It has been hard enough to give a consistent explanation of the extraordinary circumstances which enabled Cortés to reach Mexico. What follows now is still more extraordinary and so the harder to get clear. Yet it flows from what has already been said. Let me recapitulate the main factors, as Montezuma saw them. Firstly, he was convinced, as a modern astronomer would be of a known comet’s return, that Quetzalcoatl as prophesied had returned. Quetzalcoatl was an ancient god and part of the universal process. He could not be resisted without endangering the universe. He had had to be offered the kingdom. The result might be great tribulation but would have to be borne. The other gods might take it ill. Smoking Mirror had already shown his anger. But they could perhaps be placated. Quetzalcoatl, it was to be hoped, would act towards them with discretion. A war among the gods would be total ruin. It might still be possible to persuade Quetzalcoatl to go away. The god had already hinted that he came only on a visit. This was, however, to take a comparatively bright view of what was a very menacing situation. Quetzalcoatl’s old declaration that he would return, coupled with the disastrous portents recently seen, pointed to the doom of the old order and, in the process, the ruin of the Mexicans. But while there was a glimmer of hope, Montezuma refused to accept doom as certain.
Cortés’ point of view has also to be kept clear. Uppermost in his mind was his ambition to conquer Mexico and become its Viceroy under Charles V. Such a conquest would give him vast renown, unlimited riches and great power, three things he desired above all else. He had advanced steadily towards his goal. Taking advantage of Spanish municipal usage, he had discarded his superior, Velázquez, and turned himself into the leader of an expedition to take possession for Charles V of territories whose title the Pope had given to Spain. He had already renamed Mexico New Spain. It followed that its religion could not be other than Catholicism. Had the Mexican religion been a mild and wise creed like Buddhism, it would still have had to be destroyed. That it had deeply shocked him by its human sacrifices was an added incentive to put an end to it, but was not the reason for doing so. He had as yet received no authorization from Charles V, but was satisfied that his legal position was sound. Though he was bent on the complete overthrow of Mexican independence and civilization, Montezuma had welcomed him and declared the country to be his. But he had not conquered the country. The alarming truth was that he was inside a fortress in the middle of a lake in the middle of a remote kingdom, with a handful of soldiers and no secure line of communications. He was entirely at the mercy of those whose ruin it was his ambition to compass. If they were deceiving him or if they changed their mind, he was lost. How did one conduct oneself in a situation so paradoxical that it had no precedent in the whole of history? In the realm of reason there was no answer to this question. But Cortés was not perturbed. Crafty, methodical, careful, he was also, as I have suggested, a man with a mystical confidence in his star. He was fated to win; he was the instrument of divine providence. So far he had come unscathed; somehow or other he would get through to the end. Only this sublime certainty could have nerved him to take the astonishing measure which will be described in the next chapter.
For the moment we must look about us, as the Spaniards were doing. The palace in which they were lodged consisted of a number of stone buildings dressed with lime and polished till they glittered. The rooms were numerous and large, hung with painted cottons and very clean. There were courtyards, baths, fountains, gardens. Outside, the city stretched away on all sides. They had had a glimpse of it as they came in; the houses of volcanic stone, with flat roofs; the streets like those of Amsterdam or Venice, half-roadway, half-canal; bridges everywhere; palaces and temple-pyramids wherever you looked. It was, in fact, one of the largest and most beautiful cities in the world. Its length was about as far as from Oxford Circus to St. Paul’s; its breadth was about two-thirds of its length. The altitude of 7,400 feet made the air invigorating. The Spaniards found their energy renewed. After years in the islands and their stay on the relaxing coastal belt, the change was a tonic; they felt ready for anything.
As Montezuma had promised, he was back again soon after dinner was finished. ‘He came to our quarters in the greatest state,’ says Bernal, ‘accompanied by numerous lords, all of them his kinsmen.’ He looked not more than forty, though he was fifty-two years old. ‘He was of good height and well proportioned, slender and spare of body, his complexion the average brownness of his people. He did not wear his hair long but so as just to cover his ears. His black beard was thin and well shaped. Though his face was long it was cheerful; his eyes were good and his expression tender and grave. He was very neat and clean.’
It is not the least complicating factor in an already nearly incomprehensible situation that the Spaniards greatly admired Montezuma and grew fond of him. Though he was a ritual murderer on a big scale and a cannibal, Bernal even got the impression that he was very devout. He always calls him the Great Montezuma and repeats more than once that he had the air and gestures of an accomplished prince, a phrase which at that time had a definite meaning. Bernal’s simplicity allowed him to feel that Montezuma was the protagonist in a gigantic drama, but try as he would he could not enter into his thought. Again and again he apologizes for his shortcomings as a writer; the theme was so splendid, his resources so small.
Cortés went to meet Montezuma as he entered. They shook hands. Seats were brought and they began to converse. Montezuma introduced the burning subject—Cortés’ identity. He told him plainly that he believed him to be the person long foretold who ‘would come from the sunrise and rule over these lands’. It was as if he wished Cortés to confirm his belief. It was certainly the opening gambit in a conversation to find out what Cortés intended to do. Cortés seemed to him more genial than he had dared to hope. Perhaps the affair would not go as badly as he had feared.
Cortés replied that it was true he had come from the sunrise. He said nothing about being the divinity whom Montezuma believed him to be, though he did not directly deny it. He fell back on the explanation of his coming which he had put out from the first. He was the subject of a great Emperor called Charles V. News of Montezuma had come to Charles’s ears. He, Cortés, had been sent ‘to beg Montezuma to become a Christian. What exactly that meant and how it could be effected he would explain later. This statement was fictitious. He had not been sent. But he hoped that it would turn out partly true. By this time Charles V had got the letters from Vera Cruz. A royal authorization to annex and Christianize Mexico might arrive any day.
But what meaning could Montezuma attach to a statement that Quetzalcoatl was an envoy from an emperor? This is a difficult question to answer. Yet it has to be answered if what follows is to make sense. Montezuma is unlikely at first to have thought of Charles V as an earthly sovereign. Had he done so, he would have asked Cortés for his written credentials or at least for some proof that he was Charles’s envoy. And he would have demanded to know where Spain was and all about it. But he asked none of these questions. On page 99 I touched on this problem and suggested there that the Tlaxcalans, when told of Charles V, may have associated him with the supreme deity called The Two. Montezuma must also have been acquainted with the story, referred to on that page, of Quetzalcoatl receiving instructions from The Two before descending to earth. He may not, however, have given that interpretation to what Cortés said. There were other possible interpretations. Charles V may have seemed to him no more than another aspect of Quetzalcoatl himself. Just as in Christianity you have the concept of the Trinity, Three in One, so in Mexican mythology there would be no difficulty in conceiving of the two, Cortés and Charles V, as being also the one, Quetzalcoatl. Though we cannot be sure of the exact category of divine persons in which Montezuma may have placed Charles, it can be assumed that, since all his science told him that Cortés was a divine incarnation, he thought of Charles, to begin with, as more than a human ruler. When therefore in reply he declared himself ready to acknowledge Charles as his sovereign lord, his words should be taken in that sense. He kept silent about the new religion. That, indeed, was a difficulty he must have felt might be insuperable. To neglect the gods of Mexico would be to invite a cosmic catastrophe.
Bernal tells us that politeness did not permit too long and wearisome a conversation on this first occasion. After Montezuma had distributed presents of gold, jewellery and mantles to all the Spaniards, and given orders that food and fodder should be supplied daily, and women sent to grind maize, he took his departure.
Before going to bed Cortés posted his cannon at points along the high wall which surrounded the palace and set a watch. He was taking no risks. He could not tell what might happen. His reception might be a ruse, as his Tlaxcalan allies had warned him. Or Montezuma might change his mind. Or the great lords of the other cities on the lake, almost as large as Mexico city, might not share their master’s views.
