dangerous libertines in all Granada. Artful, accomplished, and, if he
chose to be so, insinuating; but daring and headlong in the pursuit of
his pleasures; violent and implacable in his resentments. He rejoiced
to find that Inez had been proof against his seductions, and had been
inspired with aversion by his splendid profligacy; but he trembled to
think of the dangers she had run, and he felt solicitude about the
dangers that must yet environ her.
At present, however, it was probable the enemy had a temporary
quietus. The traces of blood had been found for some distance from the
ladder, until they were lost among thickets; and as nothing had been
heard or seen of him since, it was concluded that he had been
seriously wounded.
As the student recovered from his wounds, he was enabled to join Inez
and her father in their domestic intercourse. The chamber in which
they usually met had probably been a saloon of state in former times.
The floor was of marble; the walls partially covered with remains of
tapestry; the chairs, richly carved and gilt, were crazed with age,
and covered with tarnished and tattered brocade. Against the wall hung
a long rusty rapier, the only relic that the old man retained of the
chivalry of his ancestors. There might have been something to provoke
a smile, in the contrast between the mansion and its inhabitants;
between present poverty and the graces of departed grandeur; but the
fancy of the student had thrown so much romance about the edifice and
its inmates, that every thing was clothed with charms. The
philosopher, with his broken-down pride, and his strange pursuits,
seemed to comport with the melancholy ruin he inhabited; and there was
a native elegance of spirit about the daughter, that showed she would
have graced the mansion in its happier days.
What delicious moments were these to the student! Inez was no longer
coy and reserved. She was naturally artless and confiding; though the
kind of persecution she had experienced from one admirer had rendered
her, for a time, suspicious and circumspect toward the other. She now
felt an entire confidence in the sincerity and worth of Antonio,
mingled with an overflowing gratitude. When her eyes met his, they
beamed with sympathy and kindness; and Antonio, no longer haunted by
the idea of a favoured rival, once more aspired to success.
At these domestic meetings, however, he had little opportunity of
paying his court, except by looks. The alchymist, supposing him, like
himself, absorbed in the study of alchymy, endeavoured to cheer the
tediousness of his recovery by long conversations on the art. He even
brought several of his half-burnt volumes, which the student had once
rescued from the flames, and rewarded him for their preservation, by
reading copious passages. He would entertain him with the great and
good acts of Flamel, which he effected through means of the
philosopher's stone, relieving widows and orphans, founding hospitals,
building churches, and what not; or with the interrogatories of King
Kalid, and the answers of Morienus, the Roman hermit of Jerusalem; or
the profound questions which Elardus, a necromancer of the province of
Catalonia, put to the devil, touching the secrets of alchymy, and the
devil's replies.
All these were couched, in occult language, almost unintelligible to
the unpractised ear of the disciple. Indeed, the old man delighted in
the mystic phrases and symbolical jargon in which the writers that
have treated of alchymy have wrapped their communications; rendering
them incomprehensible except to the initiated. With what rapture would
he elevate his voice at a triumphant passage, announcing the grand
discovery! "Thou shalt see," would he exclaim, in the words of Henry
Kuhnrade,[8] "the stone of the philosophers (our king) go forth of the
bed-chamber of his glassy sepulchre into the theatre of this world;
that is to say, regenerated and made perfect, a shining carbuncle, a
most temperate splendour, whose most subtle and depurated parts are
inseparable, united into one with a concordial mixture, exceeding
equal, transparent as chrystal, shining red like a ruby, permanently
colouring or ringing, fixt in all temptations or tryals; yea, in the
examination of the burning sulphur itself, and the devouring waters,
and in the most vehement persecution of the fire, always incombustible
and permanent as a salamander!"
[Footnote 8: Amphitheatre of the Eternal Wisdom.]
