the sentiments that each entertained for them: the most good-natured
amongst them represented to Jupiter that men were but men, that is to
say, weak and faulty creatures, from whom he could expect nothing but
imprudence and indiscretion; that, in their opinion, the Father of
Heaven, instead of viewing their weakness with severity, ought rather to
have pity on them than think of punishing them. Were we men, as they
are, added they, we might conduct ourselves in the same manner, perhaps
even worse; besides, consider what God it is that you have given them?
see in what manner he uses them; he never leaves them, he flatters their
desires, and enchants them with his seducing manners. You, on the
contrary, are seen by them but seldom, and almost always with thunder
in your hand, which frightens them; you ought not, therefore, to be
surprised if they fear you more than they love you; they may hereafter,
perhaps, reflect seriously upon their fault, and make atonement, as soon
as they are informed how much their blind attachment to this divinity,
has caused them to wrong the immortals, and particularly yourself.
“When the Gods, thus peaceably inclined, had thus remonstrated with
Jupiter, Momus, who hated man, wished to give advice directly opposite;
but he began in such free terms, that he was silenced, and told that he
should be heard in his turn. The other Gods who were not better inclined
towards the human race than Momus, did all they could to persuade the
son of Saturn to extirpate mankind, alleging, that they were useless
beings, for whom the Gods had no manner of occasion. Others, not so
violent, thinking they gave admirable advice, recommended Jupiter to
reduce such as had been culpable into dust again, and create others more
perfect in their place, which would be an easy matter for him to do;
upon which Apollo requested permission to speak, and, with that air of
sweetness which has ever been attributed to him, addressed himself to
the Father of the Gods in these words.
“‘Supreme Jupiter, full of love and goodness, thou art so justly
irritated against man, that whatever cruel revenge you may be disposed
to take on him, no inhabitant of Olympus will pretend to oppose thy
will; it being not less the interest of all the Gods in general, than
thine in particular, that mortals should not prove ungrateful for the
favours and benefits they daily receive at our hands. Suffer me,
however, to make it appear to you that if thou destroyest man, thou
destroyest thine own work. This world, which thou hast created and
embellished with a thousand wonderful things which thou hast bestowed
upon it, will be no longer of any use, for we shall not any of us leave
Heaven to reside there. If thou destroyest man to make a new race, that
will do thee no honour, for it will rather be said that thou couldst not
make thy work perfect in less than two trials: suffer, therefore, the
human race to remain as it is; for it greatly concerns thy glory to
maintain what thou hast created. Perhaps I may go so far as to say, that
I do not think it would be to the honour of the Gods if men were without
imperfection; if they were not weak and full of wants, what occasion
would they have for our assistance?
“‘Nevertheless,’ continued he, ‘these ingrates ought to be punished;
thou hast given them the God Pleasure, to whom they are too much
attached; thou hast only, therefore, to oblige them to give up the idol,
and send them down his brother in his room: thus thou wilt chastise
them by the same means as they have offended thee; they will, I am
convinced, soon acknowledge their fault, and have recourse to thy mercy
to pardon their blindness; thou wilt then be fully avenged, and thou
canst either forgive them or abandon them to the tyranny of their new
divinity. This, great Jupiter! is what seems to me most becoming thy
glory on this occasion; but the Lord of Heaven and Earth knows best what
is fit to be done.’
“Apollo ceased to speak, and Momus, who was prepared with a discourse
which his hatred for man had suggested, began to aggravate their
offence; but he was but the dupe of his ill-will; all the other
Immortals, who well knew his prejudice, rejected his advice, and agreed
in opinion with Apollo. Agreeably to the decision of the celestial
assembly, Mercury cut through the air in a moment, and descended upon
earth, where he found man completely busied and charmed with the God
Pleasure. No sooner did he begin to put in execution his orders to
deprive them of him, than a general insurrection took place among the
women as well as the men. Such fury was never known before; they ranged
themselves round about their cherished deity, protesting they would
rather die than be deprived of him.
