defile, overhung with trees, they heard the voice of a man, singing.
They immediately concealed themselves in a grove, on the brow of a
declivity, up which the stranger would have to ascend. The moonlight,
which left the grove in deep shadow, lit up the whole person of the
wayfarer, as he advanced, and enabled them to distinguish his dress and
appearance with perfect accuracy. He was a Moorish cavalier, and his
noble demeanor, graceful carriage, and splendid attire showed him to
be of lofty rank. He was superbly mounted, on a dapple-gray steed, of
powerful frame, and generous spirit, and magnificently caparisoned.
His dress was a marlota, or tunic, and an Albernoz of crimson damask,
fringed with gold. His Tunisian turban, of many folds, was of silk and
cotton, striped, and bordered with golden fringe. At his girdle hung a
scimitar of Damascus steel, with loops and tassels of silk and gold. On
his left arm he bore an ample target, and his right hand grasped a long
double-pointed lance. Thus equipped, he sat negligently on his steed, as
one who dreamed of no danger, gazing on the moon, and singing, with a
sweet and manly voice, a Moorish love ditty.
Just opposite the place where the Spanish cavaliers were concealed, was
a small fountain in the rock, beside the road, to which the horse turned
to drink; the rider threw the reins on his neck, and continued his song.
The Spanish cavaliers conferred together; they were all so pleased with
the gallant and gentle appearance of the Moor, that they resolved not to
harm, but to capture him, which, in his negligent mood, promised to be
an easy task; rushing, therefore, from their concealment, they thought
to surround and seize him. Never were men more mistaken. To gather up
his reins, wheel round his steed, brace his buckler, and couch his
lance, was the work of an instant; and there he sat, fixed like a castle
in his saddle, beside the fountain.
The Christian cavaliers checked their steeds and reconnoitered him
warily, loth to come to an encounter, which must end in his destruction.
The Moor now held a parley: "If you be true knights," said he, "and seek
for honorable fame, come on, singly, and I am ready to meet each in
succession; but if you be mere lurkers of the road, intent on spoil,
come all at once, and do your worst!"
The cavaliers communed for a moment apart, when one, advancing singly,
exclaimed: "Although no law of chivalry obliges us to risk the loss of a
prize, when clearly in our power, yet we willingly grant, as a courtesy,
what we might refuse as a right. Valiant Moor! defend thyself!" So
saying, he wheeled, took proper distance, couched his lance, and putting
spurs to his horse, made at the stranger. The latter met him in mid
career, transpierced him with his lance, and threw him headlong from his
saddle. A second and a third succeeded, but were unhorsed with equal
facility, and thrown to the earth, severely wounded. The remaining
two, seeing their comrades thus roughly treated, forgot all compact of
courtesy, and charged both at once upon the Moor. He parried the thrust
of one, but was wounded by the other in the thigh, and, in the shock and
confusion, dropped his lance. Thus disarmed, and closely pressed, he
pretended to fly, and was hotly pursued. Having drawn the two cavaliers
some distance from the spot, he suddenly wheeled short about, with
one of those dexterous movements for which the Moorish horsemen are
renowned; passed swiftly between them, swung himself down from his
saddle, so as to catch up his lance, then, lightly replacing himself,
turned to renew the combat.
Seeing him thus fresh for the encounter, as if just issued from his
tent, one of the cavaliers put his lips to his horn, and blew a blast,
that soon brought the Alcayde and his four companions to the spot.
The valiant Narvaez, seeing three of his cavaliers extended on the
earth, and two others hotly engaged with the Moor, was struck with
admiration, and coveted a contest with so accomplished a warrior.
Interfering in the fight, he called upon his followers to desist, and
addressing the Moor, with courteous words, invited him to a more equal
combat. The latter readily accepted the challenge. For some time, their
contest was fierce and doubtful; and the Alcayde had need of all his
skill and strength to ward off the blows of his antagonist. The Moor,
however, was exhausted by previous fighting, and by loss of blood. He
no longer sat his horse firmly, nor managed him with his wonted skill.
Collecting all his strength for a last assault, he rose in his stirrups,
and made a violent thrust with his lance; the Alcayde received it upon
his shield, and at the same time wounded the Moor in the right arm; then
closing, in the shock, he grasped him in his arms, dragged him from his
saddle, and fell with him to the earth: when putting his knee upon his
breast, and his dagger to his throat, "Cavalier," exclaimed he, "render
thyself my prisoner, for thy life is in my hands!"
