A FULLER VIEW OF THE CHARACTER OF BOABDIL.--MUZA IN THE GARDENS OF HIS
BELOVED.
Muza Ben Abil Gazan returned from his visit to Boabdil with a thoughtful
and depressed spirit. His arguments had failed to induce the king to
disdain the command of the magic dial, which still forbade him to arm
against the invaders; and although the royal favour was no longer
withdrawn from himself, the Moor felt that such favour hung upon a
capricious and uncertain tenure so long as his sovereign was the slave of
superstition or imposture. But that noble warrior, whose character the
adversity of his country had singularly exalted and refined, even while
increasing its natural fierceness, thought little of himself in
comparison with the evils and misfortunes which the king's continued
irresolution must bring upon Granada.
"So brave, and yet so weak," thought he; "so weak, and yet so obstinate;
so wise a reasoner, yet so credulous a dupe! Unhappy Boabdil! the stars,
indeed, seem to fight against thee, and their influences at thy birth
marred all thy gifts and virtues with counteracting infirmity and error."
Muza,--more perhaps than any subject in Granada,--did justice to the real
character of the king; but even he was unable to penetrate all its
complicated and latent mysteries. Boabdil el Chico was no ordinary man;
his affections were warm and generous, his nature calm and gentle; and,
though early power, and the painful experience of a mutinous people and
ungrateful court, had imparted to that nature an irascibility of temper
and a quickness of suspicion foreign to its earlier soil, he was easily
led back to generosity and justice; and, if warm in resentment, was
magnanimous in forgiveness. Deeply accomplished in all the learning of
his race and time, he was--in books, at least--a philosopher; and,
indeed, his attachment to the abstruser studies was one of the main
causes which unfitted him for his present station. But it was the
circumstances attendant on his birth and childhood that had perverted his
keen and graceful intellect to morbid indulgence in mystic reveries, and
all the doubt, fear, and irresolution of a man who pushes metaphysics
into the supernatural world. Dark prophecies accumulated omens over his
head; men united in considering him born to disastrous destinies.
Whenever he had sought to wrestle against hostile circumstances, some
seemingly accidental cause, sudden and unforeseen, had blasted the
labours of his most vigorous energy,--the fruit of his most deliberate
wisdom. Thus, by degrees a gloomy and despairing cloud settled over his
mind; but, secretly sceptical of the Mohammedan creed, and too proud and
sanguine to resign himself wholly and passively to the doctrine of
inevitable predestination, he sought to contend against the machinations
of hostile demons and boding stars, not by human but spiritual agencies.
Collecting around him the seers and magicians of orient-fanaticism, he
lived in the visions of another world; and, flattered by the promises of
impostors or dreamers, and deceived by his own subtle and brooding
tendencies of mind, it was amongst spells and cabala that he thought to
draw forth the mighty secret which was to free him from the meshes of the
preternatural enemies of his fortune, and leave him the freedom of other
men to wrestle, with equal chances, against peril and adversities. It
was thus, that Almamen had won the mastery over his mind; and, though
upon matters of common and earthly import, or solid learning, Boabdil
could contend with sages, upon those of superstition he could be fooled
by a child. He was, in this, a kind of Hamlet: formed, under prosperous
and serene fortunes, to render blessings and reap renown; but over whom
the chilling shadow of another world had fallen--whose soul curdled back
into itself--whose life had been separated from that of the herd--whom
doubts and awe drew back, while circumstances impelled onward--whom a
supernatural doom invested with a peculiar philosophy, not of human
effect and cause--and who, with every gift that could ennoble and adorn,
was suddenly palsied into that mortal imbecility, which is almost ever
the result of mortal visitings into the haunted regions of the Ghostly
and Unknown. The gloomier colourings of his mind had been deepened, too,
by secret remorse. For the preservation of his own life, constantly
threatened by his unnatural predecessor, he had been early driven into
rebellion against his father. In age, infirmity, and blindness, that
fierce king had been made a prisoner at Salobrena by his brother, El
Zagal, Boabdil's partner in rebellion; and dying suddenly, El Zagal was
suspected of his murder. Though Boabdil was innocent of such a crime,
he felt himself guilty of the causes which led to it; and a dark memory,
resting upon his conscience, served to augment his superstition and
enervate the vigour of his resolves; for, of all things that make men
dreamers, none is so effectual as remorse operating upon a thoughtful
temperament.