“Mercury returned quickly up to Heaven, to inform Jupiter of this
disorder, whose wrath towards man was increased by this intelligence;
but Apollo, who always favoured them, interceded once more in their
behalf so effectually, that he prevented the thunder from being hurled
upon them. ‘Lord of Olympus,’ said he, ‘have pity on these poor weak
creatures, and, instead of suffering your thunder to fall upon them,
allow me to propose a milder method of bringing them to their senses:
let us deceive them by a skilful trick, by withdrawing from them the
God of Pleasure without their perceiving it, and placing under the same
shape the God Dissatisfaction in his stead.’
“This stratagem was approved of, and Apollo himself undertook the
execution of it. He descended upon earth with the God Dissatisfaction
disguised, and found men and women all up in arms to protect their idol,
whom they had placed in the midst of them; he dazzled their eyes and
easily made the intended exchange; after which, he returned to the
Immortals again, to enjoy with them the trick that he had just played
upon mankind, who from that time, believing themselves still to have
Pleasure among them, have sacrificed to his brother, without knowing it,
in his place.”
This fable was much applauded by the bachelor, who agreed with his
friend who had related it, that assuredly the pleasures of life seduce
us by fine appearances, without there being any reality to be found in
them. “Alas!” thought I to myself, while the gentlemen were thus
reasoning, “that is but too true. When I first took it into my head to
travel, I formed a most delightful idea of my journey, and flattered my
imagination with a thousand agreeable fancies, the fallacy of which I am
already but too well acquainted with.” After the friars had moralized
for a considerable time upon this subject, the bachelor said to his
companion, “To enliven the conversation a little, and to amuse us on the
road, I purpose, with your permission, to relate you a story, which is
to be found in the history of our wars with the Moors.” The other friar
appeared curious to hear it, and, as well as I can remember, the
bachelor recited it nearly in the following words.
CHAP. IX.
_The Amour of Ozmin and the beautiful Daraxa._
Whilst their Catholic Majesties Ferdinand and Isabella were at the siege
of Baza, the Moors kept the Christians in full employment, and prodigies
of valour were performed on both sides. The place was well situated and
in good condition, and was defended by a garrison composed of the
choicest troops of the King of Granada. Mahomet, surnamed El
Chiquito--the diminutive--the governor, was a man skilful and
experienced in war. Isabella was at Jaen, where she took care to supply
the Christian troops, which Ferdinand commanded in person, with
provisions. The army was divided into two bodies, one of which besieged
the town, while the other covered the siege.
As the Moors had spared nothing to prevent the possibility of
communication between the two camps, scarcely a day passed without some
furious skirmish. On one of these occasions the besieged fought so
desperately that they would have decisively defeated their besiegers if
any valour could have made it possible; but the latter, animated by the
presence and example of their king, and reinforced by frequent succours,
obliged the Infidels at length to take flight, and pursued them so
closely that they entered with them pell-mell into the suburbs of Baza.
The governor would not have failed to take advantage of this indiscreet
ardour of the Christians had his troops been sufficient to support him
in a vigorous sally; but finding his garrison too much weakened to
undertake such an enterprize, he prudently contented himself with
firing on the enemy from the walls, that they might not effect a
lodgment in the suburbs; he then caused the gates of the town to be
closed, fearing lest it should be carried by assault. In vain was he
informed that his only daughter had unfortunately left the town to take
the air in a garden in the suburbs, and that it was much feared she had
fallen into the hands of the Christians; he answered like the Roman
Consul, that he had rather lose his daughter than a fortress which the
king had confided to his defence.
Among the noblemen in the Christian army who entered the suburbs with
the Moors, Don Alonso de Zuniga was one who had particularly signalized
himself. This cavalier, who was about eighteen years of age, was now
making his first campaign; his aim was glory, and his only object in
coming to the siege of Baza was to deserve the esteem of Ferdinand by
the performance of some remarkable feat. Fortune favoured his wishes,
for while in pursuit of the enemy, putting all who offered resistance to
the sword, he approached a magnificent looking house, which appeared to
belong to some person of quality. Resolved to ascertain whether there
was any one within, he caused the door to be forced open with his
soldiers’ axes. About a dozen men, armed with sabres only, presented
themselves to dispute their entrance; but four or five of these being
overthrown damped the courage of the rest, who saved themselves by
flight over the walls of the garden.
