perforated with subterranean passages, cut through the rock, and leading
from the fortress to various parts of the city, and to distant sally-ports
on the banks of the Darro and the Xenil. They had been constructed at
different times by the Moorish kings, as means of escape from sudden
insurrections, or of secretly issuing forth on private enterprises. Many
of them are now entirely lost, while others remain, partly choked with
rubbish, and partly walled up,--monuments of the jealous precautions and
warlike stratagems of the Moorish government. By one of these passages
Hussein Baba had undertaken to conduct the princesses to a sally-port
beyond the walls of the city, where the cavaliers were to be ready with
fleet steeds, to bear the whole party over the borders.
[Illustration]
The appointed night arrived; the tower of the princesses had been locked
up as usual, and the Alhambra was buried in deep sleep. Towards midnight
the discreet Kadiga listened from the balcony of a window that looked
into the garden. Hussein Baba, the _renegado_, was already below, and gave
the appointed signal. The _duenna_ fastened the end of a ladder of ropes
to the balcony, lowered it into the garden and descended. The two eldest
princesses followed her with beating hearts; but when it came to the turn
of the youngest princess, Zorahayda, she hesitated and trembled. Several
times she ventured a delicate little foot upon the ladder, and as often
drew it back, while her poor little heart fluttered more and more the
longer she delayed. She cast a wistful look back into the silken chamber;
she had lived in it, to be sure, like a bird in a cage; but within it
she was secure; who could tell what dangers might beset her, should she
flutter forth into the wide world! Now she bethought her of her gallant
Christian lover, and her little foot was instantly upon the ladder; and
anon she thought of her father, and shrank back. But fruitless is the
attempt to describe the conflict in the bosom of one so young and tender
and loving, but so timid and so ignorant of the world.
In vain her sisters implored, the _duenna_ scolded, and the renegado
blasphemed beneath the balcony: the gentle little Moorish maid stood
doubting and wavering on the verge of elopement; tempted by the sweetness
of the sin, but terrified at its perils.
Every moment increased the danger of discovery. A distant tramp was heard.
"The patrols are walking their rounds," cried the _renegado_; "if we
linger, we perish. Princess, descend instantly, or we leave you."
Zorahayda was for a moment in fearful agitation; then loosening the ladder
of ropes, with desperate resolution she flung it from the balcony.
"It is decided!" cried she; "flight is now out of my power! Allah guide
and bless ye, my dear sisters!"
The two eldest princesses were shocked at the thoughts of leaving her
behind, and would fain have lingered, but the patrol was advancing; the
renegado was furious, and they were hurried away to the subterraneous
passage. They groped their way through a fearful labyrinth, cut through
the heart of the mountain, and succeeded in reaching, undiscovered, an
iron gate that opened outside of the walls. The Spanish cavaliers were
waiting to receive them, disguised as Moorish soldiers of the guard,
commanded by the _renegado_.
The lover of Zorahayda was frantic when he learned that she had refused
to leave the tower; but there was no time to waste in lamentations.
The two princesses were placed behind their lovers, the discreet Kadiga
mounted behind the _renegado_, and they all set off at a round pace in the
direction of the Pass of Lope, which leads through the mountains towards
Cordova.
They had not proceeded far when they heard the noise of drums and trumpets
from the battlements of the Alhambra.
"Our flight is discovered!" said the _renegado_.
"We have fleet steeds, the night is dark, and we may distance all
pursuit," replied the cavaliers.
[Illustration]
They put spurs to their horses, and scoured across the Vega. They attained
the foot of the mountains of Elvira, which stretches like a promontory
into the plain. The _renegado_ paused and listened. "As yet," said he,
"there is no one on our traces, we shall make good our escape to the
mountains." While he spoke, a light blaze sprang up on the top of the
watch-tower of the Alhambra.
"Confusion!" cried the _renegado_, "that bale fire will put all the guards
of the passes on the alert. Away! away! Spur like mad,--there is no time
to be lost."
Away they dashed--the clattering of their horses' hoofs echoed from rock
to rock, as they swept along the road that skirts the rocky mountain of
Elvira. As they galloped on, the bale fire of the Alhambra was answered
in every direction; light after light blazed on the _Atalayas_, or
watch-towers of the mountains.
