We draw a curtain over the events of the first five days of flight,
wherein the miserable fugitives, contending, at once, with fatigue,
famine, and unrelenting foes, stole by night, and through darkling
by-ways, along the northern borders of the fair valley, from which they
were thus ignominiously, and, as it seemed, for ever, expelled. Of the
twenty mounted men, each, like a Red-Cross Knight, in the ancient days
of the order, bore a wounded companion on his crupper; and Don Amador,
himself, on a jaded beast that had belonged to Marco,--for Fogoso had
been lost or killed in the melee,--thus carried the only remaining
servant of himself and his knight,--the ancient Baltasar. Other mangled
wretches were borne on the backs of Tlascalans, in rudely constructed
litters.
In this manner, the ruined and melancholy band pursued its way, by
lake-side and hill, over morass and river, ever pursued and insulted by
bodies of barbarians, and frequently attacked; till, on the evening of
the fifth day, they flung their weary forms to sleep in the City (as it
may be called) of Pyramids, among those mouldering and cactus-covered
mounds, which the idolatry of a forgotten age reared to the divinity of
the greater and lesser luminaries of heaven, on the field Micoatl, that
is to say, the Plain of Death. The visitor of San Juan de Teotihuacan
still perceives these gigantic barriers, rising among the hundreds of
smaller mounds--the Houses of the Stars--which strew the consecrated
haunts, and, perhaps, conceal the sepulchres, of a holozoic people.
At sunrise, the Spaniards arose, ascended the mountain of Aztaquemacan,
at the north-eastern border of the valley, and prepared, with a joyous
expectation, which had not been diminished even by the significant and
constantly-repeated threats of the pursuers, to descend into the
friendly land of the Tlascalans, by way of the vale of Otumba. For the
last two days, the name of this valley had been continually on the lips
of the Mexicans, following on the rear; and their cries, as interpreted
by Marina, who survived the horrors of the Melancholy Night, intimated,
plainly enough, that the work of revenge, so dreadfully commenced upon
the lake, was to be consummated in the gorges of the mountains.
Nevertheless, the Spaniards, in the alacrity of spirit, which the
prospect of soon ending their sufferings in the Land of Bread, produced,
forgot these menaces, or regarded them as the idle bravados of impotent
fury; and clambered upwards, with increasing hope, until they reached
the crest of a ridge, and looked down the slope to the wished-for
valley. The sight which they beheld, will be described in another place.
It remains, now, to return to an individual, whose fate has long been
wrapped in mystery.
At the moment when the Spaniards approached the highest part of the
ravine, by which, alone, they could pass, in that quarter, from the vale
of Tenochtitlan, there lay, in a wild and savage nook of the mountain,
which went shelving upwards on the right hand, and at so short a
distance, that had a bugle been winded in the army, it must have reached
his ears,--one who had been a companion in many of their battles and
sufferings. A number of huge rocks fallen ages ago, and rolled from some
distant pinnacle, were heaped together on a broad and inclined shelf,
and enclosed a space of ground so regular in form, and yet so rudely
bounded by those sprawling barriers, that it looked to the imagination
not unlike the interior of some stupendous temple, built by a barbaric
people, and overwhelmed, many ages before, by some great convulsion. One
side was formed by a cliff, in whose shivered side yawned the entrance
of a black and dismal cavern, while the broken masses of rock themselves
formed the others. Among, and over these, where they lay in contact with
the cliff, there rushed a torrent, which, in the times of drought, might
have been a meager and chattering rivulet, making its way, merrily,
through gap and hollow, but which, now, swollen by the summer rains,
came raving and roaring over the rocks, broken by them into a series of
foaming cascades; and, then, shooting over a corner of the enclosure,
and, darting through the opposite wall, it went, thundering, down the
mountain. A few stunted trees stretched their withered limbs among these
savage masses; and the noontide sun, peeping down into the nook, and
lighting up a part of the cliff, fell pleasantly on the mosses and
Alpine flowers, which ornamented its shelving floor, tinting, with
momentary rainbows, the mists that hung over the fall. A sable steed,
without bridle or halter, and much the worse for such primitive
stabling, but yet, to all appearance, the relic of a once noble
war-horse, wandered, at liberty, through the enclosure, cropping the few
plants which bedecked it, or drinking from the little pools, at the side
of the torrent; while, at the mouth of the cave, at the foot of a wooden
crucifix of the rudest description, lay sleeping the figure of his
master. A stained and tattered garment of leather, investing his limbs,
was not altogether hidden under a black mantle, which partly covered his
body. The head of the sleeper lay on his right arm, and this embraced
the foot of the cross, so that the grizzly locks, which fell from his
forehead, rested against, and almost twined around, the holy wood.
