Postscript

As this book is devoted to an interpretation of what transpired when Cortés and Montezuma were face to face, it comes to a natural conclusion with the fall of Mexico. A postscript is added to give the reader a short summary of subsequent events in the careers of Cortés and his associates.

Cortés’ first task was to rebuild the city, which had been almost wholly destroyed. The debris of the old houses and the pyramid temples, which were now pulled down, provided ready material. On the sites of the temples Christian churches were built. A Spanish town came into existence. The surviving Mexicans returned and occupied it. While this was being done, Cortés lived in Coyuacan (The Place of Many Lean Coyotes). Falling Eagle stayed with him. One of the first questions asked was where Montezuma’s treasure had been hidden. The bulk of it was captured from the Spaniards, as will be recalled, on the night when they had fled the city. Falling Eagle declared that it had mostly been lost in the ensuing troubles. He was not believed and to make him speak he was tortured. The army insisted on this and Cortés acquiesced. The torture produced some valuables, but not many. However, added to Falling Eagle’s personal treasure, which was captured with him, the amount of gold for distribution was considerable. As before, when the fifths had been deducted and the leaders had taken their shares, the rank and file did not get more each than about the cost of a new crossbow.

The end of Mexican sovereignty might have resulted in the numerous vassal towns declaring their independence. Cortés called on them to acknowledge Charles V. They submitted and the political unity of the country was preserved. He also founded several Spanish towns, where his followers were settled and given estates with forced labour. These towns were the centres from which Spanish ideas were spread. European animals were imported, especially cattle and pigs. Cortés began to display administrative talents. He wanted to avoid the errors which had been made in Hispaniola and Cuba, where in a rush to get rich quickly the Spaniards had ruined the West Indies. By treating the local aristocracy as equals he strove to enlist their co-operation in a policy which would assure the welfare of the general population.

While striving to lay the foundations of New Spain on sound economic principles, Cortés sought also to extend its boundaries and ascertain more comprehensively its geographical position. The Spaniards had still only a vague idea where they were. That Mexico was on a comparatively narrow strip of land connecting two vast continents was not yet known. Nor did they know how far the America they had discovered was from China. The news of Magellan’s circumnavigation of the world did not reach Spain till August 1522. Cortés became an explorer of Central America and the South Seas.

In October 1522, fourteen months after the fall of Mexico, he received letters from Charles V recognizing his conquest, absolving him from blame for having thrown off Velázquez’s authority, and appointing him Governor and Captain-General of New Spain. The Emperor, however, sent out four officials, a Treasurer, an Accountant, a Trade Agent and an Inspector, whose duty was to report to him and look after his interests. Cortés ceased to be an independent ruler and became an official governor within the Spanish administrative system.

Early in 1524 the first Friars arrived from Spain. They were sent to convert the country to Christianity. Some of them were very remarkable men, like Sahagún, whose writings on the conquest, notable for their pro-Mexican point of view, have been quoted earlier in this book. But though the Friars stood for justice and fair treatment for the native inhabitants, they favoured the destruction of their art. The temples and sculptures were broken up. The magical treatises, which were the repositories of American thought, were burnt. The art which has survived to this day is what escaped their diligent efforts to obliterate everything which might remind the people of their non-Christian culture. But in destroying the indigenous culture, the Spaniards were not doing more than all European nations did or tried to do, both at that date and later, when they made conquests out of Europe.

The Mexicans and the other races of the country accepted Christianity without difficulty. It does not seem that they changed their first view as to the identity of Cortés with Quetzalcoatl. Christianity therefore had the authority behind it of one of their own gods. Their magical books had foretold its coming and declared that the other gods would go out. Cortés remained the visiting god, a mysterious incomprehensible figure. The new church was the form his teaching took. That he was now one of Charles V’s officials was hard to fathom. But their experience was that his actions were always unpredictable, yet that the sum of them amounted to a fulfilment of prophecy. They saw the great state in which he lived at Coyuacan, his immense household with its ceremonial. He seemed to them a dazzling and extraordinary personage, as he did also to the Spaniards, though his countrymen were jealous of his success and disliked his liberal policy, which prevented them from exploiting the country as quickly and savagely as they wished.

