CHAPTER V. THE SACRIFICE.
The sun was now sinking slowly through those masses of purple cloudwhich belong to Iberian skies; when, emerging from the forest, thetravellers saw before them a small and lovely plain, cultivated like agarden. Rows of orange and citron trees were backed by the dark greenfoliage of vines; and these again found a barrier in girdling copsesof chestnut, oak, and the deeper verdure of pines: while, far tothe horizon, rose the distant and dim outline of the mountain range,scarcely distinguishable from the mellow colourings of the heaven.Through this charming spot went a slender and sparkling torrent, thatcollected its waters in a circular basin, over which the rose and orangehung their contrasted blossoms. On a gentle eminence above this plain,or garden, rose the spires of a convent: and, though it was still cleardaylight, the long and pointed lattices were illumined within; and,as the horsemen cast their eyes upon the pile, the sound of the holychorus--made more sweet and solemn from its own indistinctness, from thequiet of the hour, from the sudden and sequestered loveliness of thatspot, suiting so well the ideal calm of the conventual life--rolled itsmusic through the odorous and lucent air.
But that scene and that sound, so calculated to soothe and harmonise thethought, seemed to arouse Almamen into agony and passion. He smote hisbreast with his clenched hand; and, shrieking, rather than exclaiming,"God of my fathers! have I come too late?" buried his spurs to therowels in the sides of his panting steed. Along the sward, through thefragrant shrubs, athwart the pebbly and shallow torrent, up the ascentto the convent, sped the Israelite. Muza, wondering and half reluctant,followed at a little distance. Clearer and nearer came the voices of thechoir; broader and redder glowed the tapers from the Gothic casements:the porch of the convent chapel was reached; the Hebrew sprang from hishorse. A small group of the peasants dependent on the convent loiteredreverently round the threshold; pushing through them, as one frantic,Almamen entered the chapel and disappeared.
A minute elapsed. Muza was at the door; but the Moor pausedirresolutely, ere he dismounted. "What is the ceremony?" he asked of thepeasants.
"A nun is about to take the vows," answered one of them.
A cry of alarm, of indignation, of terror, was heard within. Muza nolonger delayed: he gave his steed to the bystanders, pushed aside theheavy curtain that screened the threshold and was within the chapel.
By the altar gathered a confused and disordered group--the sisterhood,with their abbess. Round the consecrated rail flocked the spectators,breathless and amazed. Conspicuous above the rest, on the elevation ofthe holy place, stood Almamen with his drawn dagger in his right hand,his left arm clasped around the form of a novice, whose dress, not yetreplaced by the serge, bespoke her the sister fated to the veil; and,on the opposite side of that sister, one hand on her shoulder, the otherrearing on high the sacred crucifix, stood a stern, commanding form, inthe white robes of the Dominican order; it was Tomas de Torquemada.
"Avaunt, Almamen!" were the first words which reached Muza's ear ashe stood, unnoticed, in the middle of the aisle: "here thy sorcery andthine arts cannot avail thee. Release the devoted one of God!"
"She is mine! she is my daughter! I claim her from thee as a father, inthe name of the great Sire of Man!"
"Seize the sorcerer! seize him!" exclaimed the Inquisitor, as, witha sudden movement, Almamen cleared his way through the scattered anddismayed group, and stood with his daughter in his arms, on the firststep of the consecrated platform.
But not a foot stirred--not a hand was raised. The epithet bestowed onthe intruder had only breathed a supernatural terror into the audience;and they would have sooner rushed upon a tiger in his lair, than on thelifted dagger and savage aspect of that grim stranger.
"Oh, my father!" then said a low and faltering voice, that startled Muzaas a voice from the grave--"wrestle not against the decrees of Heaven.Thy daughter is not compelled to her solemn choice. Humbly, butdevotedly, a convert to the Christian creed, her only wish on earth isto take the consecrated and eternal vow."
"Ha!" groaned the Hebrew, suddenly relaxing his hold, as his daughterfell on her knees before him, "then have I indeed been told, as I haveforeseen, the worst. The veil is rent--the spirit hath left the temple.Thy beauty is desecrated; thy form is but unhallowed clay. Dog!"he cried, more fiercely, glaring round upon the unmoved face of theInquisitor, "this is thy work: but thou shalt not triumph. Here, bythine own shrine, I spit at and defy thee, as once before, amidstthe tortures of thy inhuman court. Thus--thus--thus--Almamen the Jewdelivers the last of his house from the curse of Galilee!"
"Hold, murderer!" cried a voice of thunder; and an armed man burstthrough the crowd and stood upon the platform. It was too late: thricethe blade of the Hebrew had passed through that innocent breast; thricewas it reddened with that virgin blood. Leila fell in the arms of herlover; her dim eyes rested upon his countenance, as it shone uponher, beneath his lifted vizor-a faint and tender smile played upon herlips--Leila was no more.
One hasty glance Almamen cast upon his victim, and then, with a wildlaugh that woke every echo in the dreary aisles, he leaped from theplace. Brandishing his bloody weapon above his head, he dashed throughthe coward crowd; and, ere even the startled Dominican had founda voice, the tramp of his headlong steed rang upon the air; aninstant--and all was silent.
But over the murdered girl leaned the Moor, as yet incredulous of herdeath; her head still unshorn of its purple tresses, pillowed on hislap--her icy hand clasped in his, and her blood weltering fast over hisarmour. None disturbed him; for, habited as the knights of Christendom,none suspected his faith; and all, even the Dominican, felt a thrill ofsympathy at his distress. How he came hither, with what object,--whathope, their thoughts were too much locked in pity to conjecture.There, voiceless and motionless, bent the Moor, until one of the monksapproached and felt the pulse, to ascertain if life was, indeed, utterlygone.
The Moor at first waved him haughtily away; but, when he divined themonk's purpose, suffered him in silence to take the beloved hand. Hefixed on him his dark and imploring eyes; and when the father droppedthe hand, and, gently shaking his head, turned away, a deep andagonising groan was all that the audience heard from that heart in whichthe last iron of fate had entered. Passionately he kissed the brow, thecheeks, the lips of the hushed and angel face, and rose from the spot.
"What dost thou here? and what knowest thou of yon murderous enemy ofGod and man?" asked the Dominican, approaching.
Muza made no reply, as he stalked slowly through the chapel. Theaudience was touched to sudden tears. "Forbear!" said they, almost withone accord, to the harsh Inquisitor; "he hath no voice to answer thee."
And thus, amidst the oppressive grief and sympathy of the Christianthrong, the unknown Paynim reached the door, mounted his steed, and ashe turned once more and cast a hurried glance upon the fatal pile, thebystanders saw the large tears rolling down his swarthy cheeks.
Slowly that coal-black charger wound down the hillock, crossed the quietand lovely garden, and vanished amidst the forest. And never was known,to Moor or Christian, the future fate of the hero of Granada. Whether hereached in safety the shores of his ancestral Africa, and carved outnew fortunes and a new name; or whether death, by disease or strife,terminated obscurely his glorious and brief career, mystery--deepand unpenetrated, even by the fancies of the thousand bards who haveconsecrated his deeds--wraps in everlasting shadow the destinies of MuzaBen Abil Gazan, from that hour, when the setting sun threw its partingray over his stately form and his ebon barb, disappearing amidst thebreathless shadows of the forest.
Leila or, the Siege of Granada, Complete Page 28