"Forward! forward!" cried the _renegado_, with many an oath, "to the
bridge,--to the bridge, before the alarm has reached there!"
They doubled the promontory of the mountains, and arrived in sight of
the famous Bridge of Pinos, that crosses a rushing stream often dyed with
Christian and Moslem blood. To their confusion, the tower on the bridge
blazed with lights and glittered with armed men. The _renegado_ pulled
up his steed, rose in his stirrups and looked about him for a moment;
then beckoning to the cavaliers, he struck off from the road, skirted the
river for some distance, and dashed into its waters. The cavaliers called
upon the princesses to cling to them, and did the same. They were borne
for some distance down the rapid current, the surges roared round them,
but the beautiful princesses clung to their Christian knights, and never
uttered a complaint. The cavaliers attained the opposite bank in safety
and were conducted by the _renegado_, by rude and unfrequented paths and
wild _barrancos_, through the heart of the mountains, so as to avoid all
the regular passes. In a word, they succeeded in reaching the ancient
city of Cordova; where their restoration to their country and friends was
celebrated with great rejoicings, for they were of the noblest families.
The beautiful princesses were forthwith received into the bosom of the
Church, and, after being in all due form made regular Christians, were
rendered happy wives.
In our hurry to make good the escape of the princesses across the river,
and up the mountains, we forgot to mention the fate of the discreet
Kadiga. She had clung like a cat to Hussein Baba in the scamper across
the Vega, screaming at every bound, and drawing many an oath from the
whiskered _renegado_; but when he prepared to plunge his steed into the
river, her terror knew no bounds. "Grasp me not so tightly," cried Hussein
Baba; "hold on by my belt and fear nothing." She held firmly with both
hands by the leathern belt that girded the broad-backed _renegado_; but
when he halted with the cavaliers to take breath on the mountain summit,
the _duenna_ was no longer to be seen.
"What has become of Kadiga?" cried the princesses in alarm.
"Allah alone knows!" replied the _renegado_; "my belt came loose when
in the midst of the river, and Kadiga was swept with it down the stream.
The will of Allah be done! but it was an embroidered belt, and of great
price."
There was no time to waste in idle regrets; yet bitterly did the
princesses bewail the loss of their discreet counsellor. That excellent
old woman, however, did not lose more than half of her nine lives in
the water: a fisherman, who was drawing his nets some distance down
the stream, brought her to land, and was not a little astonished at his
miraculous draught. What further became of the discreet Kadiga, the legend
does not mention; certain it is that she evinced her discretion in never
venturing within the reach of Mohamed the Left-handed.
Almost as little is known of the conduct of that sagacious monarch when
he discovered the escape of his daughters, and the deceit practised
upon him by the most faithful of servants. It was the only instance in
which he had called in the aid of counsel, and he was never afterwards
known to be guilty of a similar weakness. He took good care, however,
to guard his remaining daughter, who had no disposition to elope; it
is thought, indeed, that she secretly repented having remained behind:
now and then she was seen leaning on the battlements of the tower, and
looking mournfully towards the mountains in the direction of Cordova, and
sometimes the notes of her lute were heard accompanying plaintive ditties,
in which she was said to lament the loss of her sisters and her lover, and
to bewail her solitary life. She died young, and, according to popular
rumour, was buried in a vault beneath the tower, and her untimely fate
has given rise to more than one traditionary fable.
The following legend, which seems in some measure to spring out of the
foregoing story, is too closely connected with high historic names to be
entirely doubted. The Count's daughter, and some of her young companions,
to whom it was read in one of the evening _tertulias_, thought certain
parts of it had much appearance of reality; and Dolores, who was much more
versed than they in the improbable truths of the Alhambra, believed every
word of it.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
LEGEND OF THE ROSE OF THE ALHAMBRA
For some time after the surrender of Granada by the Moors, that delightful
city was a frequent and favourite residence of the Spanish sovereigns,
until they were frightened away by successive shocks of earthquakes, which
toppled down various houses, and made the old Moslem towers rock to their
foundation.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Many, many years then rolled away, during which Granada was rarely
honoured by a royal guest. The palaces of the nobility remained silent
and shut up; and the Alhambra, like a slighted beauty, sat in mournful
desolation among her neglected gardens. The tower of the _Infantas_, once
the residence of the three beautiful Moorish princesses, partook of the
general desolation; the spider spun her web athwart the gilded vault,
and bats and owls nestled in those chambers that had been graced by the
presence of Zayda, Zorayda, and Zorahayda. The neglect of this tower may
have been partly owing to some superstitious notions of the neighbours. It
was rumoured that the spirit of the youthful Zorahayda, who had perished
in that tower, was often seen by moonlight seated beside the fountain in
the hall, or moaning about the battlements, and that the notes of her
silver lute would be heard at midnight by wayfarers passing along the
glen.
