No one, save he who has witnessed with a heart all susceptible to the
beauties of nature, can even picture to himself the delightful scene of
a summer’s evening in the fair region of Granada. The mellowed tints
of the declining sun gilding every object with a fairy brightness; the
gushing fountains sending forth their drops of ruby light; the thick
groves of citron and pomegranate, casting their deep shadows in the
distance, seemingly inviting to repose, almost transport with rapture
an inhabitant of our northern clime.
It was on such an evening, that a betrothed pair sat beneath the marble
arcade at the dwelling of the Alcalde of the district. Their hearts
seemed in unison with the delightful scene around them; their words
were music to each other’s ears; their thoughts were of bright joys of
the future,--and no one could have looked upon their innocent embrace,
or listened to their words of love, without deeming their happiness
complete. The youth rose to depart.
‘Nay, Muza, do not leave me yet,’ exclaimed the happy girl, as she
turned her bright, half-smiling, half-imploring eyes, upon her lover;
‘but a short hour have we been together, and wilt thou leave me so
soon?’
‘Leave thee, Zareda? nay, I would never leave thee.’
‘Why then dost thou look thus anxiously towards Hafiz, as if waiting
but for thy steed to depart?’
‘Love, art not thou ever with me, as well in the raging of the conflict
and in the exultation of victory, as when, side by side, we sit beneath
the overhanging bower and by the cooling fountain? Am not I still with
thee; and do not the thoughts of thee lead me on to glory? Allah be
praised, that he has given me such a presiding angel.’
‘Thy praise is far too high, Muza, else, why shouldst thou not be
willing to pass some longer portion of thy time in the immediate
presence of such an angel?’
‘Love, think of our race, and lament not these too short moments
of bliss; our race, scorned and trampled upon by the Christian,
fast falling into the chains of slavery, and compelled to toil for
him;--shall we endure it? No! rather let the desert be our home,--the
home of our ancestors,--barren and desolate though it be, still may
we breathe the air of freedom.--Yes, my country needs my sword, my
country and my love. Do not then grieve for this short interview; am
not I wholly thine,--and will not to-morrow join us never more to part?
Farewell then, for a few short hours, made doubly brief by thoughts
of thee.’ So saying, Muza sprang lightly upon his horse, which his
faithful attendant had already led forward, and soon disappeared behind
the trees that o’erhung the path. Zareda stood gazing in the direction,
so long as the sound of trampling hoofs was audible, as he flew over
the plain, and then, full of bright anticipations of the morrow,
retired to her chamber.
That what follows may be readily understood, it is necessary to state,
that the incidents of the present sketch occurred about the year 1450,
when Mohammed X. ruled over the kingdom of Granada, but who, together
with his people, was in turn experiencing the ill fortunes of war from
the increasing power of the Christians, as had, nearly eight centuries
before, the Goths from his predecessors. Though, at the time of which
we write, the army of the Christians was not in force against them,
still, a kind of partizan warfare continued,--sometimes, indeed, to
the temporary triumph of the Moors, but always, eventually, to the
permanent advantage of their enemy. The Christian leaders, attended by
a few hundred followers, were continually ravaging the country; and one
of them, Fernando Narvaez, with less than two hundred men, had more
than once spread alarm to the very gates of Granada.
It was on the eve of an expedition of one of these partisan bands,
as some twenty cavalry were scouring the country, seizing upon such
travelers as were so unwary, or rather unfortunate, as to fall into
their hands, that upon turning an acclivity rising abruptly from the
road, and skirted by a grove of citrons, they came full upon a young
Moorish horseman, riding leisurely forward, as though unconscious of
danger. He appeared to be just in the prime of manhood; in stature
rather above middling, yet finely proportioned. His noble bearing,
together with the richness of his dress, proclaimed him a person of
distinction and a warrior; his turban and scarf were wrought of the
most costly materials, and spangled with jewels, whilst a sword and
buckler of exquisite workmanship hung by his side;--his horse was in
every respect worthy of his rider. No sooner did he perceive the band
of the enemy, than he turned in flight with the speed of the wind;
winding rapidly round the edge of the hill, until, for a moment, he
was obscured from sight, he dashed headlong into the grove, trusting
to art and his knowledge of the country to elude their pursuit. But
escape was vain. They hurried eagerly forward, piercing the grove in
every direction, following each winding path, and seized upon him as
he was emerging from the opposite side. Resistance he saw would be
useless; but he deigned not a word to his captors, and there was nought
betrayed emotion, save a slight curl of contempt upon his lip as he
delivered his arms into their hands, and quietly took his station, as
he was bid, between two of their number. They continued about an hour
reconnoitering the country, but no enemy appearing, returned to their
quarters, bringing with them their prisoner.
