CHOLULA THE SACRED
had erected at convenient intervals for their travelling merchants and couriers.
Having passed the crest of the Sierra the march became easier; the mighty walls of rock grew lower, and suddenly turning a sharp angle of the road the weary, travel-worn soldiers gazed on a view so entrancing that all their toils were forgotten. The Valley of Mexico lay before them. Across green woods and yellow cornfields, shining streams and glowing gardens, gleamed the glancing waters of five beautiful lakes with white-towered cities on their shores. So rare was the air at this altitude that distance did not dim brilliance of colour or distinctness of outline, and in such a light the rampart of porphyry rocks encircling the whole valley seemed of richest purple. Beyond the largest lake—Tezcuco—rose the dark cypress-covered hill of Chapoltepec, while in the very midst of the waters glittered the palaces and temples of Mexico, or, as the Aztecs loved to call it, Tenochtitlan, the city of the eagle and cactus.
This haughty capital it was on which the Spaniards fixed their eyes. There lay the reward of all their toil. No wonder that they cried with joy, "It is the promised land!"
Could the stern conqueror gaze now on this valley so marred by his countrymen, what would be his thoughts? Gone are the sheltering forests, and much of the land scorched by the merciless sun lies barren and deserted. Gone too are the many white-towered cities, and dead is the blossom of Aztec civilisation.
