CHAPTER I. THE ENCHANTER AND THE WARRIOR.

It was the summer of the year 1491, and the armies of Ferdinand and

Isabel invested the city of Granada.

The night was not far advanced; and the moon, which broke through

the transparent air of Andalusia, shone calmly over the immense and

murmuring encampment of the Spanish foe, and touched with a hazy light

the snow-capped summits of the Sierra Nevada, contrasting the verdure

and luxuriance which no devastation of man could utterly sweep from the

beautiful vale below.

In the streets of the Moorish city many a group still lingered. Some, as

if unconscious of the beleaguering war without, were listening in quiet

indolence to the strings of the Moorish lute, or the lively tale of

an Arabian improrvisatore; others were conversing with such eager

and animated gestures, as no ordinary excitement could wring from the

stately calm habitual to every oriental people. But the more public

places in which gathered these different groups, only the more

impressively heightened the desolate and solemn repose that brooded over

the rest of the city.

At this time, a man, with downcast eyes, and arms folded within the

sweeping gown which descended to his feet, was seen passing through the

streets, alone, and apparently unobservant of all around him. Yet this

indifference was by no means shared by the struggling crowds through

which, from time to time, he musingly swept.

“God is great!” said one man; “it is the Enchanter Almamen.”

“He hath locked up the manhood of Boabdil el Chico with the key of his

spells,” quoth another, stroking his beard; “I would curse him, if I

dared.”

“But they say that he hath promised that when man fails, the genii will

fight for Granada,” observed a third, doubtingly.

“Allah Akbar! what is, is! what shall be, shall be!” said a fourth, with

all the solemn sagacity of a prophet. Whatever their feelings, whether

of awe or execration, terror or hope, each group gave way as Almamen

passed, and hushed the murmurs not intended for his ear. Passing through

the Zacatin (the street which traversed the Great Bazaar), the reputed

enchanter ascended a narrow and winding street, and arrived at last

before the walls that encircled the palace and fortress of the Alhambra.

The sentry at the gate saluted and admitted him in silence; and in a few

moments his form was lost in the solitude of groves, amidst which,

at frequent openings, the spray of Arabian fountains glittered in the

moonlight; while, above, rose the castled heights of the Alhambra; and

on the right those Vermilion Towers, whose origin veils itself in the

furthest ages of Phoenician enterprise.

Almamen paused, and surveyed the scene. “Was Aden more lovely?” he

muttered; “and shall so fair a spot be trodden by the victor Nazerene?

What matters? creed chases creed--race, race--until time comes back to

its starting-place, and beholds the reign restored to the eldest faith

and the eldest tribe. The horn of our strength shall be exalted.”

At these thoughts the seer relapsed into silence, and gazed long and

intently upon the stars, as, more numerous and brilliant with every

step of the advancing night, their rays broke on the playful waters, and

tinged with silver the various and breathless foliage. So earnest was

his gaze, and so absorbed his thoughts, that he did not perceive the

approach of a Moor, whose glittering weapons and snow-white turban, rich

with emeralds, cast a gleam through the wood.

The new comer was above the common size of his race, generally small and

spare--but without attaining the lofty stature and large proportions

of the more redoubted of the warriors of Spain. But in his presence and

mien there was something, which, in the haughtiest conclave of Christian

chivalry, would have seemed to tower and command. He walked with a

step at once light and stately, as if it spurned the earth; and in the

carriage of the small erect head and stag-like throat, there was

that undefinable and imposing dignity, which accords so well with our

conception of a heroic lineage, and a noble though imperious spirit. The

stranger approached Almamen, and paused abruptly when within a few steps

of the enchanter. He gazed upon him in silence for some moments; and

when at length he spoke it was with a cold and sarcastic tone.

“Pretender to the dark secrets,” said he, “is it in the stars that

thou art reading those destinies of men and nations, which the Prophet

wrought by the chieftain’s brain and the soldier’s arm?”

“Prince,” replied Almamen, turning slowly, and recognising the intruder

on his meditations, “I was but considering how many revolutions,

which have shaken earth to its centre, those orbs have witnessed,

unsympathising and unchanged.”

“Unsympathising!” repeated the Moor--“yet thou believest in their effect

upon the earth?”

“You wrong me,” answered Almamen, with a slight smile, “you confound

your servant with that vain race, the astrologers.”

“I deemed astrology a part of the science of the two angels, Harut and

Marut.”

[The science of magic. It was taught by the Angels named in the

text; for which offence they are still supposed to be confined to

the ancient Babel. There they may yet be consulted, though they are

rarely seen.--Yallal’odir Yahya.

--SALE’S Koran.]

“Possibly; but I know not that science, though I have wandered at

midnight by the ancient Babel.”

“Fame lies to us, then,” answered the Moor, with some surprise.

“Fame never made pretence to truth,” said Almamen, calmly, and

proceeding on his way. “Allah be with you, prince! I seek the king.”

“Stay! I have just quitted his presence, and left him, I trust, with

thoughts worthy of the sovereign of Granada, which I would not have

disturbed by a stranger, a man whose arms are not spear nor shield.”

“Noble Muza,” returned Almamen, “fear not that my voice will weaken the

inspirations which thine hath breathed into the breast of Boabdil. Alas!

if my counsel were heeded, thou wouldst hear the warriors of Granada

talk less of Muza, and more of the king. But Fate, or Allah, hath

placed upon the throne of a tottering dynasty, one who, though brave,

is weak--though, wise, a dreamer; and you suspect the adviser, when you

find the influence of nature on the advised. Is this just?”

Muza gazed long and sternly on the face of Almamen; then, putting his

hand gently on the enchanter’s shoulder, he said--

“Stranger, if thou playest us false, think that this arm hath cloven the

casque of many a foe, and will not spare the turban of a traitor!”

“And think thou, proud prince!” returned Almamen, unquailing, “that I

answer alone to Allah for my motives, and that against man my deeds I

can defend!”

With these words, the enchanter drew his long robe round him, and

disappeared amidst the foliage.

CHAPTER II. THE KING WITHIN HIS PALACE.

In one of those apartments, the luxury of which is known only to the

inhabitants of a genial climate (half chamber and half grotto), reclined

a young Moor, in a thoughtful and musing attitude.

The ceiling of cedar-wood, glowing with gold and azure, was supported

by slender shafts, of the whitest alabaster, between which were open

arcades, light and graceful as the arched vineyards of Italy,

and wrought in that delicate filagree-work common to the Arabian

architecture: through these arcades was seen at intervals the lapsing

fall of waters, lighted by alabaster lamps; and their tinkling music

sounded with a fresh and regular murmur upon the ear. The whole of one

side of this apartment was open to a broad and extensive balcony,

which overhung the banks of the winding and moonlit Darro; and in the

clearness of the soft night might be distinctly seen the undulating

hills, the woods, and orange-groves, which still form the unrivalled

landscapes of Granada.

The pavement was spread with ottomans and couches of the richest azure,

prodigally enriched with quaint designs in broideries of gold and

silver; and over that on which the Moor reclined, facing the open

balcony, were suspended on a pillar the round shield, the light javelin,

and the curving cimiter, of Moorish warfare. So studded were these

arms with jewels of rare cost, that they might alone have sufficed

to indicate the rank of the evident owner, even if his own gorgeous

vestments had not betrayed it. An open manuscript, on a silver table,

lay unread before the Moor: as, leaning his face upon his hand,

he looked with abstracted eyes along the mountain summits dimly

distinguished from the cloudless and far horizon.

No one could have gazed without a vague emotion of interest, mixed

with melancholy, upon the countenance of the inmate of that luxurious

chamber.

Its beauty was singularly stamped with a grave and stately sadness,

which was made still more impressive by its air of youth and the

unwonted fairness of the complexion: unlike the attributes of the

Moorish race, the hair and curling beard were of a deep golden colour;

and on the broad forehead and in the large eyes, was that settled and

contemplative mildness which rarely softens the swart lineaments of the

fiery children of the sun. Such was the personal appearance of Boabdil

el Chico, the last of the Moorish dynasty in Spain.

“These scrolls of Arabian learning,” said Boabdil to himself, “what do

they teach? to despise wealth and power, to hold the heart to be the

true empire. This, then, is wisdom. Yet, if I follow these maxims, am I

wise? alas! the whole world would call me a driveller and a madman. Thus

is it ever; the wisdom of the Intellect fills us with precepts which it

is the wisdom of Action to despise. O Holy Prophet! what fools men would

be, if their knavery did not eclipse their folly!”

The young king listlessly threw himself back on his cushions as he

uttered these words, too philosophical for a king whose crown sate so

loosely on his brow.

After a few moments of thought that appeared to dissatisfy and disquiet

him, Boabdil again turned impatiently round “My soul wants the bath of

music,” said he; “these journeys into a pathless realm have wearied it,

and the streams of sound supple and relax the travailed pilgrim.”

He clapped his hands, and from one of the arcades a boy, hitherto

invisible, started into sight; at a slight and scarce perceptible sign

from the king the boy again vanished, and in a few moments afterwards,

glancing through the fairy pillars, and by the glittering waterfalls,

came the small and twinkling feet of the maids of Araby. As, with

their transparent tunics and white arms, they gleamed, without an echo,

through that cool and voluptuous chamber, they might well have seemed

the Peris of the eastern magic, summoned to beguile the sated leisure

of a youthful Solomon. With them came a maiden of more exquisite beauty,

though smaller stature, than the rest, bearing the light Moorish lute;

and a faint and languid smile broke over the beautiful face of Boabdil,

as his eyes rested upon her graceful form and the dark yet glowing

lustre of her oriental countenance. She alone approached the king,

timidly kissed his hand, and then, joining her comrades, commenced

the following song, to the air and very words of which the feet of the

dancing-girls kept time, while with the chorus rang the silver bells of

the musical instrument which each of the dancers carried.

AMINE’S SONG.

I.

Softly, oh, softly glide,

Gentle Music, thou silver tide,

Bearing, the lulled air along,

This leaf from the Rose of Song!

To its port in his soul let it float,

The frail, but the fragrant boat,

Bear it, soft Air, along!

II.

With the burthen of sound we are laden,

Like the bells on the trees of Aden,*

When they thrill with a tinkling tone

At the Wind from the Holy Throne,

Hark, as we move around,

We shake off the buds of sound;

Thy presence, Beloved, is Aden.

III.

Sweet chime that I hear and wake

I would, for my lov’d one’s sake,

That I were a sound like thee,

To the depths of his heart to flee.

If my breath had his senses blest;

If my voice in his heart could rest;

What pleasure to die like thee!

*[The Mohammedans believe that musical bells hang on the trees of

Paradise, and are put in motion by a wind from the throne of God.]

The music ceased; the dancers remained motionless in their graceful

postures, as if arrested into statues of alabaster; and the young

songstress cast herself on a cushion at the feet of the monarch, and

looked up fondly, but silently, into his yet melancholy eyes,--when a

man, whose entrance had not been noticed, was seen to stand within the

chamber.

He was about the middle stature,--lean, muscular, and strongly though

sparely built. A plain black robe, something in the fashion of the

Armenian gown, hung long and loosely over a tunic of bright scarlet,

girdled by a broad belt, from the centre of which was suspended a small

golden key, while at the left side appeared the jewelled hilt of a

crooked dagger. His features were cast in a larger and grander mould

than was common among the Moors of Spain; the forehead was broad,

massive, and singularly high, and the dark eyes of unusual size and

brilliancy; his beard, short, black, and glossy, curled upward, and

concealed all the lower part of the face, save a firm, compressed, and

resolute expression in the lips, which were large and full; the nose

was high, aquiline, and well-shaped; and the whole character of the

head (which was, for symmetry, on too large and gigantic a scale as

proportioned to the form) was indicative of extraordinary energy and

power. At the first glance, the stranger might have seemed scarce on

the borders of middle age; but, on a more careful examination, the deep

lines and wrinkles, marked on the forehead and round the eyes, betrayed

a more advanced period of life. With arms folded on his breast, he stood

by the side of the king, waiting in silence the moment when his presence

should be perceived.

He did not wait long; the eyes and gesture of the girl nestled at the

feet of Boabdil drew the king’s attention to the spot where the stranger

stood: his eye brightened when it fell upon him.

“Almamen,” cried Boabdil, eagerly, “you are welcome.” As he spoke, he

motioned to the dancing-girls to withdraw. “May I not rest? O core of my

heart, thy bird is in its home,” murmured the songstress at the king’s

feet.

“Sweet Amine,” answered Boabdil, tenderly smoothing down her ringlets as

he bent to kiss her brow, “you should witness only my hours of delight.

Toil and business have nought with thee; I will join thee ere yet the

nightingale hymns his last music to the moon.” Amine sighed, rose, and

vanished with her companions.

“My friend,” said the king, when alone with Almamen, “your counsels

often soothe me into quiet, yet in such hours quiet is a crime. But what

do?--how struggle?--how act? Alas! at the hour of his birth, rightly

did they affix to the name of Boabdil, the epithet of _El Zogoybi_. [The

Unlucky]. Misfortune set upon my brow her dark and fated stamp ere yet

my lips could shape a prayer against her power. My fierce father, whose

frown was as the frown of Azrael, hated me in my cradle; in my youth

my name was invoked by rebels against my will; imprisoned by my father,

with the poison-bowl or the dagger hourly before my eyes, I was saved

only by the artifice of my mother. When age and infirmity broke the

iron sceptre of the king, my claims to the throne were set aside, and

my uncle, El Zagal, usurped my birthright. Amidst open war and secret

treason I wrestled for my crown; and now, the sole sovereign of

Granada, when, as I fondly imagined, my uncle had lost all claim on

the affections of my people by succumbing to the Christian king, and

accepting a fief under his dominion, I find that the very crime of El

Zagal is fixed upon me by my unhappy subjects--that they deem he would

not have yielded but for my supineness. At the moment of my delivery

from my rival, I am received with execration by my subjects, and, driven

into this my fortress of the Alhambra, dare not venture to head my

armies, or to face my people; yet am I called weak and irresolute, when

strength and courage are forbid me. And as the water glides from yonder

rock, that hath no power to retain it, I see the tide of empire welling

from my hands.”

The young king spoke warmly and bitterly; and, in the irritation of his

thoughts, strode, while he spoke, with rapid and irregular strides along

the chamber. Almamen marked his emotion with an eye and lip of rigid

composure.

“Light of the faithful,” said he, when Boabdil had concluded, “the

powers above never doom man to perpetual sorrow, nor perpetual joy:

the cloud and the sunshine are alike essential to the heaven of our

destinies; and if thou hast suffered in thy youth, thou hast exhausted

the calamities of fate, and thy manhood will be glorious, and thine age

serene.”

“Thou speakest as if the armies of Ferdinand were not already around my

walls,” said Boabdil, impatiently.

“The armies of Sennacherib were as mighty,” answered Almamen.

“Wise seer,” returned the king, in a tone half sarcastic and half

solemn, “we, the Mussulmans of Spain, are not the blind fanatics of the

Eastern world. On us have fallen the lights of philosophy and science;

and if the more clear-sighted among us yet outwardly reverence the forms

and fables worshipped by the multitude, it is from the wisdom of policy,

not the folly of belief. Talk not to me, then, of thine examples of the

ancient and elder creeds: the agents of God for this world are now,

at least, in men, not angels; and if I wait till Ferdinand share the

destiny of Sennacherib, I wait only till the Standard of the Cross wave

above the Vermilion Towers.”

“Yet,” said Almamen, “while my lord the king rejects the fanaticism of

belief, doth he reject the fanaticism of persecution? You disbelieve

the stories of the Hebrews; yet you suffer the Hebrews themselves, that

ancient and kindred Arabian race, to be ground to the dust, condemned

and tortured by your judges, your informers, your soldiers, and your

subjects.”

“The base misers! they deserve their fate,” answered Boabdil, loftily.

“Gold is their god, and the market-place their country; amidst the tears

and groans of nations, they sympathise only with the rise and fall of

trade; and, the thieves of the universe! while their hand is against

every man’s coffer, why wonder that they provoke the hand of every man

against their throats? Worse than the tribe of Hanifa, who eat their

god only in time of famine;--[The tribe of Hanifa worshipped a lump of

dough]--the race of Moisa--[Moses]--would sell the Seven Heavens for

the dent on the back of the date-stone.”--[A proverb used in the Koran,

signifying the smallest possible trifle].

“Your laws leave them no ambition but that of avarice,” replied Almamen;

“and as the plant will crook and distort its trunk, to raise its

head through every obstacle to the sun, so the mind of man twists and

perverts itself, if legitimate openings are denied it, to find its

natural element in the gale of power, or the sunshine of esteem. These

Hebrews were not traffickers and misers in their own sacred land when

they routed your ancestors, the Arab armies of old; and gnawed the flesh

from their bones in famine, rather than yield a weaker city than Granada

to a mightier force than the holiday lords of Spain. Let this pass. My

lord rejects the belief in the agencies of the angels; doth he still

retain belief in the wisdom of mortal men?”

“Yes!” returned Boabdil, quickly; “for of the one I know nought; of

the other, mine own senses can be the judge. Almamen, my fiery kinsman,

Muza, hath this evening been with me. He hath urged me to reject the

fears of my people, which chain my panting spirit within these walls; he

hath urged me to gird on yonder shield and cimiter, and to appear in the

Vivarrambla, at the head of the nobles of Granada. My heart leaps high

at the thought! and if I cannot live, at least I will die--a king!”

“It is nobly spoken,” said Almamen, coldly.

“You approve, then, my design?”

“The friends of the king cannot approve the ambition of the king to

die.”

“Ha!” said Boabdil, in an altered voice, “thou thinkest, then, that I am

doomed to perish in this struggle?”

“As the hour shall be chosen, wilt thou fall or triumph.”

“And that hour?”

“Is not yet come.”

“Dost thou read the hour in the stars?”

“Let Moorish seers cultivate that frantic credulity: thy servant sees

but in the stars worlds mightier than this little earth, whose light

would neither wane nor wink, if earth itself were swept from the

infinities of space.”

“Mysterious man!” said Boabdil; “whence, then, is thy power?--whence thy

knowledge of the future?”

Almamen approached the king, as he now stood by the open balcony.

“Behold!” said he, pointing to the waters of the Darro--“yonder stream

is of an element in which man cannot live nor breathe: above, in the

thin and impalpable air, our steps cannot find a footing, the armies of

all earth cannot build an empire. And yet, by the exercise of a little

art, the fishes and the birds, the inhabitants of the air and the water,

minister to our most humble wants, the most common of our enjoyments;

so it is with the true science of enchantment. Thinkest thou that, while

the petty surface of the world is crowded with living things, there is

no life in the vast centre within the earth, and the immense ether that

surrounds it? As the fisherman snares his prey, as the fowler entraps

the bird, so, by the art and genius of our human mind, we may thrall

and command the subtler beings of realms and elements which our material

bodies cannot enter--our gross senses cannot survey. This, then, is my

lore. Of other worlds know I nought; but of the things of this world,

whether men, or, as your legends term them, ghouls and genii, I have

learned something. To the future, I myself am blind; but I can invoke

and conjure up those whose eyes are more piercing, whose natures are

more gifted.”

“Prove to me thy power,” said Boabdil, awed less by the words than by

the thrilling voice and the impressive aspect of the enchanter.

“Is not the king’s will my law?” answered Almamen; “be his will obeyed.

To-morrow night I await thee.”

“Where?”

Almamen paused a moment, and then whispered a sentence in the king’s

ear: Boabdil started, and turned pale.

“A fearful spot!”

“So is the Alhambra itself, great Boabdil; while Ferdinand is without

the walls and Muza within the city.”

“Muza! Darest thou mistrust my bravest warrior?”

“What wise king will trust the idol of the king’s army? Did Boabdil fall

to-morrow by a chance javelin, in the field, whom would the nobles and

the warriors place upon his throne? Doth it require an enchanter’s lore

to whisper to thy heart the answer in the name of ‘Muza’?”

“Oh, wretched state! oh, miserable king!” exclaimed Boabdil, in a tone

of great anguish. “I never had a father. I have now no people; a little

while, and I shall have no country. Am I never to have a friend?”

“A friend! what king ever had?” returned Almamen, drily.

“Away, man--away!” cried Boabdil, as the impatient spirit of his rank

and race shot dangerous fire from his eyes; “your cold and bloodless

wisdom freezes up all the veins of my manhood! Glory, confidence, human

sympathy, and feeling--your counsels annihilate them all. Leave me! I

would be alone.”

“We meet to-morrow, at midnight, mighty Boabdil,” said Almamen, with his

usual unmoved and passionless tones. “May the king live for ever.”

The king turned; but his monitor had already disappeared. He went as he

came--noiseless and sudden as a ghost.

CHAPTER III. THE LOVERS.

When Muza parted from Almamen, he bent his steps towards the hill that

rises opposite the ascent crowned with the towers of the Alhambra;

the sides and summit of which eminence were tenanted by the luxurious

population of the city. He selected the more private and secluded

paths; and, half way up the hill, arrived, at last, before a low wall

of considerable extent, which girded the gardens of some wealthier

inhabitant of the city. He looked long and anxiously round; all was

solitary; nor was the stillness broken, save as an occasional breeze,

from the snowy heights of the Sierra Nevada, rustled the fragrant leaves

of the citron and pomegranate; or as the silver tinkling of waterfalls

chimed melodiously within the gardens. The Moor’s heart beat high: a

moment more, and he had scaled the wall; and found himself upon a green

sward, variegated by the rich colours of many a sleeping flower, and

shaded by groves and alleys of luxuriant foliage and golden fruits.

It was not long before he stood beside a house that seemed of a

construction anterior to the Moorish dynasty. It was built over low

cloisters formed by heavy and timeworn pillars, concealed, for the most

part by a profusion of roses and creeping shrubs: the lattices above

the cloisters opened upon large gilded balconies, the super-addition

of Moriscan taste. In one only of the casements a lamp was visible; the

rest of the mansion was dark, as if, save in that chamber, sleep kept

watch over the inmates. It was to this window that the Moor stole;

and, after a moment’s pause, he murmured rather than sang, so low and

whispered was his voice, the following simple verses, slightly varied

from an old Arabian poet:--

Light of my soul, arise, arise!

Thy sister lights are in the skies;

We want thine eyes,

Thy joyous eyes;

The Night is mourning for thine eyes!

The sacred verse is on my sword,

But on my heart thy name

The words on each alike adored;

The truth of each the same,

The same!--alas! too well I feel

The heart is truer than the steel!

Light of my soul! upon me shine;

Night wakes her stars to envy mine.

Those eyes of thine,

Wild eyes of thine,

What stars are like those eyes of thine?

As he concluded, the lattice softly opened; and a female form appeared

on the balcony.

“Ah, Leila!” said the Moor, “I see thee, and I am blessed!”

“Hush!” answered Leila; “speak low, nor tarry long I fear that our

interviews are suspected; and this,” she added in a trembling voice,

“may perhaps be the last time we shall meet.”

“Holy Prophet!” exclaimed Muza, passionately, “what do I hear? Why this

mystery? why cannot I learn thine origin, thy rank, thy parents? Think

you, beautiful Leila, that Granada holds a rouse lofty enough to disdain

the alliance with Muza Ben Abil Gazan? and oh!” he added (sinking the

haughty tones of his voice into accents of the softest tenderness),

“if not too high to scorn me, what should war against our loves and our

bridals? For worn equally on my heart were the flower of thy sweet self,

whether the mountain top or the valley gave birth to the odour and the

bloom.”

“Alas!” answered Leila, weeping, “the mystery thou complainest of is as

dark to myself as thee. How often have I told thee that I know nothing

of my birth or childish fortunes, save a dim memory of a more distant

and burning clime; where, amidst sands and wastes, springs the

everlasting cedar, and the camel grazes on stunted herbage withering

in the fiery air? Then, it seemed to me that I had a mother: fond eyes

looked on me, and soft songs hushed me into sleep.”

“Thy mother’s soul has passed into mine,” said the Moor, tenderly.

Leila continued:--“Borne hither, I passed from childhood into youth

within these walls. Slaves ministered to my slightest wish; and those

who have seen both state and poverty, which I have not, tell me that

treasures and splendour, that might glad a monarch, are prodigalised

around me: but of ties and kindred know I little: my father, a stern and

silent man, visits me but rarely--sometimes months pass, and I see him

not; but I feel he loves me; and, till I knew thee, Muza, my brightest

hours were in listening to the footsteps and flying to the arms of that

solitary friend.”

“Know you not his name?”

“Nor, I nor any one of the household; save perhaps Ximen, the chief of

the slaves, an old and withered man, whose very eye chills me into fear

and silence.”

“Strange!” said the Moor, musingly; “yet why think you our love is

discovered, or can be thwarted?”

“Hush! Ximen sought me this day: ‘Maiden,’ said he, ‘men’s footsteps

have been tracked within the gardens; if your sire know this, you will

have looked your last on Granada. Learn,’ he added, in a softer voice,

as he saw me tremble, ‘that permission were easier given to thee to wed

the wild tiger than to mate with the loftiest noble of Morisca! Beware!’

He spoke, and left me. O Muza!” she continued, passionately wringing her

hands, “my heart sinks within me, and omen and doom rise dark before my

sight!”

