medicine. Montezuma then, in like manner, exhorted his nobles who were prisoners with him, and was touched by their sorrow for the sad state of the empire, and their manifestation of affection for himself. Father Olmedo, who had never relaxed his efforts for the captive’s conversion, now pressed to his aid the general. But in vain. All else these beings maledict had taken from him; they should not now rob him of his religion. His faith was as dear to him, as true, as pure, as efficacious, as was theirs to them. Away with another’s gods! Let each live and die by his own. He was high-priest, too, and for him to prove recreant to the national faith would overshadow all his former crimes combined. “What is this they would have of me?” he groaned within himself. Then turning suddenly to Olmedo, he asked, “Do Spaniards go to this heaven of yours?” “Assuredly,” was the reply; “it was made for them, and is held by Christians, against all others, as the reward of their pure belief and gentle deeds.” “It is enough; I will none of it,” said Montezuma, who from that moment would not listen to a word of Christian exhortation.6 It was early in the morning of the 30th of June,7 three days after the trying scene in the presence of his people, that the monarch breathed his last. And even the Spaniards forgot for a moment their diabolisms, and allowed their minds to dwell on the virtues of this magnificent heathen, this mighty sovereign, their sweet-tempered prisoner, and kind and generous host.8
Of a truth, despite his pusillanimity with regard to the Spaniards, which was indeed little else than pardonable superstition, this man was in many respects not unworthy the title of Great so freely bestowed upon him. Montezuma was but forty-one9 at the time of his death, and had wielded the sceptre for nearly eighteen years with wonderful success. Under him the Aztec empire acquired its widest extent and greatest glory. While his armies by well directed operations spread the terror of his name to