That the inhabitants of Central America embraced Christianity, built and decorated churches, became devotees of the Virgin and abandoned human sacrifice is not to say that they lost all belief in the old gods and the old magic. Smoking Mirror, in his two forms as king of the gods and war god, disappeared when the government of which he was an integral part came to an end. The battle had been directly between him and Quetzalcoatl and, as prophesied, he lost it. But there was a legion of minor gods, whose worship was connected with everyday things, such as the crops, disease and the weather. Though the new church did not countenance these gods, though their priesthoods were dissolved and their places of worship dismantled, the people believed them to be still present and to have some residue of power. They were tended in secret and their oracles consulted. As time went on they became a part of legend and folk-lore. They underwent all kinds of transformations. In that world of fancy it was possible for them to become Christian, even to become saints. Some of their images were put into the foundations of churches, some into the walls of granaries. Their story was kept alive in folk dances. Others of them became witches and others fairies. As the centuries passed an inextricable confusion arose. Tepuztecatl, the old god of wine, claimed that he was a son of the Virgin. Mr. Rodney Gallop, who made a stay in Mexico during the nineteen-thirties, tells us in his Mexican Mosaic of traces of the ancient beliefs he came across in remote villages. The old gods are still alive. And their numbers have been added to. Near Tlaxcala there is a volcano which in Cortés’ time was called Matlalciuatl (the Dark Green Woman). The divine denizen of this mountain was afterwards identified with Doña Marina and the mountain is now called Malinche, her name. Perhaps stranger still is Mr. Gallop’s discovery that Montezuma has become a god. He is a god of two aspects. In San Cristóbal he is the Lord of Sickness and has to be exorcized in song; at Cuaxtla he is the giver of good crops and good health.

That Cortés had a wife has been mentioned, a woman called Catalina Xuárez whom he left in Cuba. In June 1522 she arrived unexpectedly in port and came up to Mexico. Three months later she died in somewhat mysterious circumstances. Bernal calls it a ‘delicate subject’. Cortés was accused afterwards by his enemies of murdering her and there was an inquiry. He was held blameless. No wife can have contributed less to her husband’s greatness than did Catalina.

Cortés cut a tremendous figure in Mexico. Narváez, who had been a prisoner in Vera Cruz all this while, was allowed to come up to the capital. After being taken round to see the sights, he was received by Cortés. Penniless, one eye with a patch over it, and a bit shabby, he was a changed man, as the following extract from Bernal shows: ‘When Narváez came before Cortés he fell on his knees and tried to kiss his hands, but Cortés would not allow it, but raised him up and embraced him, showed him much affection and ordered him to take a seat near him.’ Cortés, as we know, was always affectionate to fallen enemies. Narváez had a booming sepulchral voice, ‘as if he was speaking in a vault’, says Bernal, and this mannerism made it all the funnier when he went on to refer to the snub which Cortés had given him at Vera Cruz. ‘After seeing the great cities you have conquered, sir, I frankly admit that your defeat of me was indeed the least of what you and your valiant soldiers have accomplished in New Spain. One can place your Excellency, and I do, ahead of all the most famous and illustrious men who have ever lived anywhere.’ Later on Narváez was allowed to return to Spain, where he tried all he could to vilify Cortés, but he did himself no good. As I have said, he was a stupid man.

After three years of colonial administration Cortés grew restless. Soon after the conquest he had sent his Captain, Cristobal de Olid, with a fleet to found a town in the region eastward of the Yucatán peninsula, now called Honduras. In due course Olid revolted and declared himself independent. Cortés decided to march on him overland. This meant passing through Guatemala, hitherto unexplored. He was prompted to do this, partly by his taste for campaigning and partly because, touched by a mania for exploring, he hoped to find a sea passage between the Atlantic and the Pacific, which was reputed to exist in or about the longitude of Honduras. He left Mexico in October 1524.

