A short passage through which they stole, darkly, for it was not
lighted, conducted them to a chamber, where the guide paused a moment,
as if in doubt and fear. A strong light beamed through the curtained
door. They listened for a time, until hearing no one stir within, the
Indian maiden pulled the curtain timidly aside, and then beckoned
Magdalena to follow her. It was a spacious apartment, richly tapestried,
and lighted by many such masked torches as Magdalena had seen in her own
chamber. The hangings were even continued over the ceiling, so that it
resembled a pavilion rather than the sleeping apartment of a king,--for
such it was. In the centre was suspended a magnificent canopy, wrought
with feathers, overhanging a couch blazing with gold, and bedecked with
the richest spoils of the parrot and flamingo, with little pedestals
both at the head and foot, on which incense was burning before golden
idols. Upon this lay sleeping the Indian lady, whom Magdalena had so
often seen during the two first weeks of her durance; and the infant
slept clasping her neck. Magdalena doubted no longer that she beheld the
queen of the young monarch. But she crept softly after her guide, and
was soon buried again in darkness. After many turnings and windings,
which made her fancy the palace was a great labyrinth, she suddenly
found herself conducted into the open air, by a door exceedingly narrow,
and concealed by a mass of trailing vines. But secret as this entrance
appeared, it was not unguarded. A tall savage with a spear, started up
from the bushes, as if to dispute their right of egress. But a word from
his companion, low as the whisper of a breeze, removed his opposition.
He flung himself upon the earth, as if to his divinity, and thus
remained, until the maidens had passed.
It was by this time midsummer--for so long a period had elapsed since
the departure from Tezcuco; but it was the season of the rains, and the
chill winds from the lake penetrated Magdalena to the heart. The sky was
overcast, the grass loaded with moisture, and every gust shook down a
shower from the trees.
It was very dark, and she knew not well to what quarter she was bending
her steps. But she could see a line of fires running as it seemed across
the lake, from a point in the city to the right hand, and lost in the
distance or obscurity of the left. This was, in fact, the northern
causeway, or dike of Tepejacac, the nearest point of which was scarce a
mile distant from the garden. It was occupied by the troops of Sandoval,
who had extended his approach already within the limits of the water
suburb. Two or three of his brigantines were also perceived anchored
near to the calzada,--at least, their lanterns were seen shining from
their prows.
While Magdalena was yet stealing along after her guide, her eyes fixed
upon this line of fires, she heard suddenly a great tumult begin among
them, in which the yells of men were faintly distinguished amid the
crash of fire-arms and artillery. Shocked and frighted as she was, at
being thus made a witness, though afar, of the terrors of human wrath,
she soon began to look upon the conflict as of good omen for herself. It
would certainly be a more attractive spectacle to any wandering infidels
in the garden than might be furnished by the obscure figures of herself
and companion.
Apparently the Indian maiden thought so too; for she increased her pace,
and instead of skulking as before, among green-arched and shadowy
alleys, she walked boldly along in a broad exposed path, that led
directly to a corner of the palace. But from this very corner they saw
rushing a tumultuous throng of barbarians, some of whom ran directly
towards them, though the course of others was in another direction.
The young guide drew Magdalena into a sheltered walk, and crept
timorously along until she reached the palace wall, when she sank down,
from fatigue or fear, signing to Magdalena to do the same thing, and
thus remained, until the last of the barbarians had vanished. The path
now seemed clear, but still the Indian maiden remained cowering on the
earth; and Magdalena, whose impatience distracted her mind and almost
hardened her heart, perceived that she was sobbing bitterly. She touched
her arm. The guide shrank away, but seemed to collect her spirits and
courage at the sign. She rose up, and led the way to a broad door, where
an armed Indian stood, holding a flambeau. He seemed alarmed, though not
surprised at the sight of the pair, and spoke earnestly to the guide, as
if to dissuade her from entering. She passed him, however, with a word,
and the next moment stopped, in great agitation, before the curtain of a
door. Magdalena looked eagerly to her to confirm her hopes; but before
the maiden could lift her finger, signing to her to enter, she heard,
from within the apartment, the well known growl of Befo.
"Juan! dear Juan!" she exclaimed, and darted through the curtain.
The young man was pacing to and fro, not bound hand and foot, as her
fears had anticipated, but evidently excited in the most painful degree
by the distant firing. He turned at the sound of her voice, and threw
himself into her arms.
"Sister! for I believe thou _art_ my sister," he cried,--"else how could
I love thee with a love so unlike that of man for woman? God be praised
that I have seen thee once again: for it is time thou wert wrested out
of this place. But what is this? Thou art wasted and thin! very thin:
thy hands burn, thy cheek is hot--Sister, dear sister, thou art ill!"
"Think of it not," said Magdalena, with the delight of a maiden,
listening for the first time to the voice of affection, and caressing
him without reserve: "Oh, Juan, I could die twice over, to hear you
speak so; and I care not if I do die, so you are but saved; for you have
made me very happy.--You are a prisoner, Juan,--we are both prisoners.
