The Fair God; or, The Last of the 'Tzins: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico

by Lew Wallace

  CHAPTER XI.

  THE CHANT.

  "If you have there anything for laughter, Maxtla, I bid you welcome,"said the king, his guests around him.

  And the young chief knelt on the step before the throne, and answeredwith mock solemnity, "Your servant, O king, knows your great love ofminstrelsy, and how it delights you to make rich the keeper of a harpwho sings a good song well. I have taken one who bears him like a noblesinger, and has age to warrant his experience."

  "Call you that the man?" asked the king, pointing to Guatamozin.

  "He is the man."

  The monarch laughed, and all the guests listening laughed. Now,minstrels were common on all festive occasions; indeed, an Aztec banquetwas no more perfect without them than without guests: but it was seldomthe royal halls were graced by one so very aged; so that the bent formand gray locks, that at other places and times would have insured safetyand respect, now excited derision. The men thought his presence therepresumptuous, the women laughed at him as a dotard. In brief, the'tzin's peril was very great.

  He seemed, however, the picture of aged innocence, and stood before thethrone, his head bowed, his face shaded by the hood, leaning humbly onhis staff, and clasping the harp close to his breast, the vines yetabout it. So well did he observe his disguise, that none there, saveTula and Yeteve, might dream that the hood and dark gown concealed theboldest warrior in Tenochtitlan. The face of the priestess was turnedaway; but the princess sat a calm witness of the scene; either she hadtoo much pride to betray her solicitude, or a confidence in his addressso absolute that she felt none.

  "He is none of ours," said the king, when he had several times scannedthe minstrel. "If the palace ever knew him, it was in the days ofAxaya', from whose tomb he seems to have come."

  "As I came in from the garden, I met him going out," said Maxtla, inexplanation. "I could not bear that my master should lose such a promiseof song. Besides, I have heard the veterans in service often say thatthe ancient chants were the best, and I thought it a good time to testthe boast."

  The gray courtiers frowned, and the king laughed again.

  "My minstrel here represented that old time so well," continued Maxtla,"that at first I was full of reverence; therefore I besought him tocome, and before you, O king, sing the chants that used to charm yourmighty father. I thought it no dishonor for him to compete with thesingers now in favor, they giving us something of the present time. Hedeclined in courtliest style; saying that, though his voice was good, hewas too old, and might shame the ancient minstrelsy; and that, from whathe had heard, my master delighted only in things of modern invention. Ajavelin in the hand of a sentinel ended the argument, and he finallyconsented. Wherefore, O king, I claim him captive, to whom, if it beyour royal pleasure, I offer liberty, if he will sing in competitionbefore this noble company."

  What sport could be more royal than such poetic contest,--the old reignagainst the new? Montezuma welcomed the idea.

  "The condition is reasonable," he said. "Is there a minstrel in thevalley to call it otherwise?"

  In a tone scarcely audible, though all were silent that they might hear,the 'tzin answered,--

  "Obedience was the first lesson of every minstrel of the old time; butas the master we served loved us as his children, we never had occasionto sing for the purchase of our liberty. And more,--the capture of aharmless singer, though he were not aged as your poor slave, O king, wasnot deemed so brave a deed as to be rewarded by our master's smile."

  The speech, though feebly spoken, struck both the king and his chief.

  "Well done, uncle!" said the former, laughing. "And since you havetongue so sharp, we remove the condition--"

  "Thanks, many thanks, most mighty king! May the gods mete you nothingbut good! I will depart." And the 'tzin stooped till his harp struck thefloor.

  The monarch waved his hand. "Stay. I merely spoke of the condition thatmade your liberty depend upon your song. Go, some of you, and call mysingers." A courtier hurried away, then the king added, "It shall bewell for him who best strikes the strings. I promise a prize that shallraise him above trouble, and make his life what a poet's ought to be."

  Guatamozin advanced, and knelt on the step from which Maxtla had risen,and said, his voice sounding tremulous with age and infirmity,--

  "If the great king will deign to heed his servant again,--I am old andweak. There was a time when I would have rejoiced to hear a prize soprincely offered in such a trial. But that was many, many summers ago.And this afternoon, in my hut by the lake-shore, when I took my harp,all covered with dust, from the shelf where it had so long lainuntouched and neglected, and wreathed it with this fresh vine, thinkinga gay dress might give it the appearance of use, and myself a deceitfullikeness to the minstrel I once was, alas! I did not think of mytrembling hand and my shattered memory, or of trial like this. I onlyknew that a singer, however humble, was privileged at your banquet, andthat the privilege was a custom of the monarchs now in their halls inthe Sun,--true, kingly men, who, at time like this, would have put goldin my hand, and bade me arise, and go in peace. Is Montezuma morecareless of his glory? Will he compel my song, and dishonor my grayhair, that I may go abroad in Tenochtitlan and tell the story? In pity,O king, suffer me to depart."