Revolving the character of his sovereign, and sadly foreboding the ruin
of his country, the young hero of Granada pursued his way, until his
steps, almost unconsciously, led him towards the abode of Leila. He
scaled the walls of the garden as before--he neared the house. All was
silent and deserted; his signal was unanswered--his murmured song brought
no grateful light to the lattice, no fairy footstep to the balcony.
Dejected, and sad of heart, he retired from the spot; and, returning
home, sought a couch, to which even all the fatigue and excitement he had
undergone, could not win the forgetfulness of slumber. The mystery that
wrapt the maiden of his homage, the rareness of their interviews, and the
wild and poetical romance that made a very principle of the chivalry of
the Spanish Moors, had imparted to Muza's love for Leila a passionate
depth, which, at this day, and in more enervated climes, is unknown to
the Mohammedan lover. His keenest inquiries had been unable to pierce
the secret of her birth and station. Little of the inmates of that
guarded and lonely house was known in the neighbourhood; the only one
ever seen without its walls was an old man of the Jewish faith, supposed
to be a superintendent of the foreign slaves (for no Mohammedan slave
would have been subjected to the insult of submission to a Jew); and
though there were rumours of the vast wealth and gorgeous luxury within
the mansion, it was supposed the abode of some Moorish emir absent from
the city--and the interest of the gossips was at this time absorbed in
more weighty matters than the affairs of a neighbour. But when, the next
eve, and the next, Muza returned to the spot equally in vain, his
impatience and alarm could no longer be restrained; he resolved to lie in
watch by the portals of the house night and day, until, at least, he
could discover some one of the inmates, whom he could question of his
love, and perhaps bribe to his service. As with this resolution he was
hovering round the mansion, he beheld, stealing from a small door in one
of the low wings of the house, a bended and decrepit form: it supported
its steps upon a staff; and, as now entering the garden, it stooped by
the side of a fountain to cull flowers and herbs by the light of the
moon, the Moor almost started to behold a countenance which resembled
that of some ghoul or vampire haunting the places of the dead. He smiled
at his own fear; and, with a quick and stealthy pace, hastened through
the trees, and, gaining the spot where the old man bent, placed his hand
on his shoulder ere his presence was perceived.
Ximen--for it was he--looked round eagerly, and a faint cry of terror
broke from his lips.
"Hush!" said the Moor; "fear me not, I am a friend. Thou art old, man--
gold is ever welcome to the aged." As he spoke, he dropped several broad
pieces into the breast of the Jew, whose ghastly features gave forth a
yet more ghastly smile, as he received the gift, and mumbled forth,
"Charitable young man! generous, benevolent, excellent young man!"
"Now then," said Muza, "tell me--you belong to this house--Leila, the
maiden within--tell me of her--is she well?"
"I trust so," returned the Jew; "I trust so, noble master."
"Trust so! know you not of her state?"
"Not I; for many nights I have not seen her, excellent sir," answered
Ximen; "she hath left Granada, she hath gone. You waste your time and
mar your precious health amidst these nightly dews: they are unwholesome,
very unwholesome at the time of the new moon."
"Gone!" echoed the Moor; "left Granada!--woe is me!--and whither?--there,
there, more gold for you,--old man, tell me whither?"
"Alas! I know not, most magnanimous young man; I am but a servant--I know
nothing."
"When will she return?"
"I cannot tell thee."
"Who is thy master? who owns yon mansion?"
Ximen's countenance fell; he looked round in doubt and fear, and then,
after a short pause, answered,--"A wealthy man, good sir--a Moor of
Africa; but he hath also gone; he but seldom visits us; Granada is not so
peaceful a residence as it was,--I would go too, if I could."
Muza released his hold of Ximen, who gazed at the Moor's working
countenance with a malignant smile--for Ximen hated all men.
"Thou hast done with me, young warrior? Pleasant dreams to thee under
the new moon--thou hadst best retire to thy bed. Farewell! bless thy
charity to the poor old man!"
Muza heard him not; he remained motionless for some moments; and then
with a heavy sigh as that of one who has gained the mastery of himself
after a bitter struggle, the said half aloud, "Allah be with thee, Leila!
Granada now is my only mistress."