During this interval, the young Moor had had leisure to reflect upon
his situation. He was a brave warrior; and like every one who is truly
brave, he possessed not only a spirit of boldness and daring during
the raging of the battle, and in the hour of triumph, but could yield
to disappointment and defeat, and meet the reverses of fortune with
equal fortitude. So now, though he knew from the first that slavery
would be the mildest lot for which he could even hope, nevertheless,
he willingly yielded to necessity, and seemed to the observer, as
if regardless of his situation. But this appearance was not long
maintained;--a tinge of melancholy stole over his countenance; the
stern and fearless look of the warrior was changed to the appearance of
thoughtful anxiety and inward grief;--some more powerful emotion, and
apparently unconnected with the feelings of a soldier, was working at
his heart. Such was his situation as they arrived at their quarters,
and conducted him immediately to the presence of their leader.
All the decision and sternness of a Spanish general was depicted in
the countenance of Narvaez. His authority was usually severe, and his
will not to be questioned; but, at times, he would exhibit a natural
disposition of kindness and benevolence, which endeared him to his
followers, and rendered him none the less fitted to command.
‘Who art thou?’ said he, as the prisoner was led before him, ‘and
whither wert thou going, thus unattended, through a hostile country?’
‘Christian,’ said the Moor, as he endeavored to assume an appearance
becoming his rank, but which, it was evident at the time, cost him no
slight exertion,--‘know that I am the son of the Alcalde of Ronda; and
I was going, this very night, to claim--’ but the effort was too much
for him; he burst into tears.
‘Thou astonishest me!’ cried Narvaez,--‘thy father I knew well, and,
though an enemy, yet will I acknowledge him as brave a warrior as ever
crossed a lance; but thou weepest like a woman! Seest thou not that
this is but one of the chances of war; one, which thy noble father
would have met, had fortune so ordered, with as calm a brow as if
greeted with the tribute of success? Is the son so far degenerated from
the sire!’
‘Nay, Christian,’ answered Muza, for it was he, ‘I hope in all things
to be worthy of the fame of my father; and among my own people, the
name of Muza ben Hassan is not spoken with contempt. ’Tis not for the
loss of liberty that I grieve, but for something a thousand times
dearer than that, of which I must be deprived;’--and as he concluded
the sentence, his spirit, which for a moment had been aroused by the
taunting allusion to his degeneracy, sank again. But Narvaez saw the
marks of a noble mind within, as he drew up his manly figure to its
height, displaying to the best advantage his finely proportioned
limbs, whilst his brow contracted with a look almost of defiance. He
saw that there was something more than his present misfortune which so
powerfully affected him,--and at once he became deeply interested in
the youth.
‘And what is that,’ said he, as he saw him a little more composed,
‘which thou valuest at a price so much dearer than liberty?’
‘Know then, since thou wishest it, that I have long been in love with
the daughter of a neighboring Alcalde; that love was crowned with
success, and this very night was to have made her mine, but thy arms
have detained me. She is even now waiting in suspense, or perhaps
accusing me of inconstancy,--wretched, wretched fate! would that I
might see her yet once more.’
‘Noble cavalier! if thy wish is granted thee, wilt thou promise to
return before to-morrow’s sun?’
‘Allah bless thee, generous Christian!’ exclaimed Muza, overjoyed at
the proposal, ‘upon the word of a Moor, whose word, when sincerely
given, has never been broken, I promise faithfully to return.
Generosity, I see, belongs not to one race alone.’
‘Go then,--and remember thy promise,’ said Narvaez, as he gave orders
to permit him instantly to depart.
