Motion is the life of the sea: the surge dashes along in its course,
while the watery particles that gave it bulk and form, remain in their
place to renew and continue the coming billows, heaving to each
successive oscillation, but not departing with it. Thus the mind,--an
ocean more vast and unfathomable than that which washes our
planet,--fluctuates under the impulses of its stormy nature, and passes
not away, until the last agitation, like that which shall swallow up the
sea, or convert its elements into a new matter, lifts it from its
continent, and introduces it to a new existence. Emotion is its life,
each surge of which seems to bear it leagues from its resting-place; and
yet it remains passively to abide and figure forth the influence of new
commotions.--Thus passed the billow through the spirit of Calavar; and
when it had vanished, the spirit ceased from its tumult, subsided, and
lay in tranquillity to await other shocks,--for others were
coming.--When he awoke from his lethargy, his head was supported on the
knee of a human being, who chafed his temple and hands, and bowed his
body as well as his feeble strength allowed, to recall the knight to
life. Don Gabriel raised his eyes to this benignant and ministering
creature; and in the disturbed visage, that hung over his own,
thought,--for his mind was yet wandering,--he beheld the pallid features
of the vision.
"I know thee, and I am ready!" cried Don Gabriel. "Pity me and forgive
me;--for I die at thy feet, as thou didst at mine!"
"Senor mio! I am Jacinto," exclaimed the page, (for it was he,)
frightened at the distraction of the knight;--"thy page, thy poor page,
Jacinto."
"Is it so indeed?" said Calavar, surveying him wildly.--"And the spectre
that did but now smite me to the earth!--hath she left me?"
"Dear master, there is no spectre with us," said the Moorish boy. "We
are alone among the ruins."
"God be thanked!" said the knight, vehemently, "for if I should look on
it more, I should die.--Yet would that I could!--would that I could! for
in death there is peace,--in the grave there is forgetfulness!--This
time, was it no delusion either of the senses or the brain: mine
eye-sight was clear, my head sane, and I saw it, as I see mine own
despair!--Pray for me, boy!" he continued, falling on his knees, and
dragging the page down beside him; "pray for me!" he cried, gazing
piteously at the youth; "pray for me! God will listen to _thy_ prayers,
for thou art innocent, and I am miserable. Pray that God may forgive me,
and suffer me to die;--for this is the day of my sin!"
"Dear master," said the page, trembling, "let us return to our friends."
"Thou wilt not pray? thou wilt not beseech God for me?" said Calavar,
mournfully. "Thou wilt be merciful, when thou knowest my misery! Heaven
sends thee for mine intercessor. I confess to thee, as to heaven, for
thou art without sin. Manhood brings guile and impurity, evil deeds and
malign thoughts; but a child is pure in the eyes of God; and the prayers
of his lips will be as incense, when wrath turns from the beseeching of
men. Hear thou my sin; and then, if heaven bid thee not to curse, then
pray for me, boy!--then pray for me!"
In great perturbation, for he knew not how to check the knight's
distraction, and feared its increasing violence, Jacinto knelt, staring
at him, his hands fettered in the grasp of his master; who, returning
his gaze with such looks of wo and contrition, as a penitent may give to
heaven, said wildly, yet not incoherently,--
"Deeply dyed with sin am I, and sharply scourged with retribution! Age
comes upon me before its time, but brings me nothing but memory--nothing
but memory!--Gray hairs and wrinkles, disease and feebleness, are the
portions of my manhood: for my youth was sinful, and guilt has made me
old! Oh that I might see the days, when I was like to thee!--when I was
like to thee, Jacinto!--when I knew innocence, and offended not God. But
the virtues of childhood weigh not in the balance against the crimes of
after years: as the child dieth, heaven opens to him; as the man
sinneth, so doth he perish.--Miserere mei, Deus! and forgive me my day
in the Alpujarras!"
As Don Gabriel pronounced the name of those mountains, wherein, Jacinto
knew, his father had drawn the first breath of life, and around which
was shed, for every Moor, such interest as belongs to those places where
our fathers have fought and bled, the page began to listen with
curiosity, although his alarm had not altogether subsided.