“By my father’s head, these obstacles but fire my love, and I would

scale to thy possession, though every step in the ladder were the

corpses of a hundred foes!”

Scarcely had the fiery and high-souled Moor uttered his boast, than,

from some unseen hand amidst the groves, a javelin whirred past him,

and as the air it raised came sharp upon his cheek, half buried its

quivering shaft in the trunk of a tree behind him.

“Fly, fly, and save thyself! O God, protect him!” cried Leila; and she

vanished within the chamber.

The Moor did not wait the result of a deadlier aim; he turned; yet, in

the instinct of his fierce nature, not from, but against, the foe; his

drawn scimitar in his hand, the half-suppressed cry of wrath trembling

on his lips, he sprang forward in the direction the javelin had sped.

With eyes accustomed to the ambuscades of Moorish warfare, he searched

eagerly, yet warily through the dark and sighing foliage. No sign of

life met his gaze; and at length, grimly and reluctantly, he retraced

his steps, and quitted the demesnes; but just as he had cleared the

wall, a voice--low, but sharp and shrill--came from the gardens.

“Thou art spared,” it said, “but, haply, for a more miserable doom!”

CHAPTER IV. THE FATHER AND DAUGHTER.

The chamber into which Leila retreated bore out the character she had

given of the interior of her home. The fashion of its ornament and

decoration was foreign to that adopted by the Moors of Granada. It had

a more massive and, if we may use the term, Egyptian gorgeousness.

The walls were covered with the stuffs of the East, stiff with gold,

embroidered upon ground of the deepest purple; strange characters,

apparently in some foreign tongue, were wrought in the tesselated

cornices and on the heavy ceiling, which was supported by square

pillars, round which were twisted serpents of gold and enamel, with

eyes to which enormous emeralds gave a green and lifelike glare: various

scrolls and musical instruments lay scattered upon marble tables: and

a solitary lamp of burnished silver cast a dim and subdued light around

the chamber. The effect of the whole, though splendid, was gloomy,

strange, and oppressive, and rather suited to the thick and cave-like

architecture which of old protected the inhabitants of Thebes and

Memphis from the rays of the African sun, than to the transparent heaven

and light pavilions of the graceful orientals of Granada.

Leila stood within this chamber, pale and breathless, with her lips

apart, her hands clasped, her very soul in her ears; nor was it possible

to conceive a more perfect ideal of some delicate and brilliant Peri,

captured in the palace of a hostile and gloomy Genius. Her form was of

the lightest shape consistent with the roundness of womanly beauty; and

there was something in it of that elastic and fawnlike grace which a

sculptor seeks to embody in his dreams of a being more aerial than those

of earth. Her luxuriant hair was dark indeed, but a purple and glossy

hue redeemed it from that heaviness of shade too common in the tresses

of the Asiatics; and her complexion, naturally pale but clear and

lustrous, would have been deemed fair even in the north. Her features,

slightly aquiline, were formed in the rarest mould of symmetry, and her

full rich lips disclosed teeth that might have shamed the pearl. But

the chief charm of that exquisite countenance was in an expression of

softness and purity, and intellectual sentiment, that seldom accompanies

that cast of loveliness, and was wholly foreign to the voluptuous and

dreamy languor of Moorish maidens; Leila had been educated, and the

statue had received a soul.

After a few minutes of intense suspense, she again stole to the lattice,

gently unclosed it, and looked forth. Far, through an opening amidst the

trees, she descried for a single moment the erect and stately figure of

her lover, darkening the moonshine on the sward, as now, quitting his

fruitless search, he turned his lingering gaze towards the lattice of

his beloved: the thick and interlacing foliage quickly hid him from

her eyes; but Leila had seen enough--she turned within, and said, as

grateful tears trickled clown her cheeks, and she sank on her knees upon

the piled cushions of the chamber: “God of my fathers! I bless Thee--he

is safe!”

“And yet (she added, as a painful thought crossed her), how may I pray

for him? we kneel not to the same Divinity; and I have been taught to

loathe and shudder at his creed! Alas! how will this end? Fatal was the

hour when he first beheld me in yonder gardens; more fatal still the

hour in which he crossed the barrier, and told Leila that she was

beloved by the hero whose arm was the shelter, whose name is the

blessing, of Granada. Ah, me! Ah, me!”

The young maiden covered her face with her hands, and sank into a

passionate reverie, broken only by her sobs. Some time had passed in

this undisturbed indulgence of her grief, when the arras was gently

put aside, and a man, of remarkable garb and mien, advanced into the

chamber, pausing as he beheld her dejected attitude, and gazing on her

with a look on which pity and tenderness seemed to struggle against

habitual severity and sternness.

“Leila!” said the intruder.

Leila started, and and a deep blush suffused her countenance; she dashed

the tears from her eyes, and came forward with a vain attempt to smile.

“My father, welcome!”

The stranger seated himself on the cushions, and motioned Leila to his

side.

“These tears are fresh upon thy cheek,” said he, gravely; “they are the

witness of thy race! our daughters are born to weep, and our sons to

groan! ashes are on the head of the mighty, and the Fountains of the

Beautiful run with gall! Oh that we could but struggle--that we could

but dare--that we could raise up, our heads, and unite against the

bondage of the evil doer! It may not be--but one man shall avenge a

nation!”

The dark face of Leila’s father, well fitted to express powerful

emotion, became terrible in its wrath and passion; his brow and lip

worked convulsively; but the paroxysm was brief; and scarce could she

shudder at its intensity ere it had subsided into calm.

“Enough of these thoughts, which thou, a woman and a child, art not

formed to witness. Leila, thou hast been nurtured with tenderness, and

schooled with care. Harsh and unloving may I have seemed to thee, but I

would have shed the best drops of my heart to have saved thy young years

from a single pang. Nay, listen to me silently. That thou mightest

one day be worthy of thy race, and that thine hours might not pass

in indolent and weary lassitude, thou hast been taught lessons of

a knowledge rarely to thy sex. Not thine the lascivious arts of the

Moorish maidens; not thine their harlot songs, and their dances of lewd

delight; thy delicate limbs were but taught the attitude that Nature

dedicates to the worship of a God, and the music of thy voice was tuned

to the songs of thy fallen country, sad with the memory of her wrongs,

animated with the names of her heroes, with the solemnity of her

prayers. These scrolls, and the lessons of our seers, have imparted to

thee such of our science and our history as may fit thy mind to aspire,

and thy heart to feel for a sacred cause. Thou listenest to me, Leila?”

Perplexed and wondering, for never before had her father addressed her

in such a strain, the maiden answered with an earnestness of manner

that seemed to content the questioner; and he resumed, with an altered,

hollow, solemn voice:

“Then curse the persecutors. Daughter of the great Hebrew race, arise

and curse the Moorish taskmaster and spoiler!”

As he spoke, the adjuror himself rose, lifting his right hand on high;

while his left touched the shoulder of the maiden. But she, after gazing

a moment in wild and terrified amazement upon his face, fell cowering

at his knees; and, clasping them imploringly, exclaimed in scarce

articulate murmurs:

“Oh, spare me! spare me!”

The Hebrew, for such he was, surveyed her, as she thus quailed at his

feet, with a look of rage and scorn: his hand wandered to his poniard,

he half unsheathed it, thrust it back with a muttered curse, and then,

deliberately drawing it forth, cast it on the ground beside her.

“Degenerate girl!” he said, in accents that vainly struggled for calm,

“if thou hast admitted to thy heart one unworthy thought towards a

Moorish infidel, dig deep and root it out, even with the knife, and to

the death--so wilt thou save this hand from that degrading task.”

He drew himself hastily from her grasp, and left the unfortunate girl

alone and senseless.

CHAPTER V. AMBITION DISTORTED INTO VICE BY LAW.

On descending a broad flight of stairs from the apartment, the Hebrew

encountered an old man, habited in loose garments of silk and fur,

upon whose withered and wrinkled face life seemed scarcely to struggle

against the advance of death--so haggard, wan, and corpse-like was its

aspect.

“Ximen,” said the Israelite, “trusty and beloved servant, follow me to

the cavern.” He did not tarry for an answer, but continued his way with

rapid strides through various courts and alleys, till he came at length

into a narrow, dark, and damp gallery, that seemed cut from the living

rock. At its entrance was a strong grate, which gave way to the Hebrew’s

touch upon the spring, though the united strength of a hundred men could

not have moved it from its hinge. Taking up a brazen lamp that burnt in

a niche within it, the Hebrew paused impatiently till the feeble steps

of the old man reached the spot; and then, reclosing the grate, pursued

his winding way for a considerable distance, till he stopped suddenly by

a part of the rock which seemed in no respect different from the rest:

and so artfully contrived and concealed was the door which he now

opened, and so suddenly did it yield to his hand, that it appeared

literally the effect of enchantment, when the rock yawned, and

discovered a circular cavern, lighted with brazen lamps, and spread with

hangings and cushions of thick furs. Upon rude and seemingly natural

pillars of rock, various antique and rusty arms were suspended; in

large niches were deposited scrolls, clasped and bound with iron; and

a profusion of strange and uncouth instruments and machines (in which

modern science might, perhaps, discover the tools of chemical invention)

gave a magical and ominous aspect to the wild abode.

The Hebrew cast himself on a couch of furs; and, as the old man entered

and closed the door, “Ximen,” said he, “fill out wine--it is a soothing

counsellor, and I need it.”

Extracting from one of the recesses of the cavern a flask and goblet,

Ximen offered to his lord a copious draught of the sparkling vintage of

the Vega, which seemed to invigorate and restore him.

“Old man,” said he, concluding the potation with a deep-drawn sigh,

“fill to thyself-drink till thy veins feel young.”

Ximen obeyed the mandate but imperfectly; the wine just touched his

lips, and the goblet was put aside.

“Ximen,” resumed the Israelite, “how many of our race have been

butchered by the avarice of the Moorish kings since first thou didst set

foot within the city?”

“Three thousand--the number was completed last winter, by the order

of Jusef the vizier; and their goods and coffers are transformed into

shafts and cimiters against the dogs of Galilee.”

“Three thousand--no more! three thousand only! I would the number had

been tripled, for the interest is becoming due!”

“My brother, and my son, and my grandson, are among the number,” said

the old man, and his face grew yet more deathlike.

“Their monuments shall be in hecatombs of their tyrants. They shall not,

at least, call the Jews niggards in revenge.”

“But pardon me, noble chief of a fallen people; thinkest thou we shall

be less despoiled and trodden under foot by yon haughty and stiff-necked

Nazarenes, than by the Arabian misbelievers?”

“Accursed, in truth, are both,” returned the Hebrew; “but the one

promise more fairly than the other. I have seen this Ferdinand, and his

proud queen; they are pledged to accord us rights and immunities we have

never known before in Europe.”

“And they will not touch our traffic, our gains, our gold?”

“Out on thee!” cried the fiery Israelite, stamping on the ground. “I

would all the gold of earth were sunk into the everlasting pit! It is

this mean, and miserable, and loathsome leprosy of avarice, that gnaws

away from our whole race the heart, the soul, nay--the very form,

of man! Many a time, when I have seen the lordly features of the

descendants of Solomon and Joshua (features that stamp the nobility of

the eastern world born to mastery and command) sharpened and furrowed by

petty cares,--when I have looked upon the frame of the strong man bowed,

like a crawling reptile, to some huckstering bargainer of silks and

unguents,--and heard the voice, that should be raising the battle-cry,

smoothed into fawning accents of base fear, or yet baser hope,--I have

asked myself, if I am indeed of the blood of Israel! and thanked the

great Jehovah that he hath spared me at least the curse that hath

blasted my brotherhood into usurers and slaves”

Ximen prudently forbore an answer to enthusiasm which he neither shared

nor understood; but, after a brief silence, turned back the stream of

the conversation.

“You resolve, then, upon prosecuting vengeance on the Moors, at

whatsoever hazard of the broken faith of these Nazarenes?”

“Ay, the vapour of human blood hath risen unto heaven, and, collected

into thunder-clouds, hangs over the doomed and guilty city. And now,

Ximen, I have a new cause for hatred to the Moors: the flower that I

have reared and watched, the spoiler hath sought to pluck it from my

hearth. Leila--thou hast guarded her ill, Ximen; and, wert thou not

endeared to me by thy very malice and vices, the rising sun should have

seen thy trunk on the waters of the Darro.”

“My lord,” replied Ximen, “if thou, the wisest of our people, canst not

guard a maiden from love, how canst thou see crime in the dull eyes and

numbed senses of a miserable old man?”

The Israelite did not answer, nor seem to hear this deprecatory

remonstrance. He appeared rather occupied with his own thoughts; and,

speaking to himself, he muttered, “It must be so: the sacrifice is

hard--the danger great; but here, at least, it is more immediate. It

shall be done. Ximen,” he continued, speaking aloud; “dost thou feel

assured that even mine own countrymen, mine own tribe, know me not as

one of them? Were my despised birth and religion published, my limbs

would be torn asunder as an impostor; and all the arts of the Cabala

could not save me.”

“Doubt not, great master; none in Granada, save thy faithful Ximen, know

thy secret.”

“So let me dream and hope. And now to my work; for this night must be

spent in toil.”

The Hebrew drew before him some of the strange instruments we have

described; and took from the recesses in the rock several scrolls.

The old man lay at his feet, ready to obey his behests; but, to all

appearance, rigid and motionless as the dead, whom his blanched hues

and shrivelled form resembled. It was, indeed, as the picture of the

enchanter at his work, and the corpse of some man of old, revived from

the grave to minister to his spells, and execute his commands.

Enough in the preceding conversation has transpired to convince the

reader, that the Hebrew, in whom he has already detected the Almamen of

the Alhambra, was of no character common to his tribe. Of a lineage that

shrouded itself in the darkness of his mysterious people, in their day

of power, and possessed of immense wealth, which threw into poverty the

resources of Gothic princes,--the youth of that remarkable man had been

spent, not in traffic and merchandise but travel and study.

As a child, his home had been in Granada. He had seen his father

butchered by the late king, Muley Abul Hassan, without other crime than

his reputed riches; and his body literally cut open, to search for the

jewels it was supposed he had swallowed. He saw, and, boy as he was he

vowed revenge. A distant kinsman bore the orphan to lands more secure

from persecution; and the art with which the Jews concealed their

wealth, scattering it over various cities, had secured to Almamen the

treasures the tyrant of Granada had failed to grasp.

He had visited the greater part of the world then known; and resided for

many years at the court of the sultan of that hoary Egypt, which still

retained its fame for abstruse science and magic lore. He had not in

vain applied himself to such tempting and wild researches; and had

acquired many of those secrets now perhaps lost for ever to the

world. We do not mean to intimate that he attained to what legend and

superstition impose upon our faith as the art of sorcery. He could

neither command the elements nor pierce the veil of the future-scatter

armies with a word, nor pass from spot to spot by the utterance of

a charmed formula. But men who, for ages, had passed their lives in

attempting all the effects that can astonish and awe the vulgar, could

not but learn some secrets which all the more sober wisdom of modern

times would search ineffectually to solve or to revive. And many of

such arts, acquired mechanically (their invention often the work of a

chemical accident), those who attained to them could not always explain,

not account for the phenomena they created, so that the mightiness of

their own deceptions deceived themselves; and they often believed they

were the masters of the Nature to which they were, in reality, but

erratic and wild disciples. Of such was the student in that grim cavern.

He was, in some measure, the dupe, partly of his own bewildered wisdom,

partly of the fervour of an imagination exceedingly high-wrought and

enthusiastic. His own gorgeous vanity intoxicated him: and, if it be an

historical truth that the kings of the ancient world, blinded by their

own power, had moments in which they believed themselves more than

men, it is not incredible that sages, elevated even above kings, should

conceive a frenzy as weak, or, it may be, as sublime: and imagine that

they did not claim in vain the awful dignity with which the faith of the

multitude invested their faculties and gifts.

But, though the accident of birth, which excluded him from all field for

energy and ambition, had thus directed the powerful mind of Almamen to

contemplation and study, nature had never intended passions so fierce

for the calm, though visionary, pursuits to which he was addicted.

Amidst scrolls and seers, he had pined for action and glory; and,

baffled in all wholesome egress, by the universal exclusion which, in

every land, and from every faith, met the religion he belonged to, the

faculties within him ran riot, producing gigantic but baseless schemes,

which, as one after the other crumbled away, left behind feelings of

dark misanthropy and intense revenge.

Perhaps, had his religion been prosperous and powerful, he might have

been a sceptic; persecution and affliction made him a fanatic. Yet, true

to that prominent characteristic of the old Hebrew race, which made them

look to a Messiah only as a warrior and a prince, and which taught them

to associate all their hopes and schemes with worldly victories and

power, Almamen desired rather to advance, than to obey, his religion. He

cared little for its precepts, he thought little of its doctrines; but,

night and day, he revolved his schemes for its earthly restoration and

triumph.

At that time, the Moors in Spain were far more deadly persecutors of the

Jews than the Christians were. Amidst the Spanish cities on the

coast, that merchant tribe had formed commercial connections with

the Christians, sufficiently beneficial, both to individuals and to

communities, to obtain for them, not only toleration, but something of

personal friendship, wherever men bought and sold in the market-place.

And the gloomy fanaticism which afterwards stained the fame of the great

Ferdinand, and introduced the horrors of the Inquisition, had not yet

made it self more than fitfully visible. But the Moors had treated this

unhappy people with a wholesale and relentless barbarity. At Granada,

under the reign of the fierce father of Boabdil,--“that king with the

tiger heart,”--the Jews had been literally placed without the pale of

humanity; and even under the mild and contemplative Boabdil himself,

they had been plundered without mercy, and, if suspected of secreting

their treasures, massacred without scruple; the wants of the state

continued their unrelenting accusers,--their wealth, their inexpiable

crime.

It was in the midst of these barbarities that Almamen, for the first

time since the day when the death-shriek of his agonised father rang in

his ears, suddenly returned to Granada. He saw the unmitigated miseries

of his brethern, and he remembered and repeated his vow. His name

changed, his kindred dead, none remembered, in the mature Almamen, the

beardless child of Issachar, the Jew. He had long, indeed, deemed it

advisable to disguise his faith; and was known, throughout the African

kingdoms, but as the potent santon, or the wise magician.

This fame soon lifted him, in Granada, high in the councils of the

court. Admitted to the intimacy of Muley Hassan, with Boabdil, and the

queen mother, he had conspired against that monarch; and had lived,

at least, to avenge his father upon the royal murderer. He was no less

intimate with Boabdil; but steeled against fellowship or affection for

all men out of the pale of his faith, he saw in the confidence of the

king only the blindness of a victim.

Serpent as he was, he cared not through what mire of treachery and fraud

he trailed his baleful folds, so that, at last, he could spring upon

his prey. Nature had given him sagacity and strength. The curse of

circumstance had humbled, but reconciled him to the dust. He had the

crawl of the reptile,--he had, also, its poison and its fangs.

CHAPTER VI. THE LION IN THE NET

IT was the next night, not long before daybreak, that the King of

Granada abruptly summoned to his council Jusef, his vizier. The old man

found Boabdil in great disorder and excitement; but he almost deemed

his sovereign mad, when he received from him the order to seize upon the

person of Muza Ben Abil Gazan, and to lodge him in the strongest dungeon

of the Vermilion Tower. Presuming upon Boabdil’s natural mildness, the

vizier ventured to remonstrate,--to suggest the danger of laying violent

hands upon a chief so beloved,--and to inquire what cause should be

assigned for the outrage.

The veins swelled like cords upon Boabdil’s brow, as he listened to the

vizier; and his answer was short and peremptory.

“Am I yet a king, that I should fear a subject, or excuse my will? Thou

hast my orders; there are my signet and the firman: obedience or the

bow-string!”

Never before had Boabdil so resembled his dread father in speech and

air; the vizier trembled to the soles of his feet, and withdrew in

silence. Boabdil watched him depart; and then, clasping his hands in

great emotion, exclaimed, “O lips of the dead! ye have warned me; and to

you I sacrifice the friend of my youth.”

On quitting Boabdil the vizier, taking with him some of those foreign

slaves of a seraglio, who know no sympathy with human passion outside

its walls, bent his way to the palace of Muza, sorely puzzled and

perplexed. He did not, however, like to venture upon the hazard of the

alarm it might occasion throughout the neighbourhood, if he endeavoured,

at so unseasonable an hour, to force an entrance. He resolved, rather,

with his train to wait at a little distance, till, with the growing

dawn, the gates should be unclosed, and the inmates of the palace astir.

Accordingly, cursing his stars, and wondering at his mission, Jusef, and

his silent and ominous attendants, concealed themselves in a small copse

adjoining the palace, until the daylight fairly broke over the awakened

city. He then passed into the palace; and was conducted to a hall, where

he found the renowned Moslem already astir, and conferring with some

Zegri captains upon the tactics of a sortie designed for that day.

It was with so evident a reluctance and apprehension that Jusef

approached the prince, that the fierce and quick-sighted Zegris

instantly suspected some evil intention in his visit; and when Muza, in

surprise, yielded to the prayer of the vizier for a private audience,

it was with scowling brows and sparkling eyes that the Moorish warriors

left the darling of the nobles alone with the messenger of their king.

“By the tomb of the prophet!” said one of the Zegris, as he quitted the

hall, “the timid Boabdil suspects our Ben Abil Gazan. I learned of this

before.”

“Hush!” said another of the band; “let us watch. If the king touch a

hair of Muza’s head, Allah have mercy on his sins!”

Meanwhile, the vizier, in silence, showed to Muza the firman and the

signet; and then, without venturing to announce the place to which he

was commissioned to conduct the prince, besought him to follow at once.

Muza changed colour, but not with fear.

“Alas!” said he, in a tone of deep sorrow, “can it be that I have fallen

under my royal kinsman’s suspicion or displeasure? But no matter; proud

to set to Granada an example of valour in her defence, be it mine to

set, also, an example of obedience to her king. Go on--I will follow

thee. Yet stay, you will have no need of guards; let us depart by a

private egress: the Zegris might misgive, did they see me leave

the palace with you at the very time the army are assembling in the

Vivarrambla, and awaiting my presence. This way.”

Thus saying, Muza, who, fierce as he was, obeyed every impulse that the

oriental loyalty dictated from a subject to a king, passed from the hall

to a small door that admitted into the garden, and in thoughtful silence

accompanied the vizier towards the Alhambra. As they passed the copse in

which Muza, two nights before, had met with Almamen, the Moor, lifting

his head suddenly, beheld fixed upon him the dark eyes of the magician,

as he emerged from the trees. Muza thought there was in those eyes a

malign and hostile exultation; but Almamen, gravely saluting him, passed

on through the grove: the prince did not deign to look back, or he might

once more have encountered that withering gaze.

“Proud heathen!” muttered Almamen to himself, “thy father filled his

treasuries from the gold of many a tortured Hebrew; and even thou, too

haughty to be the miser, hast been savage enough to play the bigot. Thy

name is a curse in Israel; yet dost thou lust after the daughter of our

despised race, and, could defeated passion sting thee, I were avenged.

Ay, sweep on, with thy stately step and lofty crest-thou goest to

chains, perhaps to death.”

As Almamen thus vented his bitter spirit, the last gleam of the white

robes of Muza vanished from his gaze. He paused a moment, turned away

abruptly, and said, half aloud, “Vengeance, not on one man only, but a

whole race! Now for the Nazarene.”

BOOK. II.

CHAPTER I. THE ROYAL TENT OF SPAIN.--THE KING AND THE DOMINICAN--THE VISITOR AND

THE HOSTAGE.

Our narrative now summons us to the Christian army, and to the tent

in which the Spanish king held nocturnal counsel with some of his more

confidential warriors and advisers. Ferdinand had taken the field with

all the pomp and circumstance of a tournament rather than of a campaign;

and his pavilion literally blazed with purple and cloth of gold.

The king sat at the head of a table on which were scattered maps and

papers; nor in countenance and mien did that great and politic monarch

seem unworthy of the brilliant chivalry by which he was surrounded. His

black hair, richly perfumed and anointed, fell in long locks on either

side of a high imperial brow, upon whose calm, though not unfurrowed

surface, the physiognomist would in vain have sought to read the

inscrutable heart of kings. His features were regular and majestic: and

his mantle, clasped with a single jewel of rare price and lustre, and

wrought at the breast with a silver cross, waved over a vigorous and

manly frame, which derived from the composed and tranquil dignity of

habitual command that imposing effect which many of the renowned

knights and heroes in his presence took from loftier stature and ampler

proportions. At his right hand sat Prince Juan, his son, in the first

bloom of youth; at his left, the celebrated Rodrigo Ponce de Leon,

Marquess of Cadiz; along the table, in the order of their military rank,

were seen the splendid Duke of Medina Sidonia, equally noble in aspect

and in name; the worn and thoughtful countenance of the Marquess de

Villena (the Bayard of Spain); the melancholy brow of the heroic Alonzo

de Aguilar; and the gigantic frame, the animated features, and sparkling

eyes, of that fiery Hernando del Pulgar, surnamed “the knight of the

exploits.”

