Calavar; or, The Knight of The Conquest, A Romance of Mexico

by Robert Montgomery Bird

"Tell his royal majesty, the king," said the general, with an accent no longer resembling that which had fixed the barb in the bosom of his prey, "that it mislikes me to destroy his people, like so many dumb beasts; and yet to this end am I enforced by their madness and his supineness. Bid him direct his subjects to lay down their arms, and assail me no further; otherwise shall I be constrained to employ those weapons which God has given me, until this beauteous island is converted into a charnel-house and hell, and the broad lake of Tezcuco into the grave of his whole race!"

The mild and musical voice of Marina repeated the wish in the language of Anahuac; and all eyes were bent on the monarch, as she spoke. But not a muscle moved in the frame or the visage of Montezuma.

"Is the knave turned to stone, that he hears not?" muttered the chief. "Speak thou, my little Orteguilla. Repeat what thou hast heard, and see if thine antics will not arouse the sleeper."

The youthful page stepped up to the king, seized his hand, which he strove to raise to his lips, and looking up in his face, with an innocent air, endeavoured to engage his attention. This boy had, from the first days of imprisonment, been a favourite with Montezuma; and being very arch and cunning, Don Hernan did not scruple to place him as a spy about the king, under colour of presenting him as a servant. In common, Montezuma was greatly diverted with his boyish tricks, and especially with his blundering efforts to catch the tongue of Mexico. But there was no longer left in the bosom of the degraded prince, a chord to vibrate to merriment. Habit, however, had not yet lost its hold; and as the boyish voice stammered out the accustomed tones, he gradually turned his eyes from the person of the general, and fixed them on the visage of Orteguilla. But as he gazed, his brows contracted into a gloomier frown, he laid his hand on the prattler's shoulder, and no sooner had the urchin ceased speaking, than he thrust him sternly, though not violently, away. Then drawing himself erect, he folded his arms on his bosom, and without uttering a word, fixed his eyes on the face of Cortes, and there calmly and sorrowfully maintained them.

"This is, doubtless, a lethargy," said the general; "but it suits not our present occasions to indulge it. Where is my friend, De Morla? He was wont to have much influence with this humorous man."

"I am here," said De Morla, stepping forward; "and if you demand it, I will speak to the king; though with no hopes of persuading him to show us any kindness."

As De Morla spoke, Don Amador, who had followed him to the side of Cortes, observed one of the princesses turn from her sire, and look eagerly towards his friend. In this maiden, he doubted not, he perceived the fair Minnapotzin; and he ceased to wonder at the passion of his countryman, when he discovered with his own eyes how little her beauty had been overrated. Though of but small stature, her figure, as far as it could be perceived through the folds of peculiar vestments, was exceedingly graceful. The cymar was knotted round her bosom with a modest girdle, and left bare two arms prettily moulded, on which shone bracelets of gold, fantastically wrought. Her hair was long, and fell, braided with strings of the same metal, on her shoulders, on which also was a necklace of little emeralds alternating with crystals, and suspending a silver crucifix of Spanish workmanship. These were her only decorations. Her skin was rather dark than tawny, and the tinge of beautifying blood was as visible on her cheeks as on those of the maids of Andalusia. Her features were very regular; and two large eyes, in which a native timidity struggled with affection at the sight of her Christian lover, rendered her countenance as engaging as it was lovely. She hung upon De Morla's accents with an air of the deepest interest, as he expressed, in imperfect language, the desires of his general.

As he spoke, the infidel king surveyed him with a frown,—a notice that he now extended to all the Christians present, but without deigning to reply. It was evident that he understood the desires of his jailor, and equally plain that he had resolved to disregard them. The angry spot darkened on the brow of Cortes; and he was about to degrade the captive with still more violent marks of his displeasure; when, at this moment, the roar of his artillery, mingled with the shouts of the besiegers, suddenly shook the palace to its foundations, and drowned his voice in the shrieks of the women.

Montezuma started to his feet, and cast a look upon Cortes, in which horror did not wholly conceal a touch of ferocious satisfaction. His people were, indeed, falling under those terrific explosions, like leaves before the mountain gust; but well he read in the dismayed visages of the Spaniards, that fate was, at last, avenging his injuries on the oppressors.

"Speak thou to thy father, my Benita!" cried De Morla, in her own language, to the terrified princess, "and let him stay the work of blood; for none but he has the power. Tell him, we desire peace, repent the wrongs we have done him, and will redress them. If he will regain his liberty and his empire,—if he will save his people, his children, and himself, from one common and fearful destruction, let him forget that we have done him wrong, and pronounce the words of peace."