The Infidel Volume I Part 9

"Dost thou think him faithful?" said Cortes. "I will find service for him. But go, amigo! I have kept thee till thou art as faint and weary as myself. Get thee to Quinones, and the armory. Make thy preparations and take thy rest. I will see thee on the morrow--perhaps to-night, and acquaint thee with thy force and instructions. G.o.d be with you--Nay, heed not the dog--Adieu, senores--He has much of your own fidelity, roam he never so much. Take him with you."

When the last of the cavaliers had departed from the chamber, the Captain-General, stepped upon the platform, and throwing himself into the chair of state, sat or reclined thereon, with the air of one worn out by exertion of mind and body, and on the eve of sinking into a swoon.

CHAPTER VIII.

According to the apologue, every man carries on his back a satchel, in which are deposited his infirmities and vices, and which, though thus concealed from his own eyes, lies very invitingly open to the inspection of his friends. Not satisfied with this exposure of foibles, there are some good-natured moralists, who would dive deeper into the secrets of their neighbours, and who lament, with the old heathen metaphysician, that heaven had not clapped windows into their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, so that they might detect even the iniquity of thoughts. This regret may be avoided by all who are willing to satisfy curiosity at their own expense; for heaven has fitted most bosoms with private loopholes, through which each man may survey at his leisure the workings of his own spirit. A peep through the secret cas.e.m.e.nt will disclose something startling, if not humbling, to many, who, in the vanity of good works, are disposed to uplift themselves above their fellows;--such, perhaps, as rational principles, and even kindly feelings, taking their hue from 'that smooth-faced gentleman,'--that bia.s.sing spirit which is more comprehensively expressed in Shakespeare's phrase of _Commodity_ than in the more familiar one of Interest; for it is true of us all, that virtues are sometimes nothing but pa.s.sions in disguise, and that reason has a marvellous facility in acquiring the tones of worldly-wisdom. If the mere grovelling villain,--the robber, a.s.sa.s.sin, or slayer of man's peace,--can find some such spectacle near to his heart as the surgeon's knife exposes in the breast of a cankered corse, what may _he_ detect, whose sublimer villany has led, or is leading him, to distinction, upon a highway paved with the miseries of mankind? Methinks, the breast of the ambitious man is a labyrinth of some such caverns as perforate the bowels of a volcano, in whose depths are lost all the petty details of crime, committed, or meditated,--in which there is no light but that which bubbles up from the lava of the vast pa.s.sion,--and in which there is even no grandeur, that has not arisen from convulsions the most disorganizing and unnatural. Such a heart is, at least to the limited ken of others, a chaos,--but a chaos from which he who imbosoms it, and who alone can understand it, calls up,--less like a G.o.d than a demon,--the evil elements, which create the lurid sphere his greatness.

In the bosom of the Conquistador there was a corner, into which the blaze of ambition had not yet penetrated, and where the common pa.s.sions of our nature were left to rage and struggle as in the heart of a meaner mortal. As he looked therein, he gave himself up to thoughts which devoured him, while his countenance betrayed, for a time at least, nothing beyond such la.s.situde and faintness as may have characterized the Spartan boy, while bleeding under the fangs of the beast he concealed in his bosom.

As he sat brooding in this apparently calm, yet deeply suffering lethargy, there glided into the apartment, from one of the curtained doors on the right hand, a figure, which, seen for the first time and in the dusky twilight already darkening around, might, to superst.i.tious eyes, have seemed an apparition,--it was so strange, so fair, so majestic, and so mournful. It presented a stature taller than belongs to the beauty of woman, yet not inconsistent with the conception of a divinity; and to this a singular dignity was given by flowing and voluminous robes of a grayish texture, which, both in hue and fashion, bore an air of monastic simplicity, without precisely resembling those of any one order. A sort of hood, or veil, drawn a little aside and resting upon the brow, gave to view a female countenance of wonderful loveliness, and not without a share of that commanding dignity, which distinguished her figure. Her hair, shorn, or perhaps bound behind by a fillet, and thus almost altogether concealed by the hood, gave yet to the gaze two long locks, broad and black, which, falling over either cheek, were lost among the folds of the veil which her right hand held upon her bosom. A complexion dark, yet not tawny,--a chin and nostrils carved like the most exquisite statuary,--lips of dusky crimson,--a brow of marble, and an eye of midnight, made up a countenance both beautiful and characteristic, yet contradictory in the expression of its several parts, and sometimes even in the expression of the same features. Thus, the first impression made upon a spectator by the whole visage, was such as could only be effected by extreme gentleness of disposition; while the second, he scarce knew why, spoke of energy and decision, none the less striking for being concealed under a mask so captivating. Thus, also, the eyes, very large and set widely apart, conveyed, on ordinary occasions, the idea of a spirit pa.s.sive, melancholy, and inanimate; though the slightest depression of the brow, the smallest motion of the lid, transformed them at once into the brightest torches of pa.s.sion. If one could conceive the spirit of a Philomela--a compound of sweet tenderness and still sweeter melancholy--dashed with the fire of a Penthesilea, he might conjure up to his mind's eye a correct representation of the mysterious being, (alluded to by Villafana, under the name of La Monjonaza, or the Nun, the word being a sort of cant augmentative of _Monja_, a nun,) whom an extraordinary destiny had thrown among the warlike invaders of Mexico.