The night passed without incident. At dawn in the great temple opposite the Spanish quarters the priests began the daily sacrifice of cock quails, without whose blood the sun-god, Tonatiuh, would not have the strength to rise. The Mexican cock quail was a black bird speckled with white, a symbol of the starry night. That the night should die and let the sun rise was magically assisted by the death of the quails. Human sacrifice was also performed at this hour. The Spaniards were so placed as to be able to see blood running down the steps of the pyramid. They could also hear the roaring of the carnivora in the zoo close by, which were fed on the bodies of those sacrificed to the gods, only the limbs being cooked and served at table. The palace of Lord Face of Water between the temple and the zoo was a frightening spot for anyone with weak nerves.
As soon as he got up, Cortés sent a message to Montezuma to say that he was coming to return his call. He set out soon afterwards with Alvarado, Sandoval and two other captains, and a guard of five soldiers, including Bernal. Montezuma received them in his private apartments, a great saloon with a carved wooden ceiling, the walls faced with jasper and porphyry, and hung with embroideries and feather-work. The conversation soon turned to the question of religion. Cortés did not mince matters. It was essential, he said, for Montezuma to understand that his declaration of willingness to acknowledge Charles V as his political sovereign obliged him also to accept him as his spiritual guide. To call himself the vassal and friend of His Most Christian Majesty but refuse to embrace Christianity was a fatal contradiction. His present religion was a horrible delusion. To this Montezuma replied that the Mexican explanation of the universe was old and had been found to work. In proof of this he pointed out that Cortés (one of their gods) had appeared in the year and on the day when it had been calculated by their divine science that he would appear.
The conversation ended in deadlock. It was clear that Montezuma was not inclined to discuss religion further. ‘Do not trouble to speak to me any more about it at present,’ he concluded, according to Bernal. So as not to appear importunate, Cortés now took leave, saying that he must not keep Montezuma from his lunch, for it was already past midday. Before the Spaniards left, Montezuma again distributed among them presents of gold, jewellery and mantles. This won their hearts. On the way back they spoke with admiration of his wonderful generosity. ‘We must all be sure always to take off our hats to him,’ they said.
For the next two days Cortés did not leave his quarters in Lord Face of Water’s palace. His situation was very peculiar, so peculiar as hardly to be put into plain words. The main fact was clear enough. Montezuma, though a more powerful and splendid monarch even than he was depicted by the coast people, had professed himself ready to resign to him the government. He had installed him in a grand palace and lavished gifts on him. But it was not so clear what he would do next. How would he put his declarations into practice? So far nothing had been done. He, Cortés, was no more than an honoured guest. How could he actually get control of what had been declared his? He had tested Montezuma’s sincerity by urging a change of religion and had met with a refusal. The truth was that he was powerless. But was that really true? Had he not a hold over Montezuma? Was not the prophecy enough to give him a hold? Montezuma’s refusal to discuss religious subjects suggested that he had no hold. But everything else suggested that he had. He recalled how at first Montezuma had refused to let him come, but had given way for unexplained reasons. It had paid to come on regardless of risk. It might pay again to press what demands he thought essential. The religious change-over—the best way of breaking up the Mexican government which was a kind of theocracy—could be done gradually, as the ecclesiastics with him advised, done the way he did it en route from the coast, when the Virgin was installed in one of a city’s temples. That was one demand he could make and others would occur to him. If his demands were met, he would have ground to believe that Montezuma’s fantastic declaration was true, and bit by bit he would get control of the country. If they were not met, he should be able at least to leave Mexico loaded with gold, judging from the way they were now treating him. But first of all he ought to reconnoitre the city.
So on November I2th, four days after his arrival, he sent a message to Montezuma saying that he would like to go to Tlatelolco (The Round Earthwork), as the northern quarter of the city was called, and have a look at its two great sights, its market and its great pyramid temple, which was slightly higher than the one opposite his quarters. Montezuma raised no objection and a party of Spaniards, fully armed, set out, guided by lords sent to escort them.