Don Alonso’s soldiers, delighted to find a house elegantly furnished,
thought of nothing but plundering it; for himself, who wished for
nothing but an opportunity of signalizing himself, he examined the house
from top to bottom, sword in hand, with five or six of his followers,
breaking open every door, to see if there were any other Moors prepared
to oppose him. Passing thus from room to room, he at length came to the
last, at the door of which he heard a loud shriek from within, and at
the same time perceived five women, four of whom, all in tears, and
almost senseless with fear, threw themselves at his feet, imploring him
to save their honour and their lives; but the fifth, who by her air and
majestic appearance was evidently the mistress of the rest, instead of
kneeling with the others, held a poniard in her hand with a determined
countenance. “Stop!” said she, in the Castilian language, upon Don
Alonso’s approaching her, “this dagger shall protect me from any one who
presumes to touch me.”
No sooner did Don Alonso behold the face of the lady who addressed him
in these courageous terms, than he was quite captivated by her beauty,
and felt the emotions that love creates in a heart for the first time
subjected to its dominion: already enraptured by his rising passion, he
raised the visor of his helmet, sheathed his sword, and told the lady,
in the most mild and respectful manner, that she need not be
apprehensive of any violence from one who felt extremely concerned at
the alarm he had caused her, but at the same time he felt most truly
happy that fate had conducted him into her presence, to save her from
the misfortunes that threatened her; he entreated her, therefore, to
confide herself to his protection, and to accompany him at once, for
fear of the fury of the soldiers, who, not being accustomed on such
occasions as these to acknowledge any controul, might put it out of his
power to preserve her from their outrages.
At these words, the truth of which she but too well felt, she accepted
his proffered assistance; upon which he desired his followers to take
care of the other women, and let them carry away with them whatever
they wished; after which he offered his hand to his captive, who, in
spite of her uneasiness, was somewhat divested of her fears by the
attention and appearance of the young cavalier; armed as he was, to
behold his beautiful face, and his long hair which flowed in curls over
his cuirass, he had more the appearance of a beautiful girl than of a
soldier.
This charming Moor, who, without exception, was the most engaging beauty
in the kingdom of Granada, was named Daraxa; she was the daughter of the
governor; and having learnt that the Moors had been driven back into the
suburbs, she had endeavoured to regain the town, but finding the gates
closed, had been obliged to return to this garden.
Though she was very fortunate in having fallen into the hands of Don
Alonso, yet the thoughts of becoming a captive to the Christians sadly
afflicted her. In spite of her courage she could not refrain from tears;
she was not able to make any other reply to the obliging offers of her
generous enemy than by giving him her hand, to shew the confidence she
reposed in him. The young warrior, moved by the tears of his fair
prisoner, tried all he could to console her; and as he spoke from the
abundance of his heart, what he said was so tenderly expressive, that in
any other situation it might have had more effect on the beautiful Moor;
but, although she felt most sensibly his endeavours to sooth her under
her misfortune, the acknowledgments that she made were but very
inadequate as a return for the lively interest he took in her behalf.
As soon as he was informed that a retreat was sounded by order of the
king, and that the Christians were already filing off to regain the
camp, he yielded his own horse to the lady, who vaulted into the saddle
entirely unassisted, and knew well how to manage her steed. He then
assembled his soldiers in haste, in the midst of whom he placed the
beautiful Moor and her women; and putting himself at the head of this
little corps, which looked more like a cavalcade than an escort, he
followed the other troops in the retreat.