The student had a high veneration for the fathers of alchymy, and a
profound respect for his instructor; but what was Henry Kuhnrade,
Geber, Lully, or even Albertus Magnus himself, compared to the
countenance of Inez, which presented such a page of beauty to his
perusal? While, therefore, the good alchymist was doling out knowledge
by the hour, his disciple would forget books, alchymy, every thing but
the lovely object before him. Inez, too, unpractised in the science of
the heart, was gradually becoming fascinated by the silent attentions
of her lover. Day by day, she seemed more and more perplexed by the
kindling and strangely pleasing emotions of her bosom. Her eye was
often cast down in thought. Blushes stole to her cheek without any
apparent cause, and light, half-suppressed sighs would follow these
short fits of musing. Her little ballads, though the same that she had
always sung, yet breathed a more tender spirit. Either the tones of
her voice were more soft and touching, or some passages were delivered
with a feeling she had never before given them. Antonio, beside his
love for the abstruse sciences, had a pretty turn for music; and never
did philosopher touch the guitar more tastefully. As, by degrees, he
conquered the mutual embarrassment that kept them asunder, he ventured
to accompany Inez in some of her songs. He had a voice full of fire
and tenderness: as he sang, one would have thought, from the kindling
blushes of his companion, that he had been pleading his own passion in
her ear. Let those who would keep two youthful hearts asunder, beware
of music. Oh! this leaning over chairs, and conning the same
music-book, and entwining of voices, and melting away in
harmonies!--the German waltz is nothing to it.
The worthy alchymist saw nothing of all this. His mind could admit of
no idea that was not connected with the discovery of the grand
arcanum, and he supposed his youthful coadjutor equally devoted. He
was a mere child as to human nature; and, as to the passion of love,
whatever he might once have felt of it, he had long since forgotten
that there was such an idle passion in existence. But, while he
dreamed, the silent amour went on. The very quiet and seclusion of the
place were favourable to the growth of romantic passion. The opening
bud of love was able to put forth leaf by leaf, without an adverse
wind to check its growth. There was neither officious friendship to
chill by its advice, nor insidious envy to wither by its sneers, nor
an observing world to look on and stare it out of countenance. There
was neither declaration, nor vow, nor any other form of Cupid's
canting school. Their hearts mingled together, and understood each
other without the aid of language. They lapsed into the full current
of affection, unconscious of its depth, and thoughtless of the rocks
that might lurk beneath its surface. Happy lovers! who wanted nothing
to make their felicity complete, but the discovery of the
philosopher's stone!
At length, Antonio's health was sufficiently restored to enable him to
return to his lodgings in Granada. He felt uneasy, however, at leaving
the tower, while lurking danger might surround its almost defenceless
inmates. He dreaded lest Don Ambrosio, recovered from his wounds,
might plot some new attempt, by secret art, or open violence. From all
that he had heard, he knew him to be too implacable to suffer his
defeat to pass unavenged, and too rash and fearless, when his arts
were unavailing, to stop at any daring deed in the accomplishment of
his purposes. He urged his apprehensions to the alchymist and his
daughter, and proposed that they should abandon the dangerous vicinity
of Granada.
"I have relations," said he, "in Valentia, poor indeed, but worthy and
affectionate. Among them you will find friendship and quiet, and we
may there pursue our labours unmolested." He went on to paint the
beauties and delights of Valentia, with all the fondness of a native,
and all the eloquence with which a lover paints the fields and groves
which he is picturing as the future scenes of his happiness. His
eloquence, backed by the apprehensions of Inez, was successful with
the alchymist, who, indeed, had led too unsettled a life to be
particular about the place of his residence; and it was determined,
that, as soon as Antonio's health was perfectly restored, they should
abandon the tower, and seek the delicious neighbourhood of Valentia.[9]
[Footnote 9: Here are the strongest silks, the sweetest wines, the
excellent'st almonds, the best oyls, and beautifull'st females of all
Spain. The very bruit animals make themselves beds of rosemary, and
other fragrant flowers hereabouts; and when one is at sea, if the
winde blow from the shore, he may smell this soyl before he comes in
sight of it, many leagues off, by the strong odoriferous scent it
casts. As it is the most pleasant, so it is also the temperat'st clime
of all Spain, and they commonly call it the second Italy; which made
the Moors, whereof many thousands were disterr'd, and banish'd hence
to Barbary, to think that Paradise was in that part of the heavens
which hung over this citie.--HOWELL'S _Letters_.]
