The fate of Mexico approached to its consummation. The great streets leading from the causeways, were in the power of the Spaniards. It might be said, indeed, that they had gained possession of the whole island, except the extreme point of the neck of Tlatelolco; for though they did not extend their ravages any great distance from the streets, into the three quarters to the east and south, it was because these were occupied only by women and children--the wounded, the sick, and the dying,--and could be, at any moment, taken possession of. The warriors who yet remained, were concentrated upon the little peninsula, around their monarch, who, obstinate to the last, still resisted, even when resistance was hopeless, refusing the offers of peace and friendship, which Cortes, rendered magnanimous by success, and softened by compa.s.sion, now daily sent him. His obstinacy was indeed surprising; for the point was surrounded by brigantines and piraguas, prepared to intercept his flight; and escape, unless by death, seemed evidently impossible. The work of carnage therefore went on, though with mitigated severity; for there were but few left to suffer. The market-place of Tlatelolco was secured and occupied, and upon the day of St. Hippolytus, (the 13th of August,) the Spaniards concluded the labours of the long and b.l.o.o.d.y siege, by storming, with all their forces, the palace of Guatimozin--the last stronghold of the Mexicans. The garden walls were beaten down by the artillery, and soon after midday, the Spaniards rushed, with tremendous vivas, upon the palace, to which fire had been previously communicated by flaming arrows, shot into the windows by the confederates.

The preparations for the a.s.sault, and long before it began, were surveyed by the Captain-General from the terrace of the palace of Axajacatl, the famous scene of his sufferings, when besieged therein by the Mexicans, a year before. It was in the quarter of Tlatelolco, midway between the great pyramid and the market-place, and commanded, from its turrets, not only a view of the palace of Guatimozin, but of the whole surrounding city and lake.

Deeply as his mind was engaged with the approaching climax of his mighty enterprise,--for now he could almost count the minutes that intervened betwixt his hopes and his success,--he was not without thoughts and feelings of another character. The singular disappearance of Magdalena, of which nothing more was known, or even conjectured, than was disclosed in the midnight conversation of the hunchback and Bernal Diaz; the fate of Camarga, over which events not yet narrated, had cast a peculiarly exciting mystery; and the situation of Juan Lerma, upon whose character and unhappy history certain events had shed a new light, as well as what had now become a painful interest; all, by turns, occupied his mind, and sometimes even withdrew it from the contemplation of the scene before him. The few cavaliers in attendance, who enjoyed their immunity from combat only because they were disabled by severe wounds, referred his unusual gloom to the same cause; for he had not yet recovered from the many injuries, the penalty of his rashness on the causeway.

"Thou knowest, Quinones," said one, in a whisper to the captain of his body guard, (for the conspiracy of Villafana had been made, as is usual in such catastrophes of ambition, an excuse for investing his dignity with another engine of power;)--"Thou knowest, the renegade struck him upon the head; and it is a marvel of providence he was not slain; for Lerma strikes with an arm like the wing of a windmill. These blows on the skull, though one may seem to recover from them, have a perilous after-effect on the brain."

"Fy!" muttered Quinones, with a shake of the head; "there is a new word about Lerma, especially since Garci Holguin brought in the princess.

Didst thou not hear that Alvarado, who heads the a.s.sault, called this morning upon all soldiers who had seen Juan Lerma in the melee, and asked them a thousand questions? I tell thee, there is a new thing in the wind. I did myself last night over-hear Cortes charge Sandoval to watch well for every piragua and canoe, that might leave Tlatelolco, and see that no one taken be harmed.--But this we will see. Talking of canoes, methought I beheld one some half hour since paddling from Tezcuco?"

"Ay," said another; "it landed in the north-eastern quarter.--No more complaints of Guzman now? He will never harry infidels more. Garci's sailors say, he was taken alive!"

"Hist!" whispered Quinones, with a warning gesture. "This thing troubles Cortes. It was his anger, and Guzman's desire to recover favour, which drove him upon the mad feat, that brought him to the block of sacrifice.

