CHAPTER XXIII.

Lighted not more by the torch at his feet than by the flames that crested the distant mountain, the Moorish boy struck the lute with a skilful touch, whispered, rather than wailed, the little burthen that kept alive the memory of the Alhambra, and then sang the following Romance;--a ballad that evidently relates to the fate of Mohammed Almosstadir, king of Seville, dethroned by the famous Yussef ben Taxfin, Emir of Morocco. In the wars of the Moorish kings of Spain with Alfonso VI. of Leon, about the year 1090, the Christian monarch prevailing, his infidel enemies invited Yussef to their assistance. The emir obeyed the call; but having fought one or two battles with Alfonso, contented himself with turning his arms on his confederates, and dethroning them,--Mohammed Almosstadir among the number. It is recorded, that his chivalrous enemy, the king Alfonso, moved by the distresses of Mohammed, sent an army of twenty thousand men to assist him against Yussef; but in the obscurity of the historic legends of that day, nothing can be discovered in relation to the devout condition of "kissing the cross," nor, indeed, of the name or fate of the leader of the Spanish army. We should know nothing of the good Cid, but for the ballad, which was doubtless of very antique origin; though the simple burthen, _Me acuerdo de ti, Granada_! commemorative of the fall of the Moorish city, must have been added four hundred years after; perhaps by the singer from whom Jacinto had learned it.

ROMANCE OF CID RAMON.

I remember thee, Granada! Cid Ramon spurr'd his good steed fast, His thousand score were near; And from Sevilla's walls aghast, The watchmen fled with fear: For Afric's Emir lay around, The town was leaguer'd sore, And king Mohammed wept with shame To be a king no more. I remember thee, Granada!

The Emir's powers were round and nigh, Like locusts on the sward; And when Cid Ramon spurr'd his steed, They struck him fast and hard. "But," quoth the Cid, "a knight am I, With crucifix and spear; And for Mohammed ride I on, And for his daughter dear."-- I remember thee, Granada!

"Cheer up, dark king, and wail no more, Let tears no longer flow; Of Christian men a thousand score Have I to smite thy foe. The king Alfonso greets thee well: Kiss thou the cross, and pray; And ere thou say'st the Ave o'er, The Emir I will slay." I remember thee, Granada!

"Or let the African be slain, Or let the Emir slay, I will not kiss the cross of Christ, Nor to his Mother pray. A camel-driver will I live, With Yussef for my lord, Or ere I kiss the Christian's cross, To win the Christian's sword." I remember thee, Granada!

"Mohammed, now thou griev'st me much-- Alfonso is my king: But let Suleya kiss the cross, And let her wear the ring. The crucifix the bride shall bear, Her lord shall couch the spear; And still I'll smite thy foe for thee, And for thy daughter dear." I remember thee, Granada!

Then up Suleya rose, and spoke,-- "I love Cid Ramon well; But not to win his heart or sword, Will I my faith compel. With Yussef, cruel though he be, A bond-maid will I rove, Or ere I kiss the Christian's cross, To win the Christian's love." I remember thee, Granada!

"Suleya! now thou griev'st me much-- A thousand score have I; But, saving for a Christian's life, They dare not strike or die. Alfonso is my king, and thus Commands my king to me: But, for that Christian, _all_ shall strike, If my true love she be." I remember thee, Granada!

"Ill loves the love, who, ere he loves, Demands a sacrifice: Who serves myself, must serve my sire, And serve without a price. Let Yussef come with sword and spear, To fetter and to rend; I choose me yet a Moorish foe Before a Christian friend!"-- I remember thee, Granada!

"Ill loves the love, who pins his love Upon a point of creed; And balances in selfish doubt, At such a time of need. His heart is loosed, his hands untied, And he shall yet be free To wear the cross, and break the ring, Who will not die for me!" I remember thee, Granada!

The Emir's cry went up to heaven: Cid Ramon rode away-- "Ye may not fight, my thousand score, For Christian friend to-day.

But tell the king, I bide his hest, Albeit my heart be sore; Of all his troops, I give but _one_ To perish for the Moor." I remember thee, Granada!

The Emir's cry went up to heaven; His howling hosts came on; Down fell Sevilla's tottering walls,-- The thousand score were gone. And at the palace-gate, in blood, The Arab Emir raves; He sat upon Mohammed's throne, And look'd upon his slaves. I remember thee, Granada!