“You see, senores,” said the king, continuing an address, to which his

chiefs seemed to listen with reverential attention, “our best hope of

speedily gaining the city is rather in the dissensions of the Moors

than our own sacred arms. The walls are strong, the population still

numerous; and under Muza Ben Abil Gazan, the tactics of the hostile army

are, it must be owned, administered with such skill as to threaten very

formidable delays to the period of our conquest. Avoiding the hazard

of a fixed battle, the infidel cavalry harass our camp by perpetual

skirmishes; and in the mountain defiles our detachments cannot cope with

their light horse and treacherous ambuscades. It is true, that by

dint of time, by the complete devastation of the Vega, and by vigilant

prevention of convoys from the seatowns, we might starve the city into

yielding. But, alas! my lords, our enemies are scattered and numerous,

and Granada is not the only place before which the standard of Spain

should be unfurled. Thus situated, the lion does not disdain to serve

himself of the fox; and, fortunately, we have now in Granada an ally

that fights for us. I have actual knowledge of all that passes within

the Alhambra: the king yet remains in his palace, irresolute and

dreaming; and I trust that an intrigue by which his jealousies are

aroused against his general, Muza, may end either in the loss of that

able leader, or in the commotion of open rebellion or civil war. Treason

within Granada will open its gates to us.”

“Sire,” said Ponce de Leon, after a pause, “under your counsels, I no

more doubt of seeing our banner float above the Vermilion Towers, than I

doubt the rising of the sun over yonder hills; it matters little whether

we win by stratagem or force. But I need not say to your highness, that

we should carefully beware lest we be amused by inventions of the enemy,

and trust to conspiracies which may be but lying tales to blunt our

sabres, and paralyse our action.”

“Bravely spoken, wise de Leon!” exclaimed Hernando del Pulgar, hotly:

“and against these infidels, aided by the cunning of the Evil One,

methinks our best wisdom lies in the sword-arm. Well says our old

Castilian proverb:

‘Curse them devoutly,

Hammer them stoutly.’”

The king smiled slightly at the ardour of the favourite of his army, but

looked round for more deliberate counsel. “Sire,” said Villena, “far be

it from us to inquire the grounds upon which your majesty builds

your hope of dissension among the foe; but, placing the most sanguine

confidence in a wisdom never to be deceived, it is clear that we should

relax no energy within our means, but fight while we plot, and seek to

conquer, while we do not neglect to undermine.”

“You speak well, my Lord,” said Ferdinand, thoughtfully; “and you

yourself shall head a strong detachment to-morrow, to lay waste

the Vega. Seek me two hours hence; the council for the present is

dissolved.”

The knights rose, and withdrew with the usual grave and stately

ceremonies of respect, which Ferdinand observed to, and exacted from,

his court: the young prince remained.

“Son,” said Ferdinand, when they were alone, “early and betimes should

the Infants of Spain be lessoned in the science of kingcraft. These

nobles are among the brightest jewels of the crown; but still it is

in the crown, and for the crown, that their light should sparkle.

Thou seest how hot, and fierce, and warlike, are the chiefs of

Spain--excellent virtues when manifested against our foes: but had we no

foes, Juan, such virtues might cause us exceeding trouble. By St.

Jago, I have founded a mighty monarchy! observe how it should be

maintained--by science, Juan, by science! and science is as far removed

from brute force as this sword from a crowbar. Thou seemest bewildered

and amazed, my son: thou hast heard that I seek to conquer Granada by

dissensions among the Moors; when Granada is conquered, remember that

the nobles themselves are at Granada. Ave Maria! blessed be the Holy

Mother, under whose eyes are the hearts of kings!” Ferdinand crossed

himself devoutly; and then, rising, drew aside a part of the drapery

of the pavilion, and called; in a low voice, the name of Perez. A grave

Spaniard, somewhat past the verge of middle age, appeared.

“Perez,” said the king, reseating himself, “has the person we expected

from Granada yet arrived?”

“Sire, yes; accompanied by a maiden.”

“He hath kept his word; admit them. Ha! holy father, thy visits are

always as balsam to the heart.”

“Save you, my son!” returned a man in the robes of a Dominican friar,

who had entered suddenly and without ceremony by another part of the

tent, and who now seated himself with smileless composure at a little

distance from the king.

There was a dead silence for some moments; and Perez still lingered

within the tent, as if in doubt whether the entrance of the friar would

not prevent or delay obedience to the king’s command. On the calm

face of Ferdinand himself appeared a slight shade of discomposure and

irresolution, when the monk thus resumed:

“My presence, my son, will not, I trust, disturb your conference with

the infidel--since you deem that worldly policy demands your parley with

the men of Belial.”

“Doubtless not--doubtless not,” returned the king, quickly: then,

muttering to himself, “how wondrously doth this holy man penetrate into

all our movements and designs!” he added, aloud, “Let the messenger

enter.”

Perez bowed, and withdrew.

During this time, the young prince reclined in listless silence on his

seat; and on his delicate features was an expression of weariness which

augured but ill of his fitness for the stern business to which the

lessons of his wise father were intended to educate his mind. His,

indeed, was the age, and his the soul, for pleasure; the tumult of the

camp was to him but a holiday exhibition--the march of an army, the

exhilaration of a spectacle; the court as a banquet--the throne, the

best seat at the entertainment. The life of the heir-apparent, to the

life of the king possessive, is as the distinction between enchanting

hope and tiresome satiety.

The small grey eyes of the friar wandered over each of his royal

companions with a keen and penetrating glance, and then settled in the

aspect of humility on the rich carpets that bespread the floor; nor did

he again lift them till Perez, reappearing, admitted to the tent the

Israelite, Almamen, accompanied by a female figure, whose long veil,

extending from head to foot, could conceal neither the beautiful

proportions nor the trembling agitation, of her frame.

“When last, great king, I was admitted to thy presence,” said Almamen,

“thou didst make question of the sincerity and faith of thy servant;

thou didst ask me for a surety of my faith; thou didst demand a hostage;

and didst refuse further parley without such pledge were yielded to

thee. Lo! I place under thy kingly care this maiden--the sole child of

my house--as surety of my truth; I intrust to thee a life dearer than my

own.”

“You have kept faith with us, stranger,” said the king, in that soft and

musical voice which well disguised his deep craft and his unrelenting

will; “and the maiden whom you intrust to our charge shall be ranked

with the ladies of our royal consort.”

“Sire,” replied Almamen, with touching earnestness, “you now hold the

power of life and death over all for whom this heart can breathe a

prayer or cherish a hope, save for my countrymen and my religion. This

solemn pledge between thee and me I render up without scruple, without

fear. To thee I give a hostage, from thee I have but a promise.”

“But it is the promise of a king, a Christian, and a knight,” said the

king, with dignity rather mild than arrogant; “among monarchs, what

hostage can be more sacred? Let this pass: how proceed affairs in the

rebel city?”

“May this maiden withdraw, ere I answer my lord the king?” said Almamen.

The young prince started to his feet. “Shall I conduct this new charge

to my mother?” he asked, in a low voice, addressing Ferdinand.

The king half smiled: “The holy father were a better guide,” he

returned, in the same tone. But, though the Dominican heard the hint, he

retained his motionless posture; and Ferdinand, after a momentary gaze

on the friar, turned away. “Be it so, Juan,” said he, with a look meant

to convey caution to the prince; “Perez shall accompany you to the

queen: return the moment your mission is fulfilled--we want your

presence.”

While this conversation was carried on between the father and son,

the Hebrew was whispering, in his sacred tongue, words of comfort and

remonstrance to the maiden; but they appeared to have but little of the

desired effect; and, suddenly falling on his breast, she wound her

arms around the Hebrew, whose breast shook with strong emotions, and

exclaimed passionately, in the same language, “Oh, my father! what have

I done?--why send me from thee?--why intrust thy child to the stranger?

Spare me, spare me!”

“Child of my heart!” returned the Hebrew, with solemn but tender

accents, “even as Abraham offered up his son, must I offer thee, upon

the altars of our faith; but, O Leila! even as the angel of the Lord

forbade the offering, so shall thy youth be spared, and thy years

reserved for the glory of generations yet unborn. King of Spain!”

he continued in the Spanish tongue, suddenly and eagerly, “you are a

father, forgive my weakness, and speed this parting.”

Juan approached; and with respectful courtesy attempted to take the hand

of the maiden.

“You?” said the Israelite, with a dark frown. “O king! the prince is

young.”

“Honour knoweth no distinction of age,” answered the king. “What ho,

Perez! accompany this maiden and the prince to the queen’s pavilion.”

The sight of the sober years and grave countenance of the attendant

seemed to re-assure the Hebrew. He strained Leila in his arms; printed a

kiss upon her forehead without removing her veil; and then, placing her

almost in the arms of Perez, turned away to the further end of the tent,

and concealed his face with his hands. The king appeared touched; but

the Dominican gazed upon the whole scene with a sour scowl.

Leila still paused for a moment; and then, as if recovering her

self-possession, said, aloud and distinctly,--“Man deserts me; but

I will not forget that God is over all.” Shaking off the hand of the

Spaniard, she continued, “Lead on; I follow thee!” and left the tent

with a steady and even majestic step.

“And now,” said the king, when alone with the Dominican and Almamen,

“how proceed our hopes?”

“Boabdil,” replied the Israelite, “is aroused against both his army

and their leader, Muza; the king will not quit the Alhambra; and this

morning, ere I left the city, Muza himself was in the prisons of the

palace.”

“How!” cried the king, starting from his seat.

“This is my work,” pursued the Hebrew coldly. “It is these hands that

are shaping for Ferdinand of Spain the keys of Granada.”

“And right kingly shall be your guerdon,” said the Spanish monarch:

“meanwhile, accept this earnest of our favour.” So saying, he took from

his breast a chain of massive gold, the links of which were curiously

inwrought with gems, and extended it to the Israelite. Almamen moved

not. A dark flush upon his countenance bespoke the feelings he with

difficulty restrained.

“I sell not my foes for gold, great king,” said he, with a stern smile:

“I sell my foes to buy the ransom of my friends.”

“Churlish!” said Ferdinand, offended: “but speak on, man, speak on!”

“If I place Granada, ere two weeks are past, within thy power, what

shall be my reward?”

“Thou didst talk to me, when last we met, of immunities to the Jews.”

The calm Dominican looked up as the king spoke, crossed himself, and

resumed his attitude of humility.

“I demand for the people of Israel,” returned Almamen, “free leave to

trade and abide within the city, and follow their callings, subjected

only to the same laws and the same imposts as the Christian population.”

“The same laws, and the same imposts! Humph! there are difficulties in

the concession. If we refuse?”

“Our treaty is ended. Give me back the maiden--you will have no further

need of the hostage you demanded: I return to the city, and renew our

interviews no more.”

Politic and cold-blooded as was the temperament of the great Ferdinand,

he had yet the imperious and haughty nature of a prosperous and

long-descended king; and he bit his lip in deep displeasure at the tone

of the dictatorial and stately stranger.

“Thou usest plain language, my friend,” said he; “my words can be as

rudely spoken. Thou art in my power, and canst return not, save at my

permission.”

“I have your royal word, sire, for free entrance and safe egress,”

answered Almamen. “Break it, and Granada is with the Moors till the

Darro runs red with the blood of her heroes, and her people strew the

vales as the leaves in autumn.”

“Art thou then thyself of the Jewish faith?” asked the king. “If thou

art not, wherefore are the outcasts of the world so dear to thee?”

“My fathers were of that creed, royal Ferdinand; and if I myself desert

their creed, I do not desert their cause. O king! are my terms scorned

or accepted?”

“I accept them: provided, first, that thou obtainest the exile or death

of Muza; secondly, that within two weeks of this date thou bringest me,

along with the chief councillors of Granada, the written treaty of the

capitulation, and the keys of the city. Do this: and though the sole

king in Christendom who dares the hazard, I offer to the Israelites

throughout Andalusia the common laws and rights of citizens of Spain;

and to thee I will accord such dignity as may content thy ambition.”

The Hebrew bowed reverently, and drew from his breast a scroll, which

he placed on the table before the king. “This writing, mighty Ferdinand,

contains the articles of our compact.”

“How, knave! wouldst thou have us commit our royal signature to

conditions with such as thou art, to the chance of the public eye? The

king’s word is the king’s bond!”

The Hebrew took up the scroll with imperturbable composure, “My child!”

said he; “will your majesty summon back my child? we would depart.”

“A sturdy mendicant this, by the Virgin!” muttered the king; and then,

speaking aloud, “Give me the paper, I will scan it.”

Running his eyes hastily over the words, Ferdinand paused a moment, and

then drew towards him the implements of writing, signed the scroll, and

returned it to Almamen.

The Israelite kissed it thrice with oriental veneration, and replaced it

in his breast.

Ferdinand looked at him hard and curiously. He was a profound reader of

men’s characters; but that of his guest baffled and perplexed him.

“And how, stranger,” said he, gravely,--“how can I trust that man who

thus distrusts one king and sells another?”

“O king!” replied Almamen (accustomed from his youth to commune with and

command the possessors of thrones yet more absolute),--“O king! if thou

believest me actuated by personal and selfish interests in this our

compact, thou has but to make, my service minister to my interest, and

the lore of human nature will tell thee that thou hast won a ready and

submissive slave. But if thou thinkest I have avowed sentiments less

abject, and developed qualities higher than those of the mere bargainer

for sordid power, oughtest thou not to rejoice that chance has thrown

into thy way one whose intellect and faculties may be made thy tool? If

I betray another, that other is my deadly foe. Dost not thou, the lord

of armies, betray thine enemy? The Moor is an enemy bitterer to myself

than to thee. Because I betray an enemy, am I unworthy to serve a

friend? If I, a single man, and a stranger to the Moor, can yet command

the secrets of palaces, and render vain the counsels of armed men, have

I not in that attested that I am one of whom a wise king can make an

able servant?”

“Thou art a subtle reasoner, my friend,” said Ferdinand, smiling gently.

“Peace go with thee! our conference for the time is ended. What ho,

Perez!” The attendant appeared.

“Thou hast left the maiden with the queen?”

“Sire, you have been obeyed.”

“Conduct this stranger to the guard who led him through the camp. He

quits us under the same protection. Farewell! yet stay--thou art assured

that Muza Ben Abil Gazan is in the prisons of the Moor?”

“Yes.”

“Blessed be the Virgin!”

“Thou hast heard our conference, Father Tomas?” said the king,

anxiously, when the Hebrew had withdrawn.

“I have, son.”

“Did thy veins freeze with horror?”

“Only when my son signed the scroll. It seemed to me then that I saw the

cloven foot of the tempter.”

“Tush, father, the tempter would have been more wise than to reckon upon

a faith which no ink and no parchment can render valid, if the Church

absolve the compact. Thou understandest me, father?”

“I do. I know your pious heart and well-judging mind.”

“Thou wert right,” resumed the king, musingly, “when thou didst tell

us that these caitiff Jews were waxing strong in the fatness of their

substance. They would have equal laws--the insolent blasphemers!”

“Son!” said the Dominican, with earnest adjuration, “God, who has

prospered your arms and councils, will require at your hands an account

of the power intrusted to you. Shall there be no difference between His

friends and His foes--His disciples and His crucifiers?”

“Priest,” said the king, laying his hand on the monk’s shoulder, and

with a saturnine smile upon his countenance, “were religion silent in

this matter, policy has a voice loud enough to make itself heard. The

Jews demand equal rights; when men demand equality with their masters,

treason is at work, and justice sharpens her sword. Equality! these

wealthy usurers! Sacred Virgin! they would be soon buying up our

kingdoms.”

The Dominican gazed hard on the king. “Son, I trust thee,” he said, in a

low voice, and glided from the tent.

CHAPTER II. THE AMBUSH, THE STRIFE, AND THE CAPTURE.

The dawn was slowly breaking over the wide valley of Granada, as Almamen

pursued his circuitous and solitary path back to the city. He was now in

a dark and entangled hollow, covered with brakes and bushes, from

amidst which tall forest trees rose in frequent intervals, gloomy and

breathless in the still morning air. As, emerging from this jungle, if

so it may be called, the towers of Granada gleamed upon him, a human

countenance peered from the shade; and Almamen started to see two dark

eyes fixed upon his own.

He halted abruptly, and put his hand on his dagger, when a low sharp

whistle from the apparition before him was answered around--behind; and,

ere he could draw breath, the Israelite was begirt by a group of Moors,

in the garb of peasants.

“Well, my masters,” said Almamen, calmly, as he encountered the wild

savage countenances that glared upon him, “think you there is aught to

fear from the solitary santon?”

“It is the magician,” whispered one man to his neighbour--“let him

pass.”

“Nay,” was the answer, “take him before the captain; we have orders to

seize upon all we meet.”

This counsel prevailed; and gnashing his teeth with secret rage, Almamen

found himself hurried along by the peasants through the thickest part of

the copse. At length, the procession stopped in a semicircular patch of

rank sward, in which several head of cattle were quietly grazing, and a

yet more numerous troop of peasants reclined around upon the grass.

“Whom have we here?” asked a voice which startled back the dark blood

from Almamen’s cheek; and a Moor of commanding presence rose from the

midst of his brethren. “By the beard of the prophet, it is the false

santon! What dost thou from Granada at this hour?”

“Noble Muza,” returned Almamen--who, though indeed amazed that one whom

he had imagined his victim was thus unaccountably become his judge,

retained, at least, the semblance of composure--“my answer is to be

given only to my lord the king; it is his commands that I obey.”

“Thou art aware,” said Muza, frowning, “that thy life is forfeited

without appeal? Whatsoever inmate of Granada is found without the walls

between sunrise and sunset, dies the death of a traitor and deserter.”

“The servants of the Alhambra are excepted,” answered the Israelite,

without changing countenance.

“Ah!” muttered Muza, as a painful and sudden thought seemed to cross

him, “can it be possible that the rumour of the city has truth, and that

the monarch of Granada is in treaty with the foe?” He mused a little;

and then, motioning the Moors to withdraw, he continued aloud, “Almamen,

answer me truly: hast thou sought the Christian camp with any message

from the king?”

“I have not.”

“Art thou without the walls on the mission of the king?”

“If I be so, I am a traitor to the king should I reveal his secret.”

“I doubt thee much, santon,” said Muza, after a pause; “I know thee for

my enemy, and I do believe thy counsels have poisoned the king’s ear

against me, his people and his duties. But no matter, thy life is spared

a while; thou remainest with us, and with us shalt thou return to the

king.”

“But, noble Muza----”

“I have said! Guard the santon; mount him upon one of our chargers; he

shall abide with us in our ambush.” While Almamen chafed in vain at his

arrest, all in the Christian camp was yet still. At length, as the sun

began to lift himself above the mountains, first a murmur, and then a

din, betokened warlike preparations. Several parties of horse, under

gallant and experienced leaders, formed themselves in different

quarters, and departed in different ways, on expeditions of forage, or

in the hope of skirmish with the straggling detachments of the enemy. Of

these, the best equipped, was conducted by the Marquess de Villena, and

his gallant brother Don Alonzo de Pacheco. In this troop, too, rode many

of the best blood of Spain; for in that chivalric army, the officers

vied with each other who should most eclipse the meaner soldiery in

feats of personal valour; and the name of Villena drew around him

the eager and ardent spirits that pined at the general inactivity of

Ferdinand’s politic campaign.

The sun, now high in heaven, glittered on the splendid arms and gorgeous

pennons of Villena’s company, as, leaving the camp behind, it entered a

rich and wooded district that skirts the mountain barrier of the

Vega. The brilliancy of the day, the beauty of the scene, the hope and

excitement of enterprise, animated the spirits of the whole party.

In these expeditions strict discipline was often abandoned, from the

certainty that it could be resumed at need. Conversation, gay and loud,

interspersed at times with snatches of song, was heard amongst the

soldiery; and in the nobler group that rode with Villena, there was even

less of the proverbial gravity of Spaniards.

“Now, marquess,” said Don Estevon de Suzon, “what wager shall be between

us as to which lance this day robs Moorish beauty of the greatest number

of its worshippers?”

“My falchion against your jennet,” said Don Alonzo de Pacheco, taking up

the challenge.

“Agreed. But, talking of beauty, were you in the queen’s pavilion last

night, noble marquess? it was enriched by a new maiden, whose strange

and sudden apparition none can account for. Her eyes would have eclipsed

the fatal glance of Cava; and had I been Rodrigo, I might have lost a

crown for her smile.”

“Ay,” said Villena, “I heard of her beauty; some hostage from one of the

traitor Moors, with whom the king (the saints bless him!) bargains for

the city. They tell me the prince incurred the queen’s grave rebuke for

his attentions to the maiden.”

“And this morning I saw that fearful Father Tomas steal into the

prince’s tent. I wish Don Juan well through the lecture. The monk’s

advice is like the algarroba;--[The algarroba is a sort of leguminous

plant common in Spain]--when it is laid up to dry it may be reasonably

wholesome, but it is harsh and bitter enough when taken fresh.”

At this moment one of the subaltern officers rode up to the marquess,

and whispered in his ear.

“Ha!” said Villena, “the Virgin be praised! Sir knights, booty is at

hand. Silence! close the ranks.” With that, mounting a little eminence,

and shading his eyes with his hand, the marquess surveyed the plain

below; and, at some distance, he beheld a horde of Moorish peasants

driving some cattle into a thick copse. The word was hastily given, the

troop dashed on, every voice was hushed, and the clatter of mail, and

the sound of hoofs, alone broke the delicious silence of the noon-day

landscape.

Ere they reached the copse, the peasants had disappeared within it. The

marquess marshalled his men in a semicircle round the trees, and sent

on a detachment to the rear, to cut off every egress from the wood. This

done the troop dashed within. For the first few yards the space was more

open than they had anticipated: but the ground soon grew uneven, rugged,

and almost precipitous, and the soil, and the interlaced trees, alike

forbade any rapid motion to the horse. Don Alonzo de Pacheco, mounted

on a charger whose agile and docile limbs had been tutored to every

description of warfare, and himself of light weight and incomparable

horsemanship--dashed on before the rest. The trees hid him for a moment;

when suddenly, a wild yell was heard, and as it ceased uprose the

solitary voice of the Spaniard, shouting, “_Santiago, y cierra_, Espana;

St. Jago, and charge, Spain!”

Each cavalier spurred forward; when suddenly, a shower of darts and

arrows rattled on their armour; and upsprung from bush and reeds, and

rocky clift, a number of Moors, and with wild shouts swarmed around the

Spaniards.

“Back for your lives!” cried Villena; “we are beset--make for the level

ground!”

He turned-spurred from the thicket, and saw the Paynim foe emerging

through the glen, line after line of man and horse; each Moor leading

his slight and fiery steed by the bridle, and leaping on it as he issued

from the wood into the plain. Cased in complete mail, his visor down,

his lance in its rest, Villena (accompanied by such of his knights as

could disentangle themselves from the Moorish foot) charged upon the

foe. A moment of fierce shock passed: on the ground lay many a Moor,

pierced through by the Christian lance; and on the other side of the foe

was heard the voice of Villena--“St. Jago to the rescue!” But the brave

marquess stood almost alone, save his faithful chamberlain, Solier.

Several of his knights were dismounted, and swarms of Moors, with lifted

knives, gathered round them as they lay, searching for the joints of the

armour, which might admit a mortal wound. Gradually, one by one, many of

Villena’s comrades joined their leader, and now the green mantle of

Don Alonzo de Pacheco was seen waving without the copse, and Villena

congratulated himself on the safety of his brother. Just at that moment,

a Moorish cavalier spurred from his troop, and met Pacheco in full

career. The Moor was not clad, as was the common custom of the Paynim

nobles, in the heavy Christian armour. He wore the light flexile mail of

the ancient heroes of Araby or Fez. His turban, which was protected by

chains of the finest steel interwoven with the folds, was of the most

dazzling white--white, also, were his tunic and short mantle; on his

left arm hung a short circular shield, in his right hand was poised

a long and slender lance. As this Moor, mounted on a charger in whose

raven hue not a white hair could be detected, dashed forward against

Pacheco, both Christian and Moor breathed hard, and remained passive.

Either nation felt it as a sacrilege to thwart the encounter of

champions so renowned.

“God save my brave brother!” muttered Villena, anxiously. “Amen,” said

those around him; for all who had ever witnessed the wildest valour in

that war, trembled as they recognised the dazzling robe and coal-black

charger of Muza Ben Abil Gazan. Nor was that renowned infidel mated with

an unworthy foe. “Pride of the tournament, and terror of the war,” was

the favourite title which the knights and ladies of Castile had bestowed

on Don Alonzo de Pacheco.

When the Spaniard saw the redoubted Moor approach, he halted abruptly

for a moment, and then, wheeling his horse around, took a wider circuit,

to give additional impetus to his charge. The Moor, aware of his

purpose, halted also, and awaited the moment of his rush; when once

more he darted forward, and the combatants met with a skill which called

forth a cry of involuntary applause from the Christians themselves.

Muza received on the small surface of his shield the ponderous spear

of Alonzo, while his own light lance struck upon the helmet of the

Christian, and by the exactness of the aim rather than the weight of the

blow, made Alonzo reel in his saddle.