"Long years have passed; many days of peril and disaster have come and
gone; and yet I have not forgotten the Alpujarras!" cried Calavar,
shivering as he uttered the word; "for there did joy smile, and hope
sicken, and fury give me to clouds and darkness forever. Those hills
were the haunts of thy forefathers, Jacinto; and there, after the royal
city had fallen, and Granada was ruled by the monarchs of Spain, they
fled for refuge, all those noble Moriscos, who were resolute to die in
their own mistaken faith, as well,--in after years,--as many others, who
had truly embraced the religion of Christ, but were suspected by the
bigoted of our people, and persecuted with rigour. How many wars were
declared against those unhappy fugitives,--now to break down the last
strong hold of the infidel, and now to punish the suspected
Christian,--thou must know, if thy sire be a true Moor of Granada. In
mine early youth, and in one of the later crusades, that were proclaimed
against those misguided mountaineers, went I, to win the name and the
laurels of a cavalier. Would that I had never won them, or that they had
come to me dead on the battle-field! Know, then, Jacinto, that my
nineteenth summer had not yet fled from me, when I first drew my sword
in conflict with men; but if I won me reputation, at that green age, it
was because heaven was minded to show me, that shame and sorrow could
come as early. In those days, the royal and noble blood of Granada had
not been drawn from every vein; many of the princely descendants of the
Abencerrages, the Aliatars, the Ganzuls, and the Zegris, still dwelt
among the mountains; and, forgetting their hereditary feuds, united
together in common resistance against the Spaniards. With such men for
enemies, respected alike for their birth and their valour, the war was
not always a history of rapine and barbarity; and sometimes there
happened such passages of courtesy and magnanimity between the Christian
and Moorish cavaliers, as recalled the memory of the days of chivalry
and honour. Among others, who made experience of the heroic greatness of
mind of the infidel princes, was I myself; for, in a battle, wherein the
Moors prevailed against us, I was left wounded and unhorsed, on the
field, to perish, or to remain a prisoner in their hands. In that
melancholy condition, while I commended my soul to God, as not thinking
I could escape from death, a Moorish warrior of majestic appearance and
a soul still more lofty, approached, and had pity on my helplessness,
instead of slaying me outright, as I truly expected. 'Thou art noble,'
said he, 'for I have seen thy deeds; and though, this day, thou hast
shed the blood of a Zegri, thou shalt not perish like a dog. Mount my
horse and fly, lest the approaching squadrons destroy thee; and in
memory of this deed, be thou sometimes merciful to the people of
Alharef.' Then knew I, that this was Alharef ben-Ismail, the most noble
of the Zegris,--a youth famous, even among the Spaniards, for his
courage and humanity; and in gratitude and love, for he was a Christian
proselyte, I pledged him my faith, and swore with him the vows of a true
friendship. How I have kept mine oath, Alharef!" he cried, lifting his
eyes to the spangled heaven, "thou knowest;--for sometimes _thou_ art
with my punisher!"
The knight paused an instant, in sorrowful emotion, while Jacinto, borne
by curiosity beyond the bounds of fear, bent his head to listen; then
making the sign of the cross, and repeating his brief prayer, the
cavalier resumed his narrative.
"As my ingratitude was greater than that of other men, so is my sin; for
another act of benevolence shall weigh against me for ever!--Why did I
not die with my people, when the smiles of perfidy conducted us to the
hills, and the sword was drawn upon us sleeping? That night, there was
but one escaped the cruel and bloody stratagem; and I, again, owed my
life to the virtues of a Moor. Pity me, heaven! for thou didst send me
an angel, and I repaid thy mercy with the thankfulness of a
fiend!--Know, then, Jacinto, that, in the village wherein was devised
and accomplished the murder of my unsuspecting companions, dwelt one
that now liveth in heaven. Miserere mei! miserere mei! for she was noble
and fair, and wept at the baseness of her kindred!--She covered the
bleeding cavalier with her mantle, concealed him from the fury that was
unrelenting; and when she had healed his wounds, guided him, in secret,
from the den of devils, and dismissed him in safety near to the camp of
his countrymen. Know thou now, boy, that this maiden was Zayda, the
flower of all those hills, and the star that made them dearer to me than
the heaven that was above them; and more thought I of those green peaks
and shady valleys that encompassed my love, than the castle of my sire,
or the church wherein rested the bones of my mother. Miserere mei!