"The lives of all that faithful be, This good day, will I spare; But wo betide or kings or boors, That currish Christians are!"-- Up rode Cid Ramon bleeding fast; The princess wept to see;-- "No cross was kiss'd, no prayer was said, But still I die for thee!" I remember thee, Granada!

The Moorish maid she kiss'd the cross, She knelt upon her knee;-- "I kiss the cross, I say the prayer, Because thou diest for me. To buy thy thousand score of swords, I would not give my faith; But now I take the good cross up, To follow thee in death." I remember thee, Granada!

"Holy Maria! Come to us, And take us to the blest; In the true blood of love and faith, Receive us to thy rest!"-- The Emir struck in bitter wrath, Sharp fell the Arab blade; And Mary took the Cid to heaven, And bless'd the Christian maid. I remember thee, Granada!

"I like that ballad well," said De Morla, with a pensive sigh, when the singer had finished, "and, to my thought, no handsome maiden, though such always makes the best ballad-singer, could have trolled it with a more tender and loving accent than Jacinto. 'The Moorish maid,'" he continued, humming the words in a sentimental manner,--

"The Moorish maid she kiss'd the cross, She knelt upon her knee.--

To my mind, it would read better, if we could say, 'The Mexican maid.'--

The Mexican maid she kiss'd the cross--

But, pho upon it! that spoils the metre.--Is it not thy opinion, senor, the princess Suleya would have shown more true love as well as wisdom, to have kissed the cross _before_ the Cid came to his death-gasp?"

"By my faith, I cannot doubt it," said Don Amador; "yet, considering that she avowed herself a proselyte, when the sword of that accursed Emir was suspended over her head, and so provoked and endured the death of a martyr for Don Ramon's sake, it must be acknowledged she acted as became a loving and truly devout lady. But what I chiefly esteem in this ditty, is the magnanimous art with which the Cid Ramon both preserved his faith to his king, and devoted himself to death for his mistress,--a reconciliation of duties which some might have considered impracticable, or, at least, highly objectionable."

"Amigo querido mio," cried De Morla, grasping the neophyte's hand, and speaking with a voice half comical, half serious, "if thou livest a hundred years longer than myself, thou wilt hear some such mournful madrigal as this sung in memory of my foolish self; only that, in place of a Moorish Infanta, thou wilt hear the name of a Mexican princess; and Minnapotzin will doubtless be immortalized along with De Morla."

"Minnapotzin!" exclaimed Don Amador, with a stare rendered visible enough by the distant flashings of the volcano. "I swear to thee, my brother, I understand not a word thou art saying!"

"To make the matter clear to thee then," said De Morla, with forced gayety, "conceive me for a moment to be the Cid of whom we have been singing; and imagine my Suleya to be wandering by the lake side in the figure of a certain Minnapotzin, received to our holy faith under the name of Dona Benita,--a princess among these poor barbarians."

"Dost thou indeed love one of these strange maidens, then?--and is she baptized in our holy faith?" demanded Don Amador, with much interest. "If she be worthy of thee, Francisco, I pray heaven to make thee happy with her."

"Now, may I die!" cried De Morla, grasping Don Amador's hand warmly, "if I did not fear thou wouldst either censure or laugh at me,--or perhaps turn thy ridicule upon Benita,--a wrong I never could have forgiven thee. For I protest to thee, there is no such gentle and divine being in all the world beside. I make thee my confidant, hermano mio, because I shall have much need of thy friendship and counsel; for though I come not, like Cid Ramon, with 'a thousand score' to rescue her pagan father, sure am I, I cannot love the princess, and yet be blind to the miseries of the king."

"Assuredly," said Don Amador, "I will aid thee, and, for thy sake, both the fair princess and her unconverted sire, wherever, in so doing, I may not oppose my allegiance and religion."

"I will not claim any sacrifice," said De Morla, "unless so much as will rob thee of thy prejudices against this deluded people. In fact, I desire thee more as a confidant, than as an abettor; for there is nothing to oppose my happiness, saving the present uncertainty of the relations betwixt ourselves and the Mexicans. Minnapotzin is a Christian;--I dare be sworn, the Cid was not better beloved than myself;--and Cortes hath himself promised to ask the consent of our Christian king to the marriage, as soon as Montezuma has properly confirmed his vassalage. No, there is nothing to oppose me," continued De Morla, with a sudden sadness, "saving only this uncertainty I have spoken of,--and the darkness that hangs over my own destiny."