[Illustration]
At length the city of Granada was once more welcomed by the royal
presence. All the world knows that Philip V. was the first Bourbon that
swayed the Spanish sceptre. All the world knows that he married, in
second nuptials, Elizabetta or Isabella (for they are the same), the
beautiful princess of Parma; and all the world knows that by this chain
of contingencies a French prince and an Italian princess were seated
together on the Spanish throne. For a visit of this illustrious pair,
the Alhambra was repaired and fitted up with all possible expedition.
The arrival of the court changed the whole aspect of the lately deserted
palace. The clangor of drum and trumpet, the tramp of steed about the
avenues and outer court, the glitter of arms and display of banners about
barbican and battlement, recalled the ancient and warlike glories of the
fortress. A softer spirit, however, reigned within the royal palace. There
was the rustling of robes and the cautious tread and murmuring voice of
reverential courtiers about the ante-chambers; a loitering of pages and
maids of honour about the gardens, and the sound of music stealing from
open casements.
Among those who attended in the train of the monarchs was a favourite page
of the queen, named _Ruyz de Alarcon_. To say that he was a favourite
page of the queen was at once to speak his eulogium, for every one in
the suite of the stately Elizabetta was chosen for grace, and beauty,
and accomplishments. He was just turned of eighteen, light and lithe of
form, and graceful as a young Antinous. To the queen he was all deference
and respect, yet he was at heart a roguish stripling, petted and spoiled
by the ladies about the court, and experienced in the ways of women far
beyond his years.
This loitering page was one morning rambling about the groves of the
Generalife, which overlook the grounds of the Alhambra. He had taken with
him for his amusement a favourite ger-falcon of the queen. In the course
of his rambles, seeing a bird rising from a thicket, he unhooded the
hawk and let him fly. The falcon towered high in the air, made a swoop at
his quarry, but missing it, soared away, regardless of the calls of the
page. The latter followed the truant bird with his eye, in its capricious
flight, until he saw it alight upon the battlements of a remote and lonely
tower, in the outer wall of the Alhambra, built on the edge of a ravine
that separated the royal fortress from the grounds of the Generalife. It
was in fact the "Tower of the Princesses."
[Illustration]
The page descended into the ravine and approached the tower, but it had
no entrance from the glen, and its lofty height rendered any attempt to
scale it fruitless. Seeking one of the gates of the fortress, therefore,
he made a wide circuit to that side of the tower facing within the walls.
A small garden, enclosed by a trellis-work of reeds overhung with myrtle,
lay before the tower. Opening a wicket, the page passed between beds of
flowers and thickets of roses to the door. It was closed and bolted.
A crevice in the door gave him a peep into the interior. There was a
small Moorish hall with fretted walls, light marble columns, and an
alabaster fountain surrounded with flowers. In the centre hung a gilt cage
containing a singing-bird; beneath it, on a chair, lay a tortoise-shell
cat among reels of silk and other articles of female labour, and a guitar
decorated with ribbons leaned against the fountain.
_Ruyz de Alarcon_ was struck with these traces of female taste and
elegance in a lonely, and, as he had supposed, deserted tower. They
reminded him of the tales of enchanted halls current in the Alhambra; and
the tortoise-shell cat might be some spell-bound princess.
He knocked gently at the door. A beautiful face peeped out from a little
window above, but was instantly withdrawn. He waited, expecting that the
door would be opened, but he waited in vain; no footstep was to be heard
within--all was silent. Had his senses deceived him, or was this beautiful
apparition the fairy of the tower? He knocked again, and more loudly.