To recruit his strength, the student suspended his toils in the
laboratory, and spent the few remaining days, before departure, in
taking a farewell look at the enchanting environs of Granada. He felt
returning health and vigour, as he inhaled the pure temperate breezes
that play about its hills; and the happy state of his mind contributed
to his rapid recovery. Inez was often the companion of his walks. Her
descent, by the mother's side, from one of the ancient Moorish
families, gave her an interest in this once favourite seat of Arabian
power. She gazed with enthusiasm upon its magnificent monuments, and
her memory was filled with the traditional tales and ballads of
Moorish chivalry. Indeed, the solitary life she had led, and the
visionary turn of her father's mind, had produced an effect upon her
character, and given it a tinge of what, in modern days, would be
termed romance. All this was called into full force by this new
passage; for, when a woman first begins to love, life is all romance
to her.
In one of their evening strolls, they had ascended to the mountain of
the Sun, where is situated the Generaliffe, the palace of pleasure, in
the days of Moorish dominion, but now a gloomy convent of Capuchins.
They had wandered about its garden, among groves of orange, citron,
and cypress, where the waters, leaping in torrents, or gushing in
fountains, or tossed aloft in sparkling jets, fill the air with music
and freshness.
There is a melancholy mingled with all the beauties of this garden,
that gradually stole over the feelings of the lovers. The place is
full of the sad story of past times. It was the favourite abode of the
lovely queen of Granada, where she was surrounded by the delights of a
gay and voluptuous court. It was here, too, amidst her own bowers of
roses, that her slanderers laid the base story of her dishonour, and
struck a fatal blow to the line of the gallant Abencerrages.
The whole garden has a look of ruin and neglect. Many of the fountains
are dry and broken; the streams have wandered from their marble
channels, and are choked by weeds and yellow leaves. The reed whistles
to the wind, where it had once sported among roses, and shaken perfume
from the orange-blossom. The convent-bell flings its sullen sound, or
the drowsy vesper-hymn floats along these solitudes, which once
resounded with the song, and the dance, and the lover's serenade. Well
may the Moors lament over the loss of this earthly paradise; well may
they remember it in their prayers, and beseech Heaven to restore it to
the faithful; well may their ambassadors smite their breasts when they
behold these monuments of their race, and sit down and weep among the
fading glories of Granada!
It is impossible to wander about these scenes of departed love and
gayety, and not feel the tenderness of the heart awakened. It was then
that Antonio first ventured to breathe his passion, and to express by
words what his eyes had long since so eloquently revealed. He made his
avowal with fervour, but with frankness. He had no gay prospects to
hold out: he was a poor scholar, dependent on his "good spirits to
feed and clothe him." But a woman in love is no interested calculator.
Inez listened to him with downcast eyes, but in them was a humid gleam
that showed her heart was with him. She had no prudery in her nature;
and she had not been sufficiently in society to acquire it. She loved
him with all the absence of worldliness of a genuine woman; and,
amidst timid smiles and blushes, he drew from her a modest
acknowledgment of her affection.
They wandered about the garden, with that sweet intoxication of the
soul which none but happy lovers know. The world about them was all
fairy land; and, indeed, it spread forth one of its fairest scenes
before their eyes, as if to fulfil their dream of earthly happiness.
They looked out from between groves of orange, upon the towers of
Granada below them; the magnificent plain of the Vega beyond, streaked
with evening sunshine, and the distant hills tinted with rosy and
purple hues: it seemed an emblem of the happy future, that love and
hope were decking out for them.
As if to make the scene complete, a group of Andalusians struck up a
dance, in one of the vistas of the garden, to the guitars of two
wandering musicians. The Spanish music is wild and plaintive, yet the
people dance to it with spirit and enthusiasm. The picturesque figures
of the dancers; the girls with their hair in silken nets that hung in
knots and tassels down their backs, their mantillas floating round
their graceful forms, their slender feet peeping from under their
basquinas, their arms tossed up in the air to play the castanets, had
a beautiful effect on this airy height, with the rich evening
landscape spreading out below them.
