Volume I Part 10 (1/2)
”And wherefore does he this?”
”Faith, in the amiable wish to reconcile some of the jarring elements of his conspiracy; to wit, the Tlascalans and Mexicans; the latter of whom, this night, will, with his good help, show the black-cheeked Xicotencal the advantages to be gained by uniting with his mighty and royal enemy of Mexico, to secure the destruction of my insignificant self. Ha! ha!
Is not the thought absurdly delightful! Ah, Villafana! Villafana! I have no such merry conceited good-fellow as thou!”
La Monjonaza beheld the exultation, and listened to the mirthful laugh of the Conqueror with much interest, and not a little surprise. It did indeed seem extraordinary, that he should be so heartily diverted by the audacity of a villany that aimed at his downfall, and perhaps his life.
But this very merriment indicated how many majestic fathoms he felt himself elevated above the reach of any arts of human malevolence or opposition. It was as if the eagle, flapping his wings among thunder-clouds, shrieked with contempt at schoolboys shooting up birdbolts from the village-green.--It gave a clew to a characteristic which Infeliz was not slow to unravel. A deep sigh from her lips recalled the general from his diversion.
”Thou sighest, Magdalena?” he cried.
”It was for thee,” she answered: ”I sighed, indeed, to think how much and how truly _thou_, thus elevated by a touch of divinity above the children of men, dost yet resemble this miserable, grovelling, befooled Villafana!”
”What, I? Resemble him? resemble Villafana?”
”Deny it, if thou canst,” said the maiden, with rebuking severity; ”and if thou canst not, then humble thyself, and confess the base similitude.
Thou differest from him but in this,--that, whereas, in one quality, thou art uplifted miles above his head, thou art, in another, sunk even leagues _below_ him.--Thou frownest? Hast thou discovered that anger adds aught to the state of dignity? Thou dost, this moment, even with the crawling venom of Villafana, with a rage still more abased, seek a life thou hast not courage openly to destroy.”
”Santiago!” cried Cortes, in a heat; ”by St. Peter, you are over-bitter.
But pho, I will not be angry with thee. Dost thou think me this coward thing?”
”Hast thou not doomed the young man, Juan Lerma, a second time, to death?” cried La Monjonaza, with an eye that trembled not a moment in the gaze of the Captain-General; ”and was it not with the embrace of a Judas? Oh, senor!” she continued, firmly, ”say not that Villafana is either base or craven. _He_ strikes at the strong man, who sits armed and with his eyes open: but thou, oh _thou_,--thou art content to aim at the breast of the friendless and naked sleeper!--Judge between thyself and Villafana.”
It is impossible to express the mingled effects of shame and rage, that disfigured the visage and convulsed the frame of the Captain-General, at this powerful and altogether unexpected rebuke. He smote his brow, he took two or three hasty steps over the floor; when, at last, a thought striking him, he rushed back to the chider, s.n.a.t.c.hed up her hand, and said, with an attempt at laughter, painfully contrasted with his working and even agonized visage,
”Dost thou quarrel with me for fighting thy battles? Oh, by St. James, it is better to draw sword _on_ a friend than _for_ him: ingrat.i.tude always comes of it. Had I thought this of old, I had been a happier man, and thou never hadst mourned the death of Hilario;--no, by'r lady, Hilario had been a living man, and thou happy with him in the island!”
As he hurried over these words, the diversion they gave to his thoughts, enabled him rapidly to recover his self-command, in which, as in affairs of less personal consequence, he always exhibited wonderful power. This accomplished, he continued, with an earnest voice,
”Concealment is now useless: the time waxes, when I must think of other things: let us shrive one another even as two friars, and deceive one another no further than they. Methinks, what I do is for thy especial satisfaction.--An ill loon I am, to do so much for one who so bitterly censures me!--Who thou art, and what thou art, I know not: thou wert an angel, couldst thou give over chiding. The young Hilario del Milagro was the son of mine old friend Antonio:--a very n.o.ble boy,--I remember him well.--By heaven, thy hand is turned to ice! Art thou ill?”
”Do I look so?” said the maiden, with a faint laugh. Her face had of a sudden become very pale, yet she spoke firmly, though not without a visible effort. ”I listen to thy confession.”
”To mine! By my troth, I am confessing _thy_ sins and sorrows, and not mine. Well, Magdalena,” he continued, ”thy emotion is not amiss: it is not every maiden can think calmly of the death of her lover, knowing that his slayer is nigh.--I knew Hilario, when a boy,--ay, good faith, and Juan Lerma, too, his playmate and foster-brother, or his young page and varlet, I know not which. It was on Antonio's recommendation, that I afterwards took this foundling knave to my bosom, and made him--no, not what he _is_! for this is a thing of his own making. I sent him to Espanola to recruit: he loitered,--he returned to the house of Milagro--Shall I say more? Hilario, his brother, the son of his best friend and patron, was the betrothed husband of Magdalena; and him did the wolf-cub slay. Wo betide me! for it was I that taught him the use of his weapon.--Is not this enough? Accident hath brought thee to Mexico; thou seest the killer of thy lover; and, like a true daughter of Spain, thy heart is full of vengeance.--Is not this true? Disguise thy wrath in wild sarcasm no longer. Were he the king's son, he should----Pho! recall thy words: Is it not 'just?' is it not 'expedient?'”
To these sinister demands, Magdalena replied with astonis.h.i.+ng composure:
”All this is well. Shrive now thyself--Hast _thou_ any cause, personally, to desire his death?”
”Millions!” replied the general, grinding his teeth; ”millions, millions! to which the death of Hilario, wringing at thy breast, is but as a gnat-bite to the sting of adders.--Millions, millions!”
”Give him then to death,” said Magdalena, with a voice so grave and pa.s.sionless, that it instantly surprised the Conquistador out of his fury; ”give him to death,--but let it be in _thy_ name, not _mine_.”
”Art thou wholly inexplicable?” he cried. ”I read thee by the alphabet of human pa.s.sions, and I make thee not out,--no, not so much as a word.
Thy flesh warms and chills, thine eye swims and flashes, thy brow bends, thy lip curls, thy breast heaves, thy frame trembles; and yet art thou more than mortal, or less. When shall I understand thee?”
”When thou canst look to heaven, and say, 'I have done no wrong'--No, no! not to heaven; for what child of earth can look thitherward, and unveil the actions of life?--When thou canst lay thy hand upon thy bosom, and appealing, not to divine justice, but to that of human reason, say, 'What I do is just:'--in other words, _never_. You are surprised: you bade me repeat my words: I do:--'It is _not_ just, it is _not_ expedient, and Juan Lerma shall _not_ die!'”
”Now by my conscience!” said Cortes, ”this is the true dog-star madness!