struck fair and square against the golden target; "there's my fifth throw
and the game is mine again. Oh, there is no use in your trying to pitch
against the champion. So, pass over the golden quills, Cacama!"[AG]
"That will I not," exclaimed the prince Cacama. "We know enough not to
trust to your scoring, and I've kept tally too. Show me the maguey, Tula."
The little girl handed the parchment to her brother. "I thought so; I
thought so," he cried. "See here, Teco, she's scored one for the time when
his ball plumped into the fish-fountain, and one for the shot that knocked
over my cup of chocolate! what do you say to that!"
"_Ixoxal; ixoxal!_"[AH] exclaimed the young Teco; "then it's not fair and
the game is ours, Cacama!"
"But, Cacama," pleaded little Tula in her own behalf, "It wasn't my fault;
I only put down what Ixtlil' told me to."
"Ho, Tula," cried young Teco, contemptuously; "haven't you played
_totoloque_ enough with Ixtlil' to know how nimble he is with his score.
Why, he could fool Maxtla the juggler with his eyes open. Don't give him
the gold quills, Cacama. He didn't win them."
"I say I did," shouted the angry Ixtlil', snatching at the gleaming
quills. "Give me the gold quills, Cacama, or I'll order up my boys and
force them from you."
"Oh! will you though!" Cacama said, mockingly; "well, my valorous young
captain, take my advice and don't be quite so ready with your young
ruffians. Our father's councillors have reminded him of the star-men's
prophecy since your frolic of yesterday, and have advised him to do what
the wise men suggested when they cast your horoscope."
"And what was that?" asked the young cacique carelessly, as he tossed the
golden balls in air and caught them dexterously.
"Why, to take your life at once," replied the prince Cacama; "lest when
you grow to manhood you overturn the throne of your fathers and give up
Tezcuco to the strangers and to blood."
"What!" exclaimed the boy, turning quickly upon his elder brother, "the
old dotards dared advise my father to take my life? And you, you, my very
loving brother, stood by and let them live after such rebel words?"
"And why should I not?" coolly answered Cacama. "The boy who can pitch his
poor nurse into a well because she doesn't please his little lordship will
not hesitate to throw a nation into strife if so the fancy takes him. The
boy who tries his hand at _ixoxal_ in _totoloque_ will not stop at darker
work when the prize is a throne. If the king our father were not such a
believer in fate and in this fable of the return of the white god to
Anahuac, my word for it you would ere this have been sacrificed to
''Huitzil' as the old 'uncles' did advise."
"Cacama," burst out the young Ixtlil' now hot with bitter passion, "you
are a coward _tamane_![AI] and, as for those open-mouthed councillors who
would have my father take my life from me--from me, the Cacique
Ixtlil'--from me, the boy captain--by the white robes of Haloc![AJ] I'll
make them rue their words ere yet this day's sun cross the dome of the
Smoking Hill![AK] If I am to overturn the throne of my fathers as the
lying star-men prophesied, then shall not these same babbling 'uncles'
live to see the day!" And ere his brother could stop him the enraged boy
flung the golden _totoloque_ balls into the sparkling fish-fountain,
dashed through the curling clouds of incense that wreathed the wide
door-way of the sculptured arcade, and breathing out threatening and
slaughter against the offending gray-beards, hurried from his father's
palace.
Once again terror and commotion filled the streets of Tezcuco, as, at the
head of his boyish band, Ixtlil' the young cacique, bent on instant
revenge, stormed the houses of the old lords of his father's council and,
one after another, dragged them from their homes. The people, thronging
the _azoteas_, or broad, flat roofs of the low-walled houses, looked down
in wonder and dismay upon this strangest of sights--six gray and honorable
"uncles" or councillors of the king, bound neck to neck by the
"manacles," or poles with leathern yokes, and driven through the city
streets by a band of forty boys.
Young Ixtlil's vengeance was sharp and sudden. Ere night fell upon the
city the dreadful garrote--the strangling stick and cord--plied by the boy
executioners had done its dreadful work, and the six offending councillors
lay dead in the _tinguez_, by the order of the fierce boy whom they had
offended. And only when the last gray head had fallen a victim to boyish
wrath did the stupor of surprise that had held the people give place to
action. Then the bowmen of the king swept down upon the boy's brigade, and
overcoming all resistance, took the young leader captive and dragged him
for speedy sentence before his father, 'Hualpilli the 'tzin.
