Barbaric splendour, blended with the arts and industries of a civilised and practical people, formed the environment of this long-striven-for goal, where the men of Spain now lay at ease. A great pile of low stone buildings gave them commodious quarters. Rich gifts of gold and clothing, and ample food supplies, were given and provided for the white men; and their hearts, whether of the high-mettled and scornful cavaliers, or of the rude boors who formed the common soldiery, were won by the gentle courtesy and the generosity of Montezuma and the respect of the Aztecs who obeyed him. Even the savage and hated Tlascalan allies were lodged and provided for—their detested presence tolerated from consideration for the Spaniards. Here was an unhoped-for and magnificent reception. Here was a way and a time where the civilisation and religion of the Christian world might have been implanted—it would seem—by the philosophy of natural methods, by forbearance, example, and sagacity. So, at least, have thought some of the old chroniclers—so the student of to-day cannot but think.
But it was not to be so. The heart of the thinker bleeds to-day for the things of history which might have been; and the story of Montezuma is strong to give us philosophical regret. Some six days elapsed in this peaceful occupation of the city. Cortes and his Spaniards admired the huge market-place, where products from all quarters of the country were brought together: food, clothing, weapons, manufactured articles of rich material and colour, objects of gold, and a wealth of flowers which the inhabitants loved, stone buildings which lined the streets, the canals and streets which gave access thereto, and, in brief, the whole detail and substance of that remarkable centre of a semi-civilisation which the Spaniards commonly pronounced the equal of anything in their own native land. In company with Montezuma Cortes ascended the great teocalli, or pyramidal temple, and he and his companion, from this high point, beheld with amazement the panorama of the city below—with the lakes, the causeways giving access to the mainland, the towns on the farther side, and the intense cultivation of the valley. "Only the murmur of the people below reached our ears, as we gazed upon this panorama," wrote Bernal Diaz, who was there. To the chiefs who had been ordered to carry Cortes up the fatiguing stairway-ascent of the pyramid, and to the polite inquiries of Montezuma, the Conquistador replied, "that a Spaniard was never weary!" "But this abode of the devil," he said, with less politic words, which somewhat offended Montezuma—indicating the blood-stained sanctuary of the summit where they stood—"should rather be the home of the Cross"; and, indeed, the abominable place might well arouse the indignation of a Christian man: even one of that race and religion which later, in the same place, burned its own brethren at the stake for the good of their souls!
A few days wrought a change. Montezuma became a prisoner in the Spanish camp! In the heart of his own city, surrounded by his powerful chiefs and armies, the Aztec languished in vile, if seemingly voluntary, durance; and, an instrument in the invaders' hands, he governed his realm from their quarters. How was this astonishing transformation brought about? Cortes and his companions were in a singular position. Living in friendly harmony with their powerful host, shielded by his strange, superstitious reverence for a tradition, they yet could not but fear some change of circumstance which might, at any moment, plunge them into insecurity or threaten them with destruction. Moreover, Cortes knew not in what condition he stood with the dreaded powers of Castile. What favour or disfavour had he incurred in Spain for his irregular proceedings?—adverse representation of which, he well knew, would have been made by Velasquez and others, jealous of the conquest. Also—and this was a more poignant consideration than any other—Mexico was not conquered; it was only discovered. Action was necessary—to go or stay. "Listen," said Cortes to his captains, as they held solemn conclave. "This is my plan. We will seize and hold Montezuma. What say you?" It was done. For a pretext for this unworthy act the murder of two Spaniards upon an expedition at Vera Cruz was assigned. Visiting Montezuma's residence under pretence of asking redress for this—which was fully granted by the Aztec king, with absolute proofs of his non-participation in the occurrence—the Spaniards demanded that he should accompany them to their camp and take up his residence there.
This remarkable request was acceded to by the weak Montezuma—let us not say weak, but rather fatalist—and, accompanied by his weeping vassals, he allowed himself to be conducted to the stone fortress which had been assigned to the Spaniards as their habitation. The circumstance is perhaps unique in history.