The size of the market surprised them. Thousands of people were buying and selling. Order was kept by police. In one part they saw dealers in jewels and the precious metals. In another slaves were up for sale. Here were the cloth merchants, there the sellers of piece goods. You could buy chocolate, sandals, ropes, skins. Food in abundance was on the stalls—vegetables, turkeys, rabbits, dogs. And pottery in a thousand forms from water jars to little jugs. Bernal’s list runs on for pages. What struck him most of all were the public conveniences, for at that time such things did not exist in Spain.
Leaving the market the Spaniards entered the precincts of the temple which was dedicated both to the Humming Bird and the Smoking Mirror, that is to the senior deity, and his aspect as war god. The court in front of it, says Bernal, was larger than the Plaza of Salamanca where Cortés had learnt his law. Montezuma himself was waiting for them on top of the pyramid, for he had gone ahead to kill some boys, so as to keep the two gods in a good temper. On seeing Cortés below he sent down priests to help him up the 114 steep steps, but Cortés would not let the sinister creatures touch him and made his own way to the platform on the summit, as big as a small plaza, as Bernal describes it. On it were the buildings which housed the gods. These were curtained. In front of them were sacrificial stones drenched with human blood.
They found Montezuma in a charming mood; he took Cortés’ hand and invited him to admire the view. The whole city was spread below. ‘That huge and cursed temple stood so high,’ says Bernal, ‘that we could see the causeways that led across the lake, the causeway of Iztapalapan by which we had entered, the north causeway to Tepeyacac and the causeway of Tacuba by which we were to flee on the night of our defeat.’ The voices of the people in the market could be distinctly heard. The lake stretching away to the cities on its banks was crowded with canoes. They could also see the aqueduct which carried the city’s water supply from the mainland at Chapultepec (In the Hill of the Grasshopper).
Cortés now asked to be shown the interior of the buildings on the platform. Montezuma hesitated, but after consulting his priests let the Spaniards enter the shrines of the dread duality. The two were monstrous with terrible eyes, all covered with precious stones in a mosaic, girdled with snakes and with necklaces of silver hearts. Below them were human hearts, freshly plucked from living victims. ‘The walls of the oratory were so splashed and encrusted with blood that they were black and the floor was the same. The place stank so abominably that we could hardly wait the moment to get out of it.’
When they were in the open air again, Cortés, assuming a light tone, so as not to offend Montezuma, though he was horror-struck like the rest, said: ‘I cannot understand how so great and wise a prince as you can believe that such evil things as these are gods. They are devils.’ And he asked leave to put up a cross and an image of the Virgin. On hearing this translated, the priests showed great annoyance and Montezuma was clearly vexed. To put a woman’s image in the war-god’s temple! ‘Had I thought you were going to talk like this,’ he said, assuming like Cortés a light tone, ‘I would not have shown you over the place.’ And he explained shortly that the gods were the powers of nature and that, if nature were to continue to function, the gods must be given their proper nutriment.
Cortés did not pursue the argument. Changing the subject he suggested airily it was time to go home. Montezuma agreed, but said he personally was obliged to stay on and sacrifice a few more people to soothe the Smoking Mirror, after the affront that had been offered him.
The Spaniards climbed down the pyramid and on their way out through the courtyard below saw more horrors. They were shown the room where the dead bodies of victims, rolled down the pyramid after the hearts had been cut out, were collected and cut up, and where the limbs reserved for the priests were cooked. The skull-racks were also shown, a repository where the skulls of all victims were spitted and preserved. “They were arranged in perfect order,’ says Bernal, ‘but one could not count them because there were too many.’ Opening off the courtyard were two select academies for boys and girls. It was odd to find a high school on such premises. The pupils were being educated, it seemed, with strict care.
This was enough sightseeing for the day. The Spaniards went home, shaken by what they had seen, apprehensive and puzzled.