CHAPTER V.

BOABDIL'S RECONCILIATION WITH HIS PEOPLE.

Several days had elapsed without any encounter between Moor and

Christian; for Ferdinand's cold and sober policy, warned by the loss he

had sustained in the ambush of Muza, was now bent on preserving rigorous

restraint upon the fiery spirits he commanded. He forbade all parties of

skirmish, in which the Moors, indeed, had usually gained the advantage,

and contented himself with occupying all the passes through which

provisions could arrive at the besieged city. He commenced strong

fortifications around his camp; and, forbidding assault on the Moors,

defied it against himself.

Meanwhile, Almamen had not returned to Granada. No tidings of his fate

reached the king; and his prolonged disappearance began to produce

visible and salutary effect upon the long-dormant energies of Boabdil.

The counsels of Muza, the exhortations of the queen-mother, the

enthusiasm of his mistress, Amine, uncounteracted by the arts of the

magician, aroused the torpid lion of his nature. But still his army and

his subjects murmured against him; and his appearance in the Vivarrambla

might possibly be the signal of revolt. It was at this time that a most

fortunate circumstance at once restored to him the confidence and

affections of his people. His stern uncle, El Zagal--once a rival for

his crown, and whose daring valour, mature age, and military sagacity had

won him a powerful party within the city--had been, some months since,

conquered by Ferdinand; and, in yielding the possessions he held, had

been rewarded with a barren and dependent principality. His defeat, far

from benefiting Boabdil, had exasperated the Moors against their king.

"For," said they, almost with one voice, "the brave El Zagal never would

have succumbed had Boabdil properly supported his arms." And it was the

popular discontent and rage at El Zagal's defeat which had indeed served

Boabdil with a reasonable excuse for shutting himself in the strong

fortress of the Alhambra. It now happened that El Zagal, whose dominant

passion was hatred of his nephew, and whose fierce nature chafed at its

present cage, resolved in his old age to blast all his former fame by a

signal treason to his country. Forgetting everything but revenge against

his nephew, who he was resolved should share his own ruin, he armed his

subjects, crossed the country, and appeared at the head of a gallant

troop in the Spanish camp, an ally with Ferdinand against Granada. When

this was heard by the Moors, it is impossible to conceive their indignant

wrath: the crime of El Zagal produced an instantaneous reaction in favour

of Boabdil; the crowd surrounded the Alhambra and with prayers and tears

entreated the forgiveness of the king. This event completed the conquest

of Boabdil over his own irresolution. He ordained an assembly of the

whole army in the broad space of the Vivarrambla: and when at break of

day he appeared in full armour in the square, with Muza at his right

hand, himself in the flower of youthful beauty, and proud to feel once

more a hero and a king, the joy of the people knew no limit; the air was

rent with cries of "Long live Boabdil el Chico!" and the young monarch,

turning to Muza, with his soul upon his brow exclaimed, "The hour has

come--I am no longer El Zogoybi!"

CHAPTER V.

LEILA.--HER NEW LOVER.--PORTRAIT OF THE FIRST INQUISITOR OF SPAIN.--THE

CHALICE RETURNED TO THE LIPS OF ALMAMEN.

While thus the state of events within Granada, the course of our story

transports us back to the Christian camp. It was in one of a long line

of tents that skirted the pavilion of Isabel, and was appropriated to the

ladies attendant on the royal presence, that a young female sat alone.

The dusk of evening already gathered around, and only the outline of her

form and features was visible. But even that, imperfectly seen,--the

dejected attitude of the form, the drooping head, the hands clasped upon

the knees,--might have sufficed to denote the melancholy nature of the

reverie which the maid indulged.

"Ah," thought she, "to what danger am I exposed! If my father, if my

lover dreamed of the persecution to which their poor Leila is abandoned!"

A few tears, large and bitter, broke from her eyes, and stole unheeded

down her cheek. At that moment, the deep and musical chime of a bell was

heard summoning the chiefs of the army to prayer; for Ferdinand invested

all his worldly schemes with a religious covering, and to his politic war

he sought to give the imposing character of a sacred crusade.

"That sound," thought she, sinking on her knees, "summons the Nazarenes

to the presence of their God. It reminds me, a captive by the waters of

Babylon, that God is ever with the friendless. Oh! succour and defend

me, Thou who didst look of old upon Ruth standing amidst the corn, and

didst watch over Thy chosen people in the hungry wilderness, and in the

stranger's land."

