the pagan is in her
nostrils.”

“Up with thy lance, Señor Capitan! The guides, if they
were to look back, would leave us without so much as good
day.”

“Cierto, thou 'rt right! But how pleasant it would be to
impale two of them at once!”

“Such thy speculation? I cannot believe thee. I have
been thy comrade too long,” said Leon, gravely.

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Alvarado turned curtly, as if to say, “Explain thyself.”

“The gold in their ears and on their wrists, Señor, —
there were thine eyes. And thou didst look as if summing
up, — ear-rings, four; bracelets, six; sundries, three; total,
thirteen ounces pure. Confess thee, confess thee!”

The laugh was loud and long.

I have already given the reader an idea of the tianguez, or
market, whither Cortes, by request, was first conducted. It
is sufficient to say now, that the exhibition of the jewellers
attracted most attention; in front of their booths many of
the footmen actually broke ranks, determined to satisfy
themselves if all they there saw was indeed of the royal
metal. Years after, they vaunted the sight as something
surpassing all the cities of Europe could display.

Cortes occupied himself questioning the guides; for which
purpose Marina was brought forward. Nothing of importance
escaped him.

At one of the corners, while the interpreter was in the
midst of a reply, Cortes' horse suddenly stopped, startled
by an obstacle in the way. Scarcely a lance-length off,
pictures of terror, stood four slaves, richly liveried, and
bearing a palanquin crowned by a green panache.

“By Our Lady, I will see what is here contained!”

So saying, Alvarado spurred impetuously forward. The
guides threw themselves in his way; he nearly rode one of
them down; and, laughing at the fright of the slaves, he
drew aside the curtain of the carriage, and peered in.

“Jesu!” he cried, dropping the cloth, and reining his
horse back.

“Hast thou the fiend there? Or only a woman?” asked
Cortes.

“A paragon, an houri, your excellency! What a rude
fellow I have been! She is frightened. Come hither, Marina.
Say to the girl —”

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“Not now, not now!” said Cortes, abruptly. “If she
is pretty, thou wilt see her again.”

Alvarado frowned.

“What! angry?” continued the general. “Out on thee,
captain! How can an untaught infidel, though paragon
and houri, understand knightly phrases? What the merit
of an apology in her eyes? Pass on!”

“Perhaps thou 'rt right. Stand aside! Out of the way
there!” And as if to make amends, he cleared a passage for
the slaves and their burden.

“To the devil all of ye!” he replied, to the laughter of
his comrades. “Ye did not see her, nor know ye if she is
old or young, harridan or angel.”

From the market, the column marched back to the great
temple, with which, as it rose, broad and high, like a terraced
hill, between the palace they occupied and the sun at
rising, they were somewhat familiar. Yet, when fairly in
view of the pile, Cortes called Olmedo to his side.

“I thank thee, Father Bartolomé. That thou art near, I
feel better. A good surcoat and shield, as thou knowest,
give a soldier confidence in battle; and so, as I come nigh
yon abomination, full of bloody mysteries, called worship,
and carven stones, called gods, — may they be accursed from
the earth! — I am pleased to make use of thee and thy
holiness. Doubtless the air of the place is thick with sorceries
and evil charms; if so, thy crucifix hath more of safeguard
than my sword. Ride nearer, father, and hearken,
that thou mayst answer what more I have to say. Would
not this pile look the better of a cross upon every tower?”

“Thy zeal, my son, I commend, and thy question strictly
hath but one answer,” Olmedo replied. “The impulse,
moreover, is to do at once what thou hast suggested. Roll
away a stone, and in its bed plant a rose, and the blooming
will be never so sweet; and so, never looketh the cross so

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beautiful as when it taketh the place of an idol. And for the
conversion of heathen, the Holy Mother careth not if the
worship be under Christian dome or in pagan chamber.”

“Say'st thou so!” said Cortes, checking his horse. “By
my conscience, I will order a cross!”

“Be not so fast, I pray you. What armed hand now
putteth up, armed hand must keep; and that is war. May
not the good end be reached without such resort? In my
judgment we should first consult the heathen king. How
knowest thou that he is not already inclined to Christian
ways? Let us ask him.”

Cortes relaxed the rein, and rode on convinced.

Through the gate of the coatapantli, amid much din and
clangor, the entire column entered the yard of the temple.
On a pavement, glassy-smooth, and spotless as a good housewife's
floor, the horsemen dismounted, and the footmen stood
at rest. Then Cortes, with his captains and Marina, approached
the steps, where he was received by some pabas,
who offered to carry him to the azoteas, — a courtesy he
declined with many protestations of thanks.

At the top, under a green canopy, and surrounded by
courtiers and attendants, Montezuma stood, in the robes of
a priest, and with only his sceptre to indicate his royalty.