The sunbeam played, unregarded, on his withered cheeks, and flickered
over a heap of rusted armour, both of man and horse, which lay hard by,
shining, also, with a fierce lustre, upon what appeared a scarlet
surcoat, hung, like a banner, on the point of a knightly lance, which
rested against the side of the cliff.
Disease, as well as age, had furrowed the cheeks, and wasted the form of
the slumberer; famine seemed to have been at work, as well as all other
privations incident to a habitation in the desert; and there was, in his
whole appearance, such an air of extreme and utter misery, as would have
moved the pity of any beholder. Nevertheless, he slept on, regardless of
the roaring fall, and heedless of the fierce sunbeam, in such
tranquillity as augured, at least, a momentary suspension of suffering.
As the sun stole up to the meridian, another human creature was suddenly
added to the scene. The browsing war-horse pricked his ears, and
snorted, as if to do the duty of a faithful sentinel, and convey to his
master a note of alarm, as certain dried branches crackled among the
rocks of the wall, and a stone, loosened as by a footstep, fell,
rattling, down their sides, and buried itself in the pool, at the base
of the fall. But the anchorite, for such the solitude of his dwelling,
the poverty of his raiment, and, more than all, the little rugged cross
which he embraced, caused him to appear, heard not these sounds; he
slept on, lulled by the accustomed roar of the water-fall; and the steed
was left alone, to watch the approach of the stranger.
Presently, he was seen dragging himself up the rocks, by the aid of a
drooping bough; and when he had reached their top, he rested for a
moment, still clinging to the branch, as if worn out with toil, as was,
indeed, made apparent by the youth and feebleness of his appearance. He
cast a haggard and uninterested eye on the romantic torrent leaping and
foaming at his feet, and seemed to hesitate whether he should descend
into the prison-like enclosure, or retrace his steps, and retreat as he
had come. But, suddenly, his gaze fell upon the steed, and he started
with surprise at a sight so unexpected. The sagacious animal whinnied
loudly, as if with recognition; and the youth, devoutly crossing
himself, looked, with an agitation that denoted terror, on the red
garment, the cross, and the human figure that still lay sleeping, or,
perhaps, as he thought, dead, under its holy shadow. Then, as if
resolved, he hastened to descend from the rugged fragments, and seeking
where he might safely cross the brook, over the stones that obstructed
its bed, he at last stood at the side of the good steed, which snuffed
at him a moment with joy, and, then, gambolling about a little, fell to
cropping the plants again, satisfied that the comer was a friend.
The youth stole up tremblingly to the side of the sleeper, and seemed
shocked at his emaciated and neglected appearance. He stooped as if to
awake him, and then started back, wringing his hands, in fear and grief.
He bent over him again;--a smile passed like a beam over the countenance
of the recluse, and a murmur escaped his lips, of which the youth caught
only a few broken syllables:
"Though I shed thy blood," were the words he distinguished, "yet did I
not aim at thee; and, therefore, hast thou forgiven me, for the sin was
the sin of frenzy. Thou pardonest me, too, Alharef, for thou art, also,
of the angels. It is good to walk with thee through the seats of
bliss."
A tear fell upon the cheek of the knight Calavar,--for it was, indeed,
he; but it fell like the spray-drop, or the gentle dew; and it was not
until the hand of the youth touched his shoulder, that he awoke and rose
feebly to his feet.
"Whoever thou art," said the unfortunate devotee, "thou breakest the
only dream of happiness that hath visited my slumbers, for long and many
years, and callest me from the paradise that filled me with bliss, to
the earth which is the wheel whereon I am broken--Miserere mei, Deus!"
"Alas, my lord!"
"Art thou sent back to bid me prepare?" cried Don Gabriel, starting
wildly, at the voice of the intruder. "Lo! I have flung me off the
harness of war, and devoted me to penance in the wilderness, giving my
body to sleep on the earth and in caves, drinking of the wild floods,
and eating of the tough roots, with the earth-worm; while I sleep, my
heart is scourged within me; whilst I wake, I pray,--and I pray that I
may sleep for ever. Know, therefore, Jacinto! thou that dwellest in
paradise! that I am ready, and that I thank heaven, I am called, at
last; for weary has been my life, and long my repentance."
"Alas, my lord, I live like thyself; and I call upon thee, that thou
mayest continue to live. I thought, indeed, that thou wert dead, and so
thought, and yet think, thy friends,--who are now in great peril."
"God snatched me from the hands of the heathen," said the knight, "and
brought me to this place, that I might seek for peace. For, oh! my heart
was but filled with scorpions, that stung me day and night, and my head
strewn with coals, ever burning and tormenting, whilst I sat in the
infidel city, and remembered how he that hath been my son, was slain by
murderers in the streets, because he loved me! All that loved me have
perished, and (wo betide the hand that struck, and is not yet withered!)
two under mine own steel. Yea, Alharef, thou art remembered! and, Zayda,
thou art not forgotten! Then came the blow to thee, dear seraph! and
thou wert carried off by the angry spirit of Alharef, who defied me at
the palace-gate, and, in the temple-yard, raised me to my feet, and bade
me think of Zayda. Verily, I remember her, and my heart is black with
recollection! Then fell the bolt upon my boy,--he that was matchless in
honour and love, peerless in war, incomparable in truth!--Would that the
barbarous knives had struck my bosom, instead of thine, Amador! would
that thou wert now upon thy gallant bay, shaking thy lance, and shouting
the cry of the Hospital, and I in thy place, mouldering in the streets
of Mexico! I lay on my couch, whilst thou wert calling to me for aid; I
slept while thou wert dying.--Cursed be thy foundations, pagan city!
ruin fall upon thy towers, havoc ride howling through thy palaces, and
lamentations come up from thy lakes and gardens! for he that was the
last and first, the loving and beloved, rots like a dog upon thy
pavement!"
"Noble and dear master," said Jacinto, "in this, at least, thou art
mistaken. My dear lord, thy kinsman, perished not that day in the
streets; for I myself did watch by his sick couch, and see him, after
thou hadst departed, return in safety to the palace."
"Dost thou say so?--He died not in the streets? Praised be God, for this
his goodness!" cried Don Gabriel, falling on his knees. "My sin, then,
hath not been visited on the guileless and true! My son Amador yet
liveth!"
He looked to the page, and now, for the first time, observed, as far as
this could be seen through his thickly padded garments, that the form of
Jacinto was greatly attenuated; his cheeks were hollow and colourless,
and his countenance altered, as by some such grief as had been at work
in his own bosom. He seemed, too, to be very feeble. But, if such were
the appearances of sorrow on his visage, they assumed a yet more
striking character of agony and despair, when the knight's words of joy
fell on his ear. His face grew paler than death, he trembled like a
linden leaf, and his lips scarcely obeyed their function, when he
replied, with a faint and fruitless effort at calmness,--
"I will not deceive my lord; no, heaven be my stay! I will not deceive
my lord. Though my friend,--my patron,--my protector,--the noble
Amador,--fell not in the streets, but returned to his people, yet is his
fate wrapped in mystery,--in darkness and in fear. That night, that
dreadful night!--O heaven! the causey covered with men, shrieking and
cursing, stabbing and rending! the lake choked with corses, and with
dying men still contending, and suffocating, each in the grasp of a
drowning foe!--But I think not of that, I think not of that!--Who lived?
who died? We searched for the body of my lord, but found it not: he was
not with those they led to the pyramid; his corse floated not among the
hundreds, which befouled the lake: yet did they discover his goodly
war-horse on the water-side,--his surcoat was dragged from a ditch,
among cannon, under whose heavy bulk lay many bodies, which the Indians
strove to push up with poles--but my lord's body rose not among them.
And yet, he sleeps in the lake,--yes, he sleeps in the lake! for how
could he escape that night, and I no more by his side?"
As Jacinto spoke, he wept and sobbed bitterly, giving himself up to
despair. But not so the knight: he listened, somewhat bewildered, to the
confused narration of an event, in which he had shared no part; but
catching the idea, at last, and mingling it with another, the fruit of
his very distempered mind, he said, quickly, and almost joyously,--
"Dry thy tears; for now I perceive that my son is not dead, but liveth;
and straightway we will go forth, and seek him!" Jacinto regarded the
knight with a melancholy look. He noticed the incredulity, and resumed,
with much devout emphasis,--"But a moment since, before thou camest into
this den, mine eyes were opened upon paradise; it was vouchsafed to me,
who must never hope to enjoy such spectacle again,--no, _desdichado de
mi_! never again, never again,--to look upon the golden city of God;
wherein I walked, with all those whom, in my life, I had loved, and who
were dead. There saw I, among the saints and seraphim, my father, who
fell in arms at the sack of Alhama; my mother, who died giving me birth;
together with all the friends of my childhood, who perished early:
there, also, I beheld Alharef and Zayda, the murdered and the
blest,--with all others that were truly dead. Now thou wilt see, how God
opened mine eyes in this trance; for, though I wept thee, dear child, as
truly believing thou wert deceased, yet thee I saw not among the
blissful, where thou must have been, hadst thou been discarded from
earth, as I thought thee. And I remember me, too, and great joy it is to
remember, that my son Amador was not among those saints; for which
reason, heaven makes it manifest to us, that he lives. Now, therefore,
let us go forth from this desert, and seek him. Though mine eyes are
sealed among these hills, and my feet stumble upon the rocks, yet will
heaven point us out a path to Mexico!"
"Alas! my lord need not seek so far," said the page. "The pagans are now
alone in the city, having driven out their enemies, with terrible
slaughter.--Never more will the Spaniards return to it!"
"Ay, now, I remember me!" said the knight, catching up some of his
battered armour, as he spoke. "This defence, that I had thought for ever
rejected, must I again buckle on. I remember me, thou spokest of a night
of retreat by the causeway, very dreadful and bloody. Ay! and thou
saidst thou wert at Amador's side!--How was it, that thou wert taken
from him, and didst yet live?"
"My father Abdalla," said Jacinto, sorrowfully, "my father, by chance,
heard me cry at the ditch, when my lord, Don Amador, was gone; and he
saved me in his canoe."
"Thy father? thy father, Abdalla?--I remember me of Abdalla," said the
knight, touching his brow. "There is a strange mystery in Abdalla. I am
told--that is, I heard from my poor Marco--that Abdalla, the Moor, did
greatly abhor me, even to the seeking of my life."
"He wronged him!" said the page: "whatever was my father's hatred of my
lord, he never sought to do him a wrong!"
"Strange!" muttered Don Gabriel; "thou acknowledgest he hated me, then?
Wherefore should he, whom I have not injured, hate me? And wherefore,
after confiding thyself to my good keeping?"
"Let me not deceive my lord," said Jacinto, sadly, but firmly: "My
father entrusted his child to him he hated, because he knew him just and
honourable; and my father did receive great wrong, as well as other
unhappy Moors, of my lord, in the Alpujarras----"
The knight dropped the dinted cuishes which he had snatched up, and,
clasping his hands wildly, exclaimed,--
"Miserere mei, Deus! my sin is inexpiable, and my torment endless; for,
in the Alpujarras, did I slay him whom I had sworn to love, and deface,
with a murderous sword, the loveliest of thine images!"
"Dear my lord," said Jacinto, shocked and grieved at his agitation;
"forget this, for thy sin is not what thou thinkest, and it has been
already forgiven thee. Zayda hath seen, from heaven, the greatness of
thy grief, and she intercedes for thee with our Holy Mother."
"She follows me on earth, she comes to me in visions!" cried Don
Gabriel, vehemently. "Rememberest thou not the night of Cholula? Then
stood she before me, as thou dost; and, with face of snow and finger of
wrath, she reminded me of my malefaction."
"My lord is deceived--this was no spectre, but a living woman," said
Jacinto, hurriedly.
The knight stared, aghast.
"If I make it appear to my lord," continued the page, "that this was,
indeed, no phantom sent to reproach, but a living creature, haply
resembling her of whom he speaks, and, therefore, easily mistaken, in
the gloom, for one of whom my lord thought, in his delirious
moment,--will it not satisfy my lord, that he is not persecuted, but
forgiven?"
"If thou canst speak aught to remove one atom and grain from this
mountain of misery, which weighs upon my heart," said Calavar,
earnestly, "I adjure thee that thou speak it. Many times have I thought
that she whom I slew, stood at my side; but yet had I hopes, and a
partial belief, that these were the visions of my disease; for my mind
is sometimes very sorely distracted. What I saw at Cholula, was beyond
such explication,--very clearly and vividly represented, and seen by me
when my thoughts were not disordered."
"Let my lord be content, and know that this was a living creature, as I
have said, and no apparition: let him do on his armour; and, by-and-by,
all shall be revealed to him."
"Speak to me now," said the knight.
"Not now! not now!" interrupted Jacinto; "for, at this moment, the
myriads of vengeful fiends who seek for the blood of my lord, Don
Amador, if he be yet living, are rushing upon the poor fugitives. Doth
not my lord hear?--Hark!"
"'Tis a trumpet! it blasteth for a charge of horse!" cried Calavar, as
the distant sound came echoing up the mountain, even over the roar of
the fall.--The ancient war-horse heard the remembered note, and pricking
his ears, neighed loudly and fiercely, running to a gap in the wall, as
if to seek the contest, till recalled by the voice of his master.
"The infidels are then at hand, and they do battle with Christians?"
exclaimed Don Gabriel, the fire of chivalry again flashing from his eye,
and almost driving away the thought of Zayda. "Buckle me these straps,
and see that thou art speedy; for this brooks not delay. God hath called
me to this mountain, that I should be ready to do battle with the
heathen, in defence of the holy cross, which is my sworn vow; and in
the fulfilment of the same, I pray God that I may die.--Sound again,
brave heart! smite me the godless fast and well; for presently I shall
be with ye, striking for the faith!--Why, how thou loiterest, young
knave! Be speedy, for my son Amador is with the Christian host; and,
this day, heaven wills that I shall bring him succour."
"Alas! my lord," cried the page, "I would that I could give my life to
aid him; but my fingers are skilless and feeble."
"Thou art a godly boy, and well do I love thee. Buckle me as thou canst,
and care not to buckle well; for, in this fight, God will be my armour.
Buckle me, therefore, as thou canst; and, while thou art thus engaged,
give me to know, what good angel brought thee to be my messenger."
"I followed my sire," said the trembling Jacinto, "with the forces of
Mexico, that were sent to join the mountain bands, and cut off the
fugitives; and, being commanded to rest me on the hill till the battle
was over, I lost myself; which, with my great grief of heart, caused me
to seek some nook wherein I might die. For truly, now, unless my lord
Amador be living, I care not myself for life."
"The forces of Mexico! be they many? and these dogs of the hills, are
they in numbers?"
"Countless as the drops of spray which the breeze flings over us," said
Jacinto, with much perturbation, "so that nothing, but the goodness of
God, can rescue the Spaniards out of their hands, and conduct them forth
on the path so blocked up by their bodies. The Mexicans are many
thousands in number, and triumphing still in the thought of their horrid
victory on the lake. They swear that no Spaniard shall escape them, this
day."
"I swear, myself," said Calavar, fiercely, "and heaven will listen to
the vow of a Christian, though one sinful and miserable, that, this day,
even they themselves, the godless pagans, shall be scattered as dust
under our footsteps!--Quick--my war-coat! and now, my good lance, that
hath drunk the blood of the heathen! _Santa Madre de Dios! Senora
beatificada!_ the infidel shall fall under the cross, and the true
believer rejoice in his slaughter!"
With such exclamations of fervour, the spirit of youthful days
returning, at each blast of the trumpet, which was still winded at
intervals, the knight ceased doing on his armour, and then, with
Jacinto's feeble assistance, caparisoned his impatient steed. When this
was done, he bade the page to follow him; and, riding through one of the
many gaps in the colossal wall, began to descend the mountain.