"Kill me, rather," replied the Moor, "for death would be less grievous
than loss of liberty." The Alcayde, however, with the clemency of the
truly brave, assisted the Moor to rise, ministered to his wounds with
his own hands, and had him conveyed with great care to the castle of
Allora. His wounds were slight, and in a few days were nearly cured; but
the deepest wound had been inflicted on his spirit. He was constantly
buried in a profound melancholy.
The Alcayde, who had conceived a great regard for him, treated him more
as a friend than a captive, and tried in every way to cheer him, but in
vain; he was always sad and moody, and, when on the battlements of
the castle, would keep his eyes turned to the south, with a fixed and
wistful gaze.
"How is this?" exclaimed the Alcayde, reproachfully, "that you, who were
so hardy and fearless in the field, should lose all spirit in prison? If
any secret grief preys on your heart, confide it to me, as to a friend,
and I promise you, on the faith of a cavalier, that you shall have no
cause to repent the disclosure."
The Moorish knight kissed the hand of the Alcayde. "Noble cavalier,"
said he "that I am cast down in spirit, is not from my wounds, which are
slight, nor from my captivity, for your kindness has robbed it of all
gloom; nor from my defeat, for to be conquered by so accomplished and
renowned a cavalier, is no disgrace. But to explain to you the cause of
my grief, it is necessary to give you some particulars of my story; and
this I am moved to do, by the great sympathy you have manifested toward
me, and the magnanimity that shines through all your actions."
"Know, then, that my name is Abendaraez, and that I am of the noble but
unfortunate line of the Abencerrages of Granada. You have doubtless
heard of the destruction that fell upon our race. Charged with
treasonable designs, of which they were entirely innocent, many of
them were beheaded, the rest banished; so that not an Abencerrages was
permitted to remain in Granada, excepting my father and my uncle, whose
innocence was proved, even to the satisfaction of their persecutors. It
was decreed, however, that, should they have children, the sons should
be educated at a distance from Granada, and the daughters should be
married out of the kingdom.
"Conformably to this decree, I was sent, while yet an infant, to be
reared in the fortress of Cartama, the worthy Alcayde of which was an
ancient friend of my father. He had no children, and received me into
his family as his own child, treating me with the kindness and affection
of a father; and I grew up in the belief that he really was such. A few
years afterward, his wife gave birth to a daughter, but his tenderness
toward me continued undiminished. I thus grew up with Xarisa, for so
the infant daughter of the Alcayde was called, as her own brother, and
thought the growing passion which I felt for her, was mere fraternal
affection. I beheld her charms unfolding, as it were, leaf by leaf, like
the morning rose, each moment disclosing fresh beauty and sweetness.
"At this period, I overheard a conversation between the Alcayde and his
confidential domestic, and found myself to be the subject. 'It is time,'
said he, 'to apprise him of his parentage, that he may adopt a career
in life. I have deferred the communication as long as possible, through
reluctance to inform him that he is of a proscribed and an unlucky
race.'
"This intelligence would have overwhelmed me at an earlier period, but
the intimation that Xarisa was not my sister, operated like magic, and
in an instant transformed my brotherly affection into ardent love.
"I sought Xarisa, to impart to her the secret I had learned. I found her
in the garden, in a bower of jessamines, arranging her beautiful hair by
the mirror of a crystal fountain. The radiance of her beauty dazzled
me. I ran to her with open arms, and she received me with a sister's
embraces. When we had seated ourselves beside the fountain, she began to
upbraid me for leaving her so long alone.
"In reply, I informed her of the conversation I had overheard. The
recital shocked and distressed her. 'Alas!' cried she, 'then is our
happiness at an end!'
"'How!' exclaimed I; 'wilt thou cease to love me, because I am not thy
brother?'
"'Not so,' replied she; 'but do you not know that when it is once known
we are not brother and sister, we can no longer be permitted to be thus
always together?'
"In fact, from that moment our intercourse took a new character. We
met often at the fountain among the jessamines, but Xarisa no longer
advanced with open arms to meet me. She became reserved and silent, and
would blush, and cast down her eyes, when I seated myself beside her. My
heart became a prey to the thousand doubts and fears that ever attend
upon true love. I was restless and uneasy, and looked back with regret
to the unreserved intercourse that had existed between us, when we
supposed ourselves brother and sister; yet I would not have had the
relationship true, for the world.