Wrapt in her mute and passionate devotions, Leila remained long in her

touching posture. The bell had ceased; all without was hushed and still

--when the drapery, stretched across the opening of the tent, was lifted,

and a young Spaniard, cloaked, from head to foot, in a long mantle, stood

within the space. He gazed in silence, upon the kneeling maiden; nor was

it until she rose that he made his presence audible.

"Ah, fairest!" said he, then, as he attempted to take her hand, "thou

wilt not answer my letters--see me, then, at thy feet. It is thou who

teachest me to kneel."

"You, prince." said Leila, agitated, and in great and evident fear.

"Why harass and insult me thus? Am I not sacred as a hostage and a

charge? and are name, honour, peace, and all that woman is taught to

hold most dear, to be thus robbed from me under the pretext of a love

dishonouring to thee and an insult to myself?"

"Sweet one," answered Don Juan, with a slight laugh, "thou hast learned,

within yonder walls, a creed of morals little known to Moorish maidens,

if fame belies them not. Suffer me to teach thee easier morality and

sounder logic. It is no dishonour to a Christian prince to adore beauty

like thine; it is no insult to a maiden hostage if the Infant of Spain

proffer her the homage of his heart. But we waste time. Spies, and

envious tongues, and vigilant eyes, are around us; and it is not often

that I can baffle them as I have done now. Fairest, hear me!" and this

time he succeeded in seizing the hand which vainly struggled against his

clasp. "Nay, why so coy? what can female heart desire that my love

cannot shower upon thine? Speak but the word, enchanting maiden, and I

will bear thee from these scenes unseemly to thy gentle eyes. Amidst the

pavilions of princes shalt thou repose; and, amidst gardens of the orange

and the rose, shalt thou listen to the vows of thine adorer. Surely, in

these arms thou wilt not pine for a barbarous home and a fated city. And

if thy pride, sweet maiden, deafen thee to the voice of nature, learn

that the haughtiest dames of Spain would bend, in envious court, to the

beloved of their future king. This night--listen to me--I say, listen--

this night I will bear thee hence! Be but mine, and no matter, whether

heretic or infidel, or whatever the priests style thee, neither Church

nor king shall tear thee from the bosom of thy lover."

"It is well spoken, son of the most Christian monarch!" said a deep

voice; and the Dominican, Tomas de Torquemada, stood before the prince.

Juan, as if struck by a thunderbolt, released his hold, and, staggering

back a few paces, seemed to cower, abashed and humbled, before the eye of

the priest, as it glared upon him through the gathering darkness.

"Prince," said the friar, after a pause, "not to thee will our holy

Church attribute this crime; thy pious heart hath been betrayed by

sorcery. Retire!"

"Father," said the prince,--in a tone into which, despite his awe of that

terrible man, THE FIRST GRAND INQUISITOR OF SPAIN, his libertine spirit

involuntarily forced itself, in a half latent raillery,--"sorcery of eyes

like those bewitched the wise son of a more pious sire than even

Ferdinand of Arragon."

"He blasphemes!" muttered the monk. "Prince, beware! you know not what

you do."

The prince lingered, and then, as if aware that he must yield, gathered

his cloak round him, and left the tent without reply.

Pale and trembling,--with fears no less felt, perhaps, though more vague

and perplexed, than those from which she had just been delivered,--Leila

stood before the monk.

"Be seated, daughter of the faithless," said Torquemada, "we would

converse with thee: and, as thou valuest--I say not thy soul, for, alas!

of that precious treasure thou art not conscious--but mark me, woman! as

thou prizest the safety of those delicate limbs, and that wanton beauty,

answer truly what I shall ask thee. The man who brought thee hither--is

he, in truth, thy father?"

"Alas!" answered Leila, almost fainting with terror at this rude and

menacing address, "he is, in truth, mine only parent."

"And his faith--his religion?"

"I have never beheld him pray."

"Hem! he never prays--a noticeable fact. But of what sect, what creed,

does he profess himself?"

"I cannot answer thee."

"Nay, there be means that may wring from thee an answer. Maiden, be not

so stubborn; speak! thinkest thou he serves the temple of the

Mohammedan?"

"No! oh, no!" answered poor Leila, eagerly, deeming that her reply, in

this, at least, would be acceptable. "He disowns, he scorns, he abhors,

the Moorish faith,--even," she added, "with too fierce a zeal."

"Thou dost not share that zeal, then? Well, worships he in secret after

the Christian rites?"

Leila hung her head and answered not.

"I understand thy silence. And in what belief, maiden, wert thou reared

beneath his roof?"