It weighs upon the general's mind.--And besides, as it is now apparent that Camarga is alive, there is deeper cause for remorse: It was perhaps his wrongful belief in the charge of murder, rather than any other cause, that made him proceed with such rigour against Guzman."

"But is this rumour true?" demanded the other.

"Ay, certain; and I wage ye my life, the very canoe we were looking after, brings the dead-alive to Mexico. Methought I could trace the cut of his sacerdotal maskings, even afar off. They say, after all, the man is a true brother of St. Dominic, under some dispensation.--Ay, faith!

you may see now--Alive and shorn into the bargain! They are bringing him up the stairway.--By Santiago, it makes the general's eye flash fire!"

The eye of Cortes, up to this moment peculiarly gloomy and troubled, did indeed flash with l.u.s.tre, as soon as it fell upon the figure of Camarga; for it was he, who now made his appearance on the terrace, led forward by Indians. He was greatly altered, and seemed indeed like the ghost of his former self, so wan and emaciated was his countenance, and so broken and feeble his step; he looked as if in almost the last stage of atrophy. He was otherwise changed; the hair was shorn from his crown, on which was a ghastly scar, left by the macana of the Lord of Death; his feet were bare; and from the cord that girded on his friar's frock, was suspended a knotted scourge, crusted over with blood. His whole appearance was that of some suicidal ascetic, who mourns with the severest maceration of the body, a sin not to be expiated by mere penitence of spirit.

"Heaven be thanked for thy resurrection!" cried Cortes, grasping him by the hand, and leading him to the seat he had himself occupied. "There is a wolf in my bosom, and now I know that thou canst remove it!"

"Have I come too late?" cried Camarga, eagerly, though with a voice no longer sonorous. "_Agnus Dei, dona n.o.bis pacem!_ The victim of our madness, driven among the infidels,--the poor wretch whom misery cast into the same hands--What of them, senor? what of them?"

"Nothing," replied Cortes, "unless thou canst speak it: Nothing, at least, except that both are still in captivity. Yet know, if it will relieve thee, that what I could do by emba.s.sies and goodly offers, that I have done to recover them; and I have given such orders, that, if they be not murdered by the Indians, we may see them living this day."

"G.o.d be thanked!" cried Camarga, dropping on his knees, and praying with such fervour, though in inaudible accents, as to excite no little curiosity among the attendant cavaliers, whom Cortes had already waved away. He turned upon them again, and sternly bade them descend from the terrace, which they did, followed by the Indians.

As soon as they were alone, Cortes, scarce pausing until Camarga had ceased his devotions, exclaimed,

"Speak, and delay not, either to mourn or to pray: Thou canst do these things hereafter. Enough evil has already come of thy silence. Speak me in a word--What art thou? and what is thy interest in these wretches?

What is thine? and what--yes, what is _mine_?"

The last word was uttered with vehement emphasis, that seemed to recall Camarga to his self-possession. He rolled his eyes upon Cortes with a ghastly smile, and replied,

"Thou shalt know; for thou hast a sin to answer as well as I; and answer it thou must, both to G.o.d and thy conscience. Moderate thy impatience: what I have to say, cannot be spoken in a word, but yet it shall be spoken briefly. In thy boyish days, thou hast heard of the Counts of Castillejo--"

The Captain-General bent upon the speaker a look that seemed designed to slay, it was so frowningly fixed and penetrating. He then smote his hands together upon his breast, as if to beat down some dreadful thought, and immediately exclaimed,

"What thou hast to say, speak in G.o.d's name, and without further preface. Were I but a dog of the house of Cortes, instead of its son and sole representative, the name of a Castillejo of Merida would be hateful to my ear. Ay, by heaven! be thou layman or monk, my friend or the friend of my enemy, yet know that my rage burns with undiminished fire, though the proud scutcheons of the Castillejos have been turned into funeral hatchments, and the mosses of twenty years have gathered on their graves.--But it is enough. The first word of thy story harmonizes with mine own conceit. A strange accident opened my eyes upon a remembrance of dishonour; which let us rake up no further.--I have heard enough. Keep thine own secret, too," he continued, with a gleaming eye; "for I would not take the life of one, upon whom heaven has itself set the seal of vengeance."

