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Read Ebook: The Fair God; or The Last of the 'Tzins: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico by Wallace Lew Pape Eric Illustrator
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Ebook has 3452 lines and 186261 words, and 70 pages
BOOK ONE.
BOOK TWO.
BOOK THREE.
BOOK FOUR.
BOOK FIVE.
BOOK SEVEN.
PAGE
A CLANG OF SANDALED FEET 30
THE FORTUNATE HERO, STANDING SO CALMLY BEFORE THEM 70
THE MONARCH'S FACE CHANGED VISIBLY 158
"OUT OF THE WAY, DOG!" SHOUTED SANDOVAL 246
LOOKED GLOOMILY INTO THE WATER 358
SHE GAVE HIM THE SIGNAL 462
CORTES DREW REIN ONLY AT ITS FOOT 478
THE FAIR GOD.
FROM THE SPANISH OF
FERNANDO DE ALVA.
INTRODUCTORY.
Fernando De Alva, a noble Tezcucan, flourished, we are told, in the beginning of the sixteenth century. He was a man of great learning, familiar with the Mexican and Spanish languages, and the hieroglyphics of Anahuac. Ambitious to rescue his race from oblivion, and inspired by love of learning, he collected a library, availed himself of his knowledge of picture-writing, became master of the songs and traditions, and, in the Castilian language, composed books of merit.
It was scarcely possible that his labors should escape the researches of Mr. Prescott, who, with such incomparable genius, has given the world a history of the Conquest of Mexico. From him we have a criticism upon the labors of the learned Fernando, from which the following paragraph is extracted.
"Iztlilzochitl's writings have many of the defects belonging to his age. He often crowds the page with incidents of a trivial and sometimes improbable character. The improbability increases with the distance of the period; for distance, which diminishes objects to the natural eye, exaggerates them to the mental. His chronology, as I have more than once noticed, is inextricably entangled. He has often lent a too willing ear to traditions and reports which would startle the more sceptical criticism of the present time. Yet there is an appearance of good faith and simplicity in his writings, which may convince the reader that, when he errs, it is from no worse cause than the national partiality. And surely such partiality is excusable in the descendant of a proud line, shorn of its ancient splendors, which it was soothing to his own feelings to revive again--though with something more than their legitimate lustre--on the canvas of history. It should also be considered that, if his narrative is sometimes startling, his researches penetrate into the mysterious depths of antiquity, where light and darkness meet and melt into each other; and where everything is still further liable to distortion, as seen through the misty medium of hieroglyphics."
In the translation, certain liberties have been taken, for which, if wrong has been done, pardon is besought both from the public and the shade of the author. Thus, The Books in the original are unbroken narratives; but, with infinite care and trouble, they have all been brought out of the confusion, and arranged into chapters. So, there were names, some of which have been altogether changed; while others, for the sake of euphony, have been abbreviated, though without sacrificing the identity of the heroes who wore them so proudly.
And thus beginneth the FIRST BOOK.
FOOTNOTES:
Fernando De Alva Iztlilzochitl.
THE FAIR GOD.
BOOK ONE.
OUR MOTHER HAS A FORTUNE WAITING US YONDER.
The Spanish Calendar is simpler than the Aztecan. In fact, Christian methods, of whatever nature, are better than heathen.
So, then, by the Spanish Calendar, March, 1519, had about half spent itself in the valley of Anahuac, which was as yet untrodden by gold-seeker, with cross-hilted sword at his side, and on his lips a Catholic oath. Near noon of one of its fairest days a traveller came descending the western slope of the Sierra de Ahualco. Since the dawn his path had been amongst hills and crags; at times traversing bald rocks that towered to where the winds blew chill, then dipping into warm valleys, where were grass, flowers, and streamlets, and sometimes forests of cedar and fir,--labyrinths in which there reigned a perpetual twilight.
In the course of his journey he came to a crag that sank bluffly down several hundred feet, commanding a fine prospect. Though the air was cold, he halted. Away to the northwest stretched the beautiful valley of Anahuac, dotted with hamlets and farm-houses, and marked with the silver tracery of streams. Far across the plain, he caught a view of the fresh waters of Lake Chalco, and beyond that, blue in the distance and faintly relieved against the sky, the royal hill of Chapultepec, with its palaces and cypress forests. In all the New World there was no scene comparable with that he looked upon,--none its rival for beauty, none where the heavens seemed so perfectly melted into earth. There were the most renowned cities of the Empire; from that plain went the armies whose marches were all triumphs; in that air hovered the gods awaiting sacrifices; into that sky rose the smoke of the inextinguishable fires; there shone the brightest suns, and lingered the longest summers; and yonder dwelt that king--in youth a priest, then a warrior, now the terror of all nations--whose signet on the hand of a slave could fill the land with rustling of banners.
No traveller, I ween, could look unmoved on the picture; ours sat down, and gazed with brimful eyes and a beating heart. For the first time he was beholding the matchless vale so overhung with loveliness and full of the monuments of a strange civilization. So rapt was he that he did not observe the ocelot come and lay its head in his lap, like a dog seeking caresses. "Come, boy!" he said, at last rousing himself; "let us on. Our Mother has a fortune waiting us yonder."
And they resumed the journey. Half an hour's brisk walk brought them to the foot of the mountain. Suddenly they came upon company.
"A warrior going to the city," said one.
"Or rather a king's courier," suggested another.
"Is not that an ocelot at his heels?" asked a third.
"That it is. Bring me my javelin!"
"And mine! And mine!" cried several of them at once, all springing to their feet.
"I am very sorry to have disturbed you," he said, quietly finding himself obliged to stop.
"You seem friendly enough," answered one of the older men; "but your comrade there,--what of him?"
The traveller smiled. "See, he is muzzled."
The party laughed at their own fears. The old merchant, however, stepped forward to the young stranger.
"I confess you have greatly relieved me. I feared the brute might set on and wound somebody. Come up, and sit down with us."
The traveller was nowise disinclined, being tempted by the prospect of cheer from the provision-baskets lying around.
"Bring a mat for the warrior," said the friendly trader. "Now give him bread and meat."
From an abundance of bread, fowl, and fruit the wayfarer helped himself. A running conversation was meantime maintained.
"My ocelot? The story is simple; for your sakes, good friends, I wish it were better. I killed his mother, and took him when a whelp. Now he does me good service hunting. You should see him in pursuit of an antelope!"
"Then you are not a warrior?"
"To be a warrior," replied the hunter, modestly, "is to have been in many battles, and taken many captives. I have practised arms, and, at times, boasted of skill,--foolishly, perhaps; yet, I confess, I never marched a day under the banner of the great king."
"Ah!" said the old man, quizzically, "I understand you. You have served some free-trading company like our own."
"You are shrewd. My father is a merchant. At times he has travelled with strong trains, and even attacked cities that have refused him admission to their market."
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