As she pa.s.sed from the thick curtain and advanced towards the platform, on which sat the moody general, her visage presented none of its ordinary mildness; on the contrary, her brows were knit together, her lip retracted, and the look with which she regarded him whom all others were learning to fear, was bold, stern, and even fiercely hostile.

The rustling of the curtain, the light sound of her footstep, the bright glance of her eye, when she paused before him, all alike failed to make an impression on the general's senses. She perceived that he was in a waking dream, absorbingly profound and painful, and she stood in silence, from disdainful pride, or perhaps with a woman's curiosity, endeavouring to trace the workings of his spirit from the revelations of his countenance, which, by this time, had changed from a stony inexpressiveness to agitation and distortion. At this moment, the head of the Conqueror was bent forwards, and his eyes directed upon the floor; but she saw enough in the writhing features, and the forehead almost impurpled with blood, to know that the pa.s.sions then convulsing his bosom, were dark and deadly.

At this sight, the frown gradually pa.s.sed away from her own visage, and she stood regarding him for the s.p.a.ce of several minutes, with a calm and melancholy intentness. Then, perceiving that his lips, though moving as if in speech, gave out no articulate sound, she exclaimed, with a voice that thrilled to his soul, though subdued to the lowest accents,

"Arise, a.s.sa.s.sin! It is _not_ just, it is _not_ expedient; and he shall NOT perish!"

It seemed as if she had read his heart. He started up, surprised and confounded; and his first act was to cross himself, as if to exorcise a fiend, conjured up by the mere spell of evil thoughts. He even gave voice to two or three interjections of alarm, before perceiving that the rebuke came only from lips of earth.

"Hah! hah! Santa Maria! Santos y Angeles! hah!--Ho! ho! Infeliz!

Magdalena! fair conqueror of hearts! bright converter of souls that shalt be! is it thou, _Monja mia Santisima_? most devout saint of the veil?" he cried, recovering his self-possession, and banishing every trace of pa.s.sion with astonishing address. "By thy bright eyes of heaven,--and thanks be thine for the good deed,--thou hast waked me from a dream of night-mare, a most horrible vision. These naps o' the afternoon are but provokers of Incubus,--ay, and Succuba into the bargain. I thank thee, bright Infeliz: it is better to be waked by thy voice, than by sweet music!"

"And dost thou think," said the lady, with a voice whose deep but not unfeminine tones suited so well with the mournfulness of her emphasis,--"dost thou think, I see not, this moment, into thy bosom?

Visions and sleep! Speak of visions to thy dull conquerors: they who dream of immortal renown, can best appreciate a vision of bloodshed.

Speak of sleep to thy duller victims: the stupid wretches who slumber with the chain at their necks, may well believe that the enslaver has also his seasons of repose. But talk not of these to _me_, who look upon thee neither with the eyes of follower nor of foe. Thou canst not sleep, thou dost not dream: thy head is too full of fame, thy foot too deep in blood, thy heart too black with evil thoughts--No, nevermore canst thou sleep, nevermore, nevermore!"

The last words were uttered with a cadence so extremely melancholy, and with a manner so much like that of one who apostrophizes self, that a stranger overhearing them, and marking the look and gesture--the upturned eye and the folding of arms on the breast--would have naturally supposed they referred rather to herself than to another. This was, indeed, a suspicion, entertained, in part, by Cortes, who, somewhat confounded by the calm decision with which she rejected a deceitful attempt to explain expressions of countenance so ominous as those he had displayed, now recovered himself, and said, with an air of grave sympathy, in which earnestness could not conceal a vein of sarcasm and bagatelle, that were parts of his nature,

"Fair Infeliz, the Unhappy, (since by this lugubrious epithet you choose to be called,) it is now some two months since you dropped among us from the clouds, the fairest, shrewdest and strangest, as well as the most broken-hearted, and self-accusing of all the angels that have fallen from paradise. For mine own part, however fervently I may thank heaven for sending me such a minister, I have not yet got over my amazement at your presence; which I indeed regard with much the same wonder wherewith I should behold the sun of heaven take up his quarters at my tent-door."