[Illustration: "I'LL MAKE THEM RUE THEIR WORDS ERE THIS DAY'S SUN CROSS
THE DOME OF THE SMOKING HILL."]
Ixtlil' the cacique knew what to expect. He could hope for no mercy from
the king, who was called by his subjects the Wise and Just. He had
committed an offence against the state that was punishable with death, and
he remembered how, years before, this same wise and just king, his father,
had condemned his eldest son to death for breaking the laws of the realm.
But with the same Indian stoicism that marked the Aztec, as it did the
less cultivated Algonquin and Sioux, the boy went, unresistingly, to meet
his fate.
The 'tzin 'Hualpilli sat upon the "King's Tribunal" in his great hall of
judgment. A gorgeous feather canopy emblazoned with the royal arms of the
lords of Tezcuco hung above his head, and, seated thus, he gave
audience to subjects and embassies, and sent out his fleet runners with
royal dispatches to his governors and vassal rulers. Turning his head as
he heard in the outer court a sudden and great commotion, his face grew
troubled and anxious as he saw the cause of the tumult to be his favorite
son, Ixtlil', bound, and in the hands of his officers of justice. For,
spite of the lad's wild ways, the good 'tzin loved this unruly young
cacique, and saw in his excesses and troublesome pranks the promise of a
courage that might make him, in the years to come, a stalwart soldier and
defender of the throne of his fathers. But justice must take its course
and 'Hualpilli the 'tzin was called the Wise and Just.
"What charge bring you against this lad?" he asked, as captive and captors
prostrated themselves before the "King's Tribunal." And when he had heard
the details of the terrible crime of the young cacique he simply demanded
of his son, "Are these things so?" and the boy boldly answered, "Yes, my
Lord the King."
Then the face of the 'tzin grew stern and sombre. Rising, he said: "This
is now no prank of an idle boy. It is a crime against the state and
against the gods who rule the state. Lead him to the 'Tribunal of the
Gods,'" and, attended by fourteen of his lords of highest rank, the king
walked solemnly to where, across the great judgment-hall, another throne,
called "the Tribunal of the Gods," faced "the King's Tribunal." It was the
seat from which sentence of death was pronounced, and was a marvellous
creation. Above a throne of pure gold was suspended a great feather canopy
of many and brilliant hues, from the centre of which gleamed a blazing
sun, made all of gold and jewels. Rich hangings of rare and colored fans,
looped up with rings of gold and embroidered with many strange devices,
lined the walls of the alcove which held the awful throne. Before the
throne, high on a heap of weapons of war, shields and quivers and bows and
arrows, rested a human skull, circled by an emerald crown and topped with
a crest of feathered plumes and jewels.
Placing the triple crown of Tezcuco upon his head and taking in his hand
the golden arrow of judgment, the 'tzin said to his son: "Ixtlil-o-chitl,
cacique of Tezcuco, I charge you in the presence of the arrow and the
skull to say, if you can, why sentence of death should not now be spoken
against you for this, your wicked deed."
And the boy cacique, first prostrating himself before "the Tribunal of the
Gods," rose and said: "O most dread Lord, my father and my king, I have in
this matter done no more than is my right as a cacique of Tezcuco and as
your son. For you have ever told me that to prepare for the life of a
soldier is the best and noblest work befitting a son of Tezcuco and of
Anahuac. You have said that this ambition was the only one worthy a
cacique who, as I am, is the son and grandson of mighty kings. You have
told me that a soldier is justified in defending his life, for that his
life belongs to the state, and, more than this, that the life of a royal
prince is doubly the state's. These your councillors, whom I have justly
punished, have sought to turn your affection from me, your son, and only
because I wished to prepare for a soldier's life, and to train my band of
boys to deeds of daring and to love of war. They sought to take away my
life, and I have acted but as you, my king and father, did counsel me. If
they have suffered death, then have they only obtained what they had
intended for me. I struck before they could seize the chance to strike at
me--even as in _totoloque_, O King most Just and Wise, the game was
rightly mine, because my score was reached the quickest and my aim was
surest."
And the old Tezcucan chronicler says that "the king found much force in
these reasons." Removing his crown from his head and dropping the arrow of
judgment from his hand, he stepped down from "the Tribunal of the Gods,"
and, taking his son's hand, said: "Hear, people of Tezcuco! I cannot, in
justice or in right, sentence this lad for what was not malice, but simply
the overflow of a boy's daring spirit--a spirit that may in after years do
great deeds in your defence and for the state's security," and so with a
lecture and a stern warning "not to do so again," the boy culprit was set
free--an unjust and far too lenient judgment it seems to us at this
distance for so foul a deed.
