The Infidel; or, the Fall of Mexico. Vol. II.

by Robert Montgomery Bird

CHAPTER VII.

Are the refinements and delicate sensibilities of the spirit confined to the highborn and polished? They are undoubtedly the offspring of nature: Education supplies their place only by the substitutes of affectation. Though poverty may crush, though wretchedness and evil habits may corrupt and extinguish them, yet they throb in the breasts of the lowly, during the days of youth, and are not always banished even by the rigours of manhood. They dwell under the painted lodge of the barbarian, and they burn even in the heart of the benighted heathen.

Let us fancy the moonlight streaming over the lake of Tezcuco. The moon is in her first quarter, and the evening-star, almost her rival in lustre and magnitude, precedes her in the blue paths of the west. The golden radiance of sunset trembles no more on the mountain peaks; but the thin vapours floating through the zenith, are yet gleaming faintly with the last expiring glories of day. The birds are at rest in the garden of Mexico,—all save the little madrugadores, that yet chirp merrily in the trees, and the centzontli, who leaves her ravishing melody, to mock them with their own music, made yet more musical. The breeze sleeps among the boughs, or it stirs only through the poplar leaves, and its rustling sound is mingled with the hum of a thousand nocturnal insects. In such a night, one forgets that man is not an angel. We see not the frown of malevolence in the sky; we hear not the step of the betrayer on the grass; nor does the dew-drop, falling from the leaf, admonish us of the tears that are streaming, hard by, in sorrow. In such a night, the feelings of the kind are kindest, the thoughts of the pure, purest; youth gathers about it the mantle of hope, and hope whispers in the voice of affection. At such a time, it is good to look into the hearts of the youthful, and forget the excitements of years. A draught from the waters of Clitorius was fabled to extinguish the thirst for wine.[10] He who can creep into the bosoms of the young, and drink of the fountain of innocent affections, will turn with loathing from the impure and maddening currents, that convert the human family into a race of moral Bacchanals.

Can we think that among the worshippers of the ferocious Mexitli, and the fierce invaders of his people, there were none with natures worthy of a better belief, and a nobler cause? Destiny had thrown together two, at least, whose spirits were but little tainted with the evil of their place and their day,—in whom, perhaps, feeling rather than reason, had set a talisman that left them incorruptible. A good heart is to man what the galvanic bar of the philosopher was to the ship's copper-sheathing. It gives this protection, at least, that, through the whole voyage of life, it preserves the integrity of the vessel. The barnacle and the remora will indeed deaden its course, but the metal remains clean and bright: the billows of the world waste their corrosive powers only on the protector. Morality itself is two-fold; it is of the head, and of the heart. The first belongs to the philosopher, the second to the poet. The one is an abstraction of reason; the other an exhortation of passion. The morality of the head is the only one that is just; but it is loveliest and best when the heart enforces its precepts. With good hearts, Juan Lerma and the princess of Mexico, moved among the corruptions of superstition, uncorrupted; and preserved to themselves, unabated and unsullied, the pure and gentle feelings, which nature had showered upon them at their birth.

The moon, falling aslant upon the garden, lighted the countenances of the young Spanish exile and the orphan child of Montezuma, as they rested upon the summit of a little artificial mound, ornamented with carved stone seats and rude statuary, constructed for the purpose of overlooking the walls. The visage of the Christian was illumined by pensive smiles, and his lips breathed gently and fervently the accents that were sweetest to the ears of the Indian maiden. But did he discourse of worldly affection and passion to one so ignorant and artless? A nobler spirit animated the youth. He spoke of the faith of Christians, and laboured with more than the zeal, though not perhaps with the wisdom of the missionary, to impress its divine truths upon the mind of his hearer. If his arguments were somewhat less cogent and logical than might have been spoken, it must be remembered that his religion was like that which will perhaps belong to the majority of Christians to the end of the world,—a faith of the heart, which the head has not been accustomed to canvass.

He directed her eyes to the moon, to the evening star, and to those other celestial wanderers, by which the heart of man was 'secretly enticed,' even before the days of the perfect man of Uz.

"They are the little bright heroes that hang down from the house of Ometeuctli, king of the city of heaven," said the poor infidel,—"all save Meztli," (the moon) "who is the king of night, brother of Tonatricli," (the sun) "god of the burning day. This is what they say of the two gods: There were men on the earth, but wicked: the ancient gods, the sons of Ipalnemoani killed them. Then Ometeuctli sent forth from the city of heaven his sons, who descended to Mictlan,—the dark hell,—by the road that leads between the Fighting Mountains, and the Eight Deserts,—and stole the bones of men, that Mictlanteuctli had heaped up in his cavern. The sons of Ometeuctli sprinkled the bones with their blood; and these men lived again, and the sons of Ometeuctli were their rulers and fathers. But the earth was dark,—it was night over the world, and the only light was the fire which they kindled and kept burning in the vale of Teotihuacan. The sons of Ometeuctli pitied the men they had revived; and, to give them light, they burned themselves in the fire. Ometeuctli, their father, then placed them in the sky,—Tonatricli the first born, to be the sun, Meztli to be the moon, and the others to be stars. So they hang in heaven, turned to fire: and men built pyramids to them, on the place of burning, Micoatl, the Field of Death.[11] They are very good gods, for they shine upon us."

"Forget these idle fables," said Juan, with a gentleness much more judicious than any zeal could have been. "Forget, too, Mexitli, Painalton, Quetzalcoatl, Centeotl, and the thousand vain beings of imagination, with which your priests have peopled the world. Think only of the great Teotl, whom you have called Ipalnemoani,—the great God, the only God,—for there is no other than He, and the rest are but fables. Yonder moon and stars are not divinities, but great globes like this on which we live; and to worship them is a sin—it angers Ipalnemoani, who is the only God,—the Creator,—whom all men worship, though under different names. Worship but Ipalnemoani, and in mode as I will tell thee, and thou art already almost a Christian."

"But is not Christ another god of the Spaniards?" said the maiden, doubtfully.

"The Son of God, a portion of God, and God himself," replied the Christian, launching at once into all the theological metaphysics with which he was acquainted, and succeeding in confounding the mind of the poor barbarian, without being very sensible of the confusion of his own. But if he could not teach her how to distinguish between categories, not reducible to order and consistency by the poor aids of human language, he was able to interest her in the fate and character of the divine Redeemer, by no other means than that of relating his history. And it is this, to which men must chiefly look for instruction, belief, and renovation, without reference to dogmas and creeds; for here all find the unanimity of belief and feeling, which entitles them to the claims of fraternity.