"In this particular," said the lady, with the utmost tranquillity, "you should have been satisfied, (had it accorded with your nature to believe any solution of a problem, that was not suggested by your own imagination,) that the deceptions of others, and no will of my own, brought me from Santiago to Mexico, in a ship which should have carried me to Jamaica.--Your allies do not fit out vessels openly for this land, under the eye of Velasquez.--But why ask you me this? Hast thou no better device to lure me from my purpose? I came, not to speak of myself, but of others. Thou couldst have played the lapwing more subtly, hadst thou dwelt upon the whispers, the nods, the smiles of contempt and the words of scorn, that heralded a compelled coming, find which requite an inevitable stay. But learn, if thou hast not yet learned it, that these things are felt more than they are feared, and that she who has not deserved it, may sometimes have the courage to endure even a degrading misconstruction. Why hast thou not insinuated _this_?"

continued the singular being, with a voice that betrayed more feeling than her pride confessed: "this would have drowned every other thought in a true woman; for to woman, good name and fame are more than life-blood,--yes, more than life!--I save thee, however, the trouble; I am reminded of my condition,--a woman alone in thy camp, alone in thy hands;--and yet I return to my purpose, which concerns not myself, but another. Wilt thou have me speak further of myself? If it last till the midnight, be sure I will yet speak of that which I have in view."

"Of thyself, then, beauteous Infeliz," said Cortes, admiringly; "for I vow to heaven, thou art the marvel of womankind, whom I desire to understand even more than to adore. Sit thou upon my barbarian throne, and I will fling me at thy feet, in token that I acknowledge thy supremacy in wit, wisdom, subtle observation, determination, and all other virtues that can grace woman,--ay, or man either; for I swear by my conscience, I think thou art valiant also, fearing nothing that walks under heaven or above the abyss. To the throne then, as queen of my mystery."

"I will answer thee where I stand," said Infeliz, calmly disengaging the hand which the Conquistador had taken to lead her to the platform; "and think not, this gallant folly will make me a whit quicker of apprehension, or reply. Make thy demands, and gain thereby what time thou wilt to answer mine; for this is thy purpose."

"Well then," said the Captain-General, with a look of not less respect than curiosity, "make me acquainted with this. Wherefore, as thy coming hither was so much against thy will, hast thou not once demanded to be taken back to the islands?"

"Because it is not yet my will to be discharged from your presence,"

replied the lady, calmly.

"Be thou of this mind for ever," said the general, with an air of sincerity. "Now let me know, I pray you, why it is that I am somewhat more forward in confiding to thy scrutiny my secret thoughts than to the best and wisest of my bold cavaliers?"

"Because thou knowest I neither love thee nor hate thee; because I lose not good-will by asking honours and spoils, nor by boasting of services and ability; but chiefly am I troubled with your confidence, because I am the only one who lists not to have it."

"By my faith, thou art very right, especially in the last reason of all," said Cortes, with a laugh; "for secrets are like gnats and musket-bullets, they ever crowd thickest after those who strive most to avoid them.--Tell me now, fair and most provoking Infeliz, why, when I have flung thee open the whole book of my confidence, thou givest me not a single chapter of thine?"

"Because it extends not beyond that single chapter," replied La Monjonaza, patiently, "hath neither beginning nor end, and is, beside, in a language which thou canst not understand."

"Pho, you put me off with nothing," said Don Hernan, again taking the hand of his remarkable guest. "I have but one more question to ask you.

Why is it, (and I pray you to forgive me the question,) that, with the consciousness that your situation in this mad land and knavish army, exposes you not only to degrading suspicion, but even to absolute personal danger, you betray no apprehension of the wild reprobates among whom you are placed? that you show no dread even of me?"

"Because," said the maiden, removing her right hand, which she had, up to this moment, preserved upon her breast, and drawing aside the thick folds of veil and mantle,--"because, for the wretch who fears not the woman's arms of modesty and helplessness, I bear with me a weapon which will secure his respect."

And as she spoke, the eye of Don Hernan fell upon a naked and glittering poniard thrust through her girdle, and worn as if it had long formed a part of the habit.