When the dance was ended, two of the parties approached Antonio and
Inez; one of them began a soft and tender Moorish ballad, accompanied
by the other on the lute. It alluded to the story of the garden, the
wrongs of the fair queen of Granada, and the misfortunes of the
Abencerrages. It was one of those old ballads that abound in this part
of Spain, and live, like echoes, about the ruins of Moorish greatness.
The heart of Inez was at that moment open to every tender impression;
the tears rose into her eyes, as she listened to the tale. The singer
approached nearer to her; she was striking in her appearance;--young,
beautiful, with a mixture of wildness and melancholy in her fine black
eyes. She fixed them mournfully and expressively on Inez, and,
suddenly varying her manner, sang another ballad, which treated of
impending danger and treachery. All this might have passed for a mere
accidental caprice of the singer, had there not been something in her
look, manner, and gesticulation that made it pointed and startling.
Inez was about to ask the meaning of this evidently personal
application of the song, when she was interrupted by Antonio, who
gently drew her from the place. Whilst she had been lost in attention
to the music, he had remarked a group of men, in the shadows of the
trees, whispering together. They were enveloped in the broad hats and
great cloaks so much worn by the Spanish, and, while they were
regarding himself and Inez attentively, seemed anxious to avoid
observation. Not knowing what might be their character or intention,
he hastened to quit a place where the gathering shadows of evening
might expose them to intrusion and insult. On their way down the hill,
as they passed through the wood of elms, mingled with poplars and
oleanders, that skirts the road leading from the Alhambra, he again
saw these men apparently following at a distance; and he afterwards
caught sight of them among the trees on the banks of the Darro. He
said nothing on the subject to Inez, nor her father, for he would not
awaken unnecessary alarm; but he felt at a loss how to ascertain or to
avert any machinations that might be devising against the helpless
inhabitants of the tower.
He took his leave of them late at night, full of this perplexity. As
he left the dreary old pile, he saw some one lurking in the shadow of
the wall, apparently watching his movements. He hastened after the
figure, but it glided away, and disappeared among some ruins. Shortly
after he heard a low whistle, which was answered from a little
distance. He had no longer a doubt but that some mischief was on foot,
and turned to hasten back to the tower, and put its inmates on their
guard. He had scarcely turned, however, before he found himself
suddenly seized from behind by some one of Herculean strength. His
struggles were in vain; he was surrounded by armed men. One threw a
mantle over him that stifled his cries, and enveloped him in its
folds; and he was hurried off with irresistible rapidity.
The next day passed without the appearance of Antonio at the
alchymist's. Another, and another day succeeded, and yet he did not
come; nor had any thing been heard of him at his lodgings. His absence
caused, at first, surprise and conjecture, and at length alarm. Inez
recollected the singular intimations of the ballad-singer upon the
mountain, which seemed to warn her of impending danger, and her mind
was full of vague forebodings. She sat listening to every sound at the
gate, or footstep on the stairs. She would take up her guitar and
strike a few notes, but it would not do; her heart was sickening with
suspense and anxiety. She had never before felt what it was to be
really lonely. She now was conscious of the force of that attachment
which had taken possession of her breast; for never do we know how
much we love, never do we know how necessary the object of our love is
to our happiness, until we experience the weary void of separation.
The philosopher, too, felt the absence of his disciple almost as
sensibly as did his daughter. The animating buoyancy of the youth had
inspired him with new ardour, and had given to his labours the charm
of full companionship. However, he had resources and consolations of
which his daughter was destitute. His pursuits were of a nature to
occupy every thought, and keep the spirits in a state of continual
excitement. Certain indications, too, had lately manifested
themselves, of the most favourable nature. Forty days and forty nights
had the process gone on successfully; the old man's hopes were
constantly rising, and he now considered the glorious moment once more
at hand, when he should obtain not merely the major lunaria, but
likewise the tinctura solaris, the means of multiplying gold, and of
prolonging existence. He remained, therefore, continually shut up in
his laboratory, watching his furnace; for a moment's inadvertency
might once more defeat all his expectations.