"While matters were in this state between us, an order came from the
King of Granada for the Alcayde to take command of the fortress of Coyn,
which lies directly on the Christian frontier. He prepared to remove,
with all his family, but signified that I should remain at Cartama. I
exclaimed against the separation, and declared that I could not be
parted from Xarisa. 'That is the very cause,' said he, 'why I leave thee
behind. It is time, Abendaraez, that thou shouldst know the secret of
thy birth; that thou art no son of mine, neither is Xarisa thy sister.'
'I know it all,' exclaimed I, 'and I love her with tenfold the
affection of a brother. You have brought us up together; you have made
us necessary to each other's happiness; our hearts have entwined
themselves with our growth; do not now tear them asunder. Fill up the
measure of your kindness; be indeed a father to me, by giving me Xarisa
for my wife.'
"The brow of the Alcayde darkened as I spoke. 'Have I then been
deceived?' said he. 'Have those nurtured in my very bosom, been
conspiring against me? Is this your return for my paternal
tenderness?--to beguile the affections of my child, and teach her to
deceive her father? It was cause enough to refuse thee the hand of my
daughter, that thou wert of a proscribed race, who can never approach
the walls of Granada; this, however, I might have passed over; but never
will I give my daughter to a man who has endeavored to win her from me
by deception.'
"All my attempts to vindicate myself and Xarisa were unavailing. I
retired in anguish from his presence, and seeking Xarisa, told her of
this blow, which was worse than death to me. 'Xarisa,' said I, 'we
part for ever! I shall never see thee more! Thy father will guard thee
rigidly. Thy beauty and his wealth will soon attract some happier rival,
and I shall be forgotten!'
"Xarisa reproached me with my want of faith, and promised me eternal
constancy. I still doubted and desponded, until, moved by my anguish and
despair, she agreed to a secret union. Our espousals made, we parted,
with a promise on her part to send me word from Coyn, should her
father absent himself from the fortress. The very day after our secret
nuptials, I beheld the whole train of the Alcayde depart from Cartama,
nor would he admit me to his presence, or permit me to bid farewell
to Xarisa. I remained at Cartama, somewhat pacified in spirit by this
secret bond of union; but every thing around me fed my passion, and
reminded me of Xarisa. I saw the windows at which I had so often beheld
her. I wandered through the apartment she had inhabited; the chamber in
which she had slept. I visited the bower of jessamines, and lingered
beside the fountain in which she had delighted. Every thing recalled her
to my imagination, and filled my heart with tender melancholy.
"At length, a confidential servant brought me word, that her father
was to depart that day for Granada, on a short absence, inviting me to
hasten to Coyn, describing a secret portal at which I should apply, and
the signal by which I would obtain admittance.
"If ever you have loved, most valiant Alcayde, you may judge of the
transport of my bosom. That very night I arrayed myself in my most
gallant attire, to pay due honor to my bride; and arming myself against
any casual attack, issued forth privately from Cartama. You know the
rest, and by what sad fortune of war I found myself, instead of a happy
bridegroom, in the nuptial bower of Coyn, vanquished, wounded, and a
prisoner, withing the walls of Allora. The term of absence of the father
of Xarisa is nearly expired. Within three days he will return to Coyn,
and our meeting will no longer be possible. Judge, then, whether I
grieve without cause, and whether I may not well be excused for showing
impatience under confinement."
Don Rodrigo de Narvaez was greatly moved by this recital; for, though
more used to rugged war, than scenes of amorous softness, he was of a
kind and generous nature.
"Abendaraez," said he, "I did not seek thy confidence to gratify an idle
curiosity. It grieves me much that the good fortune which delivered thee
into my hands, should have marred so fair an enterprise. Give me thy
faith, as a true knight, to return prisoner to my castle, within three
days, and I will grant thee permission to accomplish thy nuptials."
The Abencerrage would have thrown himself at his feet, to pour out
protestations of eternal gratitude, but the Alcayde prevented him.
Calling in his cavaliers, he took the Abencerrage by the right hand, in
their presence, exclaiming solemnly, "You promise, on the faith of a
cavalier, to return to my castle of Allora within three days, and render
yourself my prisoner?" And the Abencerrage said, "I promise."
