Tlascala was persuaded of the truths of our holy faith, but at the same time she was imbued with respect for the memory of her ancestors, and in her mitigated faith she had provided a separate paradise for them, which was not heaven but was in some other region between that place and earth. She shared to a certain degree her compatriots’ superstitions. She believed that the illustrious ghosts of the kings of her race came back to earth on dark nights and haunted an old cemetery situated in the mountains. Nothing in the world would have been able to persuade Tlascala to go there at night. But we sometimes would go there during the day and spend many hours there. She would decipher the hieroglyphs engraved on the tombs of her forefathers and elucidate them by traditions which she knew all about.

We soon were acquainted with most of the inscriptions and, by extending our investigations, we would find new ones from which we would remove the moss and thorns growing over them.

One day Tlascala showed me a spray of a spiny shrub and told me that it was not where it was by chance. The person who had planted it had had the intention to call down celestial vengeance on enemy spirits. She told me that I would be doing a good action by destroying the ominous plant. I took an axe which a Mexican had with him and cut down this ill-starred shrub. We then came upon a stone covered with more hieroglyphs than those we had seen up to that point.

‘This was written after the conquest,’ said Tlascala. ‘At that time the Mexicans mixed some letters of the alphabet, copied from the Spaniards, with their hieroglyphs. Inscriptions of this period are the easiest to read.’

Tlascala then began to read, but as she read her features showed growing anguish; then she fell unconscious on the stone which for two centuries had hidden the cause of her sudden horror.

Tlascala was carried back to her house and regained consciousness to some degree, but only to utter disconnected words which expressed no more than her mental anguish. I returned home sick at heart and the next day received the following letter:

The next day Xoaz came to my house and brought me the translation of the Mexican inscription, which read as follows:

‘Señor,’ said Xoaz, ‘it cannot be doubted that spirits of the kings return to the cemetery in the mountains and that they have the power to torment the dead and living, especially when they are solicited to do so by the curses which you saw on the stone. But many circumstances have weakened their dreadful effects. In the first place, you have destroyed the evil shrub which had been deliberately planted on that fateful tomb. And then, what do you have in common with the wild companions of Cortez? Continue to be the protector of the Mexicans and trust that we are not altogether ignorant of the art of appeasing the spirits of the kings, and even of the terrible gods once worshipped in Mexico which your priests call demons.’

I advised Xoaz to be discreet about his religious opinions and decided to seize any opportunities to be of service to the natives of Mexico. These were not slow to arise. A revolt broke out in the provinces conquered by the viceroy. It wasn’t in fact any more than justified resistance to oppressive measures which were not at all what the court intended. But the severe Conde de Peña Vélez, prejudiced by false reports, made no such distinction. He placed himself at the head of an army, entered New Mexico, dispersed the mobs and brought back two caciques, whom he intended to put to death on the scaffold in the capital of the New World. Their sentence was about to be read when I stepped forward in the judgement hall and put my hands on the two accused men, saying the words, ‘Los toco por parte del rey.’¹ This ancient formula of Spanish law even today has such force that no tribunal would dare oppose it, and it suspends the execution of any decree, but at the same time the person using it offers his own person as surety. The viceroy was furious and, rigorously exercising his rights, had me thrown into a dungeon intended for criminals. There I passed the happiest moments of my life.

One night – and all was night in that dark place – I noticed a pale, dim glow at the end of a long corridor. It came towards me and by it I recognized Tlascala’s features. This sight alone would have been enough to make my prison a place of delight. But not content with beautifying it by her presence she had the sweetest of surprises for me: the confession of a passion equal to mine.

‘Alonso,’ she said, ‘virtuous Alonso, you have won. The spirits of my forefathers are appeased. This heart, which no mortal was to possess, has become yours and is the reward of the sacrifices which you ceaselessly make for the happiness of my unfortunate compatriots.’

Scarcely had Tlascala uttered these words when she fell unconscious, almost lifeless, into my arms. I attributed her state to the shock she had suffered. But, alas, the cause was more remote and more dangerous. The horror that had gripped her in the cemetery and the delirious fever which had followed it had weakened her constitution.

Meanwhile Tlascala’s eyes opened again to the light. Celestial brilliance seemed to change my dark prison into a place of radiance. Oh god of love, whom men in ancient time adored because they were the children of nature, divine love, your power never appeared in Cnida or in Paphos as it did in our New World dungeons! My prison had become your temple, the executioner’s block your altar, my irons your garlands. This magic has still not faded. It lives on complete in my heart, now cold with age. And when I want my thoughts as they are stimulated by memories to revert to images of the past, they do not seek out Elvira’s nuptial bed or the couch of the libertine Laura but the walls of a prison.

I have told you that the viceroy was very angry with me. His impetuous character had swept away his principles of justice and his friendship for me. He sent a light vessel to Europe and his report described me as a trouble-maker.

But scarcely had the ship set sail when the goodness and sense of justice of the viceroy regained the upper hand. He saw the affair in a very different light. If he had not been afraid of compromising himself, he would have sent a second report contradicting the first. He did, however, send a second vessel carrying dispatches designed to mitigate the effect of the earlier ones.

The Council of Madrid, which is slow in its deliberations, received this second report in plenty of time. Its reply was long coming. It was, as one could have predicted, characterized by the most consummate prudence. The decree of the council seemed to be motivated by the most extreme severity and sentenced to capital punishment the authors and instigators of the revolt, but by following strictly the terms of the decree it was difficult to find out which persons were guilty and the viceroy received secret instructions which forbade him to look for them.

But the ostensible part of the decree was known first and delivered a fatal blow to Tlascala’s frail life. First she vomited blood, after which, a fever, at first weak and slow, then high and persistent…