"I know not what it is called among men," answered Leila, with firmness,

"but it is the faith of the ONE GOD, who protects His chosen, and shall

avenge their wrongs--the God who made earth and heaven; and who, in an

idolatrous and benighted world, transmitted the knowledge of Himself and

His holy laws, from age to age, through the channel of one solitary

people, in the plains of Palestine, and by the waters of the Hebron."

"And in that faith thou wert trained, maiden, by thy father?" said the

Dominican, calmly. "I am satisfied. Rest here, in peace: we may meet

again, soon."

The last words were spoken with a soft and tranquil smile--a smile in

which glazing eyes and agonising hearts had often beheld the ghastly omen

of the torture and the stake.

On quitting the unfortunate Leila, the monk took his way towards the

neighbouring tent of Ferdinand. But, ere he reached it, a new thought

seemed to strike the holy man; he altered the direction of his steps, and

gained one of those little shrines common in Catholic countries, and

which had been hastily built of wood, in the centre of a small copse, and

by the side of a brawling rivulet, towards the back of the king's

pavilion. But one solitary sentry, at the entrance of the copse, guarded

the consecrated place; and its exceeding loneliness and quiet were a

grateful contrast to the animated world of the surrounding camp. The

monk entered the shrine, and fell down on his knees before an image of

the Virgin, rudely sculptured, indeed, but richly decorated.

"Ah, Holy Mother!" groaned this singular man, "support me in the trial to

which I am appointed. Thou knowest that the glory of thy blessed Son is

the sole object for which I live, and move, and have my being; but at

times, alas! the spirit is infected with the weakness of the flesh. Ora

pro nobis, O Mother of mercy! Verily, oftentimes my heart sinks within

me when it is mine to vindicate the honour of thy holy cause against the

young and the tender, the aged and the decrepit. But what are beauty and

youth, grey hairs and trembling knees, in the eye of the Creator?

Miserable worms are we all; nor is there anything acceptable in the

Divine sight but the hearts of the faithful. Youth without faith, age

without belief, purity without grace, virtue without holiness, are only

more hideous by their seeming beauty--whited sepulchres, glittering

rottenness. I know this--I know it; but the human man is strong within

me. Strengthen me, that I pluck it out; so that, by diligent and

constant struggle with the feeble Adam, thy servant may be reduced into

a mere machine, to punish the godless and advance the Church."

Here sobs and tears choked the speech of the Dominican; he grovelled in

the dust, he tore his hair, he howled aloud: the agony was fierce upon

him. At length, he drew from his robe a whip, composed of several

thongs, studded with small and sharp nails; and, stripping his gown, and

the shirt of hair worn underneath, over his shoulders, applied the

scourge to the naked flesh with a fury that soon covered the green sward

with the thick and clotted blood. The exhaustion which followed this

terrible penance seemed to restore the senses of the stern fanatic. A

smile broke over the features, that bodily pain only released from the

anguished expression of mental and visionary struggles; and, when he

rose, and drew the hair-cloth shirt over the lacerated and quivering

flesh, he said--"Now hast thou deigned to comfort and visit me, O pitying

Mother; and, even as by these austerities against this miserable body, is

the spirit relieved and soothed, so dost thou typify and betoken that

men's bodies are not to be spared by those who seek to save souls and

bring the nations of the earth into thy fold."

With that thought the countenance of Torquemada reassumed its wonted

rigid and passionless composure; and, replacing the scourge, yet clotted

with blood, in his bosom, he pursued his way to the royal tent.

He found Ferdinand poring over the accounts of the vast expenses of his

military preparations, which he had just received from his treasurer; and

the brow of the thrifty, though ostentatious monarch, was greatly

overcast by the examination.

"By the Bulls of Guisando!" said the king, gravely, "I purchase the

salvation of my army in this holy war at a marvellous heavy price; and

if the infidels hold out much longer, we shalt have to pawn our very

patrimony of Arragon."

"Son," answered the Dominican, "to purposes like thine fear not that

Providence itself will supply the worldly means. But why doubtest thou?

are not the means within thy reach? It is just that thou alone shouldst

not support the wars by which Christendom is glorified. Are there not

others?"

"I know what thou wouldst say, father," interrupted the king, quickly--

"thou wouldst observe that my brother monarchs should assist me with arms

and treasure. Most just. But they are avaricious and envious, Tomas;

and Mammon hath corrupted them."

"Nay, not to kings pointed my thought."