There was something inexpressibly impressive in the calm and simple dignity with which, in the very gesture that pointed out a protection so insufficient, she acknowledged a weakness, in all other respects, unfriended. Cortes, in the mult.i.tude of his base and graspingly selfish attributes, was not without some traits of a more generous character; and especially admiring a courage so self-relying, so unaffectedly real, and perhaps so much akin to his own, he had enough of the old leaven of chivalric feeling, to understand and appreciate the claims of the s.e.x to his compa.s.sion and protection. That he had other reasons for treating La Monjonaza with respect, cannot be denied.

"Give me thy hand, Magdalena," he said, with an action and voice rather indicating the familiarity of a patron than that of a presumptuous suitor: "Thou art right; thou art a creature after mine own heart; and I swear to thee, I will do thee no wrong, nor suffer it to be done thee by another. Heed not what may be said of thee; my dogs would bay an angel, should one condescend to pay them a visit. Thy cloister-like garments are not amiss;--there be more that venerate than malign thee, for this reason; and, thank heaven, the padre Olmedo finds no sin in thy wearing them. Wilt thou be seated? There is peace between us; let there be confidence. What hast thou to ask of me, Magdalena? Thy revenge is at hand."

The maiden returned the scrutinizing look of the general with one which, if not so piercing, was at least quite as steady:

"Your excellency has thrice called me, who call myself Infeliz, by a name not authorized by any revealments of mine," she said: "you speak also of revenge,--of _my_ revenge!--Yes," she muttered, with a quivering lip; "this is a thing to be thought of, not spoken."

She paused a moment, and Cortes, casting a quick eye round the apartment, said, in a voice confidentially low and insinuating,

"I would the story had come from yourself. But it matters not,--I have it; and disguise is no longer availing. You lose nothing by the change, for I see, thy spirit hath the elements of mine own. Ah! water in the desert! the first kiss of a lover! breath to the suffocating!--such is revenge to the soul of the mighty!--I know thee, thy history and thy purpose.--I have dandled the boy Hilario upon my knee!"

The strong and meaning stress laid upon the last abrupt words, only served to drive the colour from the maiden's cheeks and lips. In all other respects, she remained calm and collected, and replied gravely,--

"The tale comes from the Alguazil Villafana--"

"Hah!" said Cortes, in surprise; "how knowest thou that?"

"Because there is no other,--no other, save _one_, who will not speak it,--in all this land, who knows so much of me; and because, were there twenty, the man whom heaven has cursed with the industrious treachery of a spider, and the rage to entangle all things in his flimsy web, would be the first to betray me."

"Thou sayst the truth of Villafana," said Cortes, with a laugh of peculiar exultation. "In spirit and intention, he is the insect you have named; but yet he spins his web, less like the spider, with the chance of destroying, than the silken-caterpillar, that toils for his master, who will smother him in his work, as soon as it is perfected. Ay, thy penetration is clear, thy conception just; the knave is, in all things, a traitor,--a double, a triple,--a centupled traitor!"

"And you both spare him, and give him the means of multiplying his dangerous villanies?"

"I do, by my conscience!" said Cortes, vivaciously. "There is a charm in it, and no little policy. Dost thou think this little fly can deceive?

can deceive _me_?--Wert thou a man, thou wouldst know, that even above the triumph of vengeance, is the joy of him who watches the nets that his foe is spreading, and, as he watches, fastens them softly down upon the ensnarer."

"And is the insect worthy to be toiled by the lion?"

"Ay,--when the lion is a _man_!--This is my diversion; it is also my profit. I would not for a thousand crowns, any harm should come to so serviceable a tool: a better decoy never circled the disaffected about him. He is the touchstone that reveals me the metal of the doubtful,--the diamond that cuts me the adamant of malignancy. I look through him, as through the philosopher's gla.s.s, and behold the million things of corruption that swarm in the hearts of the curs beneath him.--By heaven! it joys me, that I have one to whom I can speak these secret blisses. Thou art my vizier, my very familiar. Know then, that this very night, the dog meditates a treachery, with which I will be acquainted, and yet seem unacquainted. By my conscience, it delights me to tell thee, with what exquisite industry the poor knave works me a good, while foolishly believing he is doing me an ill. Dost thou not remember that I have told thee, how much it concerns me to procure some trusty envoy, to go between me and the young infidel, Guatimozin of Tenocht.i.tlan?"

"I am familiar with your wishes."

"Learn then, that, this night, Villafana himself procures me the emissary I have myself sought after in vain,--a Mexican n.o.ble of high rank.--I could kiss the dog for his knavery!"