“That will come by waiting.”
“Alas!” said the ’tzin, bitterly, “I have waited too long already. I have most dismal news. When Malinche marched to Cempoalla, he left in command here the red-haired chief whom we call Tonatiah. This, you know, is the day of the incensing of Huitzil’—”
“I know, my son,—an awful day! The day of cruel sacrifice, itself a defiance of Quetzal’.”
“What!” said Guatamozin, in angry surprise. “Are you not an Aztec?”
“Yes, an Aztec, and a lover of his god, the true god, whose return he knows to be near, and,”—to gather energy of expression, he paused, then raised his hands as if flinging the words to a listener overhead,—“and whom he would welcome, though the land be swimming in the blood of unbelievers.”
The violence and incoherency astonished the ’tzin, and as he looked at the paba fixedly, he was sensible for the first time of a fear that the good man’s mind was affected. And he considered his age and habits, his days and years spent in a great, cavernous house, without amusement, without companionship, without varied occupation; for the thinker, it must be remembered, knew nothing of Tecetl or the world she made so delightful. Moreover, was not mania the effect of long brooding over wrongs, actual or imaginary? Or, to put the thought in another form, how natural that the solitary watcher of decay, where of all places decay is most affecting, midst antique and templed splendor, should make the cause of Quetzal’ his, until, at last, as the one idea of his being, it mastered him so absolutely that a division of his love was no longer possible. If the misgiving had come alone, the pain that wrung the ’tzin would have resolved itself in pity for the victim, so old, so faithful, so passionate; but a dreadful consequence at once presented itself. By a strange fatality, the mystic had been taken into the royal councils, where, from force of faith, he had gained faith. Now,—and this was the dread,—what if he had cast the glamour of his mind over the king’s, and superinduced a policy which had for object and end the peaceable transfer of the nation to the strangers?
This thought thrilled the ’tzin indefinably, and in a moment his pity changed to deep distrust. To master himself, he walked away; coming back, he said quietly, “The day you pray for has come; rejoice, if you can.”
“I do not understand you,” said Mualox.
“I will explain. This is the day of the incensing of Huitzil’, which, you know, has been celebrated for ages as a festival religious and national. This morning, as customary, lords and priests, personages the noblest and most venerated, assembled in the court-yard of the temples. To bring the great wrong out in clearer view, I ought to say, father, that permission to celebrate had been asked of Tonatiah, and given,—to such a depth have we fallen! And, as if to plunge us into a yet lower deep, he forbade the king’s attendance, and said to the teotuctli, ‘There shall be no sacrifice.’”
“No victims, no blood!” cried Mualox, clasping his hands. “Blessed be Quetzal’!”