The Alhambra a series of tales and sketches of the Moors and Spaniards |
LEGEND
OF THE THREE BEAUTIFUL PRINCESSES. |
 | LEGEND
OF THE THREE BEAUTIFUL PRINCESSES. The Alhambra |  |
LEGEND
OF THE THREE BEAUTIFUL PRINCESSES.
In old times there reigned a Moorish king in
Granada, whose name was Mohamed, to which,
his subjects added the appellation of el Haygari,
or “the left-handed.” Some say he was so called,
on account of his being really more expert with his
sinister, than his dexter hand; others, because he
was prone to take every thing by the wrong end;
or, in other words, to mar wherever he meddled.
Certain it is, either through misfortