When Magdalena was led from the presence of Juan, she was conducted
through many chambers and passages, which gave her an idea of the
immense extent of the palace, to the quarter especially appropriated to
the women, and which was as carefully guarded from the approach of the
other sex as the harem of an oriental monarch. It consisted of a series
of dormitories and other small apartments, as well as a vast hall,
covered with pictured tapestry and knots of flowers, in which the daily
labour of the loom and spindle was shared by all, the princess and the
slave alike, mingled with the more elegant occupations of embroidery and
feather-painting.
But the toil of the day had been long since over, and when she entered,
the maidens were amusing themselves, some talking and laughing, and
others dancing to the sound of flutes, and all unconscious or heedless
of the perils that were about to hem them in.
The appearance of a vision so strange, so often imagined, yet never
before seen--a woman of the race of the invaders, and one at once so
majestic and lovely as Magdalena--produced an immediate sensation
throughout the merry crew. The dancing ceased, the music of the pipe was
exchanged for a murmur of admiration, and all eyes were turned upon the
novel apparition. But it was observable, that the maidens indulged in no
rude demonstrations of curiosity or surprise. They neither thronged
about her, nor uttered any loud exclamations; and however ardently they
gazed, when unperceived, each cast her looks modestly to the floor, the
moment she found the eyes of the stranger directed upon her.
Troubled as were Magdalena's thoughts by the strangeness of her
situation, and conscious of her inability to exchange a word with these
new companions, she yet felt a sort of relief, and even pleasure, to
find herself once more surrounded by individuals of her own sex, who, as
was evident from their appearance, were neither rude in manners nor
degraded in mind.
In this happier frame of feeling, she suffered herself to be conducted
to a chamber, where two young female slaves attended her with
refreshments of meats, fruits, and confections, and pointing to a couch
of robes, upon a little platform under a canopy, left her to her
meditations.
She rose from a troubled and dreamy slumber at the dawn, and waited
impatiently for the moment when she should be led to Juan. The slaves
again made their appearance, bearing, besides food, which they set
before her, rich garments of the most splendid hues, which they desired
her by signs to substitute for her monastic attire. To this she acceded,
after some hesitation, thinking it needful to humour the wishes of those
upon whose friendship her existence, as well as that of Juan, so
obviously depended. She exchanged, at least, the gray veil for a broad
mantle embroidered with feathers and gold, and placed over her other
dress three several tunics, each of a different hue, and each gorgeously
ornamented. Her toilet was completed when the slaves had encircled her
arms and neck with jewels, and wreathed her hair with chains of gold; to
all which she passively, yet impatiently, submitted.
Thus dressed and decorated, she was conducted again to the great hall,
and seated upon a throne cushioned over with feathers of every hue,
when, to her great surprise, she found herself the object upon whom was
to be showered marks of the most extraordinary honour. The crowd of
maidens was huddled in the farther end of the apartment, where they
stood with downcast eyes, giving place to a female, evidently of exalted
rank, who came from among them, followed by five or six girls, much more
splendidly dressed than the others, one of whom bore in her arms a
sleeping infant.
The Indian lady was distinguished from her attendants by apparel similar
in hues and splendour to that worn by Magdalena, and she had on her head
a little cap or caul of emeralds, mingled with pearls. Her face was
prepossessing, her figure well proportioned, and her bearing not without
dignity. Yet there was in her aspect something of trouble and
hesitation, and she went through the business of salutation, or rather
homage, for so it appeared, with visible reluctance. She approached the
throne, and kneeling before it, took Magdalena's hand, and laid it upon
her head, speaking a few words which the Christian did not comprehend.
Then taking the infant from the girl who bore it, she laid Magdalena's
hand upon its innocent brows, in the same manner; after which she
stepped aside, and the young attendants went each separately through the
same ceremony. This accomplished, she stole from the apartment, and in a
few moments, the spindle rolled, the shuttle of the simple loom rattled,
and the fingers of the embroiderers and feather-painters moved over
their tasks.
The morning passed away, and Magdalena still expected a summons to the
presence of Juan. The evening darkened, the fragrant torches were
lighted, the pipe and dance were again summoned to close the labours of
the day, and Magdalena was, a second time, conducted to her chamber, to
muse with fear and distrust over her singular situation.
The second day beheld the same ceremonies, succeeded by the same labours
and diversions, and still not a movement indicated the approach of a
messenger. She looked upon the maidens around,--their faces were grave
and placid. They gazed upon her no more, except when her eyes were
averted. She imagined a thousand reasons to account for her seclusion.
Was her brother, notwithstanding his assurances to the contrary, in a
state of as much restraint as herself? Or--was it possible?--did it not
depend upon himself?--was it possible, he did not desire to see her? She
thought of his slowness to admit her claim of consanguinity; she thought
of the words of Camarga,--of their wildness--Had not Juan said he was
insane?--of their insufficiency. Nay, she remembered that Juan spoke of
_his_ father, whom he well remembered; and among the tears she shed of
doubt and disappointment, she blushed at the boldness and warmth with
which she had advocated her claims.
Another day came,--another, and still another; and her heart sickened
and her cheek grew pale with suspense and humiliation. Then impatience
waxed into anger, and she stalked among the maidens with looks of
determination, as if she would have commanded them to lead her from what
she justly conceived to be imprisonment. But _how_ command them? Her
language was as the language of the gods to them, and their words were
to her as unmeaning as the songs of the birds at the windows. Eyes can
speak many things, but not all; and signs are of too arbitrary a nature
to serve as the medium of communication betwixt two hemispheres. If she
strove to depart from the chamber, she was followed by the two slaves,
who seemed to be specially devoted to her service, and who, attending
her from room to room, yet arrested her with humble and supplicating
gestures, when she seemed to be overstepping the limits of the harem. If
she persisted, she found herself in the power of certain antique
beldames, who prowled around the sacred chambers, bearing wands to
indicate their authority, and who opposed themselves, though without
rudeness, to further egress. If she still made her way through these,
she found herself stopped by passages, in which were armed barbarians,
who did not hesitate to block up the avenues with their shields and
spears. In other words, she found that she was a prisoner, confined to a
society as recluse, as peaceful, and perhaps as happy as that from which
it had been her misfortune to be released. The pride and energy of her
nature were here lost; for there was nothing with which to contend,
except her feelings, and nothing to excite, save a sense of wrong,
inflicted she knew not by whom, nor why.
This was precisely the state of things to tame her spirit into
submission and inaction; and, almost insensibly to herself, she began to
accommodate her deportment to her condition, substituting anxiety for
anger, and despondence for decision. She began to think that Juan was,
like herself, a prisoner; and the apprehension of his distresses weighed
on her heart more heavily than the sense of her own; and, as with all
her strength of mind and passion, there was a tinge of superstition
running through all her thoughts, she beheld, in the singular train of
calamities that had brought her so often to his side, a revelation and
proof that she was ordained, finally, to rescue him from this, as well
as the other ills, which oppressed him. Another thought brooded also in
her bosom. Hitherto, whatsoever efforts she had made for his good, had
ministered only to his griefs; and what had they brought to _her_? From
the moment in which she had first attempted deceit, by concealing the
sanctity of her profession, her life had been but a history of agony and
shame. Had she avowed herself, immediately after the shipwreck, the
bride of the cross, Hilario had not died under the knife of the
assassin, Juan Lerma had not forfeited the favour of his general, and
she herself had, perhaps, closed her life in the peace with which it had
begun. She began to picture to herself the sinfulness of her evasions of
vows, and to consider these the causes of her sufferings. Such thoughts
as these, and a thousand others, divided and harassed her mind by turns,
and confounded while they tormented. But one idea never left her--and
that was, the uncertainty of the fate of Juan Lerma, and the hope that
it might be reserved for her to free him from the bondage of infidels.
But how was this to be effected? She knew not.
Her first vague desire was to gain a friend among the grave and
passionless creatures, by whom she was surrounded. She examined all
their countenances, and soon fixed upon several in which she thought she
could trace kindly feelings and simplicity of character. She strove also
to acquire a little of their language,--an effort which she soon gave
up, not so much from the difficulty of acquisition, as from the
remoteness of any benefit to be derived in that way.
She perceived that the Mexican lady who, each morning, for the first
fortnight of her captivity, (after which time she was seen no more,)
commenced the ceremonies of salutation, so humble, and indeed to her so
irksome, must be of the highest rank,--perhaps the queen of Guatimozin
himself; though it seemed improbable that one so exalted would
condescend to homage so servile. She was conscious also, that the six
maidens who attended upon this princess were of no mean rank; for though
they frequently remained in the hall, engaged in labour, like the rest,
it was clear that the others looked upon them with the greatest
deference. Of these she had long singled out one who was superior to the
others in beauty and mildness of countenance; and it seemed to her that
this one, in going through the morning ceremony, endeavoured to make her
sensible that she did so with sincerity and feeling. Thus, besides
placing Magdalena's hand on her head, she carried it also to her lips,
expressing as much desire as her countenance could convey, to be
esteemed the Christian's friend.
These things almost escaped Magdalena's notice at first; but she
afterwards remembered them, and strove to respond with manifestations of
similar inclination. She observed, however, that the maiden gradually
changed from tranquillity to melancholy, as if something preyed upon her
spirits. She repeated, indeed, her salutation each morning, but it was
no longer with smiles, and with a disposition to linger about
Magdalena's person. On the contrary, she retired without delay to a
little nook under a window, where she continued her task among feathers
and flowers, seldom stirring from the spot. It was evident to the
penetrating eye of Magdalena, that the Indian maiden was wasting away
under some grief as poignant and enduring as her own; and though she
attributed it only to some of the evils of war, the commencement of
which had long since been indicated by the distant explosions of
artillery, she was the more favourably impressed by the damsel's
emotion, since none of the others seemed to share it, nor to betray
either fear or anxiety.
She attempted then to come to some understanding with this maiden. She
sat down by her in her little nook, and watched, with what, had she been
in a better frame of mind, would have been admiration, the progress of
her toils, as well as the effects of previous labours. She beheld, with
surprise, garlands and bouquets of flowers, constructed of feathers, and
imitated with such wonderful precision, that when they were mingled with
a few natural ones, and impregnated with their odours, it seemed almost
impossible that they could be artificial. The same art has existed in
other parts of the continent, and is practised to this day, in some of
the nunneries of Brazil. There were also pictures, worked with the same
beautiful materials, upon a groundwork of prepared cloth, which were
chiefly confined to the representation of flowers and birds. When
Magdalena first visited the maiden, she found her engaged upon what
seemed a wood-pigeon, surrounded by a little wilderness of flowers and
leaves. The design, though simple, was pretty and spirited; yet the
maiden seemed dissatisfied with her work, and altered it daily, as if
each day still more displeased; until, at last, she seemed to have hit
upon a plan more to her taste, when she pursued her task with what
seemed a morbid ardour. When Magdalena looked at it last, she found the
whole design and character of the work changed. The flowers had been
displaced by stones and brambles; an arrow was represented sticking
through the neck of the bird; and the story of a wounded heart was told
in the metaphor of the poor flutterer, harmed by some wanton bolt, and
left dying in a desert place.
When Magdalena beheld this painted sentiment, she took the hand of the
artist, and pressing it as if with sympathy, pointed to her bosom. A
faint tinge of blood passed over her embrowned visage, but she looked
confidingly into Magdalena's face, as if not ashamed to confess her
grief. When Magdalena was persuaded she was understood, she directed the
painter's eyes to the bird, and then pointed expressively to her own
bosom, as if to signify that she also was unhappy. The maiden bowed her
head upon her breast, and Magdalena saw that tears were stealing from
her eyes. She thought they were the tears of sympathy; and when the
damsel looked up, she cast off all reserve, and indicated as plainly as
she could, by gestures, that she desired to make her way into the
garden.
The maiden shook her head, and would have departed, but that Magdalena,
rendered indiscreet by her impatience, arrested her, to make trial of a
new appeal. She took the jewels from her hair, and without reflecting
that the rank of the maiden, indicated by gems quite as valuable as her
own, might render her inaccessible to such temptation, she made as if
she would have thrown them upon her head and neck. She was sorry for the
act; for as soon as the maiden understood what she designed, she drew
back with a look of offended dignity, and with cheeks burning at once
with mortification and anger. Then, gathering up her little picture, her
bodkins, and basket of coloured feathers, she left the apartment, and
returned to it no more that day.
Amid all her grief at the disappointment of her hopes, Magdalena had yet
generosity enough to appreciate the spirit of the young pagan, and to
lament having outraged her feelings.
That night, when the female slaves had departed from her chamber, and
she was musing disconsolately in the light of a little night-lantern,
consisting of a taper of resinous wood, surrounded by thin plates of
gold, perforated with holes in many fantastic figures, which transmitted
the light, she was roused by a sigh; and looking up, she beheld, to her
great surprise, the young artist standing before her, in an attitude of
sad and patient humility. As soon as the visitor perceived that she was
seen, she approached, and knelt at Magdalena's feet, who now saw, with a
touch of shame, and, at first, even of resentment, that, as if in
requital of the insult of the morning, she held in her hands all the
jewels that had decorated her hair and person, and offered them for her
acceptance. But Magdalena's displeasure soon passed away; for the jewels
were proffered with the deepest humility, and the damsel's eyes were
suffused with tears. She murmured out some words, too, and the tone was
expressive of grief.
All this was mysterious to Magdalena, who puzzled herself in vain to
account for the act and the donation. She restored the jewels, and the
maiden being wholly submissive, she replaced them about her person with
her own hands; and then, taking advantage of the opportunity, made
another effort to come to a better understanding with her. She
remembered that her companion was a painter, and being herself a little
skilled in the art, she drew with a bodkin from her hair, upon the soft
wood of the table that supported her lamp, the figure of a man in
Spanish costume, bound in a cell. The representation was awkward, yet it
appeared that the damsel understood it; for she took the bodkin, and
immediately, though with a trembling hand, completed the picture by the
addition of another figure, representing a Mexican, with a crown like
that Magdalena had seen on the head of Guatimozin, who, with one hand,
extended to him the handle of a macana, while threatening him with
another, brandished above his head.
This was expressive enough, and Magdalena's alarm for the safety of the
young man was only removed when the maiden drew what was plainly
designed for a buckler, interposed between the weapon and his head.
Magdalena then, without further hesitation, leaped to the grand object
of her desires, by drawing the figure of a man paddling in a canoe. This
also her companion understood, and replied to it significantly enough,
by surrounding the little vessel with many others, filled with Indians,
or other human beings, who attacked it with showers of arrows and darts.
"Alas! is there no hope for us then? no hope for my poor brother?"
exclaimed Magdalena, wringing her hands. "Maiden! maiden! carry me but
to him!--Alas, I speak as to a stone statue!"
She then resumed the bodkin, and returning to the first sketch, she drew
the figure of two women, entering the cell. The response to this ended
her hopes immediately. The Indian girl sketched the outlines of men,
armed with spears, circling around the whole cell.
Magdalena sank upon the couch in despair, and almost in a frenzy. The
maiden, frighted by the vehemence of her grief, endeavoured to soothe
her, by pressing her hand to her bosom and forehead, and covering it
with kisses and tears; after which she stole quietly from the chamber.
It was many weeks before Magdalena beheld her again. She vanished from
the hall, she came no more to kneel on her footstool in the morning, and
display her melancholy visage to the stranger. Magdalena's heart died
within her. She was in a solitude among living creatures,--the most
oppressive of all solitudes. Her suspense was intolerable, and preyed
upon her health, until she was wasted to a shadow, and the pagan damsels
eyed her, when she appeared among them, with looks of pity. She
succumbed at last to her fate; the fever of her mind extended to her
body; and she was missed from the hall, as well as the young artist. She
became ill, and she threw herself upon her couch, to waste away with
passion and delirium. But there was still a gleam of happiness to break
upon her.
One night, when the dancing,--now no longer pursued with spirit, for the
cannon of the Spaniards sounded each day louder and nearer,--had ceased,
and the flutes were breathed upon no more, she felt her hand pressed
with a gentle grasp. She looked up, and beheld the Indian girl at her
side, eyeing her with compassion. She sprang to her feet, in an ecstacy
of delight, and embraced her; for she hailed her appearance as the
herald of joy.
"Oh, maiden! maiden!" she cried, "what news of my brother?"
The damsel replied with the only words in her power, but the best she
could have used, had she been acquainted with the whole speech of
Castile. She looked sadly but firmly into Magdalena's face, and murmured
softly,
"Juan Lelma"--
The accent was imperfect and false, but the sounds were music to
Magdalena. She clasped the young barbarian again in her arms, but her
caresses were only responded to by tears and sobs, which seemed to
increase in proportion to her own raptures. But Magdalena was too wild
with hope to think of the sorrows of her friend. She saw that the Indian
held in her hand, two long and capacious mantles of a plain stuff,
which, she knew, were to veil them from evil eyes, while they crept to
the cell of her brother. But the maiden checked her impetuosity. She
removed the trinkets from her head and person, and again offered them to
the Christian; and persisted to do so, though still most gently and
humbly, until Magdalena, thinking this might be some important ceremony,
a proof perhaps of friendship offered and received, and perceiving, what
was more influential still, that it was necessary to hasten the
proceedings of her visitor, consented to receive them. She yielded to
her importunities, and the Indian girl clasped around her ankles, arms,
and neck, and twisted in her hair, all the jewels that had decorated her
own person, besides hanging round her neck the silver cross and
rosary,--Magdalena's own gift to Juan,--which she received with rapture,
not doubting that he had sent it to her as a token and a full warrant to
submit herself to the guidance of the young infidel. This accomplished,
she assisted Magdalena to secure the larger mantle about her figure, and
wrapped herself in the other. Then beckoning the Christian to follow,
and signing to her to preserve silence, she led the way from the
chamber.