The lances were thrown aside--the long broad falchion of the Christian,

the curved Damascus cimiter of the Moor, gleamed in the air. They reined

their chargers opposite each other in grave and deliberate silence.

“Yield thee, sir knight!” at length cried the fierce Moor, “for the

motto on my cimiter declares that if thou meetest its stroke, thy

days are numbered. The sword of the believer is the Key of Heaven and

Hell.”--[Such, says Sale, is the poetical phrase of the Mohammedan

divines.]

“False Paynim,” answered Alonzo, in a voice that rung hollow through his

helmet, “a Christian knight is the equal of a Moorish army!”

Muza made no reply, but left the rein of his charger on his neck; the

noble animal understood the signal, and with a short impatient cry

rushed forward at full speed. Alonzo met the charge with his falchion

upraised, and his whole body covered with his shield; the Moor bent--the

Spaniards raised a shout--Muza seemed stricken from his horse. But the

blow of the heavy falchion had not touched him: and, seemingly without

an effort, the curved blade of his own cimiter, gliding by that part

of his antagonist’s throat where the helmet joins the cuirass, passed

unresistingly and silently through the joints; and Alonzo fell at once,

and without a groan, from his horse--his armour, to all appearance,

unpenetrated, while the blood oozed slow and gurgling from a mortal

wound.

“Allah il Allah!” shouted Muza, as he joined his friends; “Lelilies!

Lelilies!” echoed the Moors; and ere the Christians recovered their

dismay, they were engaged hand to hand with their ferocious and swarming

foes. It was, indeed, fearful odds; and it was a marvel to the Spaniards

how the Moors had been enabled to harbour and conceal their numbers in

so small a space. Horse and foot alike beset the company of Villena,

already sadly reduced; and while the infantry, with desperate and savage

fierceness, thrust themselves under the very bellies of the chargers,

encountering both the hoofs of the steed and the deadly lance of the

rider, in the hope of finding a vulnerable place for the sharp Moorish

knife,--the horsemen, avoiding the stern grapple of the Spaniard

warriors, harrassed them by the shaft and lance,--now advancing, now

retreating, and performing, with incredible rapidity, the evolutions of

Oriental cavalry. But the life and soul of his party was the indomitable

Muza. With a rashness which seemed to the superstitious Spaniards like

the safety of a man protected by magic, he spurred his ominous

black barb into the very midst of the serried phalanx which Villena

endeavoured to form around him, breaking the order by his single charge,

and from time to time bringing to the dust some champion of the troop by

the noiseless and scarce-seen edge of his fatal cimiter.

Villena, in despair alike of fame and life, and gnawed with grief for

his brother’s loss, at length resolved to put the last hope of the

battle on his single arm. He gave the signal for retreat; and to protect

his troop, remained himself, alone and motionless, on his horse, like

a statue of iron. Though not of large frame, he was esteemed the best

swordsman, next only to Hernando del Pulgar and Gonsalvo de Cordova, in

the army; practised alike in the heavy assault of the Christian warfare,

and the rapid and dexterous exercise of the Moorish cavalry. There

he remained, alone and grim--a lion at bay--while his troops slowly

retreated down the Vega, and their trumpets sounded loud signals of

distress, and demands for succour, to such of their companions as might

be within bearing. Villena’s armour defied the shafts of the Moors; and

as one after one darted towards him, with whirling cimiter and momentary

assault, few escaped with impunity from an eye equally quick and a

weapon more than equally formidable. Suddenly, a cloud of dust swept

towards him; and Muza, a moment before at the further end of the field,

came glittering through that cloud, with his white robe waving and his

right arm bare. Villena recognised him, set his teeth hard, and putting

spurs to his charger, met the rush. Muza swerved aside, just as the

heavy falchion swung over his head, and by a back stroke of his own

cimiter, shore through the cuirass just above the hip-joint, and the

blood followed the blade. The brave cavaliers saw the danger of their

chief; three of their number darted forward, and came in time to

separate the combatants.

Muza stayed not to encounter the new reinforcement; but speeding across

the plain, was soon seen rallying his own scattered cavalry, and

pouring them down, in one general body, upon the scanty remnant of the

Spaniards.

“Our day is come!” said the good knight Villena, with bitter

resignation. “Nothing is left for us, my friends, but to give up our

lives--an example how Spanish warriors should live and die. May God and

the Holy Mother forgive our sins and shorten our purgatory!”

Just as he spoke, a clarion was heard at a distance and the sharpened

senses of the knights caught the ring of advancing hoofs.

“We are saved!” cried Estevon de Suzon, rising on his stirrups. While

he spoke, the dashing stream of the Moorish horse broke over the little

band; and Estevon beheld bent upon himself the dark eyes and quivering

lip of Muza Ben Abil Gazan. That noble knight had never, perhaps, till

then known fear; but he felt his heart stand still, as he now stood

opposed to that irresistible foe.

“The dark fiend guides his blade!” thought De Suzon; “but I was shriven

but yestermorn.” The thought restored his wonted courage; and he spurred

on to meet the cimiter of the Moor.

His assault took Muza by surprise. The Moor’s horse stumbled over the

ground, cumbered with the dead and slippery with blood, and his uplifted

cimiter could not do more than break the force of the gigantic arm of De

Suzon; as the knight’s falchion bearing down the cimiter, and alighting

on the turban of the Mohammedan, clove midway through its folds,

arrested only by the admirable temper of the links of steel which

protected it. The shock hurled the Moor to the ground. He rolled under

the saddle-girths of his antagonist.

“Victory and St. Jago!” cried the knight, “Muza is--”

The sentence was left eternally unfinished. The blade of the fallen Moor

had already pierced De Suzoii’s horse through a mortal but undefended

part. It fell, bearing his rider with him. A moment, and the two

champions lay together grappling in the dust; in the next, the short

knife which the Moor wore in his girdle had penetrated the Christian’s

visor, passing through the brain.

To remount his steed, that remained at band, humbled and motionless,

to appear again amongst the thickest of the fray, was a work no less

rapidly accomplished than had been the slaughter of the unhappy Estevon

de Suzon. But now the fortune of the day was stopped in a progress

hitherto so triumphant to the Moors.

Pricking fast over the plain were seen the glittering horsemen of the

Christian reinforcements; and, at the remoter distance, the royal banner

of Spain, indistinctly descried through volumes of dust, denoted that

Ferdinand himself was advancing to the support of his cavaliers.

The Moors, however, who had themselves received many and mysterious

reinforcements, which seemed to spring up like magic from the bosom of

the earth--so suddenly and unexpectedly had they emerged from copse

and cleft in that mountainous and entangled neighbourhood--were not

unprepared for a fresh foe. At the command of the vigilant Muza, they

drew off, fell into order, and, seizing, while yet there was time, the

vantage-ground which inequalities of the soil and the shelter of the

trees gave to their darts and agile horse, they presented an array which

Ponce de Leon himself, who now arrived, deemed it more prudent not to

assault. While Villena, in accents almost inarticulate with rage, was

urging the Marquess of Cadiz to advance, Ferdinand, surrounded by the

flower of his court, arrived at the rear of the troops and after a few

words interchanged with Ponce de Leon, gave the signal to retreat.

When the Moors beheld that noble soldiery slowly breaking ground, and

retiring towards the camp, even Muza could not control their ardour.

They rushed forward, harassing the retreat of the Christians, and

delaying the battle by various skirmishes.

It was at this time that the headlong valour of Hernando del Pulgar, who

had arrived with Ponce de Leon, distinguished itself in feats which yet

live in the songs of Spain. Mounted upon an immense steed, and himself

of colossal strength, he was seen charging alone upon the assailants,

and scattering numbers to the ground with the sweep of his enormous

two-handed falchion. With a loud voice, he called on Muza to oppose him;

but the Moor, fatigued with slaughter, and scarcely recovered from the

shock of his encounter with De Suzon, reserved so formidable a foe for a

future contest.

It was at this juncture, while the field was covered with straggling

skirmishers, that a small party of Spaniards, in cutting their way to

the main body of their countrymen through one of the numerous copses

held by the enemy, fell in at the outskirt with an equal number of

Moors, and engaged them in a desperate conflict, hand to hand. Amidst

the infidels was one man who took no part in the affray: at a little

distance, he gazed for a few moments upon the fierce and relentless

slaughter of Moor and Christian with a smile of stern and complacent

delight; and then taking advantage of the general confusion, rode

gently, and, as he hoped, unobserved, away from the scene. But he was

not destined so quietly to escape. A Spaniard perceived him, and, from

something strange and unusual in his garb, judged him one of the Moorish

leaders; and presently Almamen, for it was he, beheld before him the

uplifted falchion of a foe neither disposed to give quarter nor to

hear parley. Brave though the Israelite was, many reasons concurred to

prevent his taking a personal part against the soldier of Spain; and

seeing he should have no chance of explanation, he fairly puts spurs to

his horse, and galloped across the plain. The Spaniard followed, gained

upon him, and Almamen at length turned, in despair and the wrath of his

haughty nature.

“Have thy will, fool!” said he, between his grinded teeth, as he griped

his dagger and prepared for the conflict. It was long and obstinate, for

the Spaniard was skilful; and the Hebrew wearing no mail, and without

any weapon more formidable than a sharp and well-tempered dagger, was

forced to act cautiously on the defensive. At length the combatants

grappled, and, by a dexterous thrust, the short blade of Almamen pierced

the throat of his antagonist, who fell prostrate to the ground.

“I am safe,” he thought, as he wheeled round his horse; when lo!

the Spaniards he had just left behind, and who had now routed their

antagonists, were upon him.

“Yield, or die!” cried the leader of the troop.

Almamen glared round; no succour was at hand. “I am not your enemy,”

said he, sullenly, throwing down his weapon--“bear me to your camp.”

A trooper seized his rein, and, scouring along, the Spaniards soon

reached the retreating army.

Meanwhile the evening darkened, the shout and the roar grew gradually

less loud and loud---the battle had ceased--the stragglers had joined

their several standards and, by the light of the first star, the

Moorish force, bearing their wounded brethren, and elated with success,

re-entered the gates of Granada, as the black charger of the hero of

the day, closing the rear of the cavalry, disappeared within the gloomy

portals.

CHAPTER III. THE HERO IN THE POWER OF THE DREAMER.

It was in the same chamber, and nearly at the same hour, in which

we first presented to the reader Boabdil el Chico, that we are again

admitted to the presence of that ill-starred monarch. He was not alone.

His favourite slave, Amine, reclined upon the ottomans, gazing with

anxious love upon his thoughtful countenance, as he leant against the

glittering wall by the side of the casement, gazing abstractedly on the

scene below.

From afar he heard the shouts of the populace at the return of Muza, and

bursts of artillery confirmed the tidings of triumph which had already

been borne to his ear.

“May the king live for ever!” said Amine, timidly; “his armies have gone

forth to conquer.”

“But without their king,” replied Boabdil, bitterly, “and headed by a

traitor and a foe. I am meshed in the nets of an inextricable fate!”

“Oh!” said the slave, with sudden energy, as, clasping her hands, she

rose from her couch,--“oh, my lord, would that these humble lips dared

utter other words than those of love!”

“And what wise counsel would they give me?” asked Boabdil with a faint

smile. “Speak on.”

“I will obey thee, then, even if it displease,” cried Amine; and

she rose, her cheek glowing, her eyes spark ling, her beautiful form

dilated. “I am a daughter of Granada; I am the beloved of a king; I will

be true to my birth and to my fortunes. Boabdil el Chico, the last of

a line of heroes, shake off these gloomy fantasies--these doubts and

dreams that smother the fire of a great nature and a kingly soul!

Awake--arise--rob Granada of her Muza--be thyself her Muza! Trustest

thou to magic and to spells? then grave them on they breastplate, write

them on thy sword, and live no longer the Dreamer of the Alhambra;

become the saviour of thy people!”

Boabdil turned, and gazed on the inspired and beautiful form before him

with mingled emotions of surprise and shame. “Out of the mouth of woman

cometh my rebuke!” said he sadly. “It is well!”

“Pardon me, pardon me!” said the slave, falling humbly at his knees;

“but blame me not that I would have thee worthy of thyself. Wert thou

not happier, was not thy heart more light and thy hope more strong when,

at the head of thine armies, thine own cimiter slew thine own foes, and

the terror of the Hero-king spread, in flame and slaughter, from the

mountains to the seas. Boabdil! dear as thou art to me-equally as I

would have loved thee hadst thou been born a lowly fisherman of the

Darro, since thou art a king, I would have thee die a king; even if my

own heart broke as I armed thee for thy latest battle!”

“Thou knowest not what thou sayest, Amine,” said Boabdil, “nor canst

thou tell what spirits that are not of earth dictate to the actions and

watch over the destinies, of the rulers of nations. If I delay, if I

linger, it is not from terror, but from wisdom. The cloud must gather

on, dark and slow, ere the moment for the thunderbolt arrives.”

“On thine own house will the thunderbolt fall, since over thine own

house thou sufferest the cloud to gather,” said a calm and stern voice.

Boabdil started; and in the chamber stood a third person, in the shape

of a woman, past middle age, and of commanding port and stature. Upon

her long-descending robes of embroidered purple were thickly woven

jewels of royal price, and her dark hair, slightly tinged with grey,

parted over a majestic brow while a small diadem surmounted the folds of

the turban.

“My mother!” said Boabdil, with some haughty reserve in his tone; “your

presence is unexpected.”

“Ay,” answered Ayxa la Horra, for it was indeed that celebrated, and

haughty, and high-souled queen, “and unwelcome; so is ever that of your

true friends. But not thus unwelcome was the presence of your mother,

when her brain and her hand delivered you from the dungeon in which your

stern father had cast your youth, and the dagger and the bowl seemed the

only keys that would unlock the cell.”

“And better hadst thou left the ill-omened son that thy womb conceived,

to die thus in youth, honoured and lamented, than to live to manhood,

wrestling against an evil star and a relentless fate.”

“Son,” said the queen, gazing upon him with lofty and half disdainful

compassion, “men’s conduct shapes out their own fortunes, and the

unlucky are never the valiant and the wise.”

“Madam,” said Boabdil, colouring with passion, “I am still a king, nor

will I be thus bearded--withdraw!”

Ere the queen could reply, a eunuch entered, and whispered Boabdil.

“Ha!” said he, joyfully, stamping his foot, “comes he then to brave the

lion in his den? Let the rebel look to it. Is he alone?”

“Alone, great king.”

“Bid my guards wait without; let the slightest signal summon them.

Amine, retire! Madam--”

“Son!” interrupted Ayxa la Horra in visible agitation, “do I guess

aright? is the brave Muza--the sole bulwark and hope of Granada--whom

unjustly thou wouldst last night have placed in chains--(chains! Great

Prophet! is it thus a king should reward his heroes)--is, I say, Muza

here? and wilt thou make him the victim of his own generous trust?”

“Retire, woman?” said Boabdil, sullenly.

“I will not, save by force! I resisted a fiercer soul than thine when I

saved thee from thy father.”

“Remain, then, if thou wilt, and learn how kings can punish traitors.

Mesnour, admit the hero of Granada.” Amine had vanished. Boabdil seated

himself on the cushions his face calm but pale. The queen stood erect

at a little distance, her arms folded on her breast, and her aspect knit

and resolute. In a few moments Muza entered alone. He approached the

king with the profound salutation of oriental obeisance; and then stood

before him with downcast eyes, in an attitude from which respect could

not divorce a natural dignity and pride of mien.

“Prince,” said Boabdil, after a moment’s pause, “yestermorn, when I

sent for thee thou didst brave my orders. Even in mine own Alhambra thy

minions broke out in mutiny; they surrounded the fortress in which thou

wert to wait my pleasure; they intercepted, they insulted, they drove

back my guards; they stormed the towers protected by the banner of

thy king. The governor, a coward or a traitor, rendered thee to the

rebellious crowd. Was this all? No, by the Prophet! Thou, by right my

captive, didst leave thy prison but to head mine armies. And this day,

the traitor subject--the secret foe--was the leader of a people who defy

a king. This night thou comest to me unsought. Thou feelest secure from

my just wrath, even in my palace. Thine insolence blinds and betrays

thee. Man, thou art in my power! Ho, there!”

As the king spoke, he rose; and, presently, the arcades at the back of

the pavilion were darkened by long lines of the Ethiopian guard, each of

height which, beside the slight Moorish race, appeared gigantic; stolid

and passionless machines, to execute, without thought, the bloodiest

or the slightest caprice of despotism. There they stood; their silver

breastplates and long earrings contrasting their dusky skins; and

bearing, over their shoulders, immense clubs studded with brazen nails.

A little advanced from the rest, stood the captain, with the fatal

bowstring hanging carelessly on his arm, and his eyes intent to catch

the slightest gesture of the king. “Behold!” said Boabdil to his

prisoner.

“I do; and am prepared for what I have foreseen.” The queen grew pale,

but continued silent.

Muza resumed--

“Lord of the faithful!” said he, “if yestermorn I had acted otherwise,

it would have been to the ruin of thy throne and our common race. The

fierce Zegris suspected and learned my capture. They summoned the troops

they delivered me, it is true. At that time had I reasoned with them, it

would have been as drops upon a flame. They were bent on besieging thy

palace, perhaps upon demanding thy abdication. I could not stifle their

fury, but I could direct it. In the moment of passion, I led them from

rebellion against our common king to victory against our common foe.

That duty done, I come unscathed from the sword of the Christian to bare

my neck to the bowstring of my friend. Alone, untracked, unsuspected, I

have entered thy palace to prove to the sovereign of Granada, that

the defendant of his throne is not a rebel to his will. Now summon the

guards--I have done.”

“Muza!” said Boabdil, in a softened voice, while he shaded his face with

his hand, “we played together as children, and I have loved thee well:

my kingdom even now, perchance, is passing from me, but I could almost

be reconciled to that loss, if I thought thy loyalty had not left me.”

“Dost thou, in truth, suspect the faith of Muza Ben Abil Gazan?” said

the Moorish prince, in a tone of surprise and sorrow. “Unhappy king! I

deemed that my services, and not my defection, made my crime.”

“Why do my people hate me? why do my armies menace?” said Boabdil,

evasively; “why should a subject possess that allegiance which a king

cannot obtain?”

“Because,” replied Muza, boldly, “the king has delegated to a subject

the command he should himself assume. Oh, Boabdil!” he continued,

passionately--“friend of my boyhood, ere the evil days came upon

us,--gladly would I sink to rest beneath the dark waves of yonder river,

if thy arm and brain would fill up my place amongst the warriors of

Granada. And think not I say this only from our boyish love; think not

I have placed my life in thy hands only from that servile loyalty to a

single man, which the false chivalry of Christendom imposes as a sacred

creed upon its knights and nobles. But I speak and act but from one

principle--to save the religion of, my father and the land of my birth:

for this I have risked my life against the foe; for this I surrender my

life to the sovereign of my country. Granada may yet survive, if monarch

and people unite together. Granada is lost for ever, if her children, at

this fatal hour, are divided against themselves. If, then, I, O Boabdil!

am the true obstacle to thy league with thine own subjects, give me at

once to the bowstring, and my sole prayer shall be for the last remnant

of the Moorish name, and the last monarch of the Moorish dynasty.”

“My son, my son! art thou convinced at last?” cried the queen,

struggling with her tears; for she was one who wept easily at heroic

sentiments, but never at the softer sorrows, or from the more womanly

emotions.

Boabdil lifted his head with a vain and momentary attempt at pride;

his eye glanced from his mother to his friend, and his better feelings

gushed upon him with irresistible force; he threw himself into Muza’s

arms.

“Forgive me,” he said, in broken accents, “forgive me! How could I have

wronged thee thus? Yes,” he continued, as he started from the noble

breast on which for a moment he indulged no ungenerous weakness,--“yes,

prince, your example shames, but it fires me. Granada henceforth shall

have two chieftains; and if I be jealous of thee, it shall be from an

emulation thou canst not blame. Guards, retire. Mesnour! ho, Mesnour!

Proclaim at daybreak that I myself will review the troops in the

Vivarrambla. Yet”--and, as he spoke his voice faltered, and his brow

became overcast, “yet stay, seek me thyself at daybreak, and I will give

thee my commands.”

“Oh, my son! why hesitate?” cried the queen, “why waver? Prosecute thine

own kingly designs, and--”

“Hush, madam,” said Boabdil, regaining his customary cold composure;

“and since you are now satisfied with your son, leave me alone with

Muza.”

The queen sighed heavily; but there was something in the calm of Boabdil

which chilled and awed her more than his bursts of passion. She drew her

veil around her, and passed slowly and reluctantly from the chamber.

“Muza,” said Boabdil, when alone with the prince, and fixing his large

and thoughtful eyes upon the dark orbs of his companion,--“when, in

our younger days, we conversed together, do you remember how often that

converse turned upon those solemn and mysterious themes to which the

sages of our ancestral land directed their deepest lore; the enigmas

of the stars--the science of fate--the wild searches into the

clouded future, which hides the destines of nations and of men? Thou

rememberest, Muza, that to such studies mine own vicissitudes and

sorrows, even in childhood--the strange fortunes which gave me in my

cradle the epithet of El Zogoybi--the ominous predictions of santons

and astrologers as to the trials of my earthly fate,--all contributed to

incline my soul. Thou didst not despise those earnest musings, nor our

ancestral lore, though, unlike me, ever more inclined to action than

to contemplation, that which thou mightest believe had little influence

upon what thou didst design. With me it hath been otherwise; every event

of life hath conspired to feed my early prepossessions; and, in this

awful crisis of my fate, I have placed myself and my throne rather under

the guardianship of spirits than of men. This alone has reconciled me to

inaction--to the torpor of the Alhambra--to the mutinies of my people.

I have smiled, when foes surround and friends deserted me, secure of

the aid at last--if I bided but the fortunate hour--of the charms of

protecting spirits, and the swords of the invisible creation. Thou

wonderest what this should lead to. Listen! Two nights since (and the

king shuddered) I was with the dead! My father appeared before me--not

as I knew him in life--gaunt and terrible, full of the vigour of health,

and the strength of kingly empire, and of fierce passion--but wan, calm,

shadowy. From lips on which Azrael had set his livid seal, he bade me

beware of thee!”

The king ceased suddenly; and sought to read on the face of Muza the

effect his words produced. But the proud and swarthy features of the

Moor evinced no pang of conscience; a slight smile of pity might have

crossed his lip for a moment, but it vanished ere the king could detect

it. Boabdil continued:

“Under the influence of this warning, I issued the order for thy arrest.

Let this pass--I resume my tale. I attempted to throw myself at the

spectre’s feet--it glided from me, motionless and impalpable. I asked

the Dead One if he forgave his unhappy son the sin of rebellion alas!

too well requited even upon earth. And the voice again came forth, and

bade me keep the crown that I had gained, as the sole atonement for the

past. Then again I asked, whether the hour for action had arrived! and

the spectre, while it faded gradually into air, answered, ‘No!’ ‘Oh!’

I exclaimed, ‘ere thou leavest me, be one sign accorded me, that I have

not dreamt this vision; and give me, I pray thee, note and warning,

when the evil star of Boabdil shall withhold its influence, and he may

strike, without resistance from the Powers above, for his glory and his

throne.’ ‘The sign and the warning are bequeathed thee,’ answered the

ghostly image. It vanished,--thick darkness fell around; and, when once

more the light of the lamps we bore became visible, behold there stood

before me a skeleton, in the regal robe of the kings of Granada, and

on its grisly head was the imperial diadem. With one hand raised, it

pointed to the opposite wall, wherein burned, like an orb of gloomy

fire, a broad dial-plate, on which were graven these words, BEWARE--FEAR

NOT--ARM! The finger of the dial moved rapidly round, and rested at the

word beware. From that hour to the one in which I last beheld it, it

hath not moved. Muza, the tale is done; wilt thou visit with me this

enchanted chamber, and see if the hour be come?”

“Commander of the faithful,” said Muza, “the story is dread and awful.

But pardon thy friend--wert thou alone, or was the santon Almamen thy

companion?”

“Why the question?” said Boabdil, evasively, and slightly colouring.

“I fear his truth,” answered Muza; “the Christian king conquers more

foes by craft than force; and his spies are more deadly than his

warriors. Wherefore this caution against me, but (pardon me) for thine

own undoing? Were I a traitor, could Ferdinand himself have endangered

thy crown so imminently as the revenge of the leader of thine own

armies? Why, too, this desire to keep thee inactive? For the brave every

hour hath its chances; but, for us, every hour increases our peril. If

we seize not the present time,--our supplies are cut off,--and famine is

a foe all our valour cannot resist. This dervise--who is he? a stranger,

not of our race and blood. But this morning I found him without the

walls, not far from the Spaniard’s camp.”

“Ha!” cried the king, quickly, “and what said he?”

“Little, but in hints; sheltering himself, by loose hints, under thy

name.”

“He! what dared he own?--Muza, what were those hints?”

The Moor here recounted the interview with Almamen, his detention, his

inactivity in the battle, and his subsequent capture by the Spaniards.

The king listened attentively, and regained his composure.