Then said the Alcayde, "Go! and may good fortune attend you. If
you require any safeguard, I and my cavaliers are ready to be your
companions."
The Abencerrage kissed the hand of the Alcayde, in grateful
acknowledgment. "Give me," said he, "my own armor, and my steed, and
I require no guard. It is not likely that I shall again meet with so
valorous a foe."
The shades of night had fallen, when the tramp of the dapple-gray steed
sounded over the drawbridge, and immediately afterward the light clatter
of hoofs along the road, bespoke the fleetness with which the youthful
lover hastened to his bride. It was deep night when the Moor arrived at
the castle of Coyn. He silently and cautiously walked his panting steed
under its dark walls, and having nearly passed round them, came to the
portal denoted by Xarisa. He paused and looked around to see that he was
not observed, and then knocked three times with the butt of his lance.
In a little while the portal was timidly unclosed by the duenna of
Xarisa. "Alas! senor," said she, "what has detained you thus long? Every
night have I watched for you; and my lady is sick at heart with doubt
and anxiety."
The Abencerrage hung his lance, and shield, and scimitar against the
wall, and then followed the duenna, with silent steps, up a winding
stair-case, to the apartment of Xarisa. Vain would be the attempt to
describe the raptures of that meeting. Time flew too swiftly, and the
Abencerrage had nearly forgotten, until too late, his promise to return
a prisoner to the Alcayde of Allora. The recollection of it came to him
with a pang, and suddenly awoke him from his dream of bliss. Xarisa
saw his altered looks, and heard with alarm his stifled sighs; but her
countenance brightened, when she heard the cause. "Let not thy spirit be
cast down," said she, throwing her white arms around him. "I have the
keys of my father's treasures; send ransom more than enough to satisfy
the Christian, and remain with me."
"No," said Abendaraez, "I have given my word to return in person, and
like a true knight, must fulfil my promise. After that, fortune must do
with me as it pleases."
"Then," said Xarisa, "I will accompany thee. Never shall you return a
prisoner, and I remain at liberty."
The Abencerrage was transported with joy at this new proof of devotion
in his beautiful bride. All preparations were speedily made for their
departure. Xarisa mounted behind the Moor, on his powerful steed; they
left the castle walls before daybreak, nor did they pause, until they
arrived at the gate of the castle of Allora, which was flung wide to
receive them.
Alighting in the court, the Abencerrage supported the steps of his
trembling bride, who remained closely veiled, into the presence of
Rodrigo de Narvaez. "Behold, valiant Alcayde!" said he, "the way in
which an Abencerrage keeps his word. I promised to return to thee a
prisoner, but I deliver two captives into your power. Behold Xarisa,
and judge whether I grieved without reason, over the loss of such a
treasure. Receive us as your own, for I confide my life and her honor to
your hands."
The Alcayde was lost in admiration of the beauty of the lady, and the
noble spirit of the Moor. "I know not," said he, "which of you surpasses
the other; but I know that my castle is graced and honored by your
presence. Enter into it, and consider it your own, while you deign to
reside with me."
For several days the lovers remained at Allora, happy in each other's
love, and in the friendship of the brave Alcayde. The latter wrote a
letter, full of courtesy, to the Moorish king of Granada, relating the
whole event, extolling the valor and good faith of the Abencerrage, and
craving for him the royal countenance.
The king was moved by the story, and was pleased with an opportunity of
showing attention to the wishes of a gallant and chivalrous enemy; for
though he had often suffered from the prowess of Don Rodigro de Narvaez,
he admired the heroic character he had gained throughout the land.
Calling the Alcayde of Coyn into his presence, he gave him the letter to
read. The Alcayde turned pale, and trembled with rage, on the perusal.
"Restrain thine anger," said the king; "there is nothing that the
Alcayde of Allora could ask, that I would not grant, if in my power. Go
thou to Allora; pardon thy children; take them to thy home. I receive
this Abencerrage into my favor, and it will be my delight to heap
benefits upon you all."
The kindling ire of the Alcayde was suddenly appeased. He hastened to
Allora; and folded his children to his bosom, who would have fallen at
his feet. The gallant Rodrigo de Narvaez gave liberty to his prisoner
without ransom, demanding merely a promise of his friendship. He
accompanied the youthful couple and their father to Coyn, where their
nuptials were celebrated with great rejoicings. When the festivities
were over, Don Rodrigo de Narvaez returned to his fortress of Allora.
