University of Virginia Library

23. 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 V.I. 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.

“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,—

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

But, pho upon it! that spoils the metre.—Is it not thy
opinion, señor, 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 Doña Benita,—
a princess among these poor barbarians.”

“Dost thou indeed love one of these strange maid-ens,
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 señor 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! Señor, 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, señor. This is the voice of one of
the envoys of Montezuma, with whom I have certain
things to say concerning Doña 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.