"Yet must thou listen, and I speak," said Camarga, disregarding the menacing words and glance; "for there is a story to be told, of which thou and thy kindred have not dreamed--nay, nor have others, except one--except one! My secret will not throw thee into the frenzy thou fearest; he of whom you think, is beyond the reach of human vengeance.

Listen to me, Hernan Cortes, and forbear your rage, until I have done.--Of the Count Sebastian's three brothers; the next in age, Julian, was a slave in Barbary, yet supposed to be dead; the youngest Gregorio, was a monk of St. Dominic; and the third, Juan, was a wild and unhappy profligate."

"Ay, by heaven," said Cortes, with angry emotion; "may he remember his deeds in torment--Amen! Had not Gregorio been an inquisitor as well as a monk, I should have seen him burn at a stake, as was his due."

"Reserve your curses for the true criminal," said Camarga, drawing the cowl over his visage, as if no longer able to endure the fierce looks of Don Hernan: "Among others who had inflamed his wild and fiery affections, was one whom heaven had seemingly placed beyond his reach,--one whose name I need not p.r.o.nounce to Hernan Cortes."

"I will tell thee who she was," said the general, laying his hand upon Camarga's shoulder, and speaking with a pa.s.sionate energy;--"the daughter of a family, ancient and n.o.ble as his own, though without its wealth,--a novice about to take the vows, (for to this had the poverty of her house and her own religious fervour destined her;) and thus uplifted both by rank and profession above the aims of a seducer. But what thought the young cub of Castillejo of these impediments, when he feared not G.o.d, and saw no one left to punish his villany, save an impoverished old man and a rambling schoolboy? Dwell not on this--Speak not her name neither: let it be forgotten. May her soul rest in peace!

for her own act of distraction avenged the dishonour of her fall."

He paused in strong emotion, and Camarga, drawing the mantle closer round his head, continued:

"Know, (and I speak thee a truth never before divulged to mortal man,) that the sin of this act,--the abduction of a devotee, whose novitiate was already accomplished,--belongs not to Juan, the debauchee, but to Gregorio, the Dominican."

"These are the words of a madman," said Cortes, sternly; but he was interrupted by Camarga hastily exclaiming,

"Misunderstand me not. The lover and the convent-robber was indeed Juan; but it was Gregorio who provoked him to the outrage, and gave him the means of success. The sacrilege had not been otherwise attempted, and the fickle-minded Juan would have soon forgotten the object of a pa.s.sion both criminal and dangerous."

"If you speak the truth," said Cortes, "you have exposed an atrocity, of which, as you said, truly no man ever dreamed. On what improbable ground do you make Gregorio a villain so monstrous?"

"On that of _knowledge_," replied Camarga, with a voice firmer than he had yet displayed. "Dost thou think ambition lies not as often under a cowl as a corslet? or that guilt can only be meditated by a soldier?

When the young monk Gregorio beheld the two sons of his brother, the Count Sebastian, taken up dead from the river, into which an evil accident had plunged them, and knew that the Count was dying--surely dying--of a broken heart, the fiend of darkness put a thought into his brain, which had never before dishonoured it. Yet it slumbered again, until his evil fate showed him his brother Juan, meditating a crime, which, if attempted, must bring him under the ban of the church, and into the dungeons of the Inquisition. Then he said, in his heart, 'If Sebastian die of grief, childless, and if Juan destroy himself by an act of impiety, where shall men look for the Count of Castillejo, except in the cell of Gregorio?' It was this thought of darkness that brought the thunderbolt upon his house, and upon thine."

"Ay! thou sayst it now," said Cortes with a smothered voice. "But this monk, this devil, this Gregorio! Let me know more of the wretch, whose flagitious ambition, not satisfied with destroying his father's house and his brother's soul, must end by bringing to a dishonourable grave a daughter--I speak it _now_--a daughter of Martin Cortes of Medellin!"