And then the barbarous abuse of power, so strong a trait in the Spanish character, was exercised by Cortes and his captains. The chiefs who had been responsible for the killing of the two Spaniards arrived in the capital in accordance with Montezuma's summons. The Spaniards seized them, bound them to stakes in the courtyard, and burned them alive, an abominable act and stain upon their name, for which they paid dearly afterwards. Montezuma had been put in chains, the prisoners having confessed, although falsely, it is held, that they had acted in accordance with the Emperor's instructions. Afterwards Montezuma's shackles were taken off, but the indignity remained, although the Spaniards treated him well and endeavoured to render his captivity light, not so much out of regard for him, as that the safe keeping of his person was a valuable hostage for them.
The days went on in the Spanish camp. There was gaming with the huge treasure which, after his captivity, Montezuma gave the Spaniards; a treasure of which the gold, in three great heaps upon the floor of the habitation, was of value so prodigious as to dazzle even them, and of which a fifth was set apart for the Spanish king. Not content with these matters, or, rather, urged by their religious fervour, the Spaniards obtained permission to erect an altar and crucifix in one of the sanctuaries of the great teocalli. There Father Olmedo celebrated Mass, and the Te Deum was chanted by the soldiers, side by side with the sacrificial stone; the abominable war-god's image, and all the attendant machinery of its savage priestcraft.
But a time of change looms up. Six months have elapsed since the Spaniards entered the city. The unnatural condition of these things bears its fruit. The Aztec king has sounded the knell of his own authority and prestige, and the Spaniards' religious work has incurred the hatred of the seething multitude, scarcely held in check by the commands of Montezuma. Cortes and most of his captains at this critical time are called to Vera Cruz by Sandoval, the captain in charge; and go they must, for life or death. For hostile ships, sent by the jealous Velasquez and commanded by one Narvaez, menace the base of operations on the coast. Leaving Alvarado in charge of Montezuma and Spanish prestige in Tenochtitlan, Cortes by forced marches gained the coast, journeying with great speed, and under grave apprehension.
Fortune on this occasion favoured the Conquistador in a remarkable way. With only a third of his small force—140 men had remained in the capital—Cortes, under cover of a fearful storm at night, attacked Narvaez and the Spaniards of his command, routing them and taking the leader prisoner. The defeated soldiers soon enrolled themselves under Cortes's successful banner, stimulated by tales of gold and glory in the interior. But whilst the Conquistadores were resting and congratulating themselves upon the addition of men, horses, and ammunition to their forces, grave tidings came from Mexico. The Indians of Tenochtitlan had arisen, assaulted the fortifications of the Spaniards on all sides, and unless Cortes desired to see all his work undone, his people massacred, and his hard-won prestige ruined, he must make his way as fast as God would let him again to the city on the lakes of Anahuac.
Up, up they went once more. Up through the tropical forests and among the appalling escarpments of the Sierra. Again they descended the valley slopes, approached the lakes—round which an ominous abandonment prevailed—and crossing the long causeway, entered the Spanish camp. The fault of the insurrection, Cortes learned now, lay with the commander in charge—the foolish and cruel Alvarado, whose barbarous acts on other occasions had needlessly embroiled the Spaniards with the natives. A great celebration and religious festival was being held—Cortes learned—and whilst the Aztec nobles and people were occupied, unsuspecting any hostile act of their guests, Alvarado and the Spaniards, armed to the teeth, had mingled with the crowd with their purpose all planned, fallen upon the unarmed worshippers, and perpetrated a frightful massacre—"without pity or Christian mercy, so that the gutters ran with blood as in a rain-storm," say the chroniclers.
The result of this barbarous act was a vengeance and punishment which cost the Conquistadores dear, and stripped them in a few days of all they had won. For the maddened people, roused by sorrow and hate, and urged on by the priests, assailed the Spanish dwelling with frenzied attack. A rain of darts and missiles descended day after day upon the quarters of the Christians, so numerous that they had to be gathered in heaps and burnt in the courtyard. The main point of attack by the Mexicans was the great teocalli of the war-god, which overlooked the Spaniards' quarters, and so fierce was the hail of arrows and stones from this that a sortie was made. Cortes, with Sandoval and Alvarado, and a number of the Spaniards, led a gallant attack on the pyramid, fought their way up its precipitous steps and terraces, and after a frightful hand-to-hand struggle on its giddy summit, forced the Aztecs and their priests over the edge, and rolled the infernal idol of Huitzilopotchli, the war-god, down among the people in the streets below.