water spilled on the sand, was not again to be gathered. Their only chance
was, that the friar would be discreet.
The next day, while Lope Sanchez was abroad, there was an humble knocking
at the door, and Fray Simon entered with meek and demure countenance.
"Daughter," said he, "I have earnestly prayed to San Francisco, and he
has heard my prayer. In the dead of the night the saint appeared to me in
a dream, but with a frowning aspect. 'Why,' said he, 'dost thou pray to
me to dispense with this treasure of the Gentiles, when thou seest the
poverty of my chapel? Go to the house of Lope Sanchez, crave in my name
a portion of the Moorish gold, to furnish two candlesticks for the main
altar, and let him possess the residue in peace.'"
When the good woman heard of this vision, she crossed herself with awe,
and going to the secret place where Lope had hid the treasure, she filled
a great leathern purse with pieces of Moorish gold, and gave it to the
friar. The pious monk bestowed upon her, in return, benedictions enough,
if paid by Heaven, to enrich her race to the latest posterity; then
slipping the purse into the sleeve of his habit, he folded his hands upon
his breast, and departed with an air of humble thankfulness.
When Lope Sanchez heard of this second donation to the church, he had
well-nigh lost his senses. "Unfortunate man," cried he, "what will become
of me? I shall be robbed by piecemeal; I shall be ruined and brought to
beggary!"
It was with the utmost difficulty that his wife could pacify him,
by reminding him of the countless wealth that yet remained, and how
considerate it was for San Francisco to rest contented with so small a
portion.
Unluckily, Fray Simon had a number of poor relations to be provided
for, not to mention some half-dozen sturdy bullet-headed orphan children
and destitute foundlings that he had taken under his care. He repeated
his visits, therefore, from day to day, with solicitations on behalf of
Saint Dominick, Saint Andrew, Saint James, until poor Lope was driven to
despair, and found that unless he got out of the reach of this holy friar,
he should have to make peace-offerings to every saint in the calendar.
He determined, therefore, to pack up his remaining wealth, beat a secret
retreat in the night, and make off to another part of the kingdom.
Full of his project, he bought a stout mule for the purpose, and tethered
it in a gloomy vault underneath the tower of the seven floors; the very
place whence the _Belludo_, or goblin horse, is said to issue forth
at midnight, and scour the streets of Granada, pursued by a pack of
hell-hounds. Lope Sanchez had little faith in the story, but availed
himself of the dread occasioned by it, knowing that no one would be likely
to pry into the subterranean stable of the phantom steed. He sent off his
family in the course of the day, with orders to wait for him at a distant
village of the Vega. As the night advanced, he conveyed his treasure to
the vault under the tower, and having loaded his mule, he led it forth,
and cautiously descended the dusky avenue.
Honest Lope had taken his measures with the utmost secrecy, imparting
them to no one but the faithful wife of his bosom. By some miraculous
revelation, however, they became known to Fray Simon. The zealous friar
beheld these infidel treasures on the point of slipping forever out of
his grasp, and determined to have one more dash at them for the benefit
of the church and San Francisco. Accordingly, when the bells had rung
for animas, and all the Alhambra was quiet, he stole out of his convent,
and descending through the Gate of Justice, concealed himself among
the thickets of roses and laurels that border the great avenue. Here he
remained, counting the quarters of hours as they were sounded on the bell
of the watch-tower, and listening to the dreary hootings of owls, and the
distant barking of dogs from the gypsy caverns.
At length he heard the tramp of hoofs, and, through the gloom of the
overshading trees, imperfectly beheld a steed descending the avenue. The
sturdy friar chuckled at the idea of the knowing turn he was about to
serve honest Lope.
Tucking up the skirts of his habit, and wriggling like a cat watching
a mouse, he waited until his prey was directly before him, when darting
forth from his leafy covert, and putting one hand on the shoulder and the
other on the crupper, he made a vault that would not have disgraced the
most experienced master of equitation, and alighted well-forked astride
the steed. "Ah ha!" said the sturdy friar, "we shall now see who best
understands the game." He had scarce uttered the words when the mule
began to kick, and rear, and plunge, and then set off full speed down
the hill. The friar attempted to check him, but in vain. He bounded from
rock to rock, and bush to bush; the friar's habit was torn to ribbons and
fluttered in the wind, his shaven poll received many a hard knock from
the branches of the trees, and many a scratch from the brambles. To add
to his terror and distress, he found a pack of seven hounds in full cry
at his heels, and perceived, too late, that he was actually mounted upon
the terrible Belludo!