  The courtiers murmured, and even Maxtla relented, but the king said,"Good uncle, you excite my curiosity the more. If your common speechhave in it such a vein of poetry, what must the poetry be? And then,does not your obstinacy outmeasure my cruelty? Get ready, I hold thefortune. Win it, and I am no king if it be not yours."

  The interest of the bystanders now exceeded their pity. It was novel tofind one refusing reward so rich, when the followers of his art wereaccustomed to gratify an audience, even one listener, upon request.

  And, seeing that escape from the trial was impossible, this 'tzin arose,resolved to act boldly. Minstrelsy, as practised by the Aztecs, it mustbe remembered, was not singing so much as a form of chanting,accompanied by rhythmical touches of the lyre or harp,--of all kinds ofchoral music the most primitive. This he had practised, but in thesolitude of his study. The people present knew the 'tzin Guatamo,supposed to be in his palace across the lake, as soldier, scholar, andprince, but not as poet or singer of heroic tales. So that confidentminstrelsy was now but another, if not a surer, disguise. And the eyesof the princess Tula shining upon him calmly and steadily, he said, hisvoice this time trembling with suppressed wrath,--

  "Be it so, O king! Let the singers come,--let them come. Your slave willfancy himself before the great Axaya', or your father, not less royal.He will forget his age, and put his trust in the god whose story he willsing."

  Then other amusements were abandoned, and, intelligence of the trialflying far and fast, lords and ladies, soldiers and priests crowdedabout the throne and filled the hall. That any power of song couldbelong to one so old and unknown was incredible.

  "He is a provincial,--the musician of one of the hamlets," said acourtier, derisively.

  "Yes," sneered another, "he will tell how the flood came, and drownedthe harvest in his neighborhood."

  "Or," ventured a third, "how a ravenous vulture once descended from thehills, and carried off his pet rabbit."

  By and by the royal minstrels came,--sleek, comely men, wearing longstoles fringed with gold, and having harps inlaid with pearl, and strungwith silver wires. With scarce a glance at their humble competitor, theyranged themselves before the monarch.

  The trial began. One after another, the favorites were called upon. Thefirst sang of love, the next of his mistress, the third of Lake Tezcuco,the fourth of Montezuma, his power, wisdom, and glory. Before all werethrough, the patience of the king and crowd was exhausted. The pabaswanted something touching religion, the soldiers something heroic andresounding with war; and all waited for the stranger, as men listeningto a story wait for the laughter it may chance to excite. How were theysurprised! Before the womanly tones of the last singer cea
sed, the oldman dropped his staff, and, lifting his harp against his breast, struckits chords, and in a voice clear and vibratory as the blast of a shell,a voice that filled the whole hall, and startled maid and king alike,began his chant.

  QUETZAL'.

  Beloved of the Sun! Mother of the Brave! Azatlan, the North-born! Heard be thou In my far launched voice! I sing to thy Listening children of thee and Heaven. Vale in the Sun, where dwell the Gods! Sum of The beautiful art thou! Thy forests are Flowering trees; of crystal and gold thy Mountains; and liquid light are thy rivers Flowing, all murmurous with songs, over Beds of stars. O Vale of Gods, the summery Sheen that flecks Earth's seas, and kisses its mountains, And fairly floods its plains, we know is of thee,-- A sign sent us from afar, that we may Feebly learn how beautiful is Heaven!

  The singer rested a moment; then, looking in the eyes of the king, witha rising voice, he continued,--

  Richest hall in all the Vale is Quetzal's--

  At that name Montezuma started. The minstrel noted well the sign.

