The fantastic forms and features of these symbolic idols meant nothing to the Spaniards' eyes but outward and visible representations of the hideous lineaments of Satan. With the greatest alacrity, cheered on by Cabrera, the soldiers rolled the colossal monsters down the steps of the pyramid, amidst the triumphant shouts of their own companions, and the groans and lamentations of the awe-struck natives, who forthwith gave up all hopes of the coming harvest in despair.
The work was finally crowned by the burning of the images in the presence of the assembled, startled multitudes. That finishing touch proved a wise one. Hitherto, during the work of desecration, the Totonacs had waited in trembling expectation of some fearful exhibition of their insulted god's great power and glory. But now. Poor impotent deities! they had not been able even to prevent the profanation of their shrines, the destruction of their own representations.
"What think ye of your gods now?" asked Pedro de Alvarado contemptuously, as he spurned a heap of the smouldering ashes with his foot, and turned his scornful eyes upon a group of humbled priests beside him.
"Verily they be fine gods," added Father Juan Diaz, ever ready to hit those who were down. "As able, i' faith, to help ye as to assert their own dignity."
So began the priests and people of Cempoalla, apparently, to think themselves. With bowed heads and dejected steps they left those humiliating mounds of ashes. The day of solemn festival was turned into a day of turmoil and mourning.
The people of that fair land of Mexico had received their first trample under the iron heel of the conqueror. In their abject dejection they aided in the business of their own humiliation.
By Cortes' orders a number of the Totonacs cleansed the floor and walls of the teocalli from their foul impurities; a fresh coating of stucco was laid on them by the native masons, and an altar was raised, surmounted by a lofty cross, and hung with garlands of roses.
"And now, my friends," exclaimed Cortes, addressing the multitudes assembled around the base of the pyramid temple, watching proceedings with a stupefied wonder—"and now, put by your sad thoughts and your saddened countenances, for a brighter day has dawned for you than you have ever known hitherto. I have spoilt one procession, but I will make you full amends with another and more glorious."
With the easy vivacity and changeableness of the semi-civilized nature, the Indians roused up at the Spanish General's new tones of cheerful friendship, and greeted his short speech with shouts of approval, smiles, and nods, which received full reply. Sternness had done its work; he was quite ready now to be as joyous and cordial and brotherly as they would let him. They went from one extreme to the other—from animal-like ferocity to childlike docility, owing to the weakness of their nature. But Cortes, from the dark brows of the resolute victor who would be obeyed, to the courteous, agreeable friend, from policy, and an almost unequalled power of self-command. He promised the procession, and it was soon formed.
Once more Spaniards and Indians assembled in the great square. Side by side, no longer conqueror and captive, but host and guest once more, moved on with calm and stately steps the two leaders, the tall, slender Spaniard, the tall, corpulent Indian chief. Following them came the two armies, in the same brotherly union. Then the Totonac priests, no longer wearing their dismal black garments with those suggestive dark-hued stains upon them, but clothed in white robes, and, like their brother Christian priests, bearing great lighted candles in their hands; while an image of the Virgin, little less roughly made in those days than the idols so lately deposed, but half-smothered under the sweet-scented, brilliant burden of flowers, was borne aloft, and, as the procession climbed the steps of the temple, was deposited above the altar, and a solemn mass, performed by Father Olmedo, concluded the great ceremony, instead of a bloody sacrifice.