After a little while the beaming face once more peeped forth; it was that
of a blooming damsel of fifteen.
The page immediately doffed his plumed bonnet, and entreated in the most
courteous accents to be permitted to ascend the tower in pursuit of his
falcon.
"I dare not open the door, _Señor_," replied the little damsel, blushing,
"my aunt has forbidden it."
"I do beseech you, fair maid--it is the favourite falcon of the queen: I
dare not return to the palace without it."
"Are you then one of the cavaliers of the court?"
"I am, fair maid; but I shall lose the queen's favour and my place, if I
lose this hawk."
"_Santa Maria!_ It is against you cavaliers of the court my aunt has
charged me especially to bar the door."
"Against wicked cavaliers doubtless, but I am none of these, but a simple,
harmless page, who will be ruined and undone if you deny me this small
request."
The heart of the little damsel was touched by the distress of the page.
It was a thousand pities he should be ruined for the want of so trifling
a boon. Surely too he could not be one of those dangerous beings whom
her aunt had described as a species of cannibal, ever on the prowl to
make prey of thoughtless damsels; he was gentle and modest, and stood so
entreatingly with cap in hand, and looked so charming.
The sly page saw that the garrison began to waver, and redoubled his
entreaties in such moving terms that it was not in the nature of mortal
maiden to deny him; so the blushing little warden of the tower descended,
and opened the door with a trembling hand, and if the page had been
charmed by a mere glimpse of her countenance from the window, he was
ravished by the full-length portrait now revealed to him.
Her Andalusian bodice and trim _basquiña_ set off the round but delicate
symmetry of her form, which was as yet scarce verging into womanhood. Her
glossy hair was parted on her forehead with scrupulous exactness, and
decorated with a fresh-plucked rose, according to the universal custom
of the country. It is true her complexion was tinged by the ardour of a
southern sun, but it served to give richness to the mantling bloom of her
cheek, and to heighten the lustre of her melting eyes.
_Ruyz de Alarcon_ beheld all this with a single glance, for it became him
not to tarry; he merely murmured his acknowledgments, and then bounded
lightly up the spiral staircase in quest of his falcon.
He soon returned with the truant bird upon his fist. The damsel, in the
meantime, had seated herself by the fountain in the hall, and was winding
silk; but in her agitation she let fall the reel upon the pavement. The
page sprang and picked it up, then dropping gracefully on one knee,
presented it to her; but, seizing the hand extended to receive it,
imprinted on it a kiss more fervent and devout than he had ever imprinted
on the fair hand of his sovereign.
"_Ave Maria Señor!_" exclaimed the damsel, blushing still deeper
with confusion and surprise, for never before had she received such a
salutation.
The modest page made a thousand apologies, assuring her it was the way at
court of expressing the most profound homage and respect.
Her anger, if anger she felt, was easily pacified, but her agitation and
embarrassment continued, and she sat blushing deeper and deeper, with her
eyes cast down upon her work, entangling the silk which she attempted to
wind.
The cunning page saw the confusion in the opposite camp, and would fain
have profited by it, but the fine speeches he would have uttered died
upon his lips; his attempts at gallantry were awkward and ineffectual;
and to his surprise, the adroit page, who had figured with such grace and
effrontery among the most knowing and experienced ladies of the court,
found himself awed and abashed in the presence of a simple damsel of
fifteen.
In fact, the artless maiden, in her own modesty and innocence, had
guardians more effectual than the bolts and bars prescribed by her
vigilant aunt. Still, where is the female bosom proof against the
first whisperings of love? The little damsel, with all her artlessness,
instinctively comprehended all that the faltering tongue of the page
failed to express, and her heart was fluttered at beholding, for the first
time, a lover at her feet--and such a lover!
The diffidence of the page, though genuine, was short-lived, and he was
recovering his usual ease and confidence, when a shrill voice was heard
at a distance.
"My aunt is returning from mass!" cried the damsel in affright: "I pray
you, _Señor_, depart."
"Not until you grant me that rose from your hair as a remembrance."
She hastily untwisted the rose from her raven locks. "Take it," cried she,
agitated and blushing, "but pray begone."