He was sitting one evening at one of his solitary vigils, wrapped up
in meditation; the hour was late, and his neighbour, the owl, was
hooting from the battlement of the tower, when he heard the door open
behind him. Supposing it to be his daughter coming to take her leave
of him for the night, as was her frequent practice, he called her by
name, but a harsh voice me this ear in reply. He was grasped by the
arms, and, looking up, perceived three strange men in the chamber. He
attempted to shake them off, but in vain. He called for help, but they
scoffed at his cries. "Peace, dotard!" cried one: "think'st thou the
servants of the most holy inquisition are to be daunted by thy
clamours? Comrades, away with him!"
Without heeding his remonstrances and entreaties, they seized upon his
books and papers, took some note of the apartment, and the utensils,
and then bore him off a prisoner.
Inez, left to herself, had passed a sad and lonely evening; seated by
a casement which looked into the garden, she had pensively watched
star after star sparkle out of the blue depths of the sky, and was
indulging a crowd of anxious thoughts about her lover, until the
rising tears began to flow. She was suddenly alarmed by the sound of
voices, that seemed to come from a distant part of the mansion. There
was, not long after, a noise of several persons descending the stairs.
Surprised at these unusual sounds in their lonely habitation, she
remained for a few moments in a state of trembling, yet indistinct
apprehension, when the servant rushed into the room, with terror in
her countenance, and informed her that her father was carried off by
armed men.
Inez did not stop to hear further, but flew down-stairs to overtake
them. She had scarcely passed the threshold, when she found herself in
the grasp of strangers.--"Away!--away!" cried she, wildly, "do not
stop me--let me follow my father."
"We come to conduct you to him, senora," said one of the men,
respectfully.
"Where is he, then?"
"He is gone to Granada," replied the man: "an unexpected circumstance
requires his presence there immediately; but he is among friends."
"We have no friends in Granada," said Inez, drawing back; but then the
idea of Antonio rushed into her mind; something relating to him might
have call her father thither. "Is senor Antonio de Castros with him?"
demanded she, with agitation.
"I know not, senora," replied the man. "It is very possible. I only
know that your father is among friends, and is anxious for you to
follow him."
"Let us go, then," cried she, eagerly. The men led her a little
distance to where a mule was waiting, and, assisting her to mount,
they conducted her slowly towards the city.
Granada was on that evening a scene of fanciful revel. It was one of
the festivals of the Maestranza, an association of the nobility to
keep up some of the gallant customs of ancient chivalry. There had
been a representation of a tournament in one of the squares; the
streets would still occasionally resound with the beat of a solitary
drum, or the bray of a trumpet from some straggling party of
revellers. Sometimes they were met by cavaliers, richly dressed in
ancient costumes, attended by their squires; and at one time they
passed in sight of a palace brilliantly illuminated, from whence came
the mingled sounds of music and the dance. Shortly after, they came to
the square where the mock tournament had been held. It was thronged by
the populace, recreating themselves among booths and stalls where
refreshments were sold, and the glare of torches showed the temporary
galleries, and gay-coloured awnings, and armorial trophies, and other
paraphernalia of the show. The conductors of Inez endeavoured to keep
out of observation, and to traverse a gloomy part of the square; but
they were detained at one place by the pressure of a crowd surrounding
a party of wandering musicians, singing one of those ballads of which
the Spanish populace are so passionately fond. The torches which were
held by some of the crowd, threw a strong mass of light upon Inez, and
the sight of so beautiful a being, without mantilla or veil, looking
so bewildered, and conducted by men who seemed to take no
gratification in the surrounding gayety, occasioned expressions of
curiosity. One of the ballad-singers approached, and striking her
guitar with peculiar earnestness, began to sing a doleful air, full of
sinister forebodings. Inez started with surprise. It was the same
ballad-singer that had addressed her in the garden of the Generaliffe.
It was the same air that she had then sung. It spoke of impending
dangers; they seemed, indeed, to be thickening around her. She was
anxious to speak with the girl, and to ascertain whether she really
had a knowledge of any definite evil that was threatening her; but, as
she attempted to address her, the mule, on which she rode, was
suddenly seized, and led forcibly through the throng by one of her
conductors, while she saw another addressing menacing words to the
ballad-singer. The latter raised her hand with a warning gesture, as
Inez lost sight of her.