Leila or, the Siege of Granada, Complete by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton (read ebook pdf .txt) 📗
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“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.”
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