CHAPTER II. THE KING WITHIN HIS PALACE.
In one of those apartments, the luxury of which is known only to theinhabitants of a genial climate (half chamber and half grotto), reclineda young Moor, in a thoughtful and musing attitude.
The ceiling of cedar-wood, glowing with gold and azure, was supportedby slender shafts, of the whitest alabaster, between which were openarcades, light and graceful as the arched vineyards of Italy,and wrought in that delicate filagree-work common to the Arabianarchitecture: through these arcades was seen at intervals the lapsingfall of waters, lighted by alabaster lamps; and their tinkling musicsounded with a fresh and regular murmur upon the ear. The whole of oneside of this apartment was open to a broad and extensive balcony,which overhung the banks of the winding and moonlit Darro; and in theclearness of the soft night might be distinctly seen the undulatinghills, the woods, and orange-groves, which still form the unrivalledlandscapes of Granada.
The pavement was spread with ottomans and couches of the richest azure,prodigally enriched with quaint designs in broideries of gold andsilver; and over that on which the Moor reclined, facing the openbalcony, were suspended on a pillar the round shield, the light javelin,and the curving cimiter, of Moorish warfare. So studded were thesearms with jewels of rare cost, that they might alone have sufficedto indicate the rank of the evident owner, even if his own gorgeousvestments 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 dimlydistinguished from the cloudless and far horizon.
No one could have gazed without a vague emotion of interest, mixedwith melancholy, upon the countenance of the inmate of that luxuriouschamber.
Its beauty was singularly stamped with a grave and stately sadness,which was made still more impressive by its air of youth and theunwonted fairness of the complexion: unlike the attributes of theMoorish 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 andcontemplative mildness which rarely softens the swart lineaments of thefiery children of the sun. Such was the personal appearance of Boabdilel Chico, the last of the Moorish dynasty in Spain.
"These scrolls of Arabian learning," said Boabdil to himself, "what dothey teach? to despise wealth and power, to hold the heart to be thetrue empire. This, then, is wisdom. Yet, if I follow these maxims, am Iwise? alas! the whole world would call me a driveller and a madman. Thusis it ever; the wisdom of the Intellect fills us with precepts which itis the wisdom of Action to despise. O Holy Prophet! what fools men wouldbe, if their knavery did not eclipse their folly!"
The young king listlessly threw himself back on his cushions as heuttered these words, too philosophical for a king whose crown sate soloosely on his brow.
After a few moments of thought that appeared to dissatisfy and disquiethim, Boabdil again turned impatiently round "My soul wants the bath ofmusic," 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, hithertoinvisible, started into sight; at a slight and scarce perceptible signfrom 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, withtheir transparent tunics and white arms, they gleamed, without an echo,through that cool and voluptuous chamber, they might well have seemedthe Peris of the eastern magic, summoned to beguile the sated leisureof 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 glowinglustre of her oriental countenance. She alone approached the king,timidly kissed his hand, and then, joining her comrades, commencedthe following song, to the air and very words of which the feet of thedancing-girls kept time, while with the chorus rang the silver bells ofthe 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 gracefulpostures, as if arrested into statues of alabaster; and the youngsongstress cast herself on a cushion at the feet of the monarch, andlooked up fondly, but silently, into his yet melancholy eyes,--when aman, whose entrance had not been noticed, was seen to stand within thechamber.
He was about the middle stature,--lean, muscular, and strongly thoughsparely built. A plain black robe, something in the fashion of theArmenian gown, hung long and loosely over a tunic of bright scarlet,girdled by a broad belt, from the centre of which was suspended a smallgolden key, while at the left side appeared the jewelled hilt of acrooked dagger. His features were cast in a larger and grander mouldthan was common among the Moors of Spain; the forehead was broad,massive, and singularly high, and the dark eyes of unusual size andbrilliancy; his beard, short, black, and glossy, curled upward, andconcealed all the lower part of the face, save a firm, compressed, andresolute expression in the lips, which were large and full; the nosewas high, aquiline, and well-shaped; and the whole character of thehead (which was, for symmetry, on too large and gigantic a scale asproportioned to the form) was indicative of extraordinary energy andpower. At the first glance, the stranger might have seemed scarce onthe borders of middle age; but, on a more careful examination, the deeplines and wrinkles, marked on the forehead and round the eyes, betrayeda more advanced period of life. With arms folded on his breast, he stoodby the side of the king, waiting in silence the moment when his presenceshould be perceived.
He did not wait long; the eyes and gesture of the girl nestled at thefeet of Boabdil drew the king's attention to the spot where the strangerstood: his eye brightened when it fell upon him.
"Almamen," cried Boabdil, eagerly, "you are welcome." As he spoke, hemotioned to the dancing-girls to withdraw. "May I not rest? O core of myheart, thy bird is in its home," murmured the songstress at the king'sfeet.
"Sweet Amine," answered Boabdil, tenderly smoothing down her ringlets ashe 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 thenightingale hymns his last music to the moon." Amine sighed, rose, andvanished with her companions.