“It is a strange and awful man,” said he after a pause. “Guards and

chains will not detain him. Ere long he will return. But thou, at least,

Muza, are henceforth free, alike from the suspicion of the living

and the warnings of the dead. No, my friend,” continued Boabdil, with

generous warmth, “it is better to lose a crown, to lose life itself,

than confidence in a heart like thine. Come, let us inspect this magic

tablet; perchance--and how my heart bounds as I utter the hope!--the

hour may have arrived.”

CHAPTER IV. 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.”

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 he 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!”

BOOK III.

CHAPTER I. ISABEL AND THE JEWISH MAIDEN.

While this scene took place before the tribunal of Torquemada, Leila had

been summoned from the indulgence of fears, which her gentle nature and

her luxurious nurturing had ill-fitted her to contend against, to the

presence of the queen. That gifted and high-spirited princess, whose

virtues were her own, whose faults were of her age, was not, it is true,

without the superstition and something of the intolerant spirit of her

royal spouse: but, even where her faith assented to persecution, her

heart ever inclined to mercy; and it was her voice alone that ever

counteracted the fiery zeal of Torquemada, and mitigated the sufferings

of the unhappy ones who fell under the suspicion of heresy. She had,

happily, too, within her a strong sense of justice, as well as the

sentiment of compassion; and often, when she could not save the accused,

she prevented the consequences of his imputed crime falling upon the

innocent members of his house or tribe.

In the interval between his conversation with Ferdinand and the

examination of Almamen, the Dominican had sought the queen; and had

placed before her, in glowing colours, not only the treason of Almamen,

but the consequences of the impious passion her son had conceived for

Leila. In that day, any connection between a Christian knight and a

Jewess was deemed a sin, scarce expiable; and Isabel conceived all that

horror of her son’s offence which was natural in a pious mother and a

haughty queen. But, despite all the arguments of the friar, she

could not be prevailed upon to render up Leila to the tribunal of the

Inquisition; and that dread court, but newly established, did not dare,

without her consent, to seize upon one under the immediate protection of

the queen.

“Fear not, father,” said Isabel, with quiet firmness, “I will take upon

myself to examine the maiden; and, at least, I will see her removed from

all chance of tempting or being tempted by this graceless boy. But she

was placed under the charge of the king and myself as a hostage and a

trust; we accepted the charge, and our royal honor is pledged to the

safety of the maiden. Heaven forbid that I should deny the existence

of sorcery, assured as we are of its emanation from the Evil One; but

I fear, in this fancy of Juan’s, that the maiden is more sinned against

than sinning: and yet my son is, doubtless, not aware of the unhappy

faith of the Jewess; the knowledge of which alone will suffice to cure

him of his error. You shake your head, father; but, I repeat, I will act

in this affair so as to merit the confidence I demand. Go, good Tomas.

We have not reigned so long without belief in our power to control and

deal with a simple maiden.”

The queen extended her hand to the monk, with a smile so sweet in its

dignity, that it softened even that rugged heart; and, with a reluctant

sigh, and a murmured prayer that her counsels might be guided for the

best, Torquemada left the royal presence.

“The poor child!” thought Isabel, “those tender limbs, and that fragile

form, are ill fitted for yon monk’s stern tutelage. She seems gentle:

and her face has in it all the yielding softness of our sex; doubtless

by mild means, she may be persuaded to abjure her wretched creed; and

the shade of some holy convent may hide her alike from the licentious

gaze of my son and the iron zeal of the Inquisitor. I will see her.”

When Leila entered the queen’s pavilion, Isabel, who was alone, marked

her trembling step with a compassionate eye; and, as Leila, in obedience

to the queen’s request, threw up her veil, the paleness of her cheek and

the traces of recent tears appealed to Isabel’s heart with more success

than had attended all the pious invectives of Torquemada.

“Maiden,” said Isabel, encouragingly, “I fear thou hast been strangely

harassed by the thoughtless caprice of the young prince. Think of it no

more. But, if thou art what I have ventured to believe, and to assert

thee to be, cheerfully subscribe to the means I will suggest for

preventing the continuance of addresses which cannot but injure thy fair

name.”

“Ah, madam!” said Leila, as she fell on one knee beside the queen,

“most joyfully, most gratefully, will I accept any asylum which proffers

solitude and peace.”

“The asylum to which I would fain lead thy steps,” answered Isabel,

gently, “is indeed one whose solitude is holy--whose peace is that of

heaven. But of this hereafter. Thou wilt not hesitate, then, to quit the

camp, unknown to the prince, and ere he can again seek thee?”

“Hesitate, madam? Ah rather, how shall I express my thanks?”

“I did not read that face misjudgingly,” thought the queen, as she

resumed. “Be it so; we will not lose another night. Withdraw yonder,

through the inner tent; the litter shall be straight prepared for thee;

and ere midnight thou shalt sleep in safety under the roof of one of the

bravest knights and noblest ladies that our realm can boast. Thou shalt

bear with thee a letter that shall commend thee specially to the care of

thy hostess--thou wilt find her of a kindly and fostering nature. And,

oh, maiden!” added the queen, with benevolent warmth, “steel not thy

heart against her--listen with ductile senses to her gentle ministry;

and may God and His Son prosper that pious lady’s counsel, so that it

may win a new strayling to the Immortal Fold!”

Leila listened and wondered, but made no answer; until, as she gained

the entrance to the interior division of the tent, she stopped

abruptly, and said, “Pardon me, gracious queen, but dare I ask thee one

question?--it is not of myself.”

“Speak, and fear not.”

“My father--hath aught been heard of him? He promised, that ere the

fifth day were past, he would once more see his child; and, alas! that

date is past, and I am still alone in the dwelling of the stranger.”

“Unhappy child!” muttered Isabel to herself; “thou knowest not his

treason nor his fate--yet why shouldst thou? Ignorant of what would

render thee blest hereafter, continue ignorant of what would afflict

thee here. Be cheered, maiden,” answered the queen, aloud. “No doubt,

there are reasons sufficient to forbid your meeting. But thou shalt not

lack friends in the dwelling-house of the stranger.”

“Ah, noble queen, pardon me, and one word more! There hath been with me,

more than once, a stern old man, whose voice freezes the blood within my

veins; he questions me of my father, and in the tone of a foe who would

entrap from the child something to the peril of the sire. That man--thou

knowest him, gracious queen--he cannot have the power to harm my

father?”

“Peace, maiden! the man thou speakest of is the priest of God, and the

innocent have nothing to dread from his reverend zeal. For thyself, I

say again, be cheered; in the home to which I consign thee thou wilt see

him no more. Take comfort, poor child--weep not: all have their cares;

our duty is to bear in this life, reserving hope only for the next.”

The queen, destined herself to those domestic afflictions which pomp

cannot soothe, nor power allay, spoke with a prophetic sadness which

yet more touched a heart that her kindness of look and tone had already

softened; and, in the impulse of a nature never tutored in the rigid

ceremonials of that stately court, Leila suddenly came forward, and

falling on one knee, seized the hand of her protectress, and kissed it

warmly through her tears.

“Are you, too, unhappy?” she said. “I will pray for you to _my_ God!”

The queen, surprised and moved at an action which, had witnesses been

present, would only perhaps (for such is human nature) have offended

her Castilian prejudices, left her hand in Leila’s grateful clasp; and

laying the other upon the parted and luxuriant ringlets of the kneeling

maiden, said, gently,--“And thy prayers shall avail thee and me when thy

God and mine are the same. Bless thee, maiden! I am a mother; thou art

motherless--bless thee!”

CHAPTER II. THE TEMPTATION OF THE JEWESS,--IN WHICH THE HISTORY PASSES FROM THE

OUTWARD TO THE INTERNAL.

It was about the very hour, almost the very moment, in which Almamen

effected his mysterious escape from the tent of the Inquisition, that

the train accompanying the litter which bore Leila, and which was

composed of some chosen soldiers of Isabel’s own body-guard, after

traversing the camp, winding along that part of the mountainous defile

which was in the possession of the Spaniards, and ascending a high and

steep acclivity, halted before the gates of a strongly fortified castle

renowned in the chronicles of that memorable war. The hoarse challenge

of the sentry, the grating of jealous bars, the clanks of hoofs upon

the rough pavement of the courts, and the streaming glare of

torches--falling upon stern and bearded visages, and imparting a ruddier

glow to the moonlit buttresses and battlements of the fortress--aroused

Leila from a kind of torpor rather than sleep, in which the fatigue and

excitement of the day had steeped her senses. An old seneschal conducted

her, through vast and gloomy halls (how unlike the brilliant chambers

and fantastic arcades of her Moorish home) to a huge Gothic apartment,

hung with the arras of Flemish looms. In a few moments, maidens, hastily

aroused from slumber, grouped around her with a respect which would

certainly not have been accorded had her birth and creed been known.

They gazed with surprise at her extraordinary beauty and foreign garb,

and evidently considered the new guest a welcome addition to the scanty

society of the castle. Under any other circumstances, the strangeness

of all she saw, and the frowning gloom of the chamber to which she was

consigned, would have damped the spirits of one whose destiny had so

suddenly passed from the deepest quiet into the sternest excitement. But

any change was a relief to the roar of the camp, the addresses of the

prince, and the ominous voice and countenance of Torquemada; and

Leila looked around her, with the feeling that the queen’s promise was

fulfilled, and that she was already amidst the blessings of shelter and

repose. It was long, however, before sleep revisited her eyelids, and

when she woke the noonday sun streamed broadly through the lattice.

By the bedside sat a matron advanced in years, but of a mild and

prepossessing countenance, which only borrowed a yet more attractive

charm from an expression of placid and habitual melancholy. She was

robed in black; but the rich pearls that were interwoven in the sleeves

and stomacher, the jewelled cross that was appended from a chain

of massive gold, and, still more, a certain air of dignity and

command,--bespoke, even to the inexperienced eye of Leila, the evidence

of superior station.

“Thou hast slept late, daughter,” said the lady, with a benevolent

smile; “may thy slumbers have refreshed thee! Accept my regrets that I

knew not till this morning of thine arrival, or I should have been the

first to welcome the charge of my royal mistress.”

There was in the look, much more than in the words of the Donna Inez de

Quexada, a soothing and tender interest that was as balm to the heart of

Leila; in truth, she had been made the guest of, perhaps, the only lady

in Spain, of pure and Christian blood, who did not despise or execrate

the name of Leila’s tribe. Donna Inez had herself contracted to a Jew a

debt of gratitude which she had sought to return to the whole race. Many

years before the time in which our tale is cast, her husband and herself

had been sojourning at Naples, then closely connected with the politics

of Spain, upon an important state mission. They had then an only son,

a youth of a wild and desultory character, whom the spirit of adventure

allured to the East. In one of those sultry lands the young Quexada

was saved from the hands of robbers by the caravanserai of a wealthy

traveller. With this stranger he contracted that intimacy which

wandering and romantic men often conceive for each other, without

any other sympathy than that of the same pursuits. Subsequently, he

discovered that his companion was of the Jewish faith; and, with the

usual prejudice of his birth and time, recoiled from the friendship

he had solicited, and shrank from the sense of the obligation he had

incurred he--quitted his companion. Wearied, at length, with travel, he

was journeying homeward, when he was seized with a sudden and virulent

fever, mistaken for plague: all fled from the contagion of the

supposed pestilence--he was left to die. One man discovered his

condition--watched, tended, and, skilled in the deeper secrets of the

healing art, restored him to life and health: it was the same Jew who

had preserved him from the robbers. At this second and more inestimable

obligation the prejudices of the Spaniard vanished: he formed a deep

and grateful attachment for his preserver; they lived together for some

time, and the Israelite finally accompanied the young Quexada to Naples.

Inez retained a lively sense of the service rendered to her only son,

and the impression had been increased not only by the appearance of

the Israelite, which, dignified and stately, bore no likeness to the

cringing servility of his brethren, but also by the singular beauty and

gentle deportment of his then newly-wed bride, whom he had wooed and won

in that holy land, sacred equally to the faith of Christian and of Jew.

The young Quexada did not long survive his return: his constitution

was broken by long travel, and the debility that followed his fierce

disease. On his deathbed he had besought the mother whom he left

childless, and whose Catholic prejudices were less stubborn than those

of his sire, never to forget the services a Jew had conferred upon him;

to make the sole recompense in her power--the sole recompense the Jew

himself had demanded--and to lose no occasion to soothe or mitigate the

miseries to which the bigotry of the time often exposed the oppressed

race of his deliverer. Donna Inez had faithfully kept the promise

she gave to the last scion of her house; and, through the power and

reputation of her husband and her own connections, and still more

through an early friendship with the queen, she had, on her return to

Spain, been enabled to ward off many a persecution, and many a charge

on false pretences, to which the wealth of some son of Israel made

the cause, while his faith made the pretext. Yet, with all the natural

feelings of a rigid Catholic, she had earnestly sought to render the

favor she had thus obtained amongst the Jews minister to her pious zeal

for their more than temporal welfare. She had endeavored, by gentle

means, to make the conversions which force was impotent to effect; and,

in some instances, her success had been signal. The good senora had thus

obtained high renown for sanctity; and Isabel thought rightly that she

could not select a protectress for Leila who would more kindly shelter

her youth, or more strenuously labor for her salvation. It was, indeed,

a dangerous situation for the adherence of the maiden to that faith

which it had cost her fiery father so many sacrifices to preserve and to

advance.

It was by little and little that Donna Inez sought rather to undermine

than to storm the mental fortress she hoped to man with spiritual

allies; and, in her frequent conversation with Leila, she was at once

perplexed and astonished by the simple and sublime nature of the belief

upon which she waged war. For whether it was that, in his desire

to preserve Leila as much as possible from contact even with Jews

themselves, whose general character (vitiated by the oppression which

engendered meanness, and the extortion which fostered avarice) Almamen

regarded with lofty though concealed repugnance; or whether it was, that

his philosophy did not interpret the Jewish formula of belief in the

same spirit as the herd,--the religion inculcated in the breast of Leila

was different from that which Inez had ever before encountered amongst

her proselytes. It was less mundane and material--a kind of passionate

rather than metaphysical theism, which invested the great ONE, indeed,

with many human sympathies and attributes, but still left Him the

August and awful God of the Genesis, the Father of a Universe though

the individual Protector of a fallen sect. Her attention had been

less directed to whatever appears, to a superficial gaze, stern and

inexorable in the character of the Hebrew God, and which the religion

of Christ so beautifully softened and so majestically refined, than to

those passages in which His love watched over a chosen people, and His

forbearance bore with their transgressions. Her reason had been worked

upon to its belief by that mysterious and solemn agency, by which--when

the whole world beside was bowed to the worship of innumerable deities,

and the adoration of graven images,--in a small and secluded portion of

earth, amongst a people far less civilised and philosophical than many

by which they were surrounded, had been alone preserved a pure and

sublime theism, disdaining a likeness in the things of heaven or

earth. Leila knew little of the more narrow and exclusive tenets of her

brethren; a Jewess in name, she was rather a deist in belief; a deist

of such a creed as Athenian schools might have taught to the imaginative

pupils of Plato, save only that too dark a shadow had been cast over

the hopes of another world. Without the absolute denial of the Sadducee,

Almamen had, probably, much of the quiet scepticism which belonged to

many sects of the early Jews, and which still clings round the wisdom of

the wisest who reject the doctrine of Revelation; and while he had not

sought to eradicate from the breast of his daughter any of the vague

desire which points to a Hereafter, he had never, at least, directed her

thoughts or aspirations to that solemn future. Nor in the sacred book

which was given to her survey, and which so rigidly upheld the unity of

the Supreme Power, was there that positive and unequivocal assurance

of life beyond “the grave where all things are forgotten,” that might

supply the deficiencies of her mortal instructor. Perhaps, sharing

those notions of the different value of the sexes, prevalent, from the

remotest period, in his beloved and ancestral East, Almamen might have

hopes for himself which did not extend to his child. And thus she grew

up, with all the beautiful faculties of the soul cherished and unfolded,

without thought, without more than dim and shadowy conjectures, of the

Eternal Bourne to which the sorrowing pilgrim of the earth is bound. It

was on this point that the quick eye of Donna Inez discovered her faith

was vulnerable: who would not, if belief were voluntary, believe in

the world to come? Leila’s curiosity and interest were aroused:

she willingly listened to her new guide--she willingly inclined to

conclusions pressed upon her, not with menace, but persuasion. Free from

the stubborn associations, the sectarian prejudices, and unversed in the

peculiar traditions and accounts of the learned of her race, she found

nothing to shock her in the volume which seemed but a continuation of

the elder writings of her faith. The sufferings of the Messiah, His

sublime purity, His meek forgiveness, spoke to her woman’s heart; His

doctrines elevated, while they charmed, her reason: and in the Heaven

that a Divine hand opened to all,--the humble as the proud, the

oppressed as the oppressor, to the woman as to the lords of the

earth,--she found a haven for all the doubts she had known, and for the

despair which of late had darkened the face of earth. Her home lost, the

deep and beautiful love of her youth blighted,--that was a creed almost

irresistible which told her that grief was but for a day, that happiness

was eternal. Far, too, from revolting such of the Hebrew pride of

association as she had formed, the birth of the Messiah in the land

of the Israelites seemed to consummate their peculiar triumph as the

Elected of Jehovah. And while she mourned for the Jews who persecuted

the Saviour, she gloried in those whose belief had carried the name and

worship of the descendants of David over the furthest regions of the

world. Often she perplexed and startled the worthy Inez by exclaiming,

“This, your belief, is the same as mine, adding only the assurance of

immortal life--Christianity is but the Revelation of Judaism.”

The wise and gentle instrument of Leila’s conversion did not, however,

give vent to those more Catholic sentiments which might have scared away

the wings of the descending dove. She forbore too vehemently to point

out the distinctions of the several creeds, and rather suffered them

to melt insensibly one into the other: Leila was a Christian, while she

still believed herself a Jewess. But in the fond and lovely weakness of

mortal emotions, there was one bitter thought that often and often came

to mar the peace that otherwise would have settled on her soul. That

father, the sole softener of whose stern heart and mysterious fates she

was, with what pangs would he receive the news of her conversion! And

Muza, that bright and hero-vision of her youth--was she not setting

the last seal of separation upon all hope of union with the idol of the

Moors? But, alas! was she not already separated from him, and had not

their faiths been from the first at variance? From these thoughts she

started with sighs and tears; and before her stood the crucifix already

admitted into her chamber, and--not, perhaps, too wisely--banished so

rigidly from the oratories of the Huguenot. For the representation of

that Divine resignation, that mortal agony, that miraculous sacrifice,

what eloquence it hath for our sorrows! what preaching hath the symbol

to the vanities of our wishes, to the yearnings of our discontent!

By degrees, as her new faith grew confirmed, Leila now inclined herself

earnestly to those pictures of the sanctity and calm of the conventual

life which Inez delighted to draw. In the reaction of her thoughts, and

her despondency of all worldly happiness, there seemed, to the young

maiden, an inexpressible charm in a solitude which was to release her

for ever from human love, and render her entirely up to sacred visions

and imperishable hopes. And with this selfish, there mingled a generous

and sublime sentiment. The prayers of a convert might be heard in favour

of those yet benighted: and the awful curse upon her outcast race

be lightened by the orisons of one humble heart. In all ages, in all

creeds, a strange and mystic impression has existed of the efficacy of

self-sacrifice in working the redemption even of a whole people: this

belief, so strong in the old orient and classic religions, was yet more

confirmed by Christianity--a creed founded upon the grandest of historic

sacrifices; and the lofty doctrine of which, rightly understood,

perpetuates in the heart of every believer the duty of self-immolation,

as well as faith in the power of prayer, no matter how great the object,

how mean the supplicator. On these thoughts Leila meditated, till

thoughts acquired the intensity of passions, and the conversion of the

Jewess was completed.

CHAPTER III. THE HOUR AND THE MAN

It was on the third morning after the King of Granada, reconciled to his

people, had reviewed his gallant army in the Vivarrambla; and Boabdil,

surrounded by his chiefs and nobles, was planning a deliberate and

decisive battle, by assault on the Christian camp,--when a scout

suddenly arrived, breathless, at the gates of the palace, to communicate

the unlooked-for and welcome intelligence that Ferdinand had in the

night broken up his camp, and marched across the mountains towards

Cordova. In fact, the outbreak of formidable conspiracies had suddenly

rendered the appearance of Ferdinand necessary elsewhere; and, his

intrigues with Almamen frustrated, he despaired of a very speedy

conquest of the city. The Spanish king resolved, therefore, after

completing the devastation of the Vega, to defer the formal and

prolonged siege, which could alone place Granada within his power, until

his attention was no longer distracted to other foes, and until, it must

be added, he had replenished an exhausted treasury. He had formed, with

Torquemada, a vast and wide scheme of persecution, not only against

Jews, but against Christians whose fathers had been of that race,

and who were suspected of relapsing into Judaical practices. The two

schemers of this grand design were actuated by different motives; the

one wished to exterminate the crime, the other to sell forgiveness for

it. And Torquemada connived at the griping avarice of the king, because

it served to give to himself, and to the infant Inquisition, a power and

authority which the Dominican foresaw would be soon greater even than

those of royalty itself, and which, he imagined, by scourging earth,

would redound to the interests of Heaven.

The strange disappearance of Almamen, which was distorted and

exaggerated, by the credulity of the Spaniards, into an event of the

most terrific character, served to complete the chain of evidence

against the wealthy Jews, and Jew-descended Spaniards, of Andalusia;

and while, in imagination, the king already clutched the gold of their

redemption here, the Dominican kindled the flame that was to light them

to punishment hereafter.

Boabdil and his chiefs received the intelligence of the Spanish retreat

with a doubt which soon yielded to the most triumphant delight. Boabdil

at once resumed all the energy for which, though but by fits and starts,

his earlier youth had been remarkable.

“Alla Achbar! God is great!” cried he; “we will not remain here till

it suit the foe to confine the eagle again to his eyrie. They have left

us--we will burst on them. Summon our alfaquis, we will proclaim a holy

war! The sovereign of the last possessions of the Moors is in the field.

Not a town that contains a Moslem but shall receive our summons, and we

will gather round our standard all the children of our faith!”

“May the king live for ever!” cried the council, with one voice.

“Lose not a moment,” resumed Boabdil--“on to the Vivarrambla, marshal

the troops--Muza heads the cavalry; myself our foot. Ere the sun’s

shadow reach yonder forest, our army shall be on its march.”

The warriors, hastily and in joy, left the palace; and when he was

alone, Boabdil again relapsed into his wonted irresolution. After

striding to and fro for some minutes in anxious thought, he abruptly

quitted the hall of council, and passed in to the more private chambers

of the palace, till he came to a door strongly guarded by plates of

iron. It yielded easily, however, to a small key which he carried in his

girdle; and Boabdil stood in a small circular room, apparently without

other door or outlet; but, after looking cautiously round, the king

touched a secret spring in the wall, which, giving way, discovered a

niche, in which stood a small lamp, burning with the purest naphtha,

and a scroll of yellow parchment covered with strange letters and

hieroglyphics. He thrust the scroll in his bosom, took the lamp in his

hand, and pressing another spring within the niche, the wall receded,

and showed a narrow and winding staircase. The king reclosed the

entrance, and descended: the stairs led, at last, into clamp and rough

passages; and the murmur of waters, that reached his ear through the

thick walls, indicated the subterranean nature of the soil through which

they were hewn. The lamp burned clear and steady through the darkness of

the place; and Boabdil proceeded with such impatient rapidity, that

the distance (in reality, considerable) which he traversed, before he

arrived at his destined bourne, was quickly measured. He came at last

into a wide cavern, guarded by doors concealed and secret as those which

had screened the entrance from the upper air. He was in one of the many

vaults which made the mighty cemetery of the monarchs of Granada; and

before him stood the robed and crowned skeleton, and before him glowed

the magic dial-plate of which he had spoken in his interview with Muza.

“Oh, dread and awful image!” cried the king, throwing himself on his

knees before the skeleton,--“shadow of what was once a king, wise in

council, and terrible in war, if in those hollow bones yet lurks the

impalpable and unseen spirit, hear thy repentant son. Forgive, while

it is yet time, the rebellion of his fiery youth, and suffer thy daring

soul to animate the doubt and weakness of his own. I go forth to battle,

waiting not the signal thou didst ordain. Let not the penance for a

rashness, to which fate urges me on, attach to my country, but to me.

And if I perish in the field, may my evil destinies be buried with me,

and a worthier monarch redeem my errors and preserve Granada!”

As the king raised his looks, the unrelaxed grin of the grim dead, made

yet more hideous by the mockery of the diadem and the royal robe, froze

back to ice the passion and sorrow at his heart. He shuddered, and rose

with a deep sigh; when, as his eyes mechanically followed the lifted arm

of the skeleton, he beheld, with mingled delight and awe, the hitherto

motionless finger of the dial-plate pass slowly on, and rest at the word

so long and so impatiently desired. “ARM!” cried the king; “do I read

aright?--are my prayers heard?” A low and deep sound, like that of

subterranean thunder, boomed through the chamber; and in the same

instant the wall opened, and the king beheld the long-expected figure of

Almamen, the magician. But no longer was that stately form clad in the

loose and peaceful garb of the Eastern santon. Complete armour cased his

broad chest and sinewy limbs; his head alone was bare, and his prominent

and impressive features were lighted, not with mystical enthusiasm, but

with warlike energy. In his right hand, he carried a drawn sword--his

left supported the staff of a snow-white and dazzling banner.