Away then they went, according to the ancient phrase, "pull devil, pull
friar," down the great avenue, across the Plaza Nueva, along the Zacatin,
around the Vivarrambla--never did huntsman and hound make a more furious
run, or more infernal uproar. In vain did the friar invoke every saint
in the calendar, and the holy Virgin into the bargain; every time he
mentioned a name of the kind it was like a fresh application of the spur,
and made the Belludo bound as high as a house. Through the remainder
of the night was the unlucky Fray Simon carried hither and thither, and
whither he would not, until every bone in his body ached, and he suffered
a loss of leather too grievous to be mentioned. At length the crowing of
a cock gave the signal of returning day. At the sound the goblin steed
wheeled about, and galloped back for his tower. Again he scoured the
Vivarrambla, the Zacatin, the Plaza Nueva, and the avenue of fountains,
the seven dogs yelling, and barking, and leaping up, and snapping at the
heels of the terrified friar. The first streak of day had just appeared
as they reached the tower; here the goblin steed kicked up his heels,
sent the friar a summerset through the air, plunged into the dark vault
followed by the infernal pack, and a profound silence succeeded to the
late deafening clamour.
Was ever so diabolical a trick played off upon a holy friar? A peasant
going to his labours at early dawn found the unfortunate Fray Simon lying
under a fig-tree at the foot of the tower, but so bruised and bedevilled
that he could neither speak nor move. He was conveyed with all care and
tenderness to his cell, and the story went that he had been waylaid and
maltreated by robbers. A day or two elapsed before he recovered the use of
his limbs; he consoled himself, in the meantime, with the thoughts that
though the mule with the treasure had escaped him, he had previously had
some rare pickings at the infidel spoils. His first care on being able to
use his limbs, was to search beneath his pallet, where he had secreted the
myrtle wreath and the leathern pouches of gold extracted from the piety of
dame Sanchez. What was his dismay at finding the wreath, in effect, but a
withered branch of myrtle, and the leathern pouches filled with sand and
gravel!
Fray Simon, with all his chagrin, had the discretion to hold his tongue,
for to betray the secret might draw on him the ridicule of the public and
the punishment of his superior. It was not until many years afterwards,
on his death-bed, that he revealed to his confessor his nocturnal ride on
the Belludo.
Nothing was heard of Lope Sanchez for a long time after his disappearance
from the Alhambra. His memory was always cherished as that of a merry
companion, though it was feared, from the care and melancholy observed
in his conduct shortly before his mysterious departure, that poverty and
distress had driven him to some extremity. Some years afterwards one of
his old companions, an invalid soldier, being at Malaga, was knocked
down and nearly run over by a coach and six. The carriage stopped; an
old gentleman, magnificently dressed, with a bag-wig and sword, stepped
out to assist the poor invalid. What was the astonishment of the latter
to behold in this grand cavalier his old friend Lope Sanchez, who was
actually celebrating the marriage of his daughter Sanchica with one of
the first grandees in the land.
The carriage contained the bridal party. There was Dame Sanchez, now
grown as round as a barrel, and dressed out with feathers and jewels, and
necklaces of pearls, and necklaces of diamonds, and rings on every finger,
altogether a finery of apparel that had not been seen since the days of
Queen Sheba. The little Sanchica had now grown to be a woman, and for
grace and beauty might have been mistaken for a duchess, if not a princess
outright. The bridegroom sat beside her--rather a withered spindle-shanked
little man, but this only proved him to be of the true-blue blood; a
legitimate Spanish grandee being rarely above three cubits in stature.
The match had been of the mother's making.
Riches had not spoiled the heart of honest Lope. He kept his old comrade
with him for several days; feasted him like a king, took him to plays
and bull-fights, and at length sent him away rejoicing, with a big bag
of money for himself, and another to be distributed among his ancient
messmates of the Alhambra.