* * * * *
Years passed away. The words of the good 'tzin proved true enough, as the
boy cacique grew to be so dashing and daring a warrior that, before the
age of seventeen, he had won for himself the rank and insignia of a
valorous and trusted captain in the armies of Tezcuco. Still the years
passed, and now 'Hualpilli the 'tzin, the Wise and Just, was dead. Amid
great pomp and the sacrifice of three hundred slaves his body was cremated
on a funeral pile, rich in jewels and incense and precious stuffs, and his
royal dust, sealed in a golden urn, was placed in the great _teocalli_, or
temple of 'Huitzil. His sons, Cacama and Ixtlil' both claimed the throne
of Tezcuco, and as in duty bound laid the question for settlement before
Montezuma, the lord and sovereign of all Anahuac. The Mexican emperor
decided in favor of the elder brother, and hot with rage and wrath the
defeated Ixtlil' withdrew to his little mountain princedom among the
Cordilleras, biding his time for revenge. For the vindictive spirit of the
boy, you see, never disciplined, increased with his years. The day for
revenge arrived all too soon, for in the year 1519 came the Conquest. The
Spaniards, first hailed as gods by the Aztecs, because of their fair
skins, their "canoes with wings," their armor, their horses, and their
artillery, conquered the country, laid waste the fair cities of the lakes
and the valley, and, with iron heel, stamped out the last vestiges of
Aztec civilization--"a civilization that," as one historian says, "might
have instructed Europe."
And foremost in this work of destruction and of death stood Ixtlilochitl
of Tezcuco, a traitor to his home-land, the vassal and the ally of Cortez
the Spaniard. The prophecies of the "star-men" and the warnings of his
father's councillors were fulfilled. He "united with the enemies of his
country and helped to overturn its institutions and its religion."
Raised to the vacant throne of his father by the sword of Cortez ere yet
he was twenty years old, Ixtlil' the cacique reigned for years as the last
king of Tezcuco, and, converted to Christianity, was baptized under the
Spanish name of Don Fernando, by which he was ever afterward known.
Through all the dreadful days of Spanish conquest and Aztec patriotism he
remained the firm friend and ally of the conquerors of his native land.
For nearly a hundred years, in the grimy little chapel of St. Francis in
the city of Tezcuco, the bones of these two friends lay side by
side--Spaniard and Aztec, Cortez the conqueror and Ixtlil' the vassal, the
once fierce and vindictive boy cacique of Tezcuco, who, wayward and
hot-tempered as a lad, became the recreant as a man. Out of his hatred for
Montezuma and for the brother who had supplanted him, Ixtlil', the last of
the Aztec princes, turned his sword against the brave and beautiful land
that had given him birth, thus achieving, says Prescott, the brilliant
historian of the conquest, "the melancholy glory of having contributed
more than any other chieftain of Anahuac to rivet the chains of the white
man round the necks of his countrymen."
FOOTNOTES:
[Z] 'Tzin is the Aztec for prince, or lord. Thus the last of the
Montezumas, the noblest of Aztec heroes, was Guatemo-tzin, the 'tzin or
prince Guatemo.
[AA] Maxtlatl, the girdle or wide sash worn by runners and soldiers in
battle.
[AB] Maguey, the great Mexican aloe, from the leaves of which the Aztec
made their paper. This wonderful plant indeed was, as Prescott says,
"meat, drink, clothing and writing materials to the Aztecs."
[AC] "Cacique in Mexico and prince in Wales."--Byron.
[AD] "The Hungry Fox" (Nezahual-Cayotl), "the greatest monarch who ever
sat upon an Indian throne," according to Prescott the historian, was the
father of Nezahual-pilli, the 'tzin of Tezcuco and the grandfather of
Ixtlilochitl the boy cacique. The story of his life is full of marvel, and
he was altogether one of the most attractive and remarkable characters in
Aztec history.
[AE] Quetzal-Coatl, the Aztec god of the air. He was said to be
fair-skinned, and the Aztecs had a prophecy that promised his return to
earth. Hence the Spanish invaders were, at first, taken for gods and but
little resistance offered them. Read General Lew Wallace's beautiful Aztec
story: "The Fair God."