"It is spoken in a word; but let the iniquitous details be forgotten.

The power of Gregorio, unknown even to Juan, (for the connivance was concealed and unsuspected,) opened the doors of the convent, and the lovers fled, were united in marriage, and then parted for ever."

"United? married? Now by heavens, thou mockest me! Even this had been some mitigation of our shame. But it is not true. Why dost thou say it?"

"Thou wert deceived--all were deceived," said Camarga; "nay, even the scheming Gregorio was deceived; for before he had dreamed that such a fatal blow could be given to his ambition, the knot was tied, and the children of Juan became the heirs of Sebastian. Behold how treachery overshoots its mark! Gregorio opened a path, that the lovers might meet, not that they might escape. This was reserved until the time when the vows should be taken; after which the crime of abduction and flight could not be pardoned. They fled a day too early, and it was within the power of Sebastian to obtain both a pardon and dispensation; for Juan was now his heir, in the place of his children."

"Good heavens!" cried Cortes, "was this indeed possible? But no; thou deceivest me. Had the offence been so venial, Juan Castillejo had not perished among the vaults of the Inquisition."

"Canst thou compa.s.s thine own vindictive purposes, and attribute no similar power to others?" cried Camarga, with a laugh, that sounded hollow and unnatural under the mantle. "Did a venial offence, or a malignant and perfidious stratagem, drive Juan Lerma among the pagans of Mexico?--Listen:--Juan Castillejo was dragged from his hiding-place, and that perhaps the earlier, that Gregorio knew of their marriage. The crime of carrying off a novice was not indeed inexpiable, but it demanded a deep cell in the office of the Brotherhood; and such Juan obtained. Now, Cortes, ask not for reasons to explain the acts of Gregorio. The dying Sebastian exerted his powers to save his brother, and would have succeeded, had not Gregorio, visiting the dungeons, in virtue of his office, subtly attacked the prisoner's mind with the fear of torture and final condemnation; until, in a fit of distraction, he laid violent hands upon himself, and so ended a tragedy, for which Gregorio designed another catastrophe. Ay, believe me! Think not that even Gregorio planned out a climax so cruel. He desired only to work upon Juan's terrors, in order to banish him from the land for ever; for it was his purpose to provide him with the means of escape, when this was accomplished. He foresaw not the consequences of the desperation he had produced. Upon the morrow, Sebastian came with an indulgence--almost a pardon. The shock of the spectacle of Juan's dead body, broke away the last feeble cords that bound him to life; and Gregorio, absolved from his vows by the papal dispensation, easily obtained, was now the Count of Castillejo."

"And never sat in the castle-hall a fiend more truculent and diabolic!"

cried Cortes, with terrific emphasis. "Hark thee, man, demon, or whatsoever thou art--I did think thee, at first, the very wretched Juan of whom thou hast spoken, escaped by some miracle, and finding the fiercest retribution for his villany, in the misery of his children. I remembered thy words at Tezcuco, and was thus deluded. But I know thee at last, and words cannot express how much I abhor thee."

"We are alike worthy of detestation," said Camarga, rising and flinging back his cowl, "for we are alike villains,--with but this difference between us, that I have preceded thee in the path of remorse, and must perhaps tread it more bitterly, because in all things, self-deluded and baffled. I am what thou thinkest,--the wretched Gregorio--and yet less wretched than when I first discovered the twin children of my brother in thy house at Tezcuco.--Hearken yet a moment, and I have done. All supposed that the unhappy Olivia had cast herself into the river, and so perished. It was not so. Pity, remorse, or some other feeling--perhaps, policy--induced me to preserve her from her distraction. She lived in concealment, until she had given birth to twin children--these very wretches whom we have persecuted. Let me speak their fate in a word. The boy I sent by a creature whose name he bears, to Colon's settlement in Espanola; the girl I devoted from her infancy to the altar; and in both cases, dreamed that I had provided for their welfare, as well as against the possibility of discovery. When I had thus arranged everything for my own security, heaven sent me the first sting of retribution in the person of my brother Julian, returned in safety from the dungeons of Fez, and, in right of seniority, the heir of the honours I had so vainly usurped. It was a fitting reward, but it was not all. Dishonour, other crimes, and awakened suspicions, followed my downfall; and I became an exile and outcast. What life I have lived, it needs not I should speak.