So sudden was the apparition, and so excited the mind of the king, that

the sight of a supernatural being could scarcely have impressed him with

more amaze and awe.

“King of Granada,” said Almamen, “the hour hath come at last; go forth

and conquer! With the Christian monarch, there is no hope of peace or

compact. At thy request I sought him, but my spells alone preserved the

life of thy herald. Rejoice! for thine evil destinies have rolled away

from thy spirit, like a cloud from the glory of the sun. The genii of

the East have woven this banner from the rays of benignant stars. It

shall beam before thee in the front of battle--it shall rise over the

rivers of Christian blood. As the moon sways the bosom of the tides, it

shall sway and direct the surges and the course of war!”

“Man of mystery! thou hast given me a new life.”

“And, fighting by thy side,” resumed Almamen, “I will assist to carve

out for thee, from the ruins of Arragon and Castile, the grandeur of

a new throne. Arm, monarch of Granada!--arm! I hear the neigh of thy

charger, in the midst of the mailed thousands! Arm!”

BOOK IV.

CHAPTER. I. LEILA IN THE CASTLE--THE SIEGE.

The calmer contemplations and more holy anxieties of Leila were, at

length, broken in upon by intelligence, the fearful interest of which

absorbed the whole mind and care of every inhabitant of the castle.

Boabdil el Chico had taken the field, at the head of a numerous army.

Rapidly scouring the country, he had descended, one after one, upon the

principal fortresses, which Ferdinand had left, strongly garrisoned,

in the immediate neighbourhood. His success was as immediate as it was

signal; the terror of his arms began, once more to spread far and wide;

every day swelled his ranks with new recruits; and from the snow-clad

summits of the Sierra Nevada poured down, in wild hordes, the fierce

mountain race, who, accustomed to eternal winter, made a strange

contrast, in their rugged appearance and shaggy clothing, to the

glittering and civilised soldiery of Granada.

Moorish towns, which had submitted to Ferdinand, broke from their

allegiance, and sent their ardent youth and experienced veterans to the

standard of the Keys and Crescent. To add to the sudden panic of the

Spaniards, it went forth that a formidable magician, who seemed inspired

rather with the fury of a demon than the valour of a man, had made an

abrupt appearance in the ranks of the Moslems. Wherever the Moors shrank

back from wall or tower, down which poured the boiling pitch, or rolled

the deadly artillery of the besieged, this sorcerer--rushing into the

midst of the flagging force, and waving, with wild gestures, a white

banner, supposed by both Moor and Christian to be the work of magic and

preternatural spells--dared every danger, and escaped every weapon: with

voice, with prayer, with example, he fired the Moors to an enthusiasm

that revived the first days of Mohammedan conquest; and tower after

tower, along the mighty range of the mountain chain of fortresses, was

polluted by the wave and glitter of the ever-victorious banner. The

veteran, Mendo de Quexada, who, with a garrison of two hundred and

fifty men, held the castle of Almamen, was, however, undaunted by the

unprecedented successes of Boabdil. Aware of the approaching storm, he

spent the days of peace yet accorded to him in making every preparation

for the siege that he foresaw; messengers were despatched to Ferdinand;

new out-works were added to the castle; ample store of provisions laid

in; and no precaution omitted that could still preserve to the Spaniards

a fortress that, from its vicinity to Granada, its command of the Vega

and the valleys of the Alpuxarras, was the bitterest thorn in the side

of the Moorish power.

It was early, one morning, that Leila stood by the lattice of her lofty

chamber gazing, with many and mingled emotions, on the distant domes

of Granada, as they slept in the silent sunshine. Her heart, for the

moment, was busy with the thoughts of home, and the chances and peril of

the time were forgotten.

The sound of martial music, afar off, broke upon her reveries; she

started, and listened breathlessly; it became more distinct and clear.

The clash of the zell, the boom of the African drum, and the wild and

barbarous blast of the Moorish clarion, were now each distinguishable

from the other; and, at length, as she gazed and listened, winding along

the steeps of the mountain were seen the gleaming spears and pennants of

the Moslem vanguard. Another moment and the whole castle was astir.

Mendo de Quexada, hastily arming, repaired, himself, to the battlements;

and, from her lattice, Leila beheld him, from time to time, stationing

to the best advantage his scanty troops. In a few minutes she was joined

by Donna Inez and the women of the castle, who fearfully clustered round

their mistress,--not the less disposed, however, to gratify the passion

of the sex, by a glimpse through the lattice at the gorgeous array of

the Moorish army.

The casements of Leila’s chamber were peculiarly adapted to command a

safe nor insufficient view of the progress of the enemy; and, with a

beating heart and flushing cheek, the Jewish maiden, deaf to the voices

around her, imagined she could already descry amidst the horsemen the

lion port and snowy garments of Muza Ben Abil Gazan.

What a situation was hers! Already a Christian, could she hope for the

success of the infidel? ever a woman, could she hope for the defeat of

her lover? But the time for meditation on her destiny was but brief; the

detachment of the Moorish cavalry was now just without the walls of the

little town that girded the castle, and the loud clarion of the heralds

summoned the garrison to surrender.

“Not while one stone stands upon another!” was the short answer

of Quexada; and, in ten minutes afterwards, the sullen roar of the

artillery broke from wall and tower over the vales below.

It was then that the women, from Leila’s lattice, beheld, slowly

marshalling themselves in order, the whole power and pageantry of the

besieging army. Thick-serried--line after line, column upon column--they

spread below the frowning steep. The sunbeams lighted up that goodly

array, as it swayed, and murmured, and advanced, like the billows of a

glittering sea. The royal standard was soon descried waving above the

pavilion of Boabdil; and the king himself, mounted on his cream-coloured

charger, which was covered with trappings of cloth-of-gold, was

recognised amongst the infantry, whose task it was to lead the assault.

“Pray with us, my daughter!” cried Inez, falling on her knees.-Alas!

what could Leila pray for?

Four days and four nights passed away in that memorable siege; for the

moon, then at her full, allowed no respite, even in night itself. Their

numbers, and their vicinity to Granada, gave the besiegers the advantage

of constant relays, and troop succeeded to troop; so that the weary had

ever successors in the vigour of new assailants.

On the fifth day, all of the fortress, save the keep (an immense tower),

was in the hands of the Moslems; and in this last hold, the worn-out and

scanty remnant of the garrison mustered, in the last hope of a brave,

despair.

Quexada appeared, covered with gore and dust-his eyes bloodshot, his

cheek haggard and hollow, his locks blanched with sudden age-in the hall

of the tower, where the women, half dead with terror, were assembled.

“Food!” cried he,--“food and wine!--it may be our last banquet.”

His wife threw her arms round him. “Not yet,” he cried, “not yet; we

will have one embrace before we part.”

“Is there, then, no hope?” said Inez, with a pale cheek, yet steady eye.

“None; unless to-morrow’s dawn gild the spears of Ferdinand’s army

upon yonder hills. Till morn we may hold out.” As he spoke, he hastily

devoured some morsels of food, drained a huge goblet of wine, and

abruptly quitted the chamber.

At that moment, the women distinctly heard the loud shouts of the Moors;

and Leila, approaching the grated casement, could perceive the approach

of what seemed to her like moving wails.

Covered by ingenious constructions of wood and thick hides, the

besiegers advanced to the foot of the tower in comparative shelter from

the burning streams which still poured, fast and seething, from the

battlements; while, in the rear came showers of darts and cross-bolts

from the more distant Moors, protecting the work of the engineer, and

piercing through almost every loophole and crevice in the fortress.

Meanwhile the stalwart governor beheld, with dismay and despair, the

preparations of the engineers, whom the wooden screen-works protected

from every weapon.

“By the Holy Sepulchre!” cried he, gnashing his teeth, “they are mining

the tower, and we shall be buried in its ruins! Look out, Gonsalvo! see

you not a gleam of spears yonder over the mountain? Mine eyes are dim

with watching.”

“Alas! brave Mendo, it is only the sloping sun upon the snows--but there

is hope yet.”

The soldier’s words terminated in a shrill and sudden cry of agony; and

he fell dead by the side of Quexada, the brain crushed by a bolt from a

Moorish arquebus.

“My best warrior!” said Quexada; “peace be with him! Ho, there! see you

yon desperate infidel urging on the miners? By the heavens above, it is

he of the white banner!--it is the sorcerer! Fire on him! he is without

the shelter of the woodworks.”

Twenty shafts, from wearied and nerveless arms, fell innocuous round the

form of Almamen: and as, waving aloft his ominous banner, he disappeared

again behind the screen-works, the Spaniards almost fancied they could

hear his exulting and demon laugh.

The sixth day came, and the work of the enemy was completed. The tower

was entirely undermined--the foundations rested only upon wooden props,

which, with a humanity that was characteristic of Boabdil, had been

placed there in order that the besieged might escape ere the final crash

of their last hold.

It was now noon: the whole Moorish force, quitting the plain, occupied

the steep that spread below the tower, in multitudinous array and

breathless expectation. The miners stood aloof--the Spaniards lay

prostrate and exhausted upon the battlements, like mariners who, after

every effort against the storm, await, resigned, and almost indifferent,

the sweep of the fatal surge.

Suddenly the lines of the Moors gave way, and Boabdil himself, with Muza

at his right hand, and Almamen on his left, advanced towards the foot of

the tower. At the same time, the Ethiopian guards, each bearing a torch,

marched slowly in the rear; and from the midst of them paced the

royal herald and sounded the last warning. The hush of the immense

armament--the glare of the torches, lighting the ebon faces and giant

forms of their bearers--the majestic appearance of the king himself--the

heroic aspect of Muza--the bare head and glittering banner of

Almamen--all combined with the circumstances of the time to invest the

spectacle with something singularly awful, and, perhaps, sublime.

Quexada turned his eyes, mutely, round the ghastly faces of his

warriors, and still made not the signal. His lips muttered--his eyes

glared: when, suddenly, he heard below the wail of women; and the

thought of Inez, the bride of his youth, the partner of his age, came

upon him; and, with a trembling hand, he lowered the yet unquailing

standard of Spain. Then, the silence below broke into a mighty shout,

which shook the grim tower to its unsteady and temporary base.

“Arise, my friends,” he said, with a bitter sigh; “we have fought like

men--and our country will not blush for us.” He descended the winding

stairs--his soldiers followed him with faltering steps: the gates of the

keep unfolded, and these gallant Christians surrendered themselves to

the Moor.

“Do with it as you will,” said Quexada, as he laid the keys at the hoofs

of Boabdil’s barb; “but there are women in the garrison, who--”

“Are sacred,” interrupted the king. “At once we accord their liberty,

and free transport whithersoever ye would desire. Speak, then! To what

place of safety shall they be conducted?”

“Generous king!” replied the veteran Quexada, brushing away his tears

with the back of his hand; “you take the sting from our shame. We accept

your offer in the same spirit in which it is made. Across the mountains,

on the verge of the plain of Olfadez, I possess a small castle,

ungarrisoned and unfortified. Thence, should the war take that

direction, the women can readily obtain safe conduct to the queen at

Cordova.”

“Be it so,” returned Boabdil. Then, with Oriental delicacy, selecting

the eldest of the officers round him, he gave him instructions to enter

the castle, and, with a strong guard, provide for the safety of the

women, according to the directions of Quexada. To another of his

officers he confided the Spanish prisoners, and gave the signal to his

army to withdraw from the spot, leaving only a small body to complete

the ruin of the fortress.

Accompanied by Almamen and his principal officers, Boabdil now hastened

towards Granada; and while, with slower progress, Quexada and his

companions, under a strong escort, took their way across the Vega, a

sudden turn in their course brought abruptly before them the tower they

had so valiantly defended. There it still stood, proud and stern, amidst

the blackened and broken wrecks around it, shooting aloft, dark and

grim, against the sky. Another moment, and a mighty crash sounded

on their ears, while the tower fell to the earth, amidst volumes of

wreathing smoke and showers of dust, which were borne, by the concussion

to the spot on which they took their last gaze of the proudest fortress

on which the Moors of Granada had beheld, from their own walls, the

standard of Arragon and Castile.

At the same time, Leila--thus brought so strangely within the very

reach of her father and her lover, and yet, by a mysterious fate, still

divided from both,--with Donna Inez, and the rest of the females of the

garrison, pursued her melancholy path along the ridges of the mountains.

CHAPTER II. ALMAMEN’S PROPOSED ENTERPRISE.--THE THREE ISRAELITES--CIRCUMSTANCE

IMPRESSES EACH CHARACTER WITH A VARYING DIE.

Boadbil followed up his late success with a series of brilliant assaults

on-the neighbouring fortresses. Granada, like a strong man bowed to the

ground, wrenched one after one the bands that had crippled her liberty

and strength; and, at length, after regaining a considerable portion of

the surrounding territory, the king resolved to lay siege to the seaport

of Salobrena. Could he obtain this town, Boabdil, by establishing

communication between the sea and Granada, would both be enabled to

avail himself of the assistance of his African allies, and also prevent

the Spaniards from cutting off supplies to the city, should they again

besiege it. Thither, then, accompanied by Muza, the Moorish king bore

his victorious standard.

On the eve of his departure, Almamen sought the king’s presence. A great

change had come over the canton since the departure of Ferdinand; his

wonted stateliness of mien was gone; his eyes were sunk and hollow; his

manner disturbed and absent. In fact, his love for his daughter made the

sole softness of his character; and that daughter was in the hands

of the king who had sentenced the father to the tortures of the

Inquisition! To what dangers might she not be subjected, by the

intolerant zeal of conversion! and could that frame, and gentle heart,

brave the terrific engines that might be brought against her fears?

“Better,” thought he, “that she should perish, even by the torture,

than adopt that hated faith.” He gnashed his teeth in agony at either

alternative. His dreams, his objects, his revenge, his ambition--all

forsook him: one single hope, one thought, completely mastered his

stormy passions and fitful intellect.

In this mood the pretended santon met Boabdil. He represented to the

king, over whom his influence had prodigiously increased since the

late victories of the Moors, the necessity of employing the armies of

Ferdinand at a distance. He proposed, in furtherance of this policy,

to venture himself in Cordova; to endeavour secretly to stir up those

Moors, in that, their ancient kingdom, who had succumbed to the

Spanish yoke, and whose hopes might naturally be inflamed by the recent

successes of Boabdil; and, at least, to foment such disturbances as

might afford the king sufficient time to complete his designs, and

recruit his force by aid of the powers with which he was in league.

The representations of Almamen at length conquered Boabdil’s reluctance

to part with his sacred guide; and it was finally arranged that the

Israelite should at once depart from the city.

As Almamen pursued homeward his solitary way, he found himself suddenly

accosted in the Hebrew tongue. He turned hastily, and saw before him an

old man in the Jewish gown: he recognised Elias, one of the wealthiest

and most eminent of the race of Israel.

“Pardon me, wise countryman!” said the Jew, bowing to the earth, “but I

cannot resist the temptation of claiming kindred with one through whom

the horn of Israel may be so triumphantly exalted.”

“Hush, man!” said Almamen, quickly, and looking sharply round; “I thy

countryman! Art thou not, as thy speech betokens, an Israelite?”

“Yea,” returned the Jew, “and of the same tribe as thy honoured

father--peace be with his ashes! I remembered thee at once, boy

though thou wert when thy steps shook off the dust against Granada.

I remembered thee, I say, at once, on thy return; but I have kept thy

secret, trusting that, through thy soul and genius, thy fallen brethren

might put off sackcloth and feast upon the house-tops.”

Almamen looked hard at the keen, sharp, Arab features of the Jew; and at

length he answered, “And how can Israel be restored? wilt thou fight for

her?”

“I am too old, son of Issachar, to bear arms; but our tribes are many,

and our youth strong. Amid these disturbances between dog and dog--”

“The lion may get his own,” interrupted Almamen, impetuously,--“let us

hope it. Hast thou heard of the new persecutions against us that the

false Nazarene king has already commenced in Cordova--persecutions that

make the heart sick and the blood cold?”

“Alas!” replied Elias, “such woes indeed have not failed to reach mine

ear; and I have kindred, near and beloved kindred, wealthy and honoured

men, scattered throughout that land.”

“Were it not better that they should die on the field than by the rack?”

exclaimed Almamen, fiercely. “God of my fathers! if there be yet a spark

of manhood left amongst thy people, let thy servant fan it to a flame,

that shall burn as the fire burns the stubble, so that the earth may

bare before the blaze!”

“Nay,” said Elias, dismayed rather than excited by the vehemence of his

comrade,--“be not rash, son of Issachar, be not rash: peradventure thou

wilt but exasperate the wrath of the rulers, and our substance thereby

will be utterly consumed.”

Almamen drew back, placed his hand quietly on the Jew’s shoulder, looked

him hard in the face, and, gently laughing, turned away.

Elias did not attempt to arrest his steps. “Impracticable,” he muttered;

“impracticable and dangerous! I always thought so. He may do us harm:

were he not so strong and fierce, I would put my knife under his left

rib. Verily, gold is a great thing; and--out on me! the knaves at home

will be wasting the oil, now they know old Elias is abroad.” Thereat the

Jew drew his cloak around him, and quickened his pace.

Almamen, in the meanwhile, sought, through dark and subterranean

passages, known only to himself, his accustomed home. He passed much

of the night alone; but, ere the morning star announced to the mountain

tops the presence of the sun, he stood, prepared for his journey, in his

secret vault, by the door of the subterranean passages, with old Ximen

beside him.

“I go, Ximen,” said Almamen, “upon a doubtful quest: whether I

discover my daughter, and succeed in bearing her in safety from their

contaminating grasp, or whether I fall into their snares and perish,

there is an equal chance that I may return no more to Granada. Should

this be so, you will be heir to such wealth as I leave in these places

I know that your age will be consoled for the lack of children when your

eyes look upon the laugh of gold.”

Ximen bowed low, and mumbled out some inaudible protestations and

thanks. Almamen sighed heavily as he looked round the room. “I have evil

omens in my soul, and evil prophecies in my books,” said he, mournfully.

“But the worst is here,” he added, putting his finger significantly to

his temples; “the string is stretched--one more blow would snap it.”

As he thus said, he opened the door and vanished through that labyrinth

of galleries by which he was enabled at all times to reach unobserved

either the palace of the Alhambra or the gardens without the gates of

the city.

Ximen remained behind a few moments in deep thought. “All mine if he

dies!” said he: “all mine if he does not return! All mine, all mine!

and I have not a child nor a kinsman in the world to clutch it away from

me!” With that he locked the vault, and returned to the upper air.

CHAPTER III. THE FUGITIVE AND THE MEETING

In their different directions the rival kings were equally successful.

Salobrena, but lately conquered by the Christians, was thrown into a

commotion by the first glimpse of Boabdil’s banners; the populace rose,

beat back their Christian guards, and opened the gates to the last

of their race of kings. The garrison alone, to which the Spaniards

retreated, resisted Boabdil’s arms; and, defended by, impregnable walls,

promised an obstinate and bloody siege.

Meanwhile, Ferdinand had no sooner entered Cordova than his extensive

scheme of confiscation and holy persecution commenced. Not only did more

than five hundred Jews perish in the dark and secret gripe of the Grand

Inquisitor, but several hundred of the wealthiest Christian families, in

whose blood was detected the hereditary Jewish taint, were thrown into

prison; and such as were most fortunate purchased life by the sacrifice

of half their treasures. At this time, however, there suddenly broke

forth a formidable insurrection amongst these miserable subjects--the

Messenians of the Iberian Sparta. The Jews were so far aroused from

their long debasement by omnipotent despair, that a single spark,

falling on the ashes of their ancient spirit, rekindled the flame of the

descendants of the fierce warriors of Palestine. They were encouraged

and assisted by the suspected Christians, who had been involved in

the same persecution; and the whole were headed by a man who appeared

suddenly amongst them, and whose fiery eloquence and martial spirit

produced, at such a season, the most fervent enthusiasm. Unhappily, the

whole details of this singular outbreak are withheld from us; only by

wary hints and guarded allusions do the Spanish chroniclers apprise us

of its existence and its perils. It is clear that all narrative of an

event that might afford the most dangerous precedent, and was alarming

to the pride and avarice of the Spanish king, as well as the pious zeal

of the Church, was strictly forbidden; and the conspiracy was hushed

in the dread silence of the Inquisition, into whose hands the principal

conspirators ultimately fell. We learn, only, that a determined and

sanguinary struggle was followed by the triumph of Ferdinand, and the

complete extinction of the treason.

It was one evening, that a solitary fugitive, hard chased by an armed

troop of the brothers of St. Hermandad, was seen emerging from a wild

and rocky defile, which opened abruptly on the gardens of a small,

and, by the absence of fortification and sentries, seemingly deserted,

castle. Behind him; in the exceeding stillness which characterises the

air of a Spanish twilight, he heard, at a considerable distance the

blast of the horn and the tramp of hoofs. His pursuers, divided into

several detachments, were scouring the country after him, as the

fishermen draw their nets, from bank to bank, conscious that the

prey they drive before the meshes cannot escape them at the last.

The fugitive halted in doubt, and gazed round him: he was well-nigh

exhausted; his eyes were bloodshot; the large drops rolled fast down his

brow; his whole frame quivered and palpitated, like that of a stag when

he stands at bay. Beyond the castle spread a broad plain, far as the eye

could reach, without shrub or hollow to conceal his form: flight

across a space so favourable to his pursuers was evidently in vain. No

alternative was left unless he turned back on the very path taken by the

horsemen, or trusted to such scanty and perilous shelter as the copses

in the castle garden might afford him. He decided on the latter refuge,

cleared the low and lonely wall that girded the demesne, and plunged

into a thicket of overhanging oaks and chestnuts.

At that hour, and in that garden, by the side of a little fountain, were

seated two females: the one of mature and somewhat advanced years; the

other, in the flower of virgin youth. But the flower was prematurely

faded; and neither the bloom, nor sparkle, nor undulating play of

feature, that should have suited her age, was visible in the marble

paleness and contemplative sadness of her beautiful countenance.

“Alas! my young friend,” said the elder of these ladies, “it is in these

hours of solitude and calm that we are most deeply impressed with the

nothingness of life. Thou, my sweet convert, art now the object, no

longer of my compassion, but my envy; and earnestly do I feel convinced

of the blessed repose thy spirit will enjoy in the lap of the Mother

Church. Happy are they who die young! but thrice happy they who die in

the spirit rather than the flesh: dead to sin, but not to virtue; to

terror, not to hope; to man, but not to God!”

“Dear senora,” replied the young maiden, mournfully, “were I alone on

earth, Heaven is my witness with what deep and thankful resignation I

should take the holy vows, and forswear the past; but the heart remains

human, however divine the hope that it may cherish. And sometimes

I start, and think of home, of childhood, of my strange but beloved

father, deserted and childless in his old age.”

“Thine, Leila,” returned the elder Senora, “are but the sorrows our

nature is doomed to. What matter, whether absence or death sever the

affections? Thou lamentest a father; I, a son, dead in the pride of his

youth and beauty--a husband, languishing in the fetters of the Moor.

Take comfort for thy sorrows, in the reflection that sorrow is the

heritage of all.”

Ere Leila could reply, the orange-boughs that sheltered the spot where

they sat were put aside, and between the women and the fountain stood

the dark form of Almamen the Israelite. Leila rose, shrieked, and flung

herself, unconscious, on his breast.

“O Lord of Israel!” cried Almamen, in atone of deep anguish. “I, then,

at last regain my child? Do I press her to my heart? and is it only

for that brief moment, when I stand upon the brink of death? Leila, my

child, look up! smile upon thy father; let him feel, on his maddening

and burning brow, the sweet breath of the last of his race, and bear

with him, at least, one holy and gentle thought to the dark grave.”

“My father! is it indeed my father?” said Leila, recovering herself, and

drawing back, that she might assure herself of that familiar face; “it

is thou! it is--it is! Oh! what blessed chance brings us together?”

“That chance is the destiny that hurries me to my tomb,” answered

Almamen, solemnly. “Hark! hear you not the sound of their rushing

steeds--their impatient voices? They are on me now!”

“Who? Of whom speakest thou?”

“My pursuers--the horsemen of the Spaniard.”

“Oh, senora, save him!” cried Leila, turning to Donna Inez, whom both

father and child had hitherto forgotten, and who now stood gazing upon

Almamen with wondering and anxious eyes. “Whither can he fly? The vaults

of the castle may conceal him. This way-hasten!”

“Stay,” said Inez, trembling, and approaching close to Almamen: “do

I see aright? and, amidst the dark change of years and trial, do I

recognise that stately form, which once contrasted to the sad eye of a

mother the drooping and faded form of her only son? Art thou not he who

saved my boy from the pestilence, who accompanied him to the shores

of Naples, and consigned him to these arms? Look on me! dost thou not

recall the mother of thy friend?”