Bernal went with him and his picture of his chief’s entourage gives us a glimpse of the magnificent lord that Cortés had become. Though going on a campaign to distant unknown regions, he took with him great services of gold and silver plate, three clerics to preach, a major-domo, a butler, a steward and a chamberlain. He had a doctor and a surgeon, several pages, eight grooms and two falconers. To keep his friends amused in the evening he brought five musicians, good both for wind and strings, an acrobat, a conjurer and a puppet master. Of his old companions he had Sandoval and Doña Marina. He also took Falling Eagle with him.

The expedition to Honduras lasted much longer than Cortés expected. He was absent from Mexico a year and nine months. He did not accomplish anything in particular, but experienced greater hardships and dangers than in all his previous campaigns. Two events are to be mentioned. Doña Marina married and Falling Eagle was hanged. Marina, thriving in troubles as was foretold, had become the most celebrated woman in Mexico. For five years she had been everywhere with Cortés as his interpreter and consort, and was the mother of his son. He now gave her in marriage to a Captain Xaramillo, who had commanded one of his sloops. She continued as interpreter (Aguilar was dead by now, but she had learnt Spanish) and saw the campaign through. It is agreeable to know that she lived to a good age, enjoying a large income from her estates, with a town house in Mexico, a country house in Chapultepec, and in Coyuacan a garden which had belonged to Montezuma. After her death, as we have learned, she became a mountain goddess.

Falling Eagle was hanged because it was alleged that he had conspired with other Mexican lords on the expedition to kill Cortés and head a rising against the Spaniards. There has been much discussion about the justice of this execution. Bernal liked the ex-king personally and thought he was innocent. Cortés believed there was a conspiracy and that he was privy to it. Falling Eagle had been taken on the expedition because it was held unsafe to leave him behind. Though evidently not altogether to be trusted, Cortés had spared him hitherto, partly out of policy and partly because it was his nature to spare the vanquished. One inclines to think that he would not have executed him now without strong grounds. Falling Eagle has become a national hero. But, as I have already suggested, it is doubtful whether such conceptions existed in the days of the astro-magical sovereigns of pre-Cortésian Mexico.

Before he left on the expedition to Honduras Cortés had appointed two of the four royal officials, whom Charles had sent out, to administer the country in his absence. On learning that these two were misbehaving themselves, he sent orders appointing the other two. They were even worse scoundrels and soon Mexico was in confusion. When he had been absent a year and no letters had come from him for many months, they gave out that he was dead, enriched themselves by torturing the Mexican lords and even seized his property. In addition they drew up an indictment against him, accusing him of treason, murder, and robbery, which they forwarded to Spain. On his return to Mexico he got the better of them, but they had done his reputation so much harm with Charles V that he thought it necessary to go to Spain and clear himself.

He left Mexico in March 1528, taking with him one of Montezuma’s sons, two of the lords of Tlaxcala, a quantity of gold and jewels, Mexican wild animals and curiosities. In the autumn of the same year he was received by Charles. He had little difficulty in persuading the Emperor that the charges made against him had no foundation. As a reward for his great services he was raised to the peerage with the title of Marquess of the Valley of Oaxaca, in which fertile and beautiful locality he was granted huge estates with feudal powers over 23,000 vassals. He remained Captain-General, but was not confirmed as Governor. Charles decided to make Mexico a viceroyalty and to appoint a Spanish grandee. This was a very great disappointment to Cortés, who not only felt that he had a better right than any other man to rule Mexico, but also had the knowledge, the goodwill and the imagination to make it a model province of the empire.

During his visit to Spain he arranged marriages in the Spanish nobility for daughters of Montezuma, and himself married Doña Juana de Zúñiga, niece of the Duke of Béjar. Sandoval, his closest companion in the conquest, who had come home with him, died, to his great grief. He left for Mexico in the spring of 1530 and landed at Vera Cruz in July.