The king was already acquainted with his adventure before he arrived at
the camp, and was the more rejoiced at it as he entertained a particular
regard for this cavalier, whom he considered to be a young man of great
promise. Impatient to see so illustrious a prisoner, he did her the
honour to advance to receive her, as soon as he perceived Don Alonso
approaching his tent to conduct her into his presence. She advanced
towards his Majesty with so majestic a mien, and so gracefully, as to
charm all who beheld her; and would have fallen on her knees before him,
but he prevented her so politely, and received her in such a manner,
that she uttered, in a sort of extasy, “Ah! my lord, what charms would
the honour of saluting the great Ferdinand have had, had it not been
annexed by fate to one of the most cruel misfortunes that could have
happened to me!” “Madam,” answered the King, in a most gracious manner,
“you have no reason to consider it a misfortune to have become the
prisoner of Don Alonso de Zuniga, who is an amiable young man, and who
will pay you every attention, and spare nothing which may alleviate your
misfortune; and, for my own part, I will take care you shall be so well
entertained that you shall soon cease to have occasion to repine at
fortune.”
His Majesty added, that she might write to her father the Governor,
assuring him she should meet with the treatment due to her birth. He
then desired Don Alonso, with a smile, to continue to take good care of
Daraxa. “Conduct her,” said he, “to my own tent, where she can rest
this night with her women, and to-morrow you shall yourself escort her
to Jaen, where she will be better received and entertained by the Queen
than she can be in a camp.”
Those officers in the army who had seen the beautiful Moor spoke of her
to the others in such high terms that they were all curious to see her,
and applied to Zuniga, to whom she was confided, to gratify their
curiosity; but Don Alonso, jealous of his happiness, would not grant
their requests, but managed to keep them from the royal tent by all
sorts of excuses; for they persecuted him in such a manner, to afford
them this satisfaction, that he was much troubled to resist their
importunities. The next morning, according to the King’s orders, he set
out for Jaen, where he arrived in the evening with his charming captive,
whom he presented to the Queen. Her Majesty, to whom the King had
dispatched a courier the preceding evening, was already informed of
every thing. She received Daraxa most graciously, and was extremely
pleased to see her. She was particularly struck with the elegance of her
appearance; and when she had conversed with her for some time, was
convinced that her good sense and wit were at least equal to her beauty.
In the mean time, Don Alonso, having performed his commission, and being
obliged to return to the army, found now for the first time, that if
love has its sweets, it is not unaccompanied by chagrin; and that that
deity makes us pay dearly for the least favor. He could not reflect
without extreme pain that he was on the point of leaving his beautiful
Moor; but what most afflicted him was, that he had not yet disclosed his
sentiments to her, though he had had more than one favourable
opportunity; either from a timidity, which the bravest lovers sometimes
feel, or from want of experience, he had resolved to take no other mode
of declaring his passion than by his actions; nevertheless, as he knew
that men ought to speak first on such occasions, he made up his mind at
length to declare himself. He had only now to think of the manner in
which he should make this avowal; and having reflected for a long time
on the subject, but not being content with any thing he could think of,
he resolved to leave it entirely to his passion to inspire him with
words.
With this intention he repaired to the Queen to receive her commands,
and asked permission to take leave of Daraxa. The Queen, who well knew
that this young lord could not have passed two days with so lovely a
person as the beautiful Moor with impunity, wished to have the pleasure
of witnessing their separation: “What you desire is reasonable,” said
she to Don Alonso, “since Daraxa is your prisoner; but as she is under
my protection, I must watch over all her actions; you can only converse
with her, therefore, in my presence.” This embarrassed him, and he now
almost despaired of being able to acquaint his captive, that in leaving
her he quitted what was dearest in the world to him.
What he viewed as so great an obstacle to the accomplishment of his
desires, served, however, to promote them. The Queen having sent for the
beautiful Moor, said to her: “My daughter,” (for so she already called
her from friendship) “behold a young warrior, who I fear is more to be
pitied, and more a prisoner than you are; he has considered it a duty to
take leave of his captive previous to his departure for the army; I am
his friend, and I permit him to disclose, in my presence, the tender
sentiments that he cannot but have conceived for you.” Daraxa blushed:
she had been till now so much taken up with her own misfortunes, that
she had not once thought of endeavouring to distinguish the motives of
Don Alonso’s actions, or if she had observed any attention more than
ordinary in his behaviour, she had attributed it solely to pity, which
is never without a degree of tenderness: besides which, her heart was
already prepossessed in favor of another, so that she could but look
upon Zuniga with an indifferent eye.