“I recall thy features dimly and as in a dream,” answered the Hebrew;

“and while thou speakest, there rush upon me the memories of an earlier

time, in lands where Leila first looked upon the day, and her mother

sang to me at sunset by the stream of the Euphrates, and on the sites of

departed empires. Thy son--I remember now: I had friendship then with a

Christian--for I was still young.”

“Waste not the time--father--senora!” cried Leila, impatiently clinging

still to her father’s breast.

“You are right; nor shall your sire, in whom I thus wonderfully

recognise my son’s friend, perish if I can save him.”

Inez then conducted her strange guest to a small door in the rear of the

castle; and after leading him through some of the principal apartments,

left him in one of the tiring-rooms adjoining her own chamber, and the

entrance to which the arras concealed. She rightly judged this a safer

retreat than the vaults of the castle might afford, since her great

name and known intimacy with Isabel would preclude all suspicion of her

abetting in the escape of the fugitive, and keep those places the most

secure in which, without such aid, he could not have secreted himself.

In a few minutes, several of the troop arrived at the castle, and on

learning the name of its owner contented themselves with searching

the gardens, and the lower and more exposed apartments; and then

recommending to the servants a vigilant look-out remounted, and

proceeded to scour the plain, over which now slowly fell the starlight

and shade of night. When Leila stole, at last, to the room in which

Almamen was hid, she found him, stretched on his mantle, in a deep

sleep. Exhausted by all he had undergone, and his rigid nerves, as it

were, relaxed by the sudden softness of that interview with his child,

the slumber of that fiery wanderer was as calm as an infant’s. And their

relation almost seemed reversed; and the daughter to be as a mother

watching over her offspring, when Leila seated herself softly by him,

fixing her eyes--to which the tears came ever, ever to be brushed

away-upon his worn but tranquil features, made yet more serene by the

quiet light that glimmered through the casement. And so passed the

hours of that night; and the father and the child--the meek convert, the

revengeful fanatic--were under the same roof.

CHAPTER IV. ALMAMEN HEARS AND SEES, BUT REFUSES TO BELIEVE; FOR THE BRAIN,

OVERWROUGHT, GROWS DULL, EVEN IN THE KEENEST.

The dawn broke slowly upon the chamber, and Almamen still slept. It was

the Sabbath of the Christians--that day on which the Saviour rose from

the dead--thence named so emphatically and sublimely by the early Church

THE LORD’S DAY.

[Before the Christian era, the Sunday was, however, called the

Lord’s day--i.e., the day of the Lord the Sun.]

And as the ray of the sun flashed in the east it fell like a glory,

over a crucifix, placed in the deep recess of the Gothic casement; and

brought startlingly before the eyes of Leila that face upon which the

rudest of the Catholic sculptors rarely fail to preserve the mystic and

awful union of the expiring anguish of the man with the lofty patience

of the God. It looked upon her, that face; it invited, it encouraged,

while it thrilled and subdued. She stole gently from the side of her

father; she crept to the spot, and flung herself on her knees beside the

consecrated image.

“Support me, O Redeemer!” she murmured--“support thy creature!

strengthen her steps in the blessed path, though it divide her

irrevocably from all that on earth she loves: and if there be a

sacrifice in her solemn choice, accept, O Thou, the Crucified! accept

it, in part atonement of the crime of her stubborn race; and, hereafter,

let the lips of a maiden of Judaea implore thee, not in vain, for some

mitigation of the awful curse that hath fallen justly upon her tribe.”

As broken by low sobs, and in a choked and muttered voice, Leila poured

forth her prayer, she was startled by a deep groan; and turning, in

alarm she saw that Almamen had awaked, and, leaning on his arm, was now

bending upon her his dark eyes, once more gleaming with all their wonted

fire.

“Speak,” he said, as she coweringly hid her face, “speak to me, or I

shall be turned to stone by one horrid thought. It is not before that

symbol that thou kneelest in adoration; and my sense wanders, if it tell

me that thy broken words expressed the worship of an apostate? In mercy,

speak!”

“Father!” began Leila; but her lips refused to utter more than that

touching and holy word.

Almamen rose; and plucking the hands from her face, gazed on her some

moments, as if he would penetrate her very soul; and Leila, recovering

her courage in the pause, by degrees met his eyes unquailing--her pure

and ingenuous brow raised to his, and sadness, but not guilt, speaking

from every line of that lovely face.

“Thou dost not tremble,” said Almamen, at length, breaking the silence,

“and I have erred. Thou art not the criminal I deemed thee. Come to my

arms!”

“Alas!” said Leila, obeying the instinct, and casting herself upon that

rugged bosom. “I will dare, at least, not to disavow my God. Father! by

that dread anathema which is on our race, which has made us homeless and

powerless--outcasts and strangers in the land; by the persecution

and anguish we have known, teach thy lordly heart that we are rightly

punished for the persecution and the anguish we doomed to Him, whose

footstep hallowed our native earth! FIRST, IN THE HISTORY of THE

WORLD, DID THE STERN HEBREWS INFLICT UPON MANKIND THE AWFUL CRIME OF

PERSECUTION FOR OPINIONS SAKE. The seed we sowed hath brought forth the

Dead Sea fruit upon which we feed. I asked for resignation and for hope:

I looked upon yonder cross, and I found both. Harden not thy heart;

listen to thy child; wise though thou be, and weak though her woman

spirit, listen to me.”

“Be dumb!” cried Almamen, in such a voice as might have come from the

charnel, so ghostly and deathly sounded its hollow tone; then, recoiling

some steps, he placed both his hands upon his temples, and muttered,

“Mad, mad! yes, yes, this is but a delirium, and I am tempted with a

devil! Oh, my child!” he resumed, in a voice that became, on the sudden,

inexpressibly tender and imploring, “I have been sorely tried; and I

dreamt a feverish dream of passion and revenge. Be thine the lips, and

thine the soothing hand, that shall wake me from it. Let us fly for ever

from these hated lands; let us leave to these miserable infidels their

bloody contest, careless which shall fall. To a soil on which the iron

heel does not clang, to an air where man’s orisons rise, in solitude, to

the Great Jehovah, let us hasten our weary steps. Come! while the castle

yet sleeps, let us forth unseen--the father and the child. We will hold

sweet commune by the way. And hark ye, Leila,” he added, in a low and

abrupt whisper, “talk not to me of yonder symbol; for thy God is a

jealous God, and hath no likeness in the graven image.”

Had he been less exhausted by long travail and racking thoughts, far

different, perhaps, would have been the language of a man so stern. But

circumstance impresses the hardest substance; and despite his native

intellect and affected superiority over others, no one, perhaps, was

more human, in his fitful moods,--his weakness and his strength, his

passion and his purpose,--than that strange man, who had dared, in his

dark studies and arrogant self-will, to aspire beyond humanity.

That was, indeed, a perilous moment for the young convert. The

unexpected softness of her father utterly subdued her; nor was she

sufficiently possessed of that all-denying zeal of the Catholic

enthusiast to which every human tie and earthly duty has been often

sacrificed on the shrine of a rapt and metaphysical piety. Whatever her

opinions, her new creed, her secret desire of the cloister, fed as it

was by the sublime, though fallacious notion, that in her conversion,

her sacrifice, the crimes of her race might be expiated in the eyes of

Him whose death had been the great atonement of a world; whatever such

higher thoughts and sentiments, they gave way, at that moment, to the

irresistible impulse of household nature and of filial duty. Should she

desert her father, and could that desertion be a virtue? Her heart put

and answered both questions in a breath. She approached Almamen, placed

her hand in his, and said, steadily and calmly, “Father, wheresoever

thou goest, I will wend with thee.”

But Heaven ordained to each another destiny than might have been theirs,

had the dictates of that impulse been fulfilled.

Ere Almamen could reply, a trumpet sounded clear and loud at the gate.

“Hark!” he said, griping his dagger, and starting back to a sense of the

dangers round him. “They come--my pursuers and my murtherers!--but these

limbs are sacred from--the rack.”

Even that sound of ominous danger was almost a relief to Leila: “I

will go,” she said, “and learn what the blast betokens; remain here--be

cautious--I will return.”

Several minutes, however, elapsed before Leila reappeared; she was

accompanied by Donna Inez, whose paleness and agitation betokened her

alarm. A courier had arrived at the gate to announce the approach of the

queen, who, with a considerable force, was on her way to join Ferdinand,

then, in the usual rapidity of his movements, before one of the Moorish

towns that had revolted from his allegiance. It was impossible for

Almamen to remain in safety in the castle; and the only hope of escape

was departing immediately and in disguise.

“I have,” she said, “a trusty and faithful servant with me in the

castle, to whom I can, without anxiety, confide the charge of your

safety; and even if suspected by the way, my name, and the companionship

of my servant, will remove all obstacles; it is not a long journey hence

to Guadix, which has already revolted to the Moors: there, till the

armies of Ferdinand surround the walls, your refuge may be secure.”

Almamen remained for some moments plunged in a gloomy silence. But, at

length, he signified his assent to the plan proposed, and Donna Inez

hastened to give the directions of his intended guide.

“Leila,” said the Hebrew, when left alone with his daughter, “think not

that it is for mine own safety that I stoop to this flight from thee.

No! but never till thou wert lost to me, by mine own rash confidence in

another, did I know how dear to my heart was the last scion of my race,

the sole memorial left to me of thy mother’s love. Regaining thee once

more, a new and a soft existence opens upon my eyes; and the earth seems

to change, as by a sudden revolution, from winter into spring. For thy

sake, I consent to use all the means that man’s intellect can devise for

preservation from my foes. Meanwhile, here will rest my soul; to this

spot, within one week from this period--no matter through what danger I

pass--I shall return: then I shall claim thy promise. I will arrange all

things for our flight, and no stone shall harm thy footstep by the way.

The Lord of Israel be with thee, my daughter, and strengthen thy heart!

But,” he added, tearing himself from her embrace, as he heard steps

ascending to the chamber, “deem not that, in this most fond and fatherly

affection, I forget what is due to me and thee. Think not that my

love is only the brute and insensate feeling of the progenitor to the

offspring: I love thee for thy mother’s sake--I love thee for thine

own--I love thee yet more for the sake of Israel. If thou perish, if

thou art lost to us, thou, the last daughter of the house of Issachar,

then the haughtiest family of God’s great people is extinct.”

Here Inez appeared at the door, but withdrew, at the impatient

and lordly gesture of Almamen, who, without further heed of the

interruption, resumed:

“I look to thee, and thy seed, for the regeneration which I once

trusted, fool that I was, mine own day might see effected. Let this

pass. Thou art under the roof of the Nazarene. I will not believe that

the arts we have resisted against fire and sword can prevail with thee.

But, if I err, awful will be the penalty! Could I once know that thou

hadst forsaken thy ancestral creed, though warrior and priest stood by

thee, though thousands and ten thousands were by thy right hand, this

steel should save the race of Issachar from dishonour. Beware! Thou

weepest; but, child, I warn, not threaten. God be with thee!”

He wrung the cold hand of his child, turned to the door, and, after such

disguise as the brief time allowed him could afford, quitted the castle

with his Spanish guide, who, accustomed to the benevolence of his

mistress, obeyed her injunction without wonder, though not without

suspicion.

The third part of an hour had scarcely elapsed, and the sun was yet on

the mountain-tops, when Isabel arrived. She came to announce that

the outbreaks of the Moorish towns in the vicinity rendered the

half-fortified castle of her friend no longer a secure abode; and she

honoured the Spanish lady with a command to accompany her, with her

female suite, to the camp of Ferdinand.

Leila received the intelligence with a kind of stupor. Her interview

with her father, the strong and fearful contests of emotion which that

interview occasioned, left her senses faint and dizzy; and when she

found herself, by the twilight star, once more with the train of

Isabel, the only feeling that stirred actively through her stunned and

bewildered mind, was, that the hand of Providence conducted her from a

temptation that, the Reader of all hearts knew, the daughter and woman

would have been too feeble to resist.

On the fifth day from his departure, Almamen returned to find the castle

deserted, and his daughter gone.

CHAPTER V. IN THE FERMENT OF GREAT EVENTS THE DREGS RISE.

The Israelites did not limit their struggles to the dark conspiracy to

which allusion has been made. In some of the Moorish towns that

revolted from Ferdinand, they renounced the neutrality they had hitherto

maintained between Christian and Moslem. Whether it was that they were

inflamed by the fearful and wholesale barbarities enforced by Ferdinand

and the Inquisition against their tribe, or whether they were stirred up

by one of their own order, in whom was recognised the head of their

most sacred family; or whether, as is most probable, both causes

combined--certain it is, that they manifested a feeling that was

thoroughly unknown to the ordinary habits and policy of that peaceable

people. They bore great treasure to the public stock--they demanded

arms, and, under their own leaders, were admitted, though with much

jealousy and precaution, into the troops of the arrogant and disdainful

Moslems.

In this conjunction of hostile planets, Ferdinand had recourse to his

favourite policy of wile and stratagem. Turning against the Jews the

very treaty Almamen had once sought to obtain in their favour, he caused

it to be circulated, privately, that the Jews, anxious to purchase their

peace with him, had promised to betray the Moorish towns, and Granada

itself into his hands. The paper, which Ferdinand himself had signed in

his interview with Almamen, and of which, on the capture of the Hebrew,

he had taken care to repossess himself, he gave to a spy whom he sent,

disguised as a Jew, into one of the revolted cities.

Private intelligence reached the Moorish ringleader of the arrival of

this envoy. He was seized, and the document found on his person. The

form of the words drawn up by Almamen (who had carefully omitted mention

of his own name--whether that which he assumed, or that which, by birth,

he should have borne) merely conveyed the compact, that if by a Jew,

within two weeks from the date therein specified, Granada was delivered

to the Christian king, the Jews should enjoy certain immunities and

rights.

The discovery of this document filled the Moors of the city to which

the spy had been sent with a fury that no words can describe. Always

distrusting their allies, they now imagined they perceived the sole

reason of their sudden enthusiasm, of their demand for arms. The mob

rose: the principal Jews were seized and massacred without trial;

some by the wrath of the multitude, some by the slower tortures of the

magistrate. Messengers were sent to the different revolted towns, and,

above all, to Granada itself, to put the Moslems on their guard against

these unhappy enemies of either party. At once covetous and ferocious,

the Moors rivalled the Inquisition in their cruelty, and Ferdinand in

their extortion.

It was the dark fate of Almamen, as of most premature and heated

liberators of the enslaved, to double the terrors and the evils he had

sought to cure. The warning arrived at Granada at a time in which the

vizier, Jusef, had received the commands of his royal master, still

at the siege of Salobrena, to use every exertion to fill the wasting

treasuries. Fearful of new exactions against the Moors, the vizier

hailed, as a message from Heaven, so just a pretext for a new and

sweeping impost on the Jews. The spendthrift violence of the mob was

restrained, because it was headed by the authorities, who were wisely

anxious that the state should have no rival in the plunder it required;

and the work of confiscation and robbery was carried on with a majestic

and calm regularity, which redounded no less to the credit of Jusef than

it contributed to the coffers of the king.

It was late, one evening, when Ximen was making his usual round through

the chambers of Almamen’s house. As he glanced around at the various

articles of wealth and luxury, he ever and anon burst into a low, fitful

chuckle, rubbed his lean hands, and mumbled out, “If my master should

die! if my master should die!”

While thus engaged, he heard a confused and distant shout; and,

listening attentively, he distinguished a cry, grown of late

sufficiently familiar, of, “Live, Jusef the just--perish, the traitor

Jews!”

“Ah!” said Ximen, as the whole character of his face changed; “some new

robbery upon our race! And this is thy work, son of Issachar! Madman

that thou wert, to be wiser than thy sires, and seek to dupe the

idolaters in the council chamber and the camp--their field, their

vantage ground; as the bazaar and the market-place are ours. None

suspect that the potent santon is the traitor Jew; but I know it! I

could give thee to the bow-string--and, if thou Overt dead, all thy

goods and gold, even to the mule at the manger, would be old Ximen’s.”

He paused at that thought, shut his eyes, and smiled at the prospect his

fancy conjured up and completing his survey, retired to his own chamber,

which opened, by a small door, upon one of the back courts. He had

scarcely reached the room, when he heard a low tap at the outer door;

and, when it was thrice repeated, he knew that it was one of his

Jewish-brethren. For Ximen--as years, isolation, and avarice gnawed

away whatever of virtue once put forth some meagre fruit from a heart

naturally bare and rocky--still reserved one human feeling towards his

countrymen. It was the bond which unites all the persecuted: and Ximen

loved them, because he could not envy their happiness. The power--the

knowledge--the lofty, though wild designs of his master, stung and

humbled him--he secretly hated, because he could not compassionate or

contemn him. But the bowed frame, and slavish voice, and timid nerves of

his crushed brotherhood presented to the old man the likeness of things

that could not exult over him. Debased and aged, and solitary as he

was, he felt a kind of wintry warmth in the thought that even he had the

power to protect!

He thus maintained an intercourse with his fellow Israelites; and often,

in their dangers, had afforded them a refuge in the numerous vaults

and passages, the ruins of which may still be descried beneath the

mouldering foundations of that mysterious mansion. And, as the house

was generally supposed the property of an absent emir, and had been

especially recommended to the care of the cadis by Boabdil, who alone

of the Moors knew it as one of the dwelling-places of the santon,

whose ostensible residence was in apartments allotted to him within the

palace,--it was, perhaps, the sole place within Granada which afforded

an unsuspected and secure refuge to the hunted Israelites.

When Ximen recognised the wonted signal of his brethren, he crawled to

the door; and, after the precaution of a Hebrew watchword, replied to

in the same tongue, he gave admittance to the tall and stooping frame of

the rich Elias.

“Worthy and excellent master!” said Ximen, after again securing the

entrance; “what can bring the honoured and wealthy Elias to the chamber

of the poor hireling?”

“My friend,” answered the Jew; “call me not wealthy, nor honoured. For

years I have dwelt within the city; safe and respected, even by the

Moslemin; verily and because I have purchased with jewel and treasure

the protection of the king and the great men. But now, alas! in the

sudden wrath of the heathen--ever imagining vain things--I have been

summoned into the presence of their chief rabbi, and only escaped the

torture by a sum that ten years of labour and the sweat of my brow

cannot replace. Ximen! the bitterest thought of all is, that the frenzy

of one of our own tribe has brought this desolation upon Israel.”

“My lord speaks riddles,” said Ximen, with well-feigned astonishment in

his glassy eyes.

“Why dost thou wind and turn, good Ximen?” said the Jew, shaking his

head; “thou knowest well what my words drive at. Thy master is the

pretended Almamen; and that recreant Israelite (if Israelite, indeed,

still be one who hath forsaken the customs and the forms of his

forefathers) is he who hath stirred up the Jews of Cordova and Guadix,

and whose folly hath brought upon us these dread things. Holy Abraham!

this Jew hath cost me more than fifty Nazarenes and a hundred Moors.”

Ximen remained silent; and, the tongue of Elias being loosed by the

recollection of his sad loss, the latter continued: “At the first, when

the son of Issachar reappeared, and became a counsellor in the king’s

court, I indeed, who had led him, then a child, to the synagogue--for

old Issachar was to me dear as a brother--recognised him by his eyes and

voice: but I exulted in his craft and concealment; I believed he would

work mighty things for his poor brethren, and would obtain, for his

father’s friend, the supplying of the king’s wives and concubines with

raiment and cloth of price. But years have passed: he hath not lightened

our burthens; and, by the madness that hath of late come over him,

heading the heathen armies, and drawing our brethren into danger and

death, he hath deserved the curse of the synagogue, and the wrath of our

whole race. I find, from our brethren who escaped the Inquisition by

the surrender of their substance, that his unskilful and frantic schemes

were the main pretext for the sufferings of the righteous under the

Nazarene; and, again, the same schemes bring on us the same oppression

from the Moor. Accursed be he, and may his name perish!”

Ximen sighed, but remained silent, conjecturing to what end the Jew

would bring his invectives. He was not long in suspense. After a pause,

Elias recommenced, in an altered and more careless tone, “He is rich,

this son of Issachar--wondrous rich.”

“He has treasures scattered over half the cities of Africa and the

Orient,” said Ximen.

“Thou seest, then, my friend, that thy master hath doomed me to a heavy

loss. I possess his secret; I could give him up to the king’s wrath;

I could bring him to the death. But I am just and meek: let him pay my

forfeiture, and I will forego mine anger.”

“Thou dost not know him,” said Ximen, alarmed at the thought of

a repayment, which might grievously diminish his own heritage--of

Almamen’s effects in Granada.

“But if I threaten him with exposure?”

“Thou wouldst feed the fishes of the Darro,” interrupted Ximen. “Nay,

even now, if Almamen learn that thou knowest his birth and race,

tremble! for thy days in the land will be numbered.”

“Verily,” exclaimed the Jew, in great alarm, “then have I fallen into

the snare; for these lips revealed to him that knowledge.”

“Then is the righteous Elias a lost man, within ten days from that in

which Almamen returns to Granada. I know my master: and blood is to him

as water.”

“Let the wicked be consumed!” cried Elias, furiously stamping his

foot, while fire flashed from his dark eyes, for the instinct of

self-preservation made him fierce. “Not from me, however,” he added,

more calmly, “will come his danger. Know that there be more than a

hundred Jews in this city, who have sworn his death; Jews who, flying

hither from Cordova, have seen their parents murdered and their

substance seized, and who behold, in the son of Issachar, the cause of

the murder and the spoil. They have detected the impostor, and a hundred

knives are whetting even now for his blood: let him look to it. Ximen,

I have spoken to thee as the foolish speak; thou mayest betray me to

thy lord; but from what I have learned of thee from our brethren, I have

poured my heart into thy bosom without fear. Wilt thou betray Israel, or

assist us to smite the traitor?”

Ximen mused for a moment, and his meditation conjured up the treasures

of his master. He stretched forth his right hand to Elias; and when the

Israelites parted, they were friends.

CHAPTER VI. BOADBIL’S RETURN.--THE REAPPEARANCE OF GRANADA.

The third morning from this interview, a rumour reached Granada that

Boabdil had been repulsed in his assault on the citadel of Salobrena

with a severe loss; that Hernando del Pulgar had succeeded in conducting

to its relief a considerable force; and that the army of Ferdinand was

on its march against the Moorish king. In the midst of the excitement

occasioned by these reports, a courier arrived to confirm their truth,

and to announce the return of Boabdil.

At nightfall, the king, preceding his army, entered the city, and

hastened to bury himself in the Alhambra. As he passed dejectedly into

the women’s apartments, his stern mother met him.

“My son,” she said, bitterly, “dost thou return and not a conqueror?”

Before Boabdil could reply, a light and rapid step sped through the

glittering arcades; and weeping with joy, and breaking all the Oriental

restraints, Amine fell upon his bosom. “My beloved! my king! light of

mine eyes! thou hast returned. Welcome--for thou art safe.”

The different form of these several salutations struck Boabdil forcibly.

“Thou seest, my mother,” said he, “how great the contrast between

those who love us from affection, and those who love us from pride. In

adversity, God keep me, O my mother, from thy tongue!”

“But I love thee from pride, too,” murmured Amine; “and for that reason

is thine adversity dear to me, for it takes thee from the world to make

thee more mine own and I am proud of the afflictions that my hero shares

with his slave.”

“Lights there, and the banquet!” cried the king, turning from his

haughty mother; “we will feast and be merry while we may. My adored

Amine, kiss me!”

Proud, melancholy, and sensitive as he was in that hour of reverse,

Boabdil felt no grief: such balm has Love for our sorrows, when its

wings are borrowed from the dove! And although the laws of the Eastern

life confined to the narrow walls of a harem the sphere of Amine’s

gentle influence; although, even in romance, THE NATURAL compels us to

portray her vivid and rich colours only in a faint and hasty sketch, yet

still are left to the outline the loveliest and the noblest features of

the sex--the spirit to arouse us to exertion, the softness to console us

in our fall!

While Boabdil and the body of the army remained in the city, Muza,

with a chosen detachment of the horse, scoured the country to visit the

newly-acquired cities, and sustain their courage.

From this charge he was recalled by the army of Ferdinand, which once

more poured down into the Vega, completely devastated its harvests, and

then swept back to consummate the conquests of the revolted towns.

To this irruption succeeded an interval of peace--the calm before the

storm. From every part of Spain, the most chivalric and resolute of the

Moors, taking advantage of the pause in the contest, flocked to Granada;

and that city became the focus of all that paganism in Europe possessed

of brave and determined spirits.

At length, Ferdinand, completing his conquests, and having refilled

his treasury, mustered the whole force of his dominions--forty thousand

foot, and ten thousand horse; and once more, and for the last

time, appeared before the walls of Granada. A solemn and prophetic

determination filled both besiegers and besieged: each felt that the

crowning crisis was at hand.

CHAPTER VII. THE CONFLAGRATION.--THE MAJESTY OF AN INDIVIDUAL PASSION IN THE MIDST OF

HOSTILE THOUSANDS.