For the next ten years he lived on his estates and went exploring in the South Sea. He was in eclipse, for the government was conducted by the Viceroy, Don Antonio de Mendoza. Nevertheless, as a great landlord he had some scope for his ideas and administered his estates like a little kingdom. He hoped that the ships he sent into the South Sea would lead to his discovery and conquest of a country as large, perhaps, and rich as Mexico, and which he would be permitted to govern. But one does not conquer a Mexico twice in a lifetime. The Spanish discoveries and conquests in the Pacific, notably of the Philippines, were the work of other men.

In 1540 Cortés left again for home. He was now much less of a figure than in 1530 when fresh from his conquests he had dazzled the Court. Nothing he had done in Mexico during the last ten years was in any way comparable to his former achievements. Moreover, a new conqueror had appeared on the scene. In 1535 Pizarro conquered Peru, whose loot yielded far more gold than Mexico. He, too, was made a Marquess. It was in his deeds, his treasure, that people were interested. Cortés seemed a tiresome figure out of the past, a man whose fame belonged to history, and who had nothing new to tell or give. He was received with civility, but when it was seen that his object in coming home was to complain to the Emperor about this and that, old scores, old debts, old broken promises and unpaid debts, he was slighted, kept waiting, and given no satisfaction. He had become a bore. The Emperor had been told so often that Cortés had won territories for him in the New World larger than those he ruled in the Old. To be told it again was irritating, and by a man, too, who looked older than his years and was unlikely to be of further use. Had he not been amply rewarded with titles and estates? To have to listen to his protests and complaints was unendurable. He was put off with vague promises.

In the following year, 1541, Diaries fitted out an expedition against Algiers with the object of breaking the Moslem power in the Mediterranean. A war against the Moors was still regarded as a crusade. The nobility of the empire joined with enthusiasm. The Marquess of the Valley, hoping perhaps to do some deed under the Emperor’s eye that would bring him back into favour, was among those who volunteered. He came with his son, Don Martín, born of Doña Marina, and ‘many esquires and servants, horses and a great company, in a fine galley’. When the imperial forces were investing Algiers, a violent storm destroyed several ships. Cortés’ galley was wrecked. Before abandoning it, says Bernal, ‘the servants of Cortés saw him tie in a handkerchief twisted round his arm certain jewels of great value, which he carried as a great lord though to do so was unnecessary display. In the confusion of escaping to safety these precious stones were lost.’ They were emeralds of unusual size which had been part of Montezuma’s treasure. After the disaster to his fleet, Charles held a council of war, which advised withdrawal. Cortés was not invited to the council but, when he heard of its decision, he offered to undertake the capture of Algiers, if they gave him the command, even if he had for the purpose no more than 400 men, the number which had sufficed him to conquer Mexico. This sounded like the boast of a doting old soldier and was greeted with merriment by the council.

Cortés returned from the expedition weary and worn. He continued to hope that Charles would listen to his complaints and perhaps raise him to some high employment. Though he wanted to return to his estates in Mexico, he continued to hang about the Court and to follow Charles on his journeys through the empire. But his health was declining. Before the end he realized that the Emperor would never receive him into his inner Councils, never make him a viceroy, that his career was over, that he should compose his mind. Bernal writes: ‘His fever and dysentery continuing and getting worse, he decided to leave Seville and retired to Castilleja de la Cuesta, there to attend to his soul and arrange his will. Our Lord was pleased to take him from this toilsome life on 2nd December 1547.’ He was sixty-two years of age. His body was buried in Seville in the chapel of the Duke of Medina Sidonia. Later it was carried to Mexico and reburied in the church of St. Francis in Tetzcuco. In 1629 it was removed to Mexico City and interred in the monastery of St. Francis. But his bones had not yet found their final resting-place, for in 1794 they were transferred to the Hospital of Jesus, which was one of his foundations, and placed in a monumental tomb. Even this was not the end, for in 1823 during the Mexican revolution against the dominion of Spain, a demand was made that they be dug up and burnt. To prevent this the authorities of the Hospital removed them from the tomb and secretly buried them in another part of the church. The spot is unknown, as it was not marked. It is believed that they rest there to-day. But Cortés requires no tomb to perpetuate his memory. He is an historical personage, if ever there was one, of whom the last is far from having been said.