"My friend," said the king, when alone with Almamen, "your counselsoften soothe me into quiet, yet in such hours quiet is a crime. But whatdo?--how struggle?--how act? Alas! at the hour of his birth, rightlydid they affix to the name of Boabdil, the epithet of _El Zogoybi_. [TheUnlucky]. Misfortune set upon my brow her dark and fated stamp ere yetmy lips could shape a prayer against her power. My fierce father, whosefrown was as the frown of Azrael, hated me in my cradle; in my youthmy 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 savedonly by the artifice of my mother. When age and infirmity broke theiron sceptre of the king
, my claims to the throne were set aside, andmy uncle, El Zagal, usurped my birthright. Amidst open war and secrettreason I wrestled for my crown; and now, the sole sovereign ofGranada, when, as I fondly imagined, my uncle had lost all claim onthe affections of my people by succumbing to the Christian king, andaccepting a fief under his dominion, I find that the very crime of ElZagal is fixed upon me by my unhappy subjects--that they deem he wouldnot have yielded but for my supineness. At the moment of my deliveryfrom my rival, I am received with execration by my subjects, and, driveninto this my fortress of the Alhambra, dare not venture to head myarmies, or to face my people; yet am I called weak and irresolute, whenstrength and courage are forbid me. And as the water glides from yonderrock, that hath no power to retain it, I see the tide of empire wellingfrom my hands."
The young king spoke warmly and bitterly; and, in the irritation of histhoughts, strode, while he spoke, with rapid and irregular strides alongthe chamber. Almamen marked his emotion with an eye and lip of rigidcomposure.
"Light of the faithful," said he, when Boabdil had concluded, "thepowers above never doom man to perpetual sorrow, nor perpetual joy:the cloud and the sunshine are alike essential to the heaven of ourdestinies; and if thou hast suffered in thy youth, thou hast exhaustedthe calamities of fate, and thy manhood will be glorious, and thine ageserene."
"Thou speakest as if the armies of Ferdinand were not already around mywalls," said Boabdil, impatiently.
"The armies of Sennacherib were as mighty," answered Almamen.
"Wise seer," returned the king, in a tone half sarcastic and halfsolemn, "we, the Mussulmans of Spain, are not the blind fanatics of theEastern world. On us have fallen the lights of philosophy and science;and if the more clear-sighted among us yet outwardly reverence the formsand 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 theancient 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 thedestiny of Sennacherib, I wait only till the Standard of the Cross waveabove the Vermilion Towers."
"Yet," said Almamen, "while my lord the king rejects the fanaticism ofbelief, doth he reject the fanaticism of persecution? You disbelievethe stories of the Hebrews; yet you suffer the Hebrews themselves, thatancient and kindred Arabian race, to be ground to the dust, condemnedand tortured by your judges, your informers, your soldiers, and yoursubjects."
"The base misers! they deserve their fate," answered Boabdil, loftily."Gold is their god, and the market-place their country; amidst the tearsand groans of nations, they sympathise only with the rise and fall oftrade; and, the thieves of the universe! while their hand is againstevery man's coffer, why wonder that they provoke the hand of every managainst their throats? Worse than the tribe of Hanifa, who eat theirgod only in time of famine;--[The tribe of Hanifa worshipped a lump ofdough]--the race of Moisa--[Moses]--would sell the Seven Heavens forthe 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 itshead through every obstacle to the sun, so the mind of man twists andperverts itself, if legitimate openings are denied it, to find itsnatural element in the gale of power, or the sunshine of esteem. TheseHebrews were not traffickers and misers in their own sacred land whenthey routed your ancestors, the Arab armies of old; and gnawed the fleshfrom their bones in famine, rather than yield a weaker city than Granadato a mightier force than the holiday lords of Spain. Let this pass. Mylord rejects the belief in the agencies of the angels; doth he stillretain belief in the wisdom of mortal men?"
"Yes!" returned Boabdil, quickly; "for of the one I know nought; ofthe 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 thefears of my people, which chain my panting spirit within these walls; hehath urged me to gird on yonder shield and cimiter, and to appear in theVivarrambla, at the head of the nobles of Granada. My heart leaps highat 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 todie."
"Ha!" said Boabdil, in an altered voice, "thou thinkest, then, that I amdoomed 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 seesbut in the stars worlds mightier than this little earth, whose lightwould neither wane nor wink, if earth itself were swept from theinfinities of space."
"Mysterious man!" said Boabdil; "whence, then, is thy power?--whence thyknowledge 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 streamis of an element in which man cannot live nor breathe: above, in thethin and impalpable air, our steps cannot find a footing, the armies ofall earth cannot build an empire. And yet, by the exercise of a littleart, 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, whilethe petty surface of the world is crowded with living things, there isno life in the vast centre within the earth, and the immense ether thatsurrounds it? As the fisherman snares his prey, as the fowler entrapsthe bird, so, by the art and genius of our human mind, we may thralland command the subtler beings of realms and elements which our materialbodies cannot enter--our gross senses cannot survey. This, then, is mylore. 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 havelearned something. To the future, I myself am blind; but I can invokeand conjure up those whose eyes are more piercing, whose natures aremore gifted."
"Prove to me thy power," said Boabdil, awed less by the words than bythe 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'sear: Boabdil started, and turned pale.
"A fearful spot!"
"So is the Alhambra itself, great Boabdil; while Ferdinand is withoutthe 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 fallto-morrow by a chance javelin, in the field, whom would the nobles andthe warriors place upon his throne? Doth it require an enchanter's loreto whisper to thy heart the answer in the name of 'Muza'?"
"Oh, wretched state! oh, miserable king!" exclaimed Boabdil, in a toneof great anguish. "I never had a father. I have now no people; a littlewhile, 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 rankand race shot dangerous fire from his eyes; "your cold and bloodlesswisdom freezes up all the veins of my manhood! Glory, confidence, humansympathy, and feeling--your counsels annihilate them all. Leave me! Iwould be alone."
"We meet to-morrow, at midnight, mighty Boabdil," said Almamen, with hisusual unmoved and passionless tones. "May the king live for ever."
The king turned; but his monitor had already disappeared. He went as hecame--noiseless and sudden as a ghost.
Leila or, the Siege of Granada, Complete Page 2