  O, none so fair as Quetzal's! The winds that Play among its silver columns are Love's Light laughter, while of Love is all the air About. From its orient porch the young Mornings glean the glory with which they rise On earth. First God and fairest was Quetzal'. As him O none so full of holiness, And by none were men so lov'd! Sat he always In his hall, in deity rob'd, watching Humanity, its genius, and its struggles Upward. But most he watch'd its wars,--no hero Fell but he call'd the wand'ring soul in love To rest with him forever. Sat he once Thus watching, and where least expected, in The far North, by stormy Winter rul'd, up From the snows he saw a Nation rise. Shook Their bolts, glistened their shields, flashed the Light of their fierce eyes. A king, in wolf-skin Girt, pointed Southward, and up the hills, through The air, to the Sun, flew the name--Azatlan. Then march'd they; by day and night they march'd,--march'd Ever South, across the desert, up the Mountains, down the mountains; leaping rivers, Smiting foes, taking cities,--thus they march'd; Thus, a cloud of eagles, roll'd they from the North; thus on the South they fell, as autumn Frosts upon the fruits of summer fall.

  And now the priests were glad,--the singer sung of Heaven; and thewarriors were aroused,--his voice was like a battle-cry, and the themewas the proud tradition of the conquering march of their fathers fromthe distant North. Sitting with clasped hands and drooped head, the kingfollowed the chant, like one listening to an oracle. Yet stronger grewthe minstrel's voice,--

  Pass'd Many years of toil, and still the Nation march'd; Still Southward strode the king; still Sunward rose The cry of _Azatlan! Azatlan!_ And Warmer, truer, brighter grew the human Love of Quetzal'. He saw them reach a lake; As dew its waves were clear; like lover's breath The wind flew o'er it. 'Twas in the clime of Starry nights,--the clime of orange-groves and Plumy palms. Then Quetzal' from his watching Rose. Aside he flung his sunly symbols. Like a falling star, from the Vale of Gods He dropp'd, like a falling star shot through the Shoreless space; like a golden morning reach'd The earth,--reach'd the lake. Then stay'd the Nation's March. Still Sunward rose the cry, but Southward Strode the king no more. In his roomy heart, in The chambers of its love, Quetzal' took the Nation. He swore its kings should be his sons,-- They should conquer, by the Sun, he swore! In The laughing Lake he bade them build; and up Sprang Tenochtitlan, of the human love Of Quetzal child; up rose its fire-lit towers, Outspread its piles, outstretched its streets Of stone and wave. And as the city grew, Still stronger grew the love of Quetzal'. Thine Is the Empire. To the shields again, O Azatlan! 'Twas thus he spoke; and feather'd Crest and oaken spear, the same that from the North came conquering, through the valley, On a wave of war went swiftly floating. Down before the flaming shields fell all the Neighb'ring tribes; open flew the cities' gates; Fighting kings gave up their crowns; from the hills The Chichimecan fled; on temple towers The Toltec fires to scattering ashes Died. Like a scourge upon the city, like A fire across the plain, like storms adown The mountain,--such was Azatlan that day It went to battle! Like a monarch 'mid His people, like a god amid the Heavens, O such was Azatlan, victor from the Battle, the Empire in its hand!

  At this point the excitement of the audience rose into interruption:they clapped their hands and stamped; some shouted. As the strong voicerolled the grand story on, even the king's dread of the god disappeared;and had the 'tzin concluded then, the prize had certainly been his. Butwhen the silence was restored, he resumed the attitude so proper to hisdisguise, and, sinking his voice and changing the measure of the chant,solemnly proceeded,--

  As the river runneth ever, like the river ran the love of Quetzal'. The clime grew softer, and the Vale fairer. To weave, and trade, And sow, and build, he taught, with countless other ways of peace. He broke The seals of knowledge, and unveiled the mystic paths of wisdom; Gathered gold from the earth, and jewels from the streams; and happy Peace, as terrible in war, became Azatlan. Only one more Blessing,--a religion sounding of a quiet heaven and a Godly love,--this only wanted Azatlan. And alas, for the Sunly Quetzal'! He built a temple, with a single tower, a Temple over many chambers.

  Slowly the 'tzin repeated the last sentence, and under his gaze themonarch's face changed visibly.