miserere mei! for the faith that was pledged was broken! my lady slept
in the arms of Alharef, and my heart was turned to blackness!--Now thou
shalt hear me, and pray for me," continued Don Gabriel, with a look of
the wildest and intensest despair, "for my sin is greater than I can
bear! Now shalt thou hear how I cursed those whom I had sworn to love;
how I sharpened my sword, and with vengeance and fury, went against the
village of my betrayers. Oh God! how thou didst harden our hearts, when
we gave their houses to the flames, and their old men and children to
swords and spears! when we looked not at misery, and listened not to
supplication, but slew! slew! slew! as though we struck at beasts, and
not at human creatures! 'Thou sworest an oath!' cried Alharef. I
laughed; for I knew I should drink his blood! 'Be merciful to my
people!' he cried,--and I struck him with my sabre. Oho!" continued the
knight, springing to his feet, wringing the page's hands, and glaring at
him with the countenance of a demon, "when he fled from me bleeding, my
heart was full of joy, and I followed him with yells of
transport!--_This_ is the day, I tell thee! this is the day, and the
hour! for night could not hide him!--And Zayda! ay, Zayda! Zayda!--when
she shielded him with her bosom, when she threw herself before
him--Miserere mei, Deus! miserere mei, Deus!"
"And Zayda?" cried the page, meeting his gaze with looks scarcely less
expressive of wildness.
"Curse me, or pray for me," said the knight,--"for I slew her!"
The boy recoiled: Don Gabriel fell on his knees, and, with a voice husky
and feeble as a child's, cried,
"I know, now, that thou cursest me, for thou lookest on me with horror!
The innocent will not pray for the guilty! the pure and holy have no
pity for devils. Curse me then, for her kindred vanished from the earth,
and she with them!--curse me, for I left not a drop of her blood flowing
in human veins, and none in her's!--curse me, for I am her murderer, and
I have not forgot it!--curse me, for God has forsaken me, and nightly
her pale face glitters on me with reproach!--curse me, for I am
miserable!"
While Don Gabriel still grovelled on the earth, and while the page stood
yet regarding him with terror, suddenly there came to the ears of both,
the shouts of soldiers, mingled with the roar of firelocks: and, as
three or four cross-bow shafts rattled against the sides of the pyramid,
there were visible in the moonlight as many figures of men running among
the ruins, new leaping over, now darting around the fragments, as if
flying for their lives from a party of armed men, who were seen rushing
after them on the square. The knight rose, bewildered, and, as if in the
instinct of protection, again grasped the hand of the page. But now the
emotions which had agitated the master, seemed transferred to his
follower; and Jacinto, trembling and struggling, cried,--
"Senor mio, let me loose! For the sake of heaven, for the sake of the
Zayda whom you slew, let me go!--for they are murdering my father!"
But Don Gabriel, in the confusion of his mind, still retained his grasp,
and very providentially, as it appeared; for at that very moment, a
voice was heard exclaiming,--
"Hold! shoot not _there_: 'tis the Penitent Knight!--Aim at the fliers.
Follow and shoot!--follow and shoot!"
Immediately the party of pursuers rushed up to the pair, one of whom
paused, while the others, in obedience to his command, continued the
chase, ever and anon sending a bolt after the fugitives.
"On, and spare not, ye knaves!" cried Sandoval, for it was this cavalier
who now stood at the side of the knight of Rhodes. "On, and shoot! on
and shoot! and see that ye bring me the head of the Moor! Oho, my merry
little page!" he cried, regarding Jacinto; "you have been playing Sir
_Quimichin_, Sir Rat and Sir Spy? A cunning little brat, faith; but
we'll catch thy villain father, notwithstanding!"
The page bowed his head and sobbed, but was silent; and Don Gabriel,
rallying his confused spirits a little, said,--
"I know not what you mean, senor. We are no spies, but very miserable
penitents."
"Oh, sir knight, I crave your pardon," said Sandoval, without noticing
the eccentric portion of his confession, "I meant not to intrude upon
your secrecy, but to catch Abdalla, the deserter; of whom, and of whose
rogueries, not doubting that this boy has full knowledge, I must beg
your permission to conduct him to the general."
"Surely," said Calavar mildly, "if Jacinto have offended, I will not
strive to screen him from examination, but only from punishment. I
consent you shall lead him to Cortes; and I will myself accompany you."
"It is enough, noble knight, if thou wilt thyself condescend to conduct
him," said the cavalier; "whereby I shall be left in freedom to follow a
more urgent duty. God save you, sir knight;--I leave the boy in your
charge."--So saying, Sandoval pursued hastily after his companions; and
Calavar leading the page, now no longer unwilling, (for the Almogavar,
with his companions, was long since out of sight,) pursued his
melancholy way to the quarters.