IN THE MARKET-PLACE OF TENOCHTITLAN
On the morning of the last and greatest day of the festival by which
the mighty calendar stone was dedicated, the rising sun shone from an
unclouded sky upon the fair city of Tenochtitlan. All night long a
thousand slaves had been busy sweeping and watering its streets, until
now their smooth pavements of cement fairly shone with cleanliness. As
there were no horses nor other beasts of burden in all the land, as
all heavy traffic of the city was carried on in boats by means of the
numerous intersecting canals, and as water was everywhere abundant, the
cleansing of the ancient city of Tenochtitlan was a much easier task
than is that of Mexico, its modern successor.
From earliest dawn troops of country people had thronged the three
great causeways leading from the mainland, and poured over them into
the city. Fleets of canoes from Tezcuco, on the opposite side of the
lake, and from various smaller cities and villages on its border, were
constantly arriving laden with parties of expectant sight-seers. Thus
the avenues, streets, and squares, as well as the enclosures of the
six hundred teocallis or temples of the city, were filled, soon after
sunrise, by an eager and joyous multitude.
Especially animated was the scene in the tinguez, or great
market-place, of Tlateloco. Here, displaying their wares in its
shaded porticos, under booths of green leaves, or beneath awnings
of gayly-striped cloth, were gathered traders from all parts of the
kingdom, each in the quarter allotted to his particular class of
goods. Among them were the goldsmiths of Azapozalco, the potters of
Cholula, the weavers of Tezcuco, the stone-carvers of Tenojocan,
the hunters of Xilotepec, the fishermen of Cuitlahuac, the mat
and chair makers of Quauhtitlan, the florists of Iztapalapan, the
fruit-dealers of the _tierra templada_, and the skilled artisans in
feather-work of Xochimilco. Here were armorers displaying arrows,
darts, and javelins, headed with an alloy of copper and tin as hard
as steel, and tougher, heavy maquahuitls, resembling somewhat both
a battle-axe and a sword, with keen blades of glistening itztli or
obsidian. Escaupils, or doublets of quilted cotton which no arrow might
penetrate, fierce-looking casques, fashioned like the grinning heads
of wild animals, and shirts of golden mail, which only nobles might
wear. In other places were quantities of meat, poultry, bread of maize,
cakes, pastry, confectionery, smoking bowls of chocolate, flavored
with vanilla, which, with the intoxicating pulque, shared the name
of national beverage. Barber-shops, and booths for the sale of drugs
and herbs abounded. Nor were book-stalls wanting, though the books
displayed in them bore slight resemblance to those of modern times.
They were formed of broad sheets of cotton cloth, parchment, or a paper
made from the leaves of the agave, folded in the shape of fans, and
covered with the minute colored pictures by means of which the Aztecs,
ignorant of letters, reproduced their ideas on paper. Thus all Aztec
writers were artists, and in the education of youth drawing was taught
instead of reading and writing. To name all the commodities offered
for sale in this vast market-place would be a tedious task, for in all
Tenochtitlan were no stores, nor shops, nor places for trade, save
this. The money used was in the shape of quills of gold-dust, small
bags of cacao beans, and rudely stamped bits of tin.
Besides being a market-place, the tinguez was the centre where all news
was exchanged, and to it came all those who wished to hear or tell some
new thing. On this particular day two subjects of intense interest
agitated the multitude who thronged it, to the exclusion of all other
topics. One was the appearance on the coast of the white strangers, who
were invariably spoken of as gods, and the other was the spectacle with
which the great festival was to conclude that afternoon.
"They do say," exclaimed one portly individual, clad in a flowing
tilmatli, or robe of purple cotton cloth, belted at his waist with a
broad yellow sash, to the armorer whose store of obsidian daggers he
was inspecting, "that the white gods are coming this way, and have even
now set forth from Cempoalla."
"So I have heard," replied the other, "but I care not. If the king so
wills, they may come. If he forbids, they may not."
"But," continued he of the purple robe, "they do say that the king has
already forbidden their advance, and that the strangers pay no heed to
his words."
"Then will Huitzil, the all-powerful, awake, and destroy them with a
breath."
"But they do say that some of them are gods mighty and terrible in
themselves, having the forms both of men and beasts greater and more
frightful than ever were seen. And they do say," he almost whispered in
his earnestness, "that they breathe fire and smoke like Popocatepetl
himself, and that their weapons are thunderbolts."
"Aye, and they do say truly," interrupted a book-seller who had
overheard these remarks, "for here it is pictured out in detail, a copy
made from one of the reports sent to the king himself."