"Well, then," resumed the king, impatiently, "thou wouldst imply that

mine own knights and nobles should yield up their coffers, and mortgage

their possessions. And so they ought; but they murmur already at what

they have yielded to our necessities."

"And in truth," rejoined the friar, "these noble warriors should not be

shorn of a splendour that well becomes the valiant champions of the

Church. Nay, listen to me, son, and I may suggest a means whereby, not

the friends, but enemies, of the Catholic faith shall contribute to the

down fall of the Paynim. In thy dominions, especially those newly won,

throughout Andalusia, in the kingdom of Cordova, are men of enormous

wealth; the very caverns of the earth are sown with the impious treasure

they have plundered from Christian hands, and consume in the furtherance

of their iniquity. Sire, I speak of the race that crucified the Lord."

"The Jews--ay, but the excuse--"

"Is before thee. This traitor, with whom thou boldest intercourse, who

vowed to thee to render up Granada, and who was found the very next

morning, fighting with the Moors, with the blood of a Spanish martyr red

upon his hands, did he not confess that his fathers were of that hateful

race? did he not bargain with thee to elevate his brethren to the rank of

Christians? and has be not left with thee, upon false pretences, a harlot

of his faith, who, by sorcery and the help of the Evil One, hath seduced

into frantic passion the heart of the heir of the most Christian king?"

"Ha! thus does that libertine boy ever scandalise us!" said the king,

bitterly.

"Well," pursued the Dominican, not heeding the interruption, "have you

not here excuse enough to wring from the whole race the purchase of their

existence? Note the glaring proof of this conspiracy of hell. The

outcasts of the earth employed this crafty agent to contract with thee

for power; and, to consummate their guilty designs, the arts that seduced

Solomon are employed against thy son. The beauty of the strange woman

captivates his senses; so that, through the future sovereign of Spain the

counsels of Jewish craft may establish the domination of Jewish ambition.

How knowest thou," he added as he observed that Ferdinand listened to him

with earnest attention--"how knowest thou but what the next step might

have been thy secret assassination, so that the victim of witchcraft, the

minion of the Jewess, might reign in the stead of the mighty and

unconquerable Ferdinand?"

"Go on, father," said the king, thoughtfully; "I see, at least, enough to

justify an impost upon these servitors of Mammon."

"But, though common sense suggests to us," continued Torquemada, "that

this disguised Israelite could not have acted on so vast a design without

the instigation of his brethren, not only in Granada, but throughout all

Andalusia,--would it not be right to obtain from him his confession, and

that of the maiden, within the camp, so that we may have broad and

undeniable evidence, whereon to act, and to still all cavil, that may

come not only from the godless, but even from the too tender scruples of

the righteous? Even the queen--whom the saints ever guard!--hath ever

too soft a heart for these infidels; and--"

"Right!" cried the king, again breaking upon Torquemada; "Isabel, the

queen of Castile, must be satisfied of the justice of all our actions."

"And, should it be proved that thy throne or life were endangered, and

that magic was exercised to entrap her royal son into a passion for a

Jewish maiden, which the Church holds a crime worthy of excommunication

itself, surely, instead of counteracting, she would assist our schemes."

"Holy friend," said Ferdinand, with energy, "ever a comforter, both for

this world and the next, to thee, and to the new powers intrusted to

thee, we commit this charge; see to it at once; time presses--Granada is

obstinate--the treasury waxes low."

"Son, thou hast said enough," replied the Dominican, closing his eyes,

and muttering a short thanksgiving. "Now then to my task."

"Yet stay," said the king, with an altered visage; "follow me to my

oratory within: my heart is heavy, and I would fain seek the solace of

the confessional."

The monk obeyed: and while Ferdinand, whose wonderful abilities were

mingled with the weakest superstition, who persecuted from policy, yet

believed, in his own heart, that he punished but from piety,--confessed

with penitent tears the grave offences of aves forgotten, and beads

untold; and while the Dominican admonished, rebuked, or soothed,--neither

prince nor monk ever dreamt that there was an error to confess in, or a

penance to be adjudged to, the cruelty that tortured a fellow-being, or

the avarice that sought pretences for the extortion of a whole people.

CHAPTER VII.