An Indian girl brought me here--she will help you to escape, for you can
speak her language. You can go to Cortes, and tell him you are the
brother of Magdalena. He will not wrong you then,--no, he will not
dare--Or perhaps we can fly together--we can fly in a canoe. The maiden
will help us, the good maiden: She is at the door--I will call her in."
At this moment, the Indian girl, driven in, immediately after Magdalena,
by some sudden alarm, stood at a distance, near the door, muffled in her
cloak, and shrinking almost within herself. A single dim and half
expiring torch twinkled in the apartment; and its light scarcely
reaching her, she remained unobserved, a spectator of every thing, but
of course unable to understand a word of the conversation.
"Go not, dear Magdalena," said Juan, folding her in his arms; "for it
may be that we have but a moment more to share together. Tarry, and hear
what I have to say. I am, as I may say, a prisoner; yet it seems, if I
can believe the young king, more because I have incurred the wrath of
the Mexicans than his own. Thus it is: the king rescued me from prison
in Tezcuco, first, because I had not long before given him liberty, to
my own great misfortune, and secondly, because he doubted not, that the
wrongs I have suffered would incense me to take part with him, and fight
against my countrymen; whereby, as he thinks, he would gain an
invaluable auxiliary. On the day of his coronation, he presented me to
his people, and called me his brother; nevertheless, they gave me but
sour looks, for bitterly do they hate the sight of a Spaniard. If I will
fight with them and for them, I win their love,--so he assures me, and
so I can well believe; but this is clearly impossible. I have not
fought, and I will not; and they say, therefore, that the king should
give me up to be sacrificed; and twice already, after having suffered
some severe losses, they have come turbulently to the palace, to demand
me. For this reason, I dare not appear among them, unless to be torn to
pieces.--Tremble not, fear not," he continued, as Magdalena clasped him,
as if to shield him from approaching weapons: "I have seen thee bold and
resolute among roaring breakers,--else how could I have saved thee, dear
sister?--Heaven pardon Hilario! and heaven pardon me, my sister, that I
imputed his death to thy warrant!--I have seen thee bold and intrepid.
Now summon back what courage thou hast; and, if heaven will, I will save
thee yet again from destruction. I can myself escape, but not with
thee--"
"Think not of me, Juan, think not of me," said Magdalena, earnestly and
fondly. "Thou canst do nothing to make me so happy, as to tell me how I
can die for thee. Fly, then; pause not a moment, but fly; and know,
that, if I meet thee not again but in heaven, yet thou wilt leave me in
heaven, even upon earth, knowing that thou art saved, and that I have
ministered somewhat to thy liberation."
"Be of this heart, Magdalena," said Juan, "and rest assured that I will
soon return, if I have life, with such a force as will rescue thee
likewise from thraldom. My plan of escape involves duplicity, nay, even
perfidy; yet are mine ends all pure, honourable, and humane. I perceive
that Guatimozin is incapable of resisting much longer. His people are
slain by thousands each day, and thousands must soon perish from want.
Cortes has already his foot upon the island; and house by house, the
city is tumbled into ruins. The poor king is distracted, and resolved to
die, burying himself and his whole people under the ruins of his
capital. This may be excused in a soldier, and in men; but the town is
thronged with poor women and children; there are thousands of them--tens
of thousands; and they must perish, if the siege be longer continued. To
save them--to save the king himself (for thus only can he be saved,) I
will break faith with him; and thus also will I save thee. My only fear
is, that his anger may fall upon thee, when he finds I have deceived
him; yet this he may not discover. There is one here, with whom, could I
but find speech, I could secure thee a protector. Magdalena, I have one
friend here, who will be thine. An unfortunate attempt to escape has
perhaps robbed me of her assistance. Yet I spoke of thee to her,
and--But, dear Magdalena, thou art sick and feeble!--I talk to thee too
much. If thou art alarmed, I will not leave thee: we will await our fate
together."
"I _am_ sick, Juan, and I know not what is the matter with me," said
Magdalena, faintly, suffering the young man to place her upon a seat.
"But who is this of whom you speak? Your friend, Juan--surely I shall
love _your_ friends."
At this moment, Juan, as he bent over her, caught sight of the jewels
which the Indian maiden had placed upon her head and neck, and among
others, beheld the star of pearls which had gained for the daughter of
Montezuma the name of Zelahualla, or the Lady of the Star, and the
silver crucifix.
"Good heaven!" he cried, "do you wear her jewels, and yet ask me who she
is?"
Magdalena started to her feet, and both turning together, they beheld
the Indian princess, shrinking in the shadow of the room, behind Befo,
who seemed to consider her an old friend, her arms crossed upon her
breast, her head drooping, and her whole attitude and appearance
indicative of a spirit entirely crushed and broken.