A strange accident acquainted me with the stranger truth, that Magdalena had followed her unknown brother to the islands. I had ama.s.sed wealth; and an impulse, combining both pity and foreboding terror, drove me to pursue them. It was easy to trace out their respective fates. The wreck of the ship which carried Magdalena, with the supposed loss of all on board, satisfied me that she was with her mother, in heaven. An unexpected event had invested Juan with new interest. This was the death of Julian, without heirs. It was in my power to repair, at least, the wrongs I had done him, by restoring him to his inheritance; the knowledge and proofs of his legitimacy were in my hands, and I resolved to employ them. This I could not do in mine own person, but I discovered--and know, senor, it filled me with joy,--that _thou_ hadst befriended him. I came then to Mexico, to seek the young man, and to enable thee to do justice to the memory, and to the child of thy sister."

Gregorio, for so we must now call him, paused a moment, while Cortes strode to and fro, in great agitation. He then resumed:

"The first thing I heard was the supposed death of Juan,--his expedition, and the cause of it--thine own bitter and unrelenting hatred."

"It is true," said Cortes, with a vain effort at composed utterance. "I confessed my folly to thee before. I have persecuted the son of my sister almost to death, and for an imaginary crime. There were villains about me--I will tell thee, by and by, my delusion."

"Senor," continued Gregorio, "I found in thy camp a villain, whose subtle and malicious nature was in harmony with my own. This was Villafana, whose representations of thy cruelty in the matter of Juan, stirred up my evil pa.s.sions; and until the day when Juan returned, I was very eager to avenge his wrongs. Upon that day, I discovered that Magdalena was living. Now," he exclaimed, with vehemence, "thou mayst understand the cause of my seeming madness: now thou mayst know that the vengeance of heaven was punishing my old sin with lashes of horror. Thou knowest the evil slanders cast by the ribald soldiers upon thee, in relation to Magdalena. That dreadful suspicion was soon at an end; but there remained the other, the persuasion, supported by strong circ.u.mstances and by the malign averments of Villafana,--the dreadful, d.a.m.ning belief, that a horrible and unnatural sin, the direct consequence of my own, had plunged the brother and sister into a never-ending wretchedness. Ask not my feelings, when I made this supposed discovery. They caused me to seek the life of the unhappy brother, to attempt it with my own hands, and finally through thine; and all in a distraction, that mingled a thirst of vengeance with the precautions of pity. Thou knowest the rest: he was s.n.a.t.c.hed out of our hands; and from Magdalena I discovered the blessed--the blissful truth, that heaven had not punished them for _my_ sin! A course of extraordinary calamities, while it covered them with misery, yet kept them asunder.--But why should I trifle thus? The girl also was taken from me, and by the pagans, who left me on the lake-side weltering in blood. When I recovered speech and sense, I besought Guzman to send for you; nay, in my distracted impatience, being myself incapable of any effort beyond mere speech, I confided to him the secret of their birth--"

"Villain that he was, a double-dyed villain!" exclaimed Cortes, "this then accounts for his attempt upon your life, of which I had something more than mere suspicion to bring against him. I see it all now: exposure of a long series of malignant deceptions, must have followed the revealment, if it found the young Lerma--the young Castillejo, shall I say?--yet living. Is it not true? did he do you violence?"

"Not with his own hands," replied Gregorio; "nor can I say he really designed my death, not being able to communicate with the Indians, who dragged me by night from Tezcuco, carried me to the mountains, and finally took me back again, when Guzman was no longer the governor. But I doubt not, his intentions were evil."