THE TRIBUNAL AND THE MIRACLE

It was the dead of night--the army was hushed in sleep--when four

soldiers belonging to the Holy Brotherhood, bearing with them one whose

manacles proclaimed him a prisoner, passed in steady silence to a huge

tent in the neighbourhood of the royal pavilion. A deep dyke, formidable

barricadoes, and sentries stationed at frequent intervals, testified the

estimation in which the safety of this segment of the camp was held. The

tent to which the soldiers approached was, in extent, larger than even

the king's pavilion itself--a mansion of canvas, surrounded by a wide

wall of massive stones; and from its summit gloomed, in the clear and

shining starlight, a small black pennant, on which was wrought a white

broad-pointed cross. The soldiers halted at the gate in the wall,

resigned their charge, with a whispered watchword, to two gaunt sentries;

and then (relieving the sentries who proceeded on with the prisoner)

remained, mute and motionless, at the post: for stern silence and Spartan

discipline were the attributes of the brotherhood of St. Hermandad.

The prisoner, as he now neared the tent, halted a moment, looked round

steadily, as if to fix the spot in his remembrance, and then, with an

impatient though stately gesture, followed his guards. He passed two

divisions of the tent, dimly lighted, and apparently deserted. A man,

clad in long black robes, with a white cross on his breast, now appeared;

there was an interchange of signals in dumb-show-and in another moment

Almamen, the Hebrew, stood within a large chamber (if so that division of

the tent might be called) hung with black serge. At the upper part of

the space was an estrado, or platform, on which, by a long table, sat

three men; while at the head of the board was seen the calm and rigid

countenance of Tomas de Torquemada. The threshold of the tent was

guarded by two men, in garments similar in hue and fashion to those of

the figure who had ushered Almamen into the presence of the inquisitor,

each bearing a long lance, and with a long two-edged sword by his side.

This made all the inhabitants of that melancholy and ominous apartment.

The Israelite looked round with a pale brow, but a flashing and scornful

eye; and, when he met the gaze of the Dominican, it almost seemed as if

those two men, each so raised above his fellows, by the sternness of his

nature and the energy of his passions, sought by a look alone to assert

his own supremacy and crush his foe. Yet, in truth, neither did justice

to the other; and the indignant disdain of Almamen was retorted by the

cold and icy contempt of the Dominican.

"Prisoner," said Torquemada (the first to withdraw his gaze), "a less

haughty and stubborn demeanour might have better suited thy condition:

but no matter; our Church is meek and humble. We have sent for thee in a

charitable and paternal hope; for although, as spy and traitor, thy life

is already forfeited, yet would we fain redeem and spare it to

repentance. That hope mayst thou not forego, for the nature of all of us

is weak and clings to life--that straw of the drowning seaman."

"Priest, if such thou art," replied the Hebrew, "I have already, when

first brought to this camp, explained the causes of my detention amongst

the troops of the Moor. It was my zeal for the king of Spain that

brought me into that peril. Escaping from that peril, incurred in his

behalf, is the king of Spain to be my accuser and my judge? If, however,

my life now be sought as the grateful return for the proffer of

inestimable service, I stand here to yield it. Do thy worst; and tell

thy master, that he loses more by my death than he can win by the lives

of thirty thousand warriors."

"Cease this idle babble," said the monk-inquisitor, contemptuously, "nor

think thou couldst ever deceive, with thy empty words, the mighty

intellect of Ferdinand of Spain. Thou hast now to defend thyself against

still graver charges than those of treachery to the king whom thou didst

profess to serve. Yea, misbeliever as thou art, it is thine to vindicate

thyself from blasphemy against the God thou shouldst adore. Confess the

truth: thou art of the tribe and faith of Israel?"

The Hebrew frowned darkly. "Man," said he, solemnly, "is a judge of the

deeds of men, but not of their opinions. I will not answer thee."

"Pause! We have means at hand that the strongest nerves and the stoutest

hearts have failed to encounter. Pause--confess!"

"Thy threat awes me not," said the Hebrew; "but I am human; and since

thou wouldst know the truth, thou mayst learn it without the torture.

I am of the same race as the apostles of thy Church--I am a Jew."

"He confesses--write down the words. Prisoner, thou hast done wisely;

and we pray the Lord that, acting thus, thou mayst escape both the

torture and the death. And in that faith thy daughter was reared?

Answer."

"My daughter! there is no charge against her! By the God of Sinai and

Horeb, you dare not touch a hair of that innocent head!"

"Answer," repeated the inquisitor, coldly.

"I do answer. She was brought up no renegade to her father's faith."

