University of Virginia Library

8. VIII.

When, on the ensuing morning, the attendant Zitta
sought the chamber of her mistress, she was already
risen and dressed. At the first glance the slave was
sure that she had not slept during the night; but this
conjecture was immediately dismissed from her mind as
she beheld the unruffled composure of her countenance.
It was indeed grave and sad, but there was no visible
emotion—no proof of unschooled, unsubdued, or irrepressible
feeling such as she had looked to see, and no
single trace of that feverish grief which cannot have exercise
without leaving its visible impress upon the haggard
cheek and the drooping and desponding eye. She

little knew how to judge of that sorrow which passeth
show—which disdains and dreads all ostentation. Yet
was the slave right in the first conjecture which she had
so suddenly dismissed. Urraca had not slept—the
whole night had been passed in thought—in that intense,
self-searching, but not self-satisfying thought, which produces
humiliation if it does not prompt to prayer. That
humiliation had brought her strength—strength enough
for resignation, if not for right. The crisis of her fate
was passed, and she was now calm! Her resolve was
taken, and she had prepared to die! She had nothing
now to live for. She was not sufficiently the Christian
to live for repentance, and she had been too narrowly
selfish in her devotion to a single object to live for hope.
She lacked the necessary resources of life—and having
too fondly trusted her fortune to one pilot, in his falsehood
she had lost every thing—she was herself lost.

The nature of Zitta was too humble, and her own
sensibilities too coarse to enable her to conjecture the
mental self-abandonment of her mistress. She saw nothing
but composure in the seeming calm of her countenance.
Alas! it was the composure which comes
from despair, like that which follows the storm, and
which, though it speaks only of its own exhaustion, is
not less significant of its former violence. But under
that treacherous surface, with all its treasures and its
precious freight, lie the wrecks and ruins of the goodly
ship. It was thus in the mind, as upon the face of Urraca.
There was all the delusive calm, the treacherous
quiet of composure, which, when the hurricane has gone
by, overspreads the face and extends even to the bosom
of the insidious sea. The storm was overblown, but
the hope with which she had been crowned and chartered,
like some rich jewel, had been swept from sight while
it lasted, leaving her destitute—too destitute and too despairing
even for complaint.

She had no complaint—she uttered no sigh—no word

of sorrow in the ear of her attendant. All was calmness
and self-reliance. All her accents were gentleness,
and all her looks were peace. Yet she gave herself no
time for repose—indeed, she dared not—she seemed
resolute to hurry through her crowding toils at once, in
order that she might secure the long slumber which she
desired undisturbed. After a slight refreshment, even
more slight than usual, she commanded the attendants
hastily to perform their several duties, while she despatched
Zitta for the proper officer through whom the
emancipation of the slave was to be effected. This
duty was soon performed, but as yet she held the parchment.

“Until to-morrow, Zitta, it must content thee to remain
with me. Thou wilt serve me until then? I shall
not need thee much longer.”

Zitta professed her willingness to abide the commands
of her mistress with all the warmth and alacrity of one
who has just received so considerable a boon.

“I have much meanwhile for you to do,” said Urraca.
“These lustres, you will instantly send them to the Lord
Edacer. I promised him last night that they should be
his.”

“And greatly did it delight his mean soul, my lady,
that you did so,” exclaimed Zitta.

“Perhaps!” said Urraca, “perhaps! I am glad that
I may so easily delight him. He is fortunate indeed if
his soul can very highly esteem a thing of such slight
worth and poor attraction.”

“Oh, my lady, I wonder that you can think so meanly
of that which is so beautiful. Sure I am there's nothing
like it in all Cordova, and the cost—”

Urraca gently interrupted her: “Alas! my poor girl,
thy error is a sad, but a much too common one for note.
Thou wilt find, when thou hast more experience of thy
freedom, that few things possess a real value in the estimation
of the heart which wealth may purchase or flattery

procure. Nothing is worth but the true, unyielding
affections—nothing is lastingly secure but truth—nothing
always beautiful but that which is always good.
Send the lustres to the Lord Edacer; and let it be said
to him that they come to him from Urraca, with the
single wish that he may soon learn to esteem them as I
do who give them.”

“And that is nothing,” said Zitta.

“True,” replied Urraca, “but that need not be said
to him. Despatch them straight, for I have other offices
for thee to execute.”

The lustres were soon despatched to the greedy Goth,
who received them with a loud delight; and the slave,
bringing back his thankful acknowledgments, again stood
in the presence of the mistress, awaiting her commands.
These were few and soon executed.

“Here is money, and there are some jewels in this
casket, Zitta, for thyself. The money will serve thy
own and the wants of thy mother for a season. The
jewels—thou wilt wear them for thy mistress, and think
of her when thou dost so. In thy want—shouldst thou
suffer want at any time to come, which I pray thou
mayst not—they will provide thee, for their value is great
among men. Take them—they are now thine. I will
not need them again.”

“Oh, my lady—I deserve them not at thy hands.
Thou hast already given me but too much—thou hast
been lavish upon me against reason.”

“Not so!” said Urraca; “I give thee a great trust
and a heavy burden when I bestow thy freedom upon
thee, and I should not fix upon thee this burden unless I
provide thee with the ability to bear it. Thou wilt find
that with thy freedom will come new wants and wishes,
which did not belong to the condition of the slave—new
responsibilities will press upon thee, and in thy sickness
or destitution thou wilt know that some difference lies
between the slave whom a watchful interest beyond his

own must provide for, and him who can only compel attention
to his need in proportion to his wealth and substance.
Thou wilt need all the money which I give
thee, and more that I may not give thee—the wisdom
from Heaven to guide and direct thee aright in a new
state and progress to which thou hast not been accustomed,
and for which thy education has not prepared
thee. Pray that thou mayst soon learn to shape thy
feelings and thy thoughts to thy new condition, else wo
will fall upon thee and upon those around thee. To
have thoughts and desires which are unbecoming thy
place is wrong—he whose mind is below his condition
must be a tyrant, and he whose mind is above it—he
only is the slave.”

With such good counsel as this, bestowed without authority,
and with a simple and persuasive grace, which
was as strange in the sight of the slave as it was newborn
in the bosom of the mistress, Urraca continued to
direct, and counsel, and employ her. In this manner
she despatched her to bestow sundry presents of money
and of goods upon the various attendants of the household,
all of whom she instructed her to dismiss on the
ensuing morning. This done, she gave special directions
to Zitta for the preparation of a chamber in an upper
story which had long been disused. The order
awakened some surprise and suspicion in the mind of
the hearer.

“Why, my lady—it is so cold and damp, that chamber—and
so gloomy too—with but a single window that
lies free to the street, and all the rest choked from light
by the high houses around. Why wouldst thou employ
that chamber?”

“Is it thy new freedom, Zitta, that thus provokes thee
to question my desire?” responded Urraca, firmly, but
still mildly and with softness.

“Oh, no, my lady.”

“Let the chamber be got in readiness, Zitta, as I bid

thee. It is because it is cold and lonesome that I would
employ it. But let it be so prepared that it shall not
seem cold or lonesome. Transfer to the walls and to
the couch the rich hangings of this chamber; close all
its windows, and see that many lights are there to supply
what else it might seem to lack of cheering and gay
character. When thou hast done this, let a table be
spread with fruits within it—and the wine—fill me a rich
vase of silver with wine, and place it in readiness amid
the fruits—but one vase, Zitta—one will suffice,” she
murmured, as the slave disappeared—“one will suffice
for Amri and me!”