It was the eve of a great and general assault upon Granada, deliberately

planned by the chiefs of the Christian army. The Spanish camp (the most

gorgeous Christendom had ever known) gradually grew calm and hushed. The

shades deepened--the stars burned forth more serene and clear. Bright,

in that azure air, streamed the silken tents of the court, blazoned with

heraldic devices, and crowned by gaudy banners, which, filled by a brisk

and murmuring wind from the mountains, flaunted gaily on their gilded

staves. In the centre of the camp rose the pavilion of the queen--a

palace in itself. Lances made its columns; brocade and painted arras

its walls; and the space covered by its numerous compartments would have

contained the halls and outworks of an ordinary castle. The pomp of

that camp realised the wildest dreams of Gothic, coupled with Oriental

splendour; something worthy of a Tasso to have imagined, or a Beckford

to create. Nor was the exceeding costliness of the more courtly tents

lessened in effect by those of the soldiery in the outskirts, many of

which were built from boughs, still retaining their leaves--savage and

picturesque huts;--as if, realising old legends, wild men of the woods

had taken up the cross, and followed the Christian warriors against the

swarthy followers of Termagaunt and Mahound. There, then, extended that

mighty camp in profound repose, as the midnight threw deeper and longer

shadows over the sward from the tented avenues and canvas streets.

It was at that hour that Isabel, in the most private recess of her

pavilion, was employed in prayer for the safety of the king, and the

issue of the Sacred War. Kneeling before the altar of that warlike

oratory, her spirit became rapt and absorbed from earth in the intensity

of her devotions; and in the whole camp (save the sentries), the eyes

of that pious queen were, perhaps, the only ones unclosed. All was

profoundly still; her guards, her attendants, were gone to rest; and

the tread of the sentinel, without that immense pavilion, was not heard

through the silken walls.

It was then that Isabel suddenly felt a strong grasp upon her shoulder,

as she still knelt by the altar. A faint shriek burst from her lips; she

turned, and the broad curved knife of an eastern warrior gleamed close

before her eyes.

“Hush! utter a cry, breathe more loudly than thy wont, and, queen though

thou art, in the centre of swarming thousands, thou diest!”

Such were the words that reached the ear of the royal Castilian,

whispered by a man of stern and commanding, though haggard aspect.

“What is thy purpose? wouldst thou murder me?” said the queen,

trembling, perhaps for the first time, before a mortal presence.

“Thy life is safe, if thou strivest not to delude or to deceive me. Our

time is short--answer me. I am Almamen, the Hebrew. Where is the hostage

rendered to thy hands? I claim my child. She is with thee--I know it. In

what corner of thy camp?”

“Rude stranger!” said Isabel, recovering somewhat from her alarm,--“thy

daughter is removed, I trust for ever, from thine impious reach. She is

not within the camp.”

“Lie not, Queen of Castile,” said Almamen, raising his knife; “for days

and weeks I have tracked thy steps, followed thy march, haunted even

thy slumbers, though men of mail stood as guards around them; and I

know that my daughter has been with thee. Think not I brave this danger

without resolves the most fierce and dread. Answer me, where is my

child?”

“Many days since,” said Isabel, awed, despite herself, by her strange

position,--“thy daughter left the camp for the house of God. It was her

own desire. The Saviour hath received her into His fold.”

Had a thousand lances pierced his heart, the vigour and energy of life

could scarce more suddenly have deserted Almamen. The rigid muscles

of his countenance relaxed at once, from resolve and menace, into

unutterable horror, anguish, and despair. He recoiled several steps; his

knees trembled violently; he seemed stunned by a death-blow. Isabel, the

boldest and haughtiest of her sex, seized that moment of reprieve;

she sprang forward, darted through the draperies into the apartments

occupied by her train, and, in a moment, the pavilion resounded with her

cries for aid. The sentinels were aroused; retainers sprang from their

pillows; they heard the cause of the alarm; they made to the spot; when,

ere they reached its partition of silk, a vivid and startling blaze

burst forth upon them. The tent was on fire. The materials fed the flame

like magic. Some of the guards had yet the courage to dash forward;

but the smoke and the glare drove them back, blinded and dizzy. Isabel

herself had scarcely time for escape, so rapid was the conflagration.

Alarmed for her husband, she rushed to his tent--to find him already

awakened by the noise, and issuing from its entrance, his drawn sword

in his hand. The wind, which had a few minutes before but curled the

triumphant banners, now circulated the destroying flame. It spread

from tent to tent, almost as a flash of lightning that shoots along

neighbouring clouds. The camp was in one continued blaze, ere a man

could dream of checking the conflagration.

Not waiting to hear the confused tale of his royal consort, Ferdinand,

exclaiming, “The Moors have done this--they will be on us!” ordered the

drums to beat and the trumpets to sound, and hastened in person,

wrapped merely in his long mantle, to alarm his chiefs. While that

well-disciplined and veteran army, fearing every moment the rally of the

foe, endeavoured rapidly to form themselves into some kind of order, the

flame continued to spread till the whole heavens were illumined. By its

light, cuirass and helmet glowed, as in the furnace, and the armed men

seemed rather like life-like and lurid meteors than human forms. The

city of Granada was brought near to them by the intensity of the glow;

and, as a detachment of cavalry spurred from the camp to meet the

anticipated surprise of the Paynims, they saw, upon the walls and roofs

of Granada, the Moslems clustering and their spears gleaming. But,

equally amazed with the Christians, and equally suspicious of craft

and design, the Moors did not issue from their gates. Meanwhile the

conflagration, as rapid to die as to begin, grew fitful and feeble; and

the night seemed to fall with a melancholy darkness over the ruin of

that silken city.

Ferdinand summoned his council. He had now perceived it was no ambush of

the Moors. The account of Isabel, which, at last, he comprehended; the

strange and almost miraculous manner in which Almamen had baffled his

guards, and penetrated to the royal tent; might have aroused his Gothic

superstition, while it relieved his more earthly apprehensions, if he

had not remembered the singular, but far from supernatural dexterity

with which Eastern warriors and even robbers continued then, as now, to

elude the most vigilant precautions and baffle the most wakeful guards;

and it was evident that the fire which burned the camp of an army had

been kindled merely to gratify the revenge, or favour the escape of an

individual. Shaking, therefore, from his kingly spirit the thrill of

superstitious awe that the greatness of the disaster, when associated

with the name of a sorcerer, at first occasioned, he resolved to make

advantage out of misfortune itself. The excitement, the wrath of the

troops, produced the temper most fit for action.

“And Heaven,” said the King of Spain to his knights and chiefs, as

they assembled round him, “has, in this conflagration, announced to the

warriors of the Cross, that henceforth their camp shall be the palaces

of Granada! Woe to the Moslem with to-morrow’s sun!”

Arms clanged, and swords leaped from their sheaths, as the Christian

knights echoed the anathema--“WOE TO THE MOSLEM!”

BOOK V.

CHAPTER I. THE GREAT BATTLE.

The day slowly dawned upon that awful night; and the Moors, still upon

the battlements of Granada, beheld the whole army of Ferdinand on its

march towards their wails. At a distance lay the wrecks of the blackened

and smouldering camp; while before them, gaudy and glittering pennons

waving, and trumpets sounding, came the exultant legions of the foe.

The Moors could scarcely believe their senses. Fondly anticipating

the retreat of the Christians, after so signal a disaster, the gay

and dazzling spectacle of their march to the assault filled them with

consternation and alarm.

While yet wondering and inactive, the trumpet of Boabdil was heard

behind; and they beheld the Moorish king, at the head of his guards,

emerging down the avenues that led to the gate. The sight restored and

exhilarated the gazers; and, when Boabdil halted in the space before

the portals, the shout of twenty thousand warriors rose ominously to the

ears of the advancing Christians.

“Men of Granada!” said Boabdil, as soon as the deep and breathless

silence had succeeded to that martial acclamation,--“the advance of the

enemy is to their destruction! In the fire of last night the hand of

Allah wrote their doom. Let us forth, each and all! We will leave our

homes unguarded--our hearts shall be their wall! True, that our numbers

are thinned by famine and by slaughter, but enough of us are yet left

for the redemption of Granada. Nor are the dead departed from us: the

dead fight with us--their souls animate our own. He who has lost a

brother, becomes twice a man. On this battle we will set all. Liberty or

chains! empire or exile! victory or death! Forward!”

He spoke, and gave the rein to his barb. It bounded forward, and cleared

the gloomy arch of the portals, and Boabdil el Chico was the first Moor

who issued from Granada, to that last and eventful field. Out, then,

poured, as a river that rushes from caverns into day, the burnished and

serried files of the Moorish cavalry. Muza came the last, closing the

array. Upon his dark and stern countenance there spoke not the ardent

enthusiasm of the sanguine king. It was locked and rigid; and the

anxieties of the last dismal weeks had thinned his cheeks, and ploughed

deep lines around the firm lips and iron jaw which bespoke the obstinate

and unconquerable resolution of his character.

As Muza now spurred forward, and, riding along the wheeling ranks,

marshalled them in order, arose the acclamation of female voices; and

the warriors, who looked back at the sound, saw that their women--their

wives and daughters, their mothers and their beloved (released from

their seclusion, by a policy which bespoke the desperation of

the cause)--were gazing at them, with outstretched arms, from the

battlements and towers. The Moors knew that they were now to fight for

their hearths and altars in the presence of those who, if they failed,

became slaves and harlots; and each Moslem felt his heart harden like

the steel of his own sabre.

While the cavalry formed themselves into regular squadrons, and the

tramp of the foemen came more near and near, the Moorish infantry,

in miscellaneous, eager, and undisciplined bands, poured out, until,

spreading wide and deep below the walls, Boabdil’s charger was seen,

rapidly careering amongst them, as, in short but distinct directions,

or fiery adjurations, he sought at once to regulate their movements, and

confirm their hot but capricious valour.

Meanwhile the Christians had abruptly halted; and the politic Ferdinand

resolved not to incur the full brunt of a whole population, in the first

flush of their enthusiasm and despair. He summoned to his side Hernando

del Pulgar, and bade him, with a troop of the most adventurous and

practised horsemen, advance towards the Moorish cavalry, and endeavour

to draw the fiery valour of Muza away from the main army. Then,

splitting up his force into several sections, he dismissed each to

different stations; some to storm the adjacent towers, others to fire

the surrounding gardens and orchards; so that the action might consist

rather of many battles than of one, and the Moors might lose the

concentration and union, which made, at present, their most formidable

strength.

Thus, while the Mussulmans were waiting in order for the attack, they

suddenly beheld the main body of the Christians dispersing, and, while

yet in surprise and perplexed, they saw the fires breaking out from

their delicious gardens, to the right and left of the walls, and hear

the boom of the Christian artillery against the scattered bulwarks that

guarded the approaches of that city.

At that moment a cloud of dust rolled rapidly towards the post occupied

in the van by Muza, and the shock of the Christian knights, in their

mighty mail, broke upon the centre of the prince’s squadron.

Higher, by several inches, than the plumage of his companions, waved

the crest of the gigantic del Pulgar; and, as Moor after Moor went

down before his headlong lance, his voice, sounding deep and sepulchral

through his visor, shouted out--“Death to the infidel!”

The rapid and dexterous horsemen of Granada were not, however,

discomfited by this fierce assault: opening their ranks with

extraordinary celerity, they suffered the charge to pass comparatively

harmless through their centre, and then, closing in one long and

bristling line, cut off the knights from retreat. The Christians wheeled

round, and charged again upon their foe.

“Where art thou, O Moslem dog! that wouldst play the lion’?--Where art

thou, Muza Ben Abil Gazan’?”

“Before thee, Christian!” cried a stern and clear voice; and from

amongst the helmets of his people, gleamed the dazzling turban of the

Moor.

Hernando checked his steed, gazed a moment at his foe, turned back,

for greater impetus to his charge, and, in a moment more, the bravest

warriors of the two armies met, lance to lance.

The round shield of Muza received the Christian’s weapon; his own spear

shivered, harmless, upon the breast of the giant. He drew his sword,

whirled it rapidly over his head, and, for some minutes, the eyes of

the bystanders could scarcely mark the marvellous rapidity with which

strokes were given and parried by those redoubted swordsmen.

At length, Hernando, anxious to bring to bear his superior strength,

spurred close to Muza; and, leaving his sword pendant by a thong to his

wrist, seized the shield of Muza in his formidable grasp, and plucked

it away, with a force that the Moor vainly endeavoured to resist:

Muza, therefore, suddenly released his bold; and, ere the Spaniard

had recovered his balance (which was lost by the success of his own

strength, put forth to the utmost), he dashed upon him the hoofs of his

black charger, and with a short but heavy mace, which he caught up from

the saddlebow, dealt Hernando so thundering a blow upon the helmet, that

the giant fell to the ground, stunned and senseless.

To dismount, to repossess himself of his shield, to resume his sabre, to

put one knee to the breast of his fallen foe, was the work of a moment;

and then had Don Hernando del Pulgar been sped, without priest or

surgeon, but that, alarmed by the peril of their most valiant comrade,

twenty knights spurred at once to the rescue, and the points of twenty

lances kept the Lion of Granada from his prey. Thither, with similar

speed, rushed the Moorish champions; and the fight became close and

deadly round the body of the still unconscious Christian. Not an instant

of leisure to unlace the helmet of Hernando, by removing which, alone,

the Moorish blade could find a mortal place, was permitted to Muza; and,

what with the spears and trampling hoofs around him, the situation of

the Paynim was more dangerous than that of the Christian. Meanwhile,

Hernando recovered his dizzy senses; and, made aware of his state,

watched his occasion, and suddenly shook off the knee of the Moor.

With another effort he was on his feet and the two champions stood

confronting each other, neither very eager to renew the combat. But

on foot, Muza, daring and rash as he was, could not but recognise his

disadvantage against the enormous strength and impenetrable armour of

the Christian. He drew back, whistled to his barb, that, piercing the

ranks of the horsemen, was by his side on the instant, remounted,

and was in the midst of the foe, almost ere the slower Spaniard was

conscious of his disappearance.

But Hernando was not delivered from his enemy. Clearing a space around

him, as three knights, mortally wounded, fell beneath his sabre, Muza

now drew from behind his shoulder his short Arabian bow, and shaft after

shaft came rattling upon the mail of the dismounted Christian with

so marvellous a celerity, that, encumbered as he was with his heavy

accoutrements, he was unable either to escape from the spot, or ward off

that arrowy rain; and felt that nothing but chance, or Our Lady, could

prevent the death which one such arrow would occasion, if it should find

the opening of the visor, or the joints of the hauberk.

“Mother of Mercy,” groaned the knight, perplexed and enraged, “let not

thy servant be shot down like a hart, by this cowardly warfare; but, if

I must fall, be it with mine enemy, grappling hand to hand.”

While yet muttering this short invocation, the war-cry of Spain was

heard hard by, and the gallant company of Villena was seen scouring

across the plain to the succour of their comrades. The deadly attention

of Muza was distracted from individual foes, however eminent; he wheeled

round, re-collected his men, and, in a serried charge, met the new enemy

in midway.

While the contest thus fared in that part of the field, the scheme of

Ferdinand had succeeded so far as to break up the battle in detached

sections. Far and near, plain, grove, garden, tower, presented each the

scene of obstinate and determined conflict. Boabdil, at the head of

his chosen guard, the flower of the haughtier tribe of nobles who were

jealous of the fame and blood of the tribe of Muza, and followed also

by his gigantic Ethiopians, exposed his person to every peril, with the

desperate valour of a man who feels his own stake is greatest in the

field. As he most distrusted the infantry, so amongst the infantry he

chiefly bestowed his presence; and wherever he appeared, he sufficed,

for the moment, to turn the changes of the engagement. At length, at

mid-day Ponce de Leon led against the largest detachment of the Moorish

foot a strong and numerous battalion of the best-disciplined and veteran

soldiery of Spain. He had succeeded in winning a fortress, from which

his artillery could play with effect; and the troops he led were

composed, partly of men flushed with recent triumph, and partly of

a fresh reserve, now first brought into the field. A comely and a

breathless spectacle it was to behold this Christian squadron emerging

from a blazing copse, which they fired on their march; the red light

gleaming on their complete armour, as, in steady and solemn order, they

swept on to the swaying and clamorous ranks of the Moorish infantry.

Boabdil learned the danger from his scouts; and hastily quitting a

tower from which he had for a while repulsed a hostile legion, he threw

himself into the midst of the battalions menaced by the skilful Ponce

de Leon. Almost at the same moment, the wild and ominous apparition of

Almamen, long absent from the eyes of the Moors, appeared in the same

quarter, so suddenly and unexpectedly, that none knew whence he had

emerged; the sacred standard in his left hand--his sabre, bared and

dripping gore, in his right--his face exposed, and its powerful features

working with an excitement that seemed inspired; his abrupt presence

breathed a new soul into the Moors.

“They come! they come!” he shrieked aloud. “The God of the East hath

delivered the Goth into your hands!” From rank to rank--from line to

line--sped the santon; and, as the mystic banner gleamed before

the soldiery, each closed his eyes and muttered an “amen” to his

adjurations. And now, to the cry of “Spain and St. Iago,” came trampling

down the relentless charge of the Christian war. At the same instant,

from the fortress lately taken by Ponce de Leon, the artillery opened

upon the Moors, and did deadly havoc. The Moslems wavered a moment when

before them gleamed the white banner of Almamen; and they beheld him

rushing, alone and on foot, amidst the foe. Taught to believe the war

itself depended on the preservation of the enchanted banner, the Paynims

could not see it thus rashly adventured without anxiety and shame: they

rallied, advanced firmly, and Boabdil himself, with waving cimiter and

fierce exclamations, dashed impetuously at the head of his guards and

Ethiopians into the affray. The battle became obstinate and bloody.

Thrice the white banner disappeared amidst the closing ranks; and

thrice, like a moon from the clouds, it shone forth again--the light and

guide of the Pagan power.

The day ripened; and the hills already cast lengthening shadows over the

blazing groves and the still Darro, whose waters, in every creek where

the tide was arrested, ran red with blood, when Ferdinand, collecting

his whole reserve, descended from the eminence on which hitherto he had

posted himself. With him moved three thousand foot and a thousand horse,

fresh in their vigour, and panting for a share in that glorious day.

The king himself, who, though constitutionally fearless, from motives

of policy rarely perilled his person, save on imminent occasions, was

resolved not to be outdone by Boabdil; and armed cap-a-pied in mail, so

wrought with gold that it seemed nearly all of that costly metal, with

his snow-white plumage waving above a small diadem that surmounted his

lofty helm, he seemed a fit leader to that armament of heroes. Behind

him flaunted the great gonfanon of Spain, and trump and cymbal heralded

his approach. The Count de Tendilla rode by his side.

“Senor,” said Ferdinand, “the infidels fight hard; but they are in the

snare--we are about to close the nets upon them. But what cavalcade is

this?”

The group that thus drew the king’s attention consisted of six squires,

bearing, on a martial litter, composed of shields, the stalwart form of

Hernando del Pulgar.

“Ah, the dogs!” cried the king, as he recognised the pale features of

the darling of the army,--“have they murdered the bravest knight that

ever fought for Christendom?”

“Not that, your majesty,” quoth he of the Exploits, faintly, “but I am

sorely stricken.”

“It must have been more than man who struck thee down,” said the king.

“It was the mace of Muza Ben Abil Gazan, an please you, sire,” said one

of the squires; “but it came on the good knight unawares, and long after

his own arm had seemingly driven away the Pagan.”

“We will avenge thee well,” said the king, setting his teeth: “let our

own leeches tend thy wounds. Forward, sir knights! St. Iago and Spain!”

The battle had now gathered to a vortex; Muza and his cavalry had

joined Boabdil and the Moorish foot. On the other hand, Villena had

been reinforced by detachments that in almost every other quarter of the

field had routed the foe. The Moors had been driven back, though inch

by inch; they were now in the broad space before the very walls of the

city, which were still crowded by the pale and anxious faces of the aged

and the women: and, at every pause in the artillery, the voices that

spoke of HOME were borne by that lurid air to the ears of the infidels.

The shout that rang through the Christian force as Ferdinand now joined

it struck like a death-knell upon the last hope of Boabdil. But the

blood of his fierce ancestry burned in his veins, and the cheering

voice of Almamen, whom nothing daunted, inspired him with a kind of

superstitious frenzy.

“King against king--so be it! Let Allah decide between us!” cried the

Moorish monarch. “Bind up this wound ‘tis well! A steed for the santon!

Now, my prophet and my friend, mount by the side of thy king--let us, at

least, fall together. Lelilies! Lelilies!”

Throughout the brave Christian ranks went a thrill of reluctant

admiration, as they beheld the Paynim king, conspicuous by his fair

beard and the jewels of his harness, lead the scanty guard yet left to

him once more into the thickest of their lines. Simultaneously Muza and

his Zegris made their fiery charge; and the Moorish infantry, excited by

the example of their leaders, followed with unslackened and dogged

zeal. The Christians gave way--they were beaten back: Ferdinand spurred

forward; and, ere either party were well aware of it, both kings met in

the same melee: all order and discipline, for the moment, lost, general

and monarch were, as common soldiers, fighting hand to hand. It was then

that Ferdinand, after bearing down before his lance Naim Reduon, second

only to Muza in the songs of Granada, beheld opposed to him a strange

form, that seemed to that royal Christian rather fiend than man: his

raven hair and beard, clotted with blood, hung like snakes about a

countenance whose features, naturally formed to give expression to the

darkest passions, were distorted with the madness of despairing rage.

Wounded in many places, the blood dabbled his mail; while, over

his head, he waved the banner wrought with mystic characters, which

Ferdinand had already been taught to believe the workmanship of demons.

“Now, perjured king of the Nazarenes!” shouted this formidable champion,

“we meet at last!--no longer host and guest, monarch and dervise, but

man to man! I am Almamen! Die!”

He spoke; and his sword descended so fiercely on that anointed head that

Ferdinand bent to his saddle-bow. But the king quickly recovered his

seat, and gallantly met the encounter; it was one that might have tasked

to the utmost the prowess of his bravest knight. Passions which, in

their number, their nature, and their excess, animated no other champion

on either side, gave to the arm of Almamen the Israelite a preternatural

strength; his blows fell like rain upon the harness of the king; and

the fiery eyes, the gleaming banner of the mysterious sorcerer, who

had eluded the tortures of his Inquisition,--who had walked unscathed

through the midst of his army,--whose single hand had consumed the

encampment of a host, filled the stout heart of a king with a belief

that he encountered no earthly foe. Fortunately, perhaps, for Ferdinand

and Spain, the contest did not last long. Twenty horsemen spurred into

the melee to the rescue of the plumed diadem: Tendilla arrived the

first; with a stroke of his two-handed sword, the white banner was cleft

from its staff, and fell to the earth. At that sight the Moors round

broke forth in a wild and despairing cry: that cry spread from rank to

rank, from horse to foot; the Moorish infantry, sorely pressed on all

sides, no sooner learned the disaster than they turned to fly: the rout

was as fatal as it was sudden. The Christian reserve, just brought into

the field, poured down upon them with a simultaneous charge. Boabdil,

too much engaged to be the first to learn the downfall of the sacred

insignia, suddenly saw himself almost alone, with his diminished

Ethiopians and a handful of his cavaliers.

“Yield thee, Boabdil el Chico!” cried Tendilla, from his rear, “or thou

canst not be saved.”

“By the Prophet, never!” exclaimed the king: and he dashed his barb

against the wall of spears behind him; and with but a score or so of his

guard, cut his way through the ranks that were not unwilling, perhaps,

to spare so brave a foe. As he cleared the Spanish battalions, the

unfortunate monarch checked his horse for a moment and gazed along the

plain: he beheld his army flying in all directions, save in that single

spot where yet glittered the turban of Muza Ben Abil Gazan. As he

gazed, he heard the panting nostrils of the chargers behind, and saw the

levelled spears of a company despatched to take him, alive or dead, by

the command of Ferdinand. He laid the reins upon his horse’s neck and

galloped into the city--three lances quivered against the portals as he

disappeared through the shadows of the arch. But while Muza remained,

all was not yet lost: he perceived the flight of the infantry and the

king, and with his followers galloped across the plain: he came in time

to encounter and slay, to a man, the pursuers of Boabdil; he then threw

himself before the flying Moors:

“Do ye fly in the sight of your wives and daughters? Would ye not rather

they beheld ye die?”

A thousand voices answered him. “The banner is in the hands of the

infidel--all is lost!” They swept by him, and stopped not till they

gained the gates.

But still a small and devoted remnant of the Moorish cavaliers remained

to shed a last glory over defeat itself. With Muza, their soul and

centre, they fought every atom of ground: it was, as the chronicler

expresses it, as if they grasped the soil with their arms. Twice they

charged into the midst of the foe: the slaughter they made doubled their

own number; but, gathering on and closing in, squadron upon squadron,

came the whole Christian army--they were encompassed, wearied out,

beaten back, as by an ocean. Like wild beasts, driven, at length, to

their lair, they retreated with their faces to the foe; and when Muza

came, the last--his cimiter shivered to the hilt,--he had scarcely

breath to command the gates to be closed and the portcullis lowered, ere

he fell from his charger in a sudden and deadly swoon, caused less by

his exhaustion than his agony and shame. So ended the last battle fought

for the Monarchy of Granada!