  Worship he asked, and offerings, And sacrifices, not of captives, heart-broken and complaining, But of blooming flowers, and ripened fruits, emblems of love, and peace, And beauty. Alas, for the gentle Quetzal'! Cold grew the people Lov'd so well. A little while they worshipped; then, as bees go no More to a withered flower, they forsook his shrine, and mock'd his Image. His love, longest lingering, went down at last, but slowly Went, as the brook, drop by drop, runs dry in the drought of a rainless Summer. Wrath 'rose instead. Down in a chamber below the temple, A chamber full of gold and unveiled splendor, beneath the Lake that Long had ceased its laughing, thither went the god, and on the walls, On the marble and the gold, he wrote--

  The improvisation, if such it was, now wrought its full effect uponMontezuma, who saw the recital coming nearer and nearer to the dreadmysteries of the golden chamber in the old Cu. At the beginning of thelast sentence, the blood left his face, and he leaned forward as if tocheck the speech, at the same time some master influence held himwordless. His look was that of one seeing a vision. The vagaries of amind shaken by days and nights of trouble are wonderful; sometimes theyare fearful. How easy for his distempered fancy to change the minstrel,with his white locks and venerable countenance, into a servant ofQuetzal', sent by the god to confirm the interpretation and propheciesof his other servant Mualox. At the last word, he arose, and, with animperial gesture, cried,--

  "Peace--enough!"

  THE MONARCH'S FACE CHANGED VISIBLY]

  Then his utterance failed him,--another vision seemed to fix hisgaze. The audience, thrilling with fear, turned to see what he saw, andheard a commotion, which, from the further end of the hall, drew slowlynear the throne, and ceased not until Mualox, in his sacrificial robes,knelt upon the step in the minstrel's place. Montezuma dropped into histhrone, and, covering his eyes with his hands, said faintly,--

  "Evil betides me, father, evil betides me! But I am a king. Speak whatyou can!"

  Mualox prostrated himself until his white hair covered his master'sfeet.

  "Again, O king, your servant comes speaking for his god."

  "For the god, Mualox?"

  The hall became silent as a tomb.

  "I come," the holy man continued, "to tell the king that Quetzal' haslanded, this time on the sea-shore in Cempo
alla. At set of sun his powerwas collected on the beach. Summon all your wisdom,--the end is athand."

  All present and hearing listened awe-struck. Of the warriors, not one,however battle-tried, but trembled with undefined terror. And who mayaccuse them? The weakness was from fear of a supposed god; their heathensouls, after the manner of the Christian, asked, Who may war againstHeaven?

  "Rise, Mualox! You love me; I have no better servant," said the king,with dignity, but so sadly that even the prophet's heart was touched."It is not for me to say if your news be good or evil. All things, evenmy Empire, are in the care of the gods. To-morrow I will hold a councilto determine how this visit may be best met." With a mighty effort hefreed his spirit of the influence of the untimely visitation, and said,with a show of unconcern, "Leave the morrow to whom it belongs, mychildren. Let us now to the ceremony which was to crown the night. Comeforward, son of 'Hualpilli! Room for the lord Iztlil', my friends!"

  Tula looked down, and the queen Tecalco bowed her face upon the shoulderof the queen Acatlan; and immediately, all differences lost in lovingloyalty, the caciques and chiefs gathered before him,--a nobility astrue and chivalric as ever fought beneath an infidel banner.

  And they waited, but the Tezcucan came not.

  "Go, Maxtla. Seek the lord Iztlil', and bring him to my presence."

  Through the palace and through the gardens they sought the recreantlover. And the silence of the waiting in the great hall was painful.Guest looked in the face of guest, mute, yet asking much. The princeCacama whispered to the prince Cuitlahua, "It is a happy interference ofthe gods!"

  Tecalco wept on, but not from sorrow, and the eyes of the devotedprincess were lustrous for the first time; hope had come back to thedarkened soul.

  And the monarch said little, and erelong retired. A great portion of thecompany, despite his injunction, speedily followed his example, leavingthe younger guests, with what humor they could command, to continue therevel till morning.

  Next day at noon couriers from Cempoalla confirmed the announcement ofMualox. Cortes had indeed landed; and that Good Friday was the last ofthe perfect glory of Anahuac.

  Poor king! Not long now until I may sing for thee the lamentation of theGothic Roderick, whose story is but little less melancholy than thine.

  He look'd for the brave captains that led the hosts of Spain, But all were fled, except the dead,--and who could count the slain? Where'er his eye could wander all bloody was the plain; And while thus he said the tears he shed ran down his cheeks like rain.

  Last night I was the king of Spain: to-day no king am I. Last night fair castles held my train: to-night where shall I lie? Last night a hundred pages did serve me on the knee, To-night not one I call my own,--not one pertains to me.[35]

  FOOTNOTES:

  [35] The fifth and sixth verses of the famous Spanish ballad, "The Lamentation of Don Roderic." The translation I have borrowed from Lockhart's Spanish Ballads.--TR.

  BOOK THREE.