The page took the rose, and at the same time covered with kisses the fair
hand that gave it. Then, placing the flower in his bonnet, and taking the
falcon upon his fist he bounded off through the garden, bearing away with
him the heart of the gentle Jacinta.
When the vigilant aunt arrived at the tower, she remarked the agitation of
her niece, and an air of confusion in the hall; but a word of explanation
sufficed. "A ger-falcon had pursued his prey into the hall."
"Mercy on us! to think of a falcon flying into the tower. Did ever one
hear of so saucy a hawk? Why, the very bird in the cage is not safe!"
The vigilant Fredegonda was one of the most wary of ancient spinsters. She
had a becoming terror and distrust of what she denominated "the opposite
sex," which had gradually increased through a long life of celibacy. Not
that the good lady had ever suffered from their wiles, nature having set
up a safeguard in her face that forbade all trespass upon her premises;
but ladies who have least cause to fear for themselves are most ready to
keep a watch over their more tempting neighbours.
The niece was the orphan of an officer who had fallen in the wars. She
had been educated in a convent, and had recently been transferred from
her sacred asylum to the immediate guardianship of her aunt, under
whose overshadowing care she vegetated in obscurity, like an opening
rose blooming beneath a brier. Nor indeed is this comparison entirely
accidental; for, to tell the truth, her fresh and dawning beauty had
caught the public eye, even in her seclusion, and, with that poetical turn
common to the people of Andalusia, the peasantry of the neighbourhood had
given her the appellation of "the Rose of the Alhambra."
The wary aunt continued to keep a faithful watch over her tempting little
niece as long as the court continued at Granada, and flattered herself
that her vigilance had been successful. It is true the good lady was
now and then discomposed by the tinkling of guitars and chanting of
love-ditties from the moonlit groves beneath the tower; but she would
exhort her niece to shut her ears against such idle minstrelsy, assuring
her that it was one of the arts of the opposite sex, by which simple maids
were often lured to their undoing. Alas! what chance with a simple maid
has a dry lecture against a moonlight serenade?
At length king Philip cut short his sojourn at Granada, and suddenly
departed with all his train. The vigilant Fredegonda watched the royal
pageant as it issued forth from the Gate of Justice, and descended the
great avenue leading to the city. When the last banner disappeared from
her sight, she returned exulting to her tower, for all her cares were
over. To her surprise, a light Arabian steed pawed the ground at the
wicket-gate of the garden;--to her horror she saw through the thickets
of roses a youth in gaily embroidered dress, at the feet of her niece. At
the sounds of her footsteps he gave a tender adieu, bounded lightly over
the barrier of reeds and myrtles, sprang upon his horse, and was out of
sight in an instant.
The tender Jacinta, in the agony of her grief, lost all thought of her
aunt's displeasure. Throwing herself into her arms, she broke forth into
sobs and tears.
"_Ay de mi!_" cried she; "he's gone!--he's gone!--he's gone! and I shall
never see him more!"
"Gone!--who is gone?--what youth is that I saw at your feet?"
"A queen's page, aunt, who came to bid me farewell."
"A queen's page, child!" echoed the vigilant Fredegonda, faintly, "and
when did you become acquainted with the queen's page?"
"The morning that the ger-falcon came into the tower. It was the queen's
ger-falcon, and he came in pursuit of it."
"Ah silly, silly girl! know that there are no ger-falcons half so
dangerous as these young prankling pages, and it is precisely such simple
birds as thee that they pounce upon."
The aunt was at first indignant at learning that in despite of her boasted
vigilance, a tender intercourse had been carried on by the youthful
lovers, almost beneath her eye; but when she found that her simple-hearted
niece, though thus exposed, without the protection of bolt or bar, to all
the machinations of the opposite sex, had come forth unsinged from the
fiery ordeal, she consoled herself with the persuasion that it was owing
to the chaste and cautious maxims in which she had, as it were, steeped
her to the very lips.
While the aunt laid this soothing unction to her pride, the niece
treasured up the oft-repeated vows of fidelity of the page. But what is
the love of restless, roving man? A vagrant stream that dallies for a time
with each flower upon its bank, then passes on, and leaves them all in
tears.