“You have my welcome, Malinche. The ascent is wearisome.
Where are the pabas whom I sent to assist you?”

The monarch's simple dignity affected his visitors, Cortes
as much as the others.

“I accept thy welcome, good king,” he replied, after the
interpretation. “Assure thyself that it is given to a friend.
The priests proffered their service as you directed; they said
your custom was to be carried up the steps, which I grant
accords with a sovereign, but not with a warrior, who should
be superior to fatigue.”

To favor a view of the city, which was after a while

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suggested, the king conducted Cortes to the southern side of
the azoteas, where were also presented a great part of the lake,
bordered with white towns, and the valley stretching away
to the purple sierras. The train followed them with mats and
stools, and erected the canopy to intercept the sun; and
thus at ease, the host explained, and the guest listened.
Often, during the descriptions, the monarch's eyes rested
wistfully on his auditor's face; what he sought, we can
imagine; but well I ween there was more revelation in a
cloudy sky than in that bloodless countenance. The demeanor
of the Spaniard was courtierly; he failed not to
follow every gesture of the royal hand; and if the meaning
of what he heard was lost because of the strange language,
the voice was not. In the low, sad intonations, unmarked by
positive emphasis, he divined more than the speaker read
in his face, — a soul goodly in all but its irresolution. If
now and then the grave attention relaxed, or the eye wandered
from the point indicated, it was because the city
and lake, and the valley to the mountains, were, in the
visitor's mind, more a military problem than a picture of
power or beauty.

The interview was at length interrupted. Two great
towers crowned the broad azoteas of the temple, one dedicated
to Tezca', the other to Huitzil'. Out of the door of
the latter issued a procession of pabas, preceded by boys
swinging censers, the smoke of which was sickening sweet.
Tlalac, the teotuctli, came last, walking slowly, bareheaded,
barefooted, his gown trailing behind him, its sleeves and
front, like his hands and face, red with the blood of recent
sacrifice. While the gloomy train gathered about the astonished
Christians, the heathen pontiff, as if unconscious of
their presence, addressed himself to the king. His words
were afterwards translated by Marina.

“To your application, O king, there is no answer. What

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you do will be of your own inspiration. The victims are
removed; the servants of the god, save whom you see,
are in their cells. If such be thy will, the chamber is ready
for the strangers.”

Montezuma sat a moment hesitant, his color coming and
going; then, feeling the gaze of his guest upon him, he
arose, and said kindly, but with dignity, “It is well. I
thank you.” Turning to Cortes, he continued, “If you will
go with me, Malinche, I will show you our god, and the
place in which we celebrate his worship. I will explain our
religion, and you may explain yours. Only give me respect
for respect.”

Bowing low, Cortes replied, “I will go with thee, and
thou shalt suffer no wrong from the confidence. The hand
or tongue that doeth grievance to anything pertaining to thy
god or his worship shall repeat it never.” The last sentence
was spoken with a raised voice, and a glance to the captains
around; then, observing the frowns with which some of
them received the notice, he added, almost without a pause,
to Olmedo, “What saith the Church of Christ?”

“That thou hast spoken well, for this time,” answered
the priest, kissing the crucifix chained to his girdle. “Go
on. I will go with thee.”

Then they followed the king into the sanctuary, leaving
the teotuctli and his train on the azoteas.

I turn gladly from that horrible chamber. With quite as
much satisfaction, I turn from the conversation of the king
and Cortes. Not even the sweet voice of Marina could
make the Aztec theogony clear, or the Catholic commentary
of the Spaniard interesting.

Alvarado approached the turret door with loathing. Staggered
by the stench that smote him from within, he stopped
a moment. Orteguilla, the page, pulled his mantle, and
said, “I have news for thee. Wilt thou hear?”

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“Picaro! To-morrow, if the Mother doth spare me so
long, I will give thee a lash for every breath of this sin-laden
air thou makest me draw with open mouth. As thou lovest
life, speak, and have done!”

“What if I bring thee a message of love?”

“If thou couldst bring me such a message from a comely
Christian maiden, I would kiss thee, lad.”

Orteguilla held out an exquisite ramillete. “Seest thou
this? If thou carest and wilt follow me, I will show thee
an infidel to swear by forever.”

“Give me the flowers, and lead me to the infidel. If
thou speakest truly, thy fortune is made; if thou liest, I
will fling thee from the temple.”

He turned from the door, and was conducted to the shade
of the turret of Tezca'.