Let us change the scene, and introduce once more the fair lady of our
tale, whom we have already too long neglected. Throughout the day all
had been bustle and preparation in the house of her father. The halls
had been richly hung with tapestry, and put in readiness for the giddy
dance; the tables were loaded with the choicest productions of that
fruitful clime for the marriage banquet. Zareda had been all gayety and
happiness; but towards evening she appeared more thoughtful, and her
accustomed laugh and words of mirth were no longer heard. She expected
to have seen him ere this, and to have met that embrace, which would
crown all her love. An hour passed away, yet still he came not:--her
watchfulness was fast verging to anxiety. Another long half hour is
gone--in gloomy sadness she sat herself down ’neath the arcade, where
they had so often met together. ‘Why comes he not?--has any mischief
befallen him?--has he fallen into the hands of any marauding company
of the enemy? has he--can it be, that he has deserted me?--away,
ungrateful thought! it cannot be; some accident surely has overtaken
him.’ As these, and various like reflections, were passing in her mind,
a song of plaintive melancholy fell softly on her ear.
The rainbow’s brightest tint
Soonest fades away;
The tenderest floweret’s bloom
Quickest meets decay.
The first bright rose of spring,
That exhales its morning breath,
Returning dews of even
Strike with the chill of death.
So I, my love, must soon
Ne’er meet with thee again,--
Our marriage tie is changed
To slavery’s cruel chain.
Thy ruby cheek will fade,
Tears dim thine eye of blue,
For I, my love, must bid
A long, a last adieu.
So deeply melancholy was the strain--so much in unison with her own
increasing fears, that Zareda recognized not the cheerful voice of her
Muza, till the song was finished, and he himself stood before her.
‘Muza, is it thou?--thanks to Allah! now will we indeed be happy. But
why so late? Is this the eagerness with which to meet thy bride?--or
why didst thou fright me with that gloomy song?’
‘Zareda, I am a prisoner; perhaps a slave--two hours ago I fell into
the hands of the enemy, and I am now to behold thee for the last time.’
‘A prisoner! how so, even if thou hast been with the enemy, since thou
now standest here free before me? Thy bonds are loose for a Christian’s
hands to inflict. Oh Allah! hast thou too proved faithless to thy
country! art thou a--’
‘Traitor! and from thee! Zareda, hear me: accuse me not of
faithlessness either to thee or to my country. Though I am now before
thee, still am I no less a prisoner; I must return before to-morrow’s
sun--my word is pledged. Then doubt me not, but take my last farewell.
Would that I might see _thee_ happy; then would I be content.’
‘I will not doubt thee, Muza. Oft hast thou given me proofs of thy
love, but this surpasses all.--Nay, thou shalt not say farewell; I will
go with thee, perhaps they may listen to my prayers. I have wealth and
jewels,--they shall purchase thy freedom, or together we will share thy
fate.’ Muza saw that to oppose her wishes would only increase her zeal;
and, though he had no hopes for his own freedom, he knew that to her at
least no injury would be suffered by his enemies. Zareda was soon in
readiness to depart, and long before morning they had arrived at the
station of their enemy. Narvaez was ready to receive them.
‘Ha,’ exclaimed he, as Muza again appeared before him, supporting on
his arm the trembling Zareda, ‘thou hast brought thy mistress with
thee, to cheer thy spirits, and soften the ills of confinement?’
‘Christian,’ said Zareda in a faltering voice, falling at the feet of
Narvaez, ‘if thou hast an eye to pity, a heart to feel, do not separate
us. Here is money: here are jewels--take them all, but let _him_ go
free.’
‘Generous maiden, fear not;’ and he raised her gently as he
spoke;--‘thy devotedness is worthy the fidelity of thy lover. Cruel
should I indeed be, had I the heart to mar such happiness as is in
store for thee. Go, and may ye both live long to enjoy your happiness.’
But the goodness of Narvaez was not alone manifested in words. He
loaded them with presents, and furnished an escort to conduct them in
safety to Ronda. And long was the name of Narvaez celebrated in song
and romance, as the _generous-hearted Christian_.