[AF] The kings of Tezcuco, like that celebrated Caliph of Arabian story,
Haroun al-Raschid, would often mix in disguise with their people, talking
with all classes, and frequently rewarding merit and punishing
wrong-doers.
[AG] Transparent quills filled with gold dust, bags of cacao, (shining
chocolate beans), and bits of tin cut in the form of a T, made up the
circulating currency, or money, of the Aztecs.
[AH] _Ixoxal_, an Aztec word applied to cheating in the game of
_totoloque_, and signifying false scoring.
[AI] _Tamane_, the lowest order of Aztec slaves. Used as a term of
contempt among the higher classes.
[AJ] Haloc, the Aztec god of the sea.
[AK] "The Smoking Hill," the signification of the name of the great
Mexican volcano, Popocatepetl.
[Illustration]
X.
LOUIS OF BOURBON, THE BOY KING.
(_Louis XIV. of France; afterward known as the Grand Monarque._)
[A.D. 1651.]
"Hush!" Pretty little Olympia Mancini's night-capped head bobbed
inquiringly out of the door that opened into the corridor of the Gallery
of Illustrious Personages in the old Palais Royal, as a long, low, distant
murmur fell upon her ears.
"Hark!" Through the opposite door popped the sleep-tousled head of the
awakened Armand, the bright young Count of Guiche, as hoarser and higher
rose the angry sound, while, in the Queen's Gallery, stout old Guitat,
captain of the regent's guard, stopped in his rounds to listen. Louder and
nearer it came until it startled even the queen regent herself. Then the
quick, sharp roll of the _rataplan_ sounded through the miserable streets
of the old city, as with ever-increasing shouts of "_Aux armes! aux
armes!_ They are stealing the king!" all Paris swarmed down the Rue de
Honore, and clamored at the outer gates of the great Palais Royal.
Did you ever hear or see a mob, boys and girls? Probably not; but ask
father, or mother, or uncle, or any one you know who has ever had such an
experience, if he thinks there is any sound more terrifying than that
threatening, far-away murmur that grows each second louder and more
distinct, until it swells and surges up and down the city streets--the
hoarse, mad shouts of a mob. It was such a sound as this that on that
dreary midnight of the tenth of February, 1651, filled the dark and narrow
and dismal streets of old Paris, startling all the inmates of the Palais
Royal, as under the palace windows rose the angry cry:
"The King! the King! Down with Mazarin!" The two anxious-faced young
persons, a girl and a boy of thirteen or thereabout, who were peeping out
into the corridor, looked at one another inquiringly.
"Whatever is the matter, Count?" asked dainty little Olympia, the pretty
niece of the Queen's prime-minister, Mazarin.
But for answer the light-hearted young Armand, Count of Guiche, whom even
danger could not rob of gaiety, whistled softly the air that all
rebellious Paris knew so well:
"A wind of the Fronde
Has this evening set in;
I think that it blows
'Gainst Monsieur Mazarin.
A wind of the Fronde
Has this evening set in!"
"The Fronde!" exclaimed Olympia, hastily; "why, what new trick do they
play?"
"Faith, mam'selle," the boy count replied, "'t is a trick that may set us
all a livelier dance than your delightful _la bransle_. The people are
storming the palace to save the little king from your noble uncle, my lord
cardinal."
"But my uncle, Count Armand, is at St. Germain, as sure all Paris knows,"
Olympia replied, indignantly.
"Ay, 't is so, _ma belle_," young Armand replied, "but they say that the
queen will steal away to St. Germain with his little Majesty, and so here
come the people in fury to stay her purpose. Hark! there they go again!"
and as, before the gates, rose the angry shouts, "The King! the King! Down
with Mazarin!" these sprightly young people drew hastily back into the
security of their own apartments.
"_Down with Mazarin!_" It was the rallying cry that stirred the excitable
people of Paris to riot and violence in those old days of strife and civil
war, over two hundred years ago,--the troublesome time of the Fronde. The
court of the Queen Regent Anne, the Parliament of Paris, and the great
princes of France were struggling for the mastery, in a quarrel so foolish
and unnecessary that history has called it "the war of the children," and
its very nickname, "the Fronde," was taken from the _fronde_, or sling,
which the mischievous boys of Paris used in their heedless street fights.