But we must leave him and listen before we close to Bernal as he murmurs the names of the old Conquistadores, a roll-call of the ghosts of his lost companions which brings his long history to its conclusion.

I will begin the list, he says, with Alvarado. I recall so well his winning smile. He was such a handsome man, so frank, such a good horseman, so dashing a fighter. He became Governor of Guatemala and was killed in Jalisco. Sandoval for a while acted as Governor of New Spain and was its Chief Constable. Not very tall but very well made, he was rather bow-legged; his hair was chestnut, as was his beard, and both were curly. He had a little lisp. His horse was the best. But I must stop talking of horses and tell you of de León of Old Castile, of his good shoulders and his generosity. He died on the bridges as we fled from Mexico. De Ordás could not ride a horse. He was Captain of the swordsmen. His face was powerful, his beard black. He was a good talker though he stammered a bit. He died in the affair of Marañon. Then there was Luís Marin, pockmarked, with red beard, and de Ircio, who talked too much. We called him ‘Sour Grapes’. He did nothing worthwhile, nor did de Monjaras because he suffered from boils. De Avila was arrogant, de Olea amiable. He it was who saved Cortés at Xochimilco, when the Mexicans had dragged him from his horse ‘El Romo’, and saved him again in the city, at the cost of his own life. And there was de Tápia, as good on foot as on horseback. Such were our captains, for I have not included those who were in the army of Narváez, Narváez with the long face, echoing voice, red beard, who lost an eye when we defeated him. If I knew how to paint and carve as well as did in my time Michelangelo, I could draw all these captains, so clearly do I remember them. I could even show how each one would enter a battle. Two gentlemen who read my manuscript were astonished at my memory for names and faces. But it is no wonder I remember; we have talked among ourselves so much of old times. I can even remember the rank and file, the Conquistadores who, like myself, were not captains. Alvarado’s four brothers, all dead; Sanzedo, so neat we called him the Gallant, who was killed on the bridges; and Maldonado, ‘the broad’, who died a natural death. And many others, Terrazas, Maigiño, de Grado who married a daughter of Montezuma, Hernández, an old man, ‘the good old trooper’, Caravajal who went deaf, de la Serna, his face scarred, though what became of him has gone out of my head. That reminds me I have forgotten Puertocarrero, who took the golden wheel to His Majesty. I beg him to pardon me the oversight, though he is dead like his companions. Many, many more come back to me, Vendabal’s face, as the Mexicans carried him to be sacrificed, Juarez the elder who killed his wife with a grindstone, Goméz one of the few who returned rich to Castile, Enríquez who died of heat-stroke in his armour, de Cieza who hurled the bar so well, Escudero hanged, de Umbria’s maimed toes, Mesa drowned, Guzman frozen, Díaz of the clouded eyes, and Portillo who gave away all his riches and became a friar of St. Francis. I, only I, am left, now Magistrate of Santiago of Guatemala. Thank God and our Lord Jesus Christ that I escaped being sacrificed and that, the survivor of so many perils, I have lived to write this memorial.

The Sacrifice of Eight Earthquake

This picture of human sacrifice is from the Codex Zouche-Nuttall in the British Museum. The victim is a Mixtec lord called Eight Earthquake, who in the early part of the eleventh century offered himself as a victim to the gods. He is wearing the paint of the god to whom he offered himself. The priest, who is performing the operation of removing his heart, is shown plunging the sacrificial dagger in his right hand into the breast from which the blood is spouting. The victim is on the sacrificial stone, which is suggested only by his attitude. As he was a volunteer victim he was not held by the arms and legs in the usual way. The sacrifice takes place at the doorway of the shrine on the temple platform. The particular temple is indicated by the little section of roof on the left-hand side, a symbol that it was a temple connected with ceremonial vapour bathing.