"I vow to thee, I am as much in the dark as before," said Don Amador.

"In good faith, my friend," said the young cavalier, with a faint smile, "it is promised me, I shall die very much like Don Ramon. Did I never tell thee what Botello hath prophesied?"

"Not a jot," said the neophyte. "But I trust thou puttest no faith in that worthy madman?"

"How can I help it?" said De Morla, seriously. "He has foretold nothing that has not been accomplished, from the quarrel of Cortes with the Adelantado Velasquez, even to the fall of Zempoala."

"I have reflected on this prediction with regard to Zempoala, as well as all others whereof I have heard," said the neophyte, with a sagacious nod, "and I have settled in mine own mind that there is nothing in them beyond the operation of a certain cunning, mingled with a boldness which will hazard any thing in prognostic. Much credit is given to Botello for having, as I am informed, predicted, even before the embarkation of Cortes, the rupture between him and his governor that afterwards ensued. Now, any man, acquainted with the unreasonable rashness and hot jealousy of the governor, might have foretold a quarrel; and I see not how it could have been otherwise. So also, as I may say, I did myself, in a manner, foretell the disaster of Narvaez, as soon as I perceived his foolish negligence, in choosing rather to divert his soldiers with legerdemain dances than to set them about his city as sentinels. The victory comes not to the indiscreet general."

"All this might have been conjectured, but not with so many surprising particulars," said the cavalier. "How could Botello have predicted, that, though Narvaez should sally out against us, no blow should be struck by daylight?"

"Marry, I know not; unless upon a conviction that Cortes was too wise to meet his enemy on the plain; and from a personal assurance, that the rocks wherein the general had pitched his camp, were utterly unassailable."

"How could he have guessed that flames should drive the Biscayan from the tower?"

"Did he guess that, indeed?" said the neophyte, staring. "He could not have known that; for the brand was thrown by mine own rogue Lazaro, who, I know, was not his confederate."

"How could he have averred that Narvaez should lose his eye, and come blindfold to his conqueror?"

"Is it very certain Botello foretold _that_?" demanded Don Amador, his incredulity shaking.

"The senor Duero was present, as well as several other honourable cavaliers, and all confirm the story," said De Morla. "Nay, I could give thee a thousand instances of the marvellous truths he has spoken; and so well is Cortes convinced of his singular faculty, that he will do no deed of importance, without first consulting the magician."

"When my head is very cool," said Amador, musingly, "I find no difficulty to persuade myself that the existence of the faculty of soothsaying is incredible, because subversive of many of the wise provisions of nature; yet I will not take upon me to contradict what I do not know. And surely also, I may confess, I have heard of certain wonderful predictions made by astrologers, which are very difficult to be explained, unless by admission of their powers."

"What Botello has said to me," said De Morla, with a hurried voice, "has been in part fulfilled, though spoken in obscure figures. He told me, long since, that I should be reduced to bondage, 'at such time as I should behold a Christian cross hanging under a pagan crown.' This I esteemed a matter for mirth; 'for how,' said I, 'shall I find a pagan wearing a crucifix? and how shall I submit to be a captive among strange and cruel idolaters, when I have the power to die fighting?' But I have seen the cross on the bosom of one who wears the gold coronet of a king's daughter; and now I know that my heart is in slavery!"

Don Amador pondered over this annunciation; but while he deliberated, his friend continued,--

"When Botello told me this, he added other things,--not many but dark,--to wit, as I understood it, 'that I should perish miserably with my enslaver,' and, what is still more remarkable, with an infidel priest to say the mass over my body! Senor, these things are uncomfortable to think on; but I vow to heaven, if I am to die in the arms of Minnapotzin, I shall perish full as happily as did Cid Ramon in the embraces of Suleya!"

De Morla concluded his singular story with a degree of excitement and wildness that greatly confounded Don Amador; and before the neophyte could summon up arguments enough to reply, a voice from the bottom of the pyramid was heard pronouncing certain words, in a tongue entirely unknown to him, but among which he thought he recognised the name of Minnapotzin. He was not mistaken. De Morla started, saying, hastily,--

"I am called, senor. This is the voice of one of the envoys of Montezuma, with whom I have certain things to say concerning Dona Benita. I will return to thee in an instant." And so saying, he descended the stairs of the mound, and was straightway out of sight.