"Write down the confession. Prisoner," resumed the Dominican, after a

pause, "but few more questions remain; answer them truly, and thy life is

saved. In thy conspiracy to raise thy brotherhood of Andalusia to power

and influence--or, as thou didst craftily term it, to equal laws with the

followers of our blessed Lord; in thy conspiracy (by what dark arts I

seek not now to know _protege nos, beate Domine_!) to entangle in wanton

affections to thy daughter the heart of the Infant of Spain-silence, I

say--be still! in this conspiracy, thou wert aided, abetted, or

instigated by certain Jews of Andalusia--"

"Hold, priest!" cried Almamen, impetuously, "thou didst name my child.

Do I hear aright? Placed under the sacred charge of a king, and a belted

knight, has she--oh! answer me, I implore thee--been insulted by the

licentious addresses of one of that king's own lineage? Answer! I am a

Jew--but I am a father and a man."

"This pretended passion deceives us not," said the Dominican, who,

himself cut off from the ties of life, knew nothing of their power.

"Reply to the question put to thee: name thy accomplices."

"I have told thee all. Thou hast refused to answer one. I scorn and

defy thee: my lips are closed."

The Grand Inquisitor glanced to his brethren, and raised his hand. His

assistants whispered each other; one of them rose, and disappeared behind

the canvas at the back of the tent. Presently the hangings were

withdrawn; and the prisoner beheld an, interior chamber, hung with

various instruments the nature of which was betrayed by their very shape;

while by the rack, placed in the centre of that dreary chamber, stood a

tall and grisly figure, his arms bare, his eyes bent, as by an instinct,

on the prisoner.

Almamen gazed at these dread preparations with an unflinching aspect.

The guards at the entrance of the tent approached: they struck off the

fetters from his feet and hands; they led him towards the appointed place

of torture.

Suddenly the Israelite paused.

"Priest," said he, in a more humble accent than he had yet assumed, "the

tidings that thou didst communicate to me respecting the sole daughter of

my house and love bewildered and confused me for the moment. Suffer me

but for a single moment to recollect my senses, and I will answer without

compulsion all thou mayst ask. Permit thy questions to be repeated."

The Dominican, whose cruelty to others seemed to himself sanctioned by

his own insensibility to fear, and contempt for bodily pain, smiled with

bitter scorn at the apparent vacillation and weakness of the prisoner:

but, as he delighted not in torture merely for torture's sake, he

motioned to the guards to release the Israelite; and replied in a voice

unnaturally mild and kindly, considering the circumstances of the scene,

"Prisoner, could we save thee from pain, even by the anguish of our own

flesh and sinews, Heaven is our judge that we would willingly undergo the

torture which, with grief and sorrow, we ordained to thee. Pause--take

breath--collect thyself. Three minutes shalt thou have to consider what

course to adopt ere we repeat the question. But then beware how thou

triflest with our indulgence."

"It suffices--I thank thee," said the Hebrew, with a touch of gratitude

in his voice. As he spoke he bent his face within his bosom, which he

covered, as in profound meditation, with the folds of his long robe.

Scarcely half the brief time allowed him had expired, when he again

lifted his countenance and, as he did so, flung back his garment. The

Dominican uttered a loud cry; the guards started back in awe. A

wonderful change had come over the intended victim; he seemed to stand

amongst them literally--wrapt in fire; flames burst from his lip, and

played with his long locks, as, catching the glowing hue, they curled

over his shoulders like serpents of burning light: blood-red were his

breast and limbs, his haughty crest, and his outstretched arm; and as for

a single moment, he met the shuddering eyes of his judges, he seemed,

indeed, to verify all the superstitions of the time--no longer the

trembling captive but the mighty demon or the terrible magician.

The Dominican was the first to recover his self-possession. "Seize the

enchanter!" he exclaimed; but no man stirred. Ere yet the exclamation

had died on his lip, Almamen took from his breast a phial, and dashed it

on the ground--it broke into a thousand shivers: a mist rose over the

apartment--it spread, thickened, darkened, as a sudden night; the lamps

could not pierce it. The luminous form of the Hebrew grew dull and dim,

until it vanished in the shade. On every eye blindness seemed to fall.

There was a dead silence, broken by a cry and a groan; and when, after

some minutes, the darkness gradually dispersed, Almamen was gone. One,

of the guards lay bathed in blood upon the ground; they raised him: he

had attempted to seize the prisoner, and had been stricken with a mortal

wound. He died as he faltered forth the explanation. In the confusion

and dismay of the scene none noticed, till long afterwards, that the

prisoner had paused long enough to strip the dying guard of his long

mantle; a proof that he feared his more secret arts might not suffice to

bear him safe through the camp, without the aid of worldly stratagem.

"The fiend hath been amongst us!" said the Dominican, solemnly falling on

his knees,--"let us pray!"