As they marched through the crowded streets, new subjects of wonder and admiration greeted them on every side. The grandeur and extent of the city, the superior style of its architecture, the ample dimensions, immense strength, and costly ornaments of the numerous palaces, pyramids and temples, separated and surrounded by broad terraced gardens in the highest possible state of cultivation, and teeming with flowers of every hue and name—the lofty tapering sanctuaries, and altars blazing with inextinguishable fires,—and above all, the innumerable throngs of people who swarmed through the streets and canals, filling every door-way and window, and clustering on the flat roof of every building as they passed, filled them with mingled emotions of admiration, surprise and fear.
The swarming myriads of the Aztecs were, on their part, no less interested and amazed at the spectacle presented by their strange visitors. An intense and all-absorbing curiosity pervaded the entire mass of the people. Nothing could surpass their wonder and admiration of the prancing steeds, or four legged and double-headed men, as to their simple view they seemed to be, the rider as he sat with ease in his saddle, appearing to be but a part of the animal on which he rode. The piercing tones of the loud mouthed trumpets, astonished and delighted them exceedingly. But the deep thunder of the artillery as it burst upon them amid volumes of sulphurous smoke and flame, and then rolled away in long reverberated echoes among the mountains, filled them with indescribable alarm, and made them feel that the all-destroying god of war was indeed among them in the guise of men.
While these scenes were enacting in the city, the palace was shrouded in the deepest gloom. When the monarch arrayed himself, in the morning, to go forth to meet the strangers, several incidents occurred, which were deemed peculiarly ominous, confirming all the superstitious forebodings of the king, and tending to take away from the yet trusting hearts of his household, their last remaining hope. The imperial clasp, which bound his girdle in front, bearing as its device, richly engraven on the precious chalchivitl, the emblem of despotic power, which was the eagle pouncing upon the ocelot—snapped in twain, scattering the fragments of the eagle’s head upon the marble pavement. The principal jewel in the royal diadem was found loose, and trembling in its setting. But, more portentous than all to the mind of the devout Montezuma, the priest, who had charge of the great altar on the Teocalli of Huitzilopotchli, had been seized with convulsions during the preceding night, and fallen dead at his post. The perpetual fire had gone out, for want of a hand to replenish it, and when the morning sun shot his first beams upon that high altar, there was not a spark among the blackened embers, to answer his reviving glow.
It was impossible to shake off the influence of presages like these. From infancy, he had been taught to read in all such incidents, the shadowy revealings of the will of the gods, the dark lines of destiny foreshown to the faithful. The soul of Montezuma was oppressed almost to sinking. But he roused himself to his task, and went forth, feeling, as he went, that the ground trembled beneath his feet, while an untimely night gathered at noon-day over the sky.
Among the noble princes who graced the court of Montezuma, there was no one of a nobler bearing, or a loftier heart, than his nephew Guatimozin, the favored lover of Tecuichpo. Unlike her disappointed suitor, the Prince of Tezcuco, he had uniformly and powerfully opposed the timid policy of the king, and urged, with Cuitlahua, a bold and unyielding resistance to the encroachments of the intruding Spaniards. His reluctance to their admission to the capital was so great, that he refused to witness the humiliating spectacle; preferring to shut himself up in the palace, and sustain, if he could, the fainting courage of the princess, and her mother. All that could be done by eloquence, inspired by patriotic zeal and inflamed by a pure and refined love, was attempted by the accomplished youth, till, excited and inflamed by his own efforts to comfort and persuade others, and nerved to higher resolves, by a new contemplation of the inestimable heart-treasures, which were staked upon the issue, a new hope seemed to dawn upon the clouded horizon of their destiny.
“My fair princess,” cried the impassioned lover, “it shall not be. These wide and glorious realms, teeming with untold thousands of brave and patriotic hearts, ready and able to defend our altars and our hearths, shall never pass away to a mere handful of pale-faced invaders. They must, they shall be driven back. Or, if our gods have utterly deserted us—if the time has indeed come, when the power and glory of the Aztec is to pass away for ever, let the Aztec, to a man, pass away with it. Let us perish together by our altars, and leave to the rapacious intruder a ravaged and depopulated country. Let not one remain to grace his triumph, or bow his neck to the ignominious yoke.”
“Nay, my sweet cousin,” she replied, with a tone and look of indescribable tenderness, “we will indeed die together, if need be, but let us first see if we cannot live together.”
“Live?” exclaimed Guatimozin. “Oh! Tecuichpo, what would I not attempt, what would I not sacrifice, to the hope of living, if I might share that life with you. But my country! my allegiance! how can I sacrifice that which is not my own?—that inheritance which was all my birth-right, and which, as it preceded, must necessarily be paramount to, all the other relations of life.”
“But, my father! dear Guatimozin! must he not be obeyed?”