Probably not one half of those who shouted so loudly "Down with Mazarin!"
understood what the quarrel was about, nor just why they should rage so
violently against the unpopular prime-minister of the queen regent, the
Italian Cardinal Mazarin. But they had grown to believe that the scarcity
of bread, the pinching pains of hunger, the poverty, and wretchedness
which they all _did_ understand were due, somehow, to this hated Mazarin,
and they were therefore ready to flame up in an instant and to shout "Down
with Mazarin!" until they were hoarse.
And now in the great palace all was confusion. Lights flashed from turret
to guard-room, casting flickering shadows in the long passages, and
gleaming on the gay liveries of the guard as it stood to arms in the
gallery where Olympia and Armand had held hurried conversation. Below, the
narrow postern opened hastily, and through the swaying and excited crowd
pressed the Captain Destouches and his escort of Swiss guards, hurrying
with his report to his master, the timorous Duke of Orleans, uncle of the
king, and bitter enemy of Mazarin and the regent.
"The King! the King!" rose the people's cry, as they crowded Destouches'
little band.
"He is in there," said the guardsman, pointing to the palace.
"Can one see him?" demanded a rough fellow, dashing a flambeau close to
the guardsman's face.
Destouches shrugged his shoulders meaningly. "Friend," he said, "I have
just seen his little Majesty asleep. Why should not you?"
"The King! the King! We must see the King!" shout the swaying crowd.
There is a dash against the trellised gates of the palace, a dash and then
a mighty crash, and, as the outer gate falls before the people's assault,
the great alarm bell of the palace booms out its note of danger. Then
guards and gentlemen press hastily toward the royal apartments in defence
of the queen and her sons, while ladies, and pages, and servants scatter
and hide in terror.
But Anne, Queen Regent of France, was as brave as she was shrewd.
"What is the people's wish?" she demanded, as the Duc de Beaufort entered
her apartment.
"To see his Majesty with their own eyes, they say," was the reply.
"But can they not trust their queen, my lord?" she asked.
"Their queen, your Highness? Yes. But not Mazarin," said the blunt duke.
"Ho, there, d'Aumont," said the queen to the captain of the palace guard,
"bid that the portals be opened at once! Draw off your guard. And you, my
lords, stand aside; we will show the king to our good people of Paris and
defeat the plots of our enemies. Bid the people enter."
"But----" said d'Aumont, hesitatingly, fearful as to the result of this
concession to the mob.
"Give me no buts!" said Anne, imperiously. "Bid the people enter," and,
unattended save by M. de Villeroi, the king's governor, and two of her
ladies-in-waiting, she passed quickly through the gallery that led to the
magnificent bedchamber of the little King Louis.
"What now, madame?" was the greeting she received from a handsome,
auburn-haired boy of twelve, who, as she entered the apartment, was
sitting upright in his bed. "Laporte tells me that the rabble are in the
palace."
"Lie down, my son," said the queen, "and if ever you seemed to sleep, seem
to do so now. Your safety, your crown, perhaps your life, depend upon this
masking. The people are crowding the palace, demanding to see with their
own eyes that I have not taken you away to St. Germain."
Young Louis of Bourbon flushed angrily. "The people!" he exclaimed. "How
dare they? Why does not Villeroi order the Swiss guard to drive the
ruffians out?"
"Hush, my Louis," his mother said. "You have other enemies than these
barbarians of Paris. Your time has not yet come. Help me play my part and
these _frondeurs_ may yet feel the force of your sling. Hark, they are
here!"
The angry boy dropped upon his pillow and closed his eyes in pretended
sleep, while his mother softly opened the door of the apartment, and faced
the mob alone. For, obedient to her order, the great portals of the palace
had been opened, and up the broad staircase now pushed and scrambled the
successful mob. The people were in the palace of the king.
"Enter, my friends," said the intrepid queen, as rough, disordered, and
flushed with the novelty of success, the eager crowd halted in presence of
royalty. "Enter, my friends; but--softly. The king sleeps. They said
falsely who declared that I sought to steal the king from his faithful
people of Paris. See for yourselves!" and she swung open the door of the
chamber; "here lies your king!" With ready hand she parted the heavy
curtains of the splendid bed, and, with finger on lip as if in caution,
she beckoned the people to approach the bedside of their boy king.
And then came a singular change. For, as they looked upon the flushed face
and the long, disordered hair of that beautiful boy, whose regular
breathing seemed to indicate the healthy sleep of childhood, the howling,
rebellious rabble of the outer gates became a reverent and loyal throng,
which quietly and almost noiselessly filed past the royal bed upon which
that strong-willed boy of twelve lay in a "make-believe" sleep.