Lope always gave out that a rich brother had died in America and left
him heir to a copper mine; but the shrewd gossips of the Alhambra insist
that his wealth was all derived from his having discovered the secret
guarded by the two marble nymphs of the Alhambra. It is remarked that
these very discreet statues continue, even unto the present day, with
their eyes fixed most significantly on the same part of the wall; which
leads many to suppose there is still some hidden treasure remaining there
well worthy the attention of the enterprising traveller. Though others,
and particularly all female visitors, regard them with great complacency
as lasting monuments of the fact that women can keep a secret.
[Illustration: _Gate of Elvira._]
[Illustration]
THE CRUSADE OF THE GRAND MASTER OF ALCÁNTARA
In the course of a morning's research among the old chronicles in the
Library of the University, I came upon a little episode in the history
of Granada, so strongly characteristic of the bigot zeal which sometimes
inflamed the Christian enterprises against this splendid but devoted city,
that I was tempted to draw it forth from the parchment-bound volume in
which it lay entombed, and submit it to the reader.
In the year of redemption, 1394, there was a valiant and devout grand
master of Alcántara, named Martin Yañez de Barbudo, who was inflamed
with a vehement desire to serve God, and fight the Moors. Unfortunately
for this brave and pious cavalier, a profound peace existed between the
Christian and Moslem powers. Henry III. had just ascended the throne of
Castile, and Yusef ben Mohammed had succeeded to the throne of Granada,
and both were disposed to continue the peace which had prevailed between
their fathers. The grand master looked with repining at Moorish banners
and weapons, which decorated his castle-hall, trophies of the exploits
of his predecessors; and repined at his fate to exist in a period of such
inglorious tranquillity.
[Illustration]
At length his impatience broke through all bounds, and seeing that he
could find no public war in which to engage, he resolved to carve out a
little war for himself. Such at least is the account given by some ancient
chronicles, though others give the following as the motive for this sudden
resolution to go campaigning.
[Illustration]
As the grand master was one day seated at table with several of his
cavaliers, a man suddenly entered the hall,--tall, meagre, and bony, with
haggard countenance and fiery eye. All recognized him for a hermit, who
had been a soldier in his youth, but now led a life of penitence in a
cave. He advanced to the table and struck upon it with a fist that seemed
of iron. "Cavaliers," said he, "why sit ye here idly, with your weapons
resting against the wall, while the enemies of the faith lord it over the
fairest portion of the land?"
"Holy father, what wouldst thou have us do," asked the grand master,
"seeing the wars are over and our swords bound up by treaties of peace?"
"Listen to my words," replied the hermit. "As I was seated late at night
at the entrance of my cave, contemplating the heavens, I fell into a
reverie, and a wonderful vision was presented to me. I beheld the moon, a
mere crescent, yet luminous as the brightest silver, and it hung in the
heavens over the kingdom of Granada. While I was looking at it, behold
there shot forth from the firmament a blazing star, which, as it went,
drew after it all the stars of heaven; and they assailed the moon and
drove it from the skies; and the whole firmament was filled with the glory
of the blazing star. While mine eyes were yet dazzled by this wondrous
sight, some one stood by me with snowy wings and a shining countenance.
'Oh man of prayer,' said he, 'get thee to the grand master of Alcántara
and tell him of the vision thou hast beheld. He is the blazing star,
destined to drive the crescent, the Moslem emblem, from the land. Let him
boldly draw the sword and continue the good work begun by Pelazo of old,
and victory will assuredly attend his banner.'"
The grand master listened to the hermit as to a messenger from heaven,
and followed his counsel in all things. By his advice he despatched
two of his stoutest warriors, armed _cap-à-pie_, on an embassy to the
Moorish king. They entered the gates of Granada without molestation,
as the nations were at peace; and made their way to the Alhambra, where
they were promptly admitted to the king, who received them in the Hall of
Ambassadors. They delivered their message roundly and hardly. "We come,
O King, from Don Martin Yañez de Barbudo, grand master of Alcántara; who
affirms the faith of Jesus Christ to be true and holy, and that of Mahomet
false and detestable, and he challenges thee to maintain the contrary,
hand to hand, in single combat. Shouldst thou refuse, he offers to combat
with one hundred cavaliers against two hundred; or, in like proportion,
to the number of one thousand, always allowing thy faith a double number
of champions. Remember, O King, that thou canst not refuse this challenge;
since thy prophet, knowing the impossibility of maintaining his doctrines
by argument, has commanded his followers to enforce them with the sword."