With this the new-comer unfolded a fan-like sheet of parchment, on
which were drawn likenesses of white men in armor, some on horseback
and others on foot, of cannon belching forth fire and smoke, and of
many other things so strange and wonderful to Aztec eyes that in a few
moments the trio were surrounded by a gaping crowd, eagerly pushing and
struggling for a glimpse of the marvellous pictures.
Amid the excitement caused by these evidences that the rumors of the
white gods, busily circulated for many months, were only too true, the
armorer remained calm and self-possessed. He even expressed a contempt
for the strange beings who, he declared, were but sea-monsters, after
all.
"Can such creatures harm the children of the sun so long as Huitzil,
the god of gods, watches over them from his seat above the clouds?" he
cried. "Not that he will be called upon to so much as lift a finger;
for is not Montezuma, our lord and the lord of lords, able of his
own might to drive them into the sea, whence they came? Shall he who
overcame Tlahuicol, the greatest warrior of the age, forbid the advance
of men, monsters, fire-breathing beasts, or even of gods, in vain?
Shame on you for thus belittling your own gods and your king! Alas!
that I, in my poverty, am compelled to forge weapons for such as you!"
"They do say," here interposed he of the purple robe, anxious to change
the subject, "that Tlahuicol the Tlascalan, who is doomed to sacrifice
this day, has demanded the privilege of a warrior who has never turned
back to foe, and that the king has granted it."
"Not the battle of despair?" exclaimed the armorer.
"Even so," nodded the other.
"Then will I at once put away my wares, and hasten to secure a place
within the serpent wall, for if he meet with worthy foemen the sight
of this battle will be worth all the other sights of earth, and I
would not miss it, though with my right hand I was forced to pay for
admission within the sacred wall."
It was even so. Tlahuicol was to lend a crowning glory to the great
festival of his enemies by fighting, for their entertainment, the
battle of despair. This was the poor privilege granted to any captive
warrior who had never turned back to foe, of fighting for his life and
liberty, with a single weapon, and with one foot tethered, against any
six who might challenge him, and who might attack him singly or in
couples, as they chose. In all Aztec history no captive had ever gained
his freedom in this manner, and even so famous a warrior as Tlahuicol
was not supposed to have the slightest chance of victory in so unequal
a contest. It was well known that he had been out of practice, and had
taken almost no exercise for a year. Thus it was held by many that he
was now no more than equal to a warrior of ordinary attainments. As
to his overcoming six, selected from the throng of young Aztec nobles
who eagerly sought this opportunity for acquiring fame and the order
of knighthood, which would be conferred upon him who should deal a
fatal blow to the redoubtable Tlascalan, the idea was unworthy of
consideration. Nevertheless all agreed that Tlahuicol would make a
pretty fight, and even to witness the death-struggle of the warrior
whose name had so long been a terror to Aztec ears, was deemed so great
a privilege that, hours before the time set for the battle, every inch
of available space in the amphitheatre adjoining the great temple was
occupied by the eager populace.
This amphitheatre was but a small portion of the vast area reserved in
the heart of the city, and enclosed by a stone wall eight feet high,
called the Coatapantli, or wall of serpents, for the temple of Huitzil,
the war-god. Here were the dwellings of thousands of priests, and
quarters for ten thousand troops, granaries, arsenals, seminaries for
the priestly education of youth of both sexes, and numerous monuments,
the most notable of which was that constructed of one hundred thousand
human skulls of victims sacrificed on Huitzil's altars. In the exact
centre of the whole towered the great temple, a lofty pyramid of
masonry rising in five terraces, which were gained by as many flights
of stairs. Each of these gave access to a single terrace, and they were
so arranged that from the top of one the entire circuit of the pyramid
must be made ere the next flight could be reached.
The top of this mighty pyramid presented a flat surface of nearly
an acre in extent. On it, rising to a height of sixty feet, was a
shrine sheltering a hideous image of the god and its bloody altar,
on which was laid daily offerings of human hearts torn from living
bodies. Outside of the shrine stood another altar, on which burned the
never-dying fire. It was commonly believed that if by any chance this
should be extinguished some dire calamity would overtake the nation.
Near by stood the great war-drum of serpents' skins, which was only
struck in times of emergency, when the awe-inspiring sound of its
hollow boomings could be heard for leagues.
The only other object on the broad level space was a large block
of jasper, slightly convex on its upper side. It was the stone of
sacrifice, across which victims were laid for the greater convenience
of the priests in cutting open their breasts and tearing out the still
palpitating hearts in which the blood-loving god delighted. The whole
place bore the aspect of a shambles, and was pervaded by a sickening
stench. The priests who officiated here, and of whom Topil was the
chief, were blood-besmeared from head to foot, and allowed their
long hair, also clotted with blood, to hang in elf-locks over their
shoulders. Thus their appearance was more savage and terrible than can
well be imagined.