She replied to the Queen: That she should never forget her obligations
to that cavalier; and that not having it in her power to acknowledge
them, otherwise than by her wishes, she hoped that it would not be his
fate to be taken prisoner; or should he be so unfortunate, she trusted
that he would meet with as kind treatment as she had experienced. The
Queen, curious to hear what answer Don Alonso would make to this
compliment, made no reply, to afford him an opportunity of speaking. But
this young nobleman, whose quick repartees, on other occasions, had
been much admired at Court, now stood confused, either because he felt
too violently the emotions of love, or under restraint in the presence
of the Queen. He replied only to Daraxa, that whatever misfortunes might
befal him, he should consider himself but too happy under them, if he
might presume to call himself her champion, and that the object of his
visit was to solicit this honor. “This is a favor never refused in this
country,” said the Queen, desirous of keeping up the conversation to
gratify Zuniga, “and Daraxa will surely find more reasons than one for
granting this request.” “Madam,” answered the beautiful Moor, “I should
be well content to have for my champion a man of Don Alonso’s high birth
and accomplishments; but if the laws of Chivalry are the same among the
Christians as with us Moors, how can I thus strongly interest myself in
favor of a warrior who hears arms against my country?”
Although the Queen felt the force of this reply, she did not therefore
conclude here, but represented to her fair prisoner, that this was a
particular case; that she need have no scruple in feeling an interest
and participating in the glory and fortune of a cavalier, to whom she
was under such obligations as would be more than a sufficient excuse for
her; and that she would thereby engage Don Alonso to treat the Moors
that might fall into his power, more kindly. Zuniga was overjoyed to
find the Queen espouse his cause with so much earnestness: and Daraxa,
fearing that she might betray herself if she persisted in refusing the
Queen’s request, thought it more advisable to make no further answer,
since silence might imply that she did not object to what was desired of
her.
“This will not suffice,” continued the Queen, who was determined to
finish the matter, “for when any lady amongst us makes choice of a
particular champion, it is usual to bestow on him some token of her
preference, such as a scarf, her portrait, a handkerchief, a ribbon, or
the like.” This was likewise a custom among the Moors; but Daraxa did
not wish to engage herself so far; as, however, the desires of the Queen
were laws to her, she presented Don Alonso with a knot of ribbon which
she wore on her head, interwoven in the Moorish fashion. Zuniga received
this gift with bended knees, and kissing the hand that bestowed it, as
lovers were wont to do in those days, he swore never to do any thing to
render himself unworthy his mistress’ favor. After this ceremony, the
Queen, who was exceedingly pleased at the sight, told Don Alonso that
she doubted not he would soon signalize himself by such feats of arms as
would evince that he was well deserving of the honor that had just been
conferred on him. He answered that he must be dependant on Fortune to
furnish him with opportunities, and that it should not be the fault of
his heart if he neglected them, or if they terminated unfortunately for
him.
After having thus spoken, he returned her Majesty thanks for all her
kindness; then addressing himself to the beautiful Moor, he implored her
to deign sometimes to bestow a thought on a cavalier whose only glory
was to serve his Catholic Majesty, and to render himself worthy of her
esteem. After this he departed for the army.
Upon his arrival at the camp, he learned that king Ferdinand and king
Mahomet had had an interview, that Baza had capitulated, and that it was
stipulated in the articles, that all prisoners made during the siege
should be restored on both sides. This news afflicted the amorous Don
Alonso, who from that moment believed himself debarred from the sight of
the object of his affection: but the Queen, who appeared to have
undertaken to complete the happiness of this cavalier, could not make up
her mind to think of ever parting with Daraxa, for whom she had
conceived so sincere a friendship, that she could scarcely have lived
without her company. The Moorish Governor, her father, applied for her
return in the most urgent manner, but the Queen wrote to him in such
kind and pressing terms, requesting him to allow his daughter to remain
with her, that notwithstanding the excess of his love for her, he could
not refuse to grant such a request, well persuaded that he should not
have reason to repent of his complaisance.