[Illustration]
The beard of king Yusef trembled with indignation. "The master of
Alcántara," said he, "is a madman to send such a message, and ye are saucy
knaves to bring it."
So saying, he ordered the ambassadors to be thrown into a dungeon, by way
of giving them a lesson in diplomacy; and they were roughly treated on
their way thither by the populace, who were exasperated at this insult to
their sovereign and their faith.
The grand master of Alcántara could scarcely credit the tidings of the
maltreatment of his messengers; but the hermit rejoiced when they were
repeated to him. "God," said he, "has blinded this infidel king for
his downfall. Since he has sent no reply to thy defiance, consider it
accepted. Marshal thy forces, therefore; march forward to Granada; pause
not until thou seest the gate of Elvira. A miracle will be wrought in thy
favour. There will be a great battle; the enemy will be overthrown; but
not one of thy soldiers will be slain."
The grand master called upon every warrior zealous in the Christian cause
to aid him in this crusade. In a little while three hundred horsemen and
a thousand foot-soldiers rallied under his standard. The horsemen were
veterans, seasoned to battle and well armed; but the infantry were raw
and undisciplined. The victory, however, was to be miraculous; the grand
master was a man of surpassing faith, and knew that the weaker the means
the greater the miracle. He sallied forth confidently, therefore, with
his little army, and the hermit strode ahead, bearing a cross on the end
of a long pole, and beneath it the pennon of the order of Alcántara.
As they approached the city of Cordova they were overtaken by messengers,
spurring in all haste, bearing missives from the Castilian monarch,
forbidding the enterprise. The grand master was a man of a single mind
and a single will; in other words, a man of one idea. "Were I on any other
errand," said he, "I should obey these letters as coming from my lord the
king; but I am sent by a higher power than the king. In compliance with
its commands I have advanced the cross thus far against the infidels;
and it would be treason to the standard of Christ to turn back without
achieving my errand."
[Illustration]
So the trumpets were sounded; the cross was again reared aloft, and the
band of zealots resumed their march. As they passed through the streets of
Cordova the people were amazed at beholding a hermit bearing a cross at
the head of a warlike multitude; but when they learnt that a miraculous
victory was to be effected and Granada destroyed, labourers and artisans
threw by the implements of their handicrafts and joined in the crusade;
while a mercenary rabble followed on with a view of plunder.
A number of cavaliers of rank who lacked faith in the promised miracle,
and dreaded the consequences of this unprovoked irruption into the
country of the Moor, assembled at the bridge of the Guadalquivir and
endeavoured to dissuade the grand master from crossing. He was deaf to
prayers, expostulations, or menaces; his followers were enraged at this
opposition to the cause of the faith; they put an end to the parley by
their clamours; the cross was again reared and borne triumphantly across
the bridge.
[Illustration]
The multitude increased as it proceeded; by the time the grand master had
reached Alcala la Real, which stands on a mountain overlooking the Vega
of Granada, upwards of five thousand men on foot had joined his standard.
At Alcala came forth Alonzo Fernandez de Cordova, Lord of Aguilar, his
brother Diego Fernandez, Marshal of Castile, and other cavaliers of valour
and experience. Placing themselves in the way of the grand master, "What
madness is this, Don Martin?" said they; "the Moorish king has two hundred
thousand foot soldiers and five thousand horse within his walls; what can
you and your handful of cavaliers and your noisy rabble do against such
force? Bethink you of the disasters which have befallen other Christian
commanders who have crossed these rocky borders with ten times your force.