After his departure, the Alcayde of Coyn addressed his children: "To
your hands," said he, "I confide the disposition of my wealth. One of
the first things I charge you, is not to forget the ransom you owe to
the Alcayde of Allora. His magnanimity you can never repay, but you can
prevent it from wronging him of his just dues. Give him, moreover, your
entire friendship, for he merits it fully, though of a different faith."
The Abencerrage thanked him for his generous proposition, which so truly
accorded with his own wishes. He took a large sum of gold, and enclosed
it in a rich coffer; and, on his own part, sent six beautiful horses,
superbly caparisoned; with six shields and lances, mounted and embossed
with gold. The beautiful Xarisa, at the same time, wrote a letter to the
Alcayde, filled with expressions of gratitude and friendship, and sent
him a box of fragrant cypress-wood, containing linen, of the finest
quality, for his person. The valiant Alcayde disposed of the present
in a characteristic manner. The horses and armor he shared among the
cavaliers who had accompanied him on the night of the skirmish. The
box of cypress-wood and its contents he retained, for the sake of the
beautiful Xarisa; and sent her, by the hands of a messenger, the sum
of gold paid as a ransom, entreating her to receive it as a wedding
present. This courtesy and magnanimity raised the character of the
Alcayde Rodrigo de Narvaez still higher in the estimation of the Moors,
who extolled him as a perfect mirror of chivalric virtue; and from that
time forward, there was a continual exchange of good offices between
them.
* * * * *
THE ENCHANTED ISLAND.
BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH-BOOK.
Break, Phantsie, from thy cave of cloud,
And wave thy purple wings,
Now all thy figures are allowed,
And various shapes of things.
Create of airy forms a stream;
It must have blood and nought of phlegm;
And though it be a walking dream,
Yet let it like an odor rise
To all the senses here,
And fall like sleep upon their eyes,
Or music on their ear.--BEN JONSON.
"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our
philosophy," and among these may be placed that marvel and mystery of
the seas, the island of St. Brandan. Every school-boy can enumerate and
call by name the Canaries, the Fortunate Islands of the ancients; which,
according to some ingenious speculative minds, are mere wrecks and
remnants of the vast island of Atalantis, mentioned by Plato, as having
been swallowed up by the ocean. Whoever has read the history of those
isles, will remember the wonders told of another island, still more
beautiful, seen occasionally from their shores, stretching away in the
clear bright west, with long shadowy promontories, and high, sun-gilt
peaks. Numerous expeditions, both in ancient and modern days, have
launched forth from the Canaries in quest of that island; but, on their
approach, mountain and promontory have gradually faded away, until
nothing has remained but the blue sky above, and the deep blue water
below. Hence it was termed by the geographers of old, Aprositus, or the
Inaccessible; while modern navigators have called its very existence in
question, pronouncing it a mere optical illusion, like the Fata Morgana
of the Straits of Messina; or classing it with those unsubstantial
regions known to mariners as Cape Flyaway, and the Coast of Cloud Land.
Let not, however, the doubts of the worldly-wise sceptics of modern days
rob us of all the glorious realms owned by happy credulity in days of
yore. Be assured, O reader of easy faith!--thou for whom I delight to
labor--be assured, that such an island does actually exist, and has,
from time to time, been revealed to the gaze, and trodden by the feet,
of favored mortals. Nay, though doubted by historians and philosophers,
its existence is fully attested by the poets, who, being an inspired
race, and gifted with a kind of second sight, can see into the mysteries
of nature, hidden from the eyes of ordinary mortals. To this gifted race
it has ever been a region of fancy and romance, teeming with all kinds
of wonders. Here once bloomed, and perhaps still blooms, the famous
garden of the Hesperides, with its golden fruit. Here, too, was the
enchanted garden of Armida, in which that sorceress held the Christian
paladin, Rinaldo, in delicious but inglorious thraldom; as is set forth
in the immortal lay of Tasso. It was on this island, also, that Sycorax,
the witch, held sway, when the good Prospero, and his infant daughter
Miranda, were wafted to its shores. The isle was then
---"full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not."
Who does not know the tale, as told in the magic page of Shakspeare?