w I
the heavens in so inauspicious an aspect. Dark portentous
influences appear on every side. May the horoscope of the
infant daughter of Montezuma never be fulfilled."

These were the awful words of the priestly astrologer of Tenochtitlan,
uttered with solemn and oracular emphasis from the lofty Teocalli, where
he had been long and studiously watching the heavens, and calculating
the relative positions and combinations of the stars. A deep unutterable
gloom seemed to pervade his soul. Several times he traversed the broad
terrace, in a terrible agitation; his splendid pontifical robes flowing
loosely in the breeze, and his tall majestic figure relieved against the
clear sky, like some colossal moving statue,--and then, in tones of
deeper grief than before, finding no error in his calculations,
reiterated his oracular curse--"Wo! wo! wo! to the imperial House of
Tenochtitlan!" Casting down his instruments to the earth, and tearing
his hair in the violence of his emotions, he prostrated himself on the
altar, and poured forth a loud and earnest prayer to all his gods.

"Is there no favoring omen in any quarter, venerable father?" inquired
the agitated messenger from the palace, when the prayer was ended--"is
there no one of those bright spheres above us, that will deign to smile
on the destiny of the young princess?"

"It is full of mysterious, portentous contradictions," replied the
astrologer. "Good and evil influences contend for the mastery. The evil
prevail, but the good are not wholly extinguished. The life of the
princess will be a life of sorrow, but there will be a peculiar
brightness in its end. Yet the aspect of every sign in the heavens is
wo, and only wo, to the imperial House of Montezuma."

Faith in the revelations of astrology was a deeply rooted superstition
with the Aztecs. It pervaded the whole structure of society, affecting
the most intelligent and well-informed, as well as the humblest and most
ignorant individual. In this case, the prophetic wailings of the
priestly oracle rolled, like a long funereal knell, through the
magnificent halls of the imperial palace, and fell upon the ear of the
monarch, as if it had been a voice from the unseen world. Montezuma was
reclining on a splendidly embroidered couch, in his private apartment,
anxiously awaiting the response of the celestial oracle. He was
magnificently arrayed in his royal robes of green, richly ornamented
with variegated feat