Think, too, of the mischief that will be brought upon this kingdom by
an outrage of the kind committed by a man of your rank and importance, a
grand master of Alcántara. Pause, we entreat you, while the truce is yet
unbroken. Await within the borders the reply of the king of Granada to
your challenge. If he agree to meet you singly, or with champions two or
three, it will be your individual contest, and fight it out in God's name;
if he refuse, you may return home with great honour and the disgrace will
fall upon the Moors."
Several cavaliers, who had hitherto followed the grand master with devoted
zeal, were moved by these expostulations, and suggested to him the policy
of listening to this advice.
"Cavaliers," said he, addressing himself to Alonzo Fernandez de Cordova
and his companions, "I thank you for the counsel you have so kindly
bestowed upon me, and if I were merely in pursuit of individual glory
I might be swayed by it. But I am engaged to achieve a great triumph of
the faith, which God is to effect by miracle through my means. As to you,
cavaliers," turning to those of his followers who had wavered, "if your
hearts fail you, or you repent of having put your hands to this good work,
return, in God's name, and my blessing go with you. For myself, though
I have none to stand by me but this holy hermit, yet will I assuredly
proceed; until I have planted this sacred standard on the walls of
Granada, or perished in the attempt."
"Don Martin Yañez de Barbudo," replied the cavaliers, "we are not men to
turn our backs upon our commander, however rash his enterprise. We spoke
but in caution. Lead on, therefore, and if it be to the death, be assured
to the death we will follow thee."
By this time the common soldiers became impatient. "Forward! forward!"
shouted they. "Forward in the cause of faith." So the grand master gave
signal, the hermit again reared the cross aloft, and they poured down a
defile of the mountain, with solemn chants of triumph.
That night they encamped at the river of Azores, and the next morning,
which was Sunday, crossed the borders. Their first pause was at an
_atalaya_ or solitary tower; built upon a rock; a frontier post to keep a
watch upon the border, and give notice of invasion. It was thence called
_el Torre del Exea_ (the tower of the spy). The grand master halted before
it and summoned its petty garrison to surrender. He was answered by a
shower of stones and arrows, which wounded him in the hand and killed
three of his men.
"How is this, father?" said he to the hermit; "you assured me that not
one of my followers would be slain!"
"True, my son, but I meant in the great battle of the infidel king; what
need is there of miracle to aid in the capture of a petty tower?"
The grand master was satisfied. He ordered wood to be piled against
the door of the tower to burn it down. In the meantime provisions were
unloaded from the sumpter-mules, and the crusaders, withdrawing beyond
bow-shot, sat down on the grass to a repast to strengthen them for the
arduous day's work before them. While thus engaged, they were startled by
the sudden appearance of a great Moorish host. The _atalayas_ had given
the alarm by fire and smoke from the mountain-tops of "an enemy across the
border," and the king of Granada had sallied forth with a great force to
the encounter.
The crusaders, nearly taken by surprise, flew to arms and prepared for
battle. The grand master ordered his three hundred horsemen to dismount
and fight on foot in support of the infantry. The Moors however, charged
so suddenly that they separated the cavaliers from the foot-soldiers
and prevented their uniting. The grand master gave the old war-cry,
"_Santiago!_ _Santiago!_ and close Spain!" He and his knights breasted the
fury of the battle, but were surrounded by a countless host and assailed
with arrows, stones, darts, and arquebuses. Still they fought fearlessly,
and made prodigious slaughter. The hermit mingled in the hottest of the
fight. In one hand he bore the cross, in the other he brandished a sword,
with which he dealt about him like a maniac, slaying several of the enemy,
until he sank to the ground covered with wounds. The grand master saw him
fall, and saw too late the fallacy of his prophecies. Despair, however,
only made him fight the more fiercely, until he also fell overpowered by
numbers. His devoted cavaliers emulated his holy zeal. Not one turned
his back nor asked for mercy; all fought until they fell. As to the
foot-soldiers, many were killed, many were taken prisoners; the residue
escaped to Alcala la Real. When the Moors came to strip the slain, the
wounds of the cavaliers were all found to be in front.
Such was the catastrophe of this fanatic enterprise. The Moors vaunted it
as a decisive proof of the superior sanctity of their faith, and extolled
their king to the skies when he returned in triumph to Granada.