"Zelahualla!" cried Juan, with a voice of delight; and rushing towards
her, he folded her in his arms, and strove to draw her towards his
sister. "Why didst thou not speak to me, Zelahualla? Why dost thou turn
from me, Zelahualla?"
The maiden sobbed, and strove to disengage herself from his embrace,
saying,
"There is no Zelahualla now--The bright lady of the east is Zelahualla.
Juan and the bright lady shall go. Why should Juan think there are
_two_?"
In these broken expressions, Magdalena, had they not been in an unknown
tongue, would have traced the workings of jealous and wounded affection.
They filled Juan with surprise.
"What is this you say to me, Zelahualla?" he cried, "and what do you
mean? Did not Zelahualla promise she would love my sister?"
"She did," replied the princess, without abating her grief: "she will
love Juan's sister, and any one that Juan loves; and she has brought the
bright lady to Juan, and she has given her her jewels, that Juan may
love her more, and forget Zelahualla,--and the cross of his God, too,
that he may not be sorry."
"Alas, Zelahualla, what evil-eye has struck thee? Dost thou think I
deceive thee? Wilt thou not believe this is my sister?"
The princess looked at him doubtfully and sadly:
"It is all as Juan says: but the king has asked questions, and the
nobles have spoken to him with the words of captives; and they say, he
has spoken falsely of the bright lady."
"Wilt thou believe _them_, and not _me_?" said Juan, not without
emotion, for he was touched by the deep and unreproachful sorrow of the
young princess, though greatly surprised to find how her ear had been
abused. "I swear to thee, and may heaven judge me according to my truth,
that, in this matter, I deceive thee not. There is but one Zelahualla,
and she is the daughter of Montezuma."
The maiden sank upon his breast, sobbing, but now with rapture. Then
running to Magdalena, who had surveyed the scene with varying and
extraordinary emotion, she threw herself at her feet, and embraced her
knees.
Magdalena stood like one entranced, until Juan, raising up the princess,
placed her in her arms, saying,
"Dear sister, give her thy friendship; for there is no one more pure or
noble of spirit, though artless, than this poor ignorant maiden; and let
the cross again hang on her bosom, for she has confessed her Redeemer.
She will watch thee and guard thee while I am gone;--nay, she will nurse
thee too, for thou art very ill, and needest kind nurture."
Magdalena returned the embraces of the Indian maiden, but it was with a
wildness of manner, that greatly disturbed her brother, and even
frighted the princess. He took her hand,--it was hot and trembling. He
kissed her, and found her lips burning with fever; and he perceived that
excitement had wrought her indisposition into a degree of illness that
might prove serious.
"Compose thyself, dear Magdalena," he said. "All now depends upon thy
coolness and courage. If thou becomest ill, my scheme must needs
miscarry--Nay, I cannot attempt it, until thou art better; for it seems
to me now thou art almost delirious."
"Delirious, Juan? No, I am not delirious. Yet I am ill,--very ill, I
think. Thou goest alone, dost thou not? Tarry not a moment.--We will
leave thee,--we will not stay longer, lest the guards should return and
find us."
"Listen to me, Magdalena," said Juan, earnestly, as if he feared lest
her senses should wander. "If I fall into the Spaniards' hands alive, I
will come to this garden in canoes, with a proper force, and enter it by
surprise. If it be possible, I will seize the person of the king, having
previously secured him such terms from Cortes as shall protect him in
person and in his government, as the vassal of Spain. This will end the
war at once. But in this I may not succeed, yet be able to liberate both
thee and the princess. Through her address, thou wilt be enabled to walk
often in the garden. Walk therein, as near to the lake as possible,
especially late in the day, and in the first hours of the evening. The
dog Befo I will leave in a cage: when you are in fear, give him
liberty.--The princess hath often fed him, and he will guard you well;
and his voice, if I come in the night-time, will show me where to seek
you.--Do you understand me, dear sister? Struggle but a little against
this fever, and perhaps it may leave you. At all events, the thought of
your suffering will arm me with double strength, when I return, bringing
you relief. Alas, Magdalena, I am sorry to see you thus!"
"It shall be as you say, Juan," said Magdalena, a little incoherently.
"I will be governed by this maiden, and for your sake, I will love her
well. We will walk in the garden, too. Yet think not of us. If you are
safe, we will be content."
"Farewell, Magdalena, dear Magdalena," said Juan. "Walk, if thou art
able, even to-morrow; for in the morning I will essay to depart. At any
rate, be thou sick or well, if thou hearest a bugle winded in the
garden, at any hour, be it morn or midnight, then be sure that you sally
out, and Zelahualla with you.--Farewell, sister, farewell!--and
farewell, thou, dear princess. When thou thinkest of me, let the cross
be in thy hands and on thy lips!"
With these words, and having tenderly embraced them both, Juan led them
to the door, and putting their hands together, he had soon the
satisfaction to hear them step from the passage into the open air.