“I was loitering after the tall priest, the one with the
bloody face and hands, — what a monster he is!” said the
page, crossing himself, — “when a slave came in my way,
offering some flowers, and making signs. I spoke to him.
`What do you want?' `Here is a message from the princess
Nenetzin.' `Who is she?' `Daughter of the great
king.' `Well, what did she say?' `She bade me' — and,
señor capitan, these are almost his words, — `she bade me
give these flowers to one of the teules, that he might give
them to Tonatiah, him with the red beard.' I took the present,
and asked, `What does the princess say to the Tonatiah?'
`Let him read the flowers,' the fellow answered. I remembered
then that it is a custom of this people to send messages
in that form. I asked him where his mistress was;
he told me, and I went to see her.”

“What of her? Is she handsome?”

“Here she is; judge thou.”

“Holy Mother! 'T is the girl I so frightened on the
street. She is the pearl of the valley, the light of the

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world!” exclaimed Alvarado. “Stay thou, sir page. Interpret
for me. I will speak to her.”

“Simply, then. Thou knowest I am not so good an
Aztec as Marina.”

Nenetzin was sitting in the shade of the turret. Apart
several paces stood her carriage-bearers. Her garments of
finest cotton, white as snow, were held close to her waist by
a green sash. Her ornaments — necklace, bracelets, and
anklets — were of gold, enriched by chalchuites. Softest sandals
protected her feet; and the long scarf, heavy with embroidery,
and half covering her face, fell from her head to
the mat of scarlet feathers upon which she was sitting.

When the tall Spaniard, in full armor, except the helmet,
stopped thus suddenly before her, the large eyes dilated, the
blood left her cheeks, and she shrank almost to the roof.
Was it not as if the dream, so strange in the coming, had
vitalized its subject, and sent it to her, a Fate the more irresistible
because of its peculiarities, — the blue eyes, the forehead
womanly white, the hair long and waving, the beard
dyed, apparently, in the extremest brightness of the sun, — all
so unheard of among the brown and olive children of Anahuac?
And what if the Fate had come demandingly? Refuse!
Can the chrysalis, joyous in the beauty of wings
just perfected, refuse the sun?

The cavalier could not mistake the look with which she
regarded him. In pity for her fear, in admiration of her
beauty, in the native gallantry of his soul, he knelt, and
took her hand, and kissed it; then, giving it back, and looking
into her face with an expression as unmistakable as her
own, he said, —

“My beautiful princess must not be afraid. I would die
sooner than harm her.”

While the page interpreted, as best he could, the captain
smiled so winsomely that she sat up, and listened with a

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smile in return. She was won, and shall we say lost?
The future comes rapidly now to answer for itself.

“Here is the message,” Alvarado continued. “which I
could not read; but if it meant to tell me of love, what
better can I than give it back to tell the same story for
me?”

He kissed the flowers, and laid them before her. Picking
them up, she said, with a laugh, “Tonatiah is a poet, — a
god and a poet.”

He heard the interpretation, and spoke again, without relaxing
his ardent gaze.

“Jesu Christo! That one so beautiful should be an infidel!
She shall not be, — by the holy sepulchre, she shall
not! Here, lad, take off the chain which is about my neck.
It hath an iron crucifix, the very same my mother — rested
be her soul! — gave me, with her blessing and prayer, what
time I last bade her farewell.”

Orteguilla took off the chain and crucifix, and put them
in the cavalier's hand.

“Will my beautiful princess deign to receive these gifts
from me, her slave forever? And in my presence will she
put them on? And for my sake, will she always wear them?
They have God's blessing, which cannot be better bestowed.”

Instead of laying the presents down to be taken or not, this
time he held them out to her directly; and she took them, and,
childlike, hung them around her neck. In the act, the scarf
fell, and left bare her head and face. He saw the glowing
countenance, and was about to speak further, when Orteguilla
stopped him.

“Moderate thyself, I pray thee, Don Pedro. Look at the
hounds; they are closing us in. The way to the turret is
already cut off. Have a care, I pray!”

The tone of alarm had instant effect.

“How! Cut off, say'st thou, lad?” And Alvarado

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sprang up, his hand upon his sword. He swept the circle
with a falcon's glance; then turning once more to the girl,
he said, resuming the tenderness of voice and manner, “By
what name may I know my love hereafter?”

“Nenetzin, — the princess Nenetzin.”

“Then farewell, Nenetzin. Ill betide the man or fortune
that keepeth thee from me hereafter! May I forfeit life, and
the Holy Mother's love, if I see thee not again! Farewell.”

He kissed his mailed hand to her, and, facing the array of
scowling pabas, strode to them, and through their circle,
with a laugh of knightly scorn.

At the door of the turret of Huitzil' he said to the page,
“The love of yon girl, heathen no longer, but Christian, by
the cross she weareth, — her love, and the brightness of her
presence, for the foulness and sin of this devil's den, — what
an exchange! Valgame Dios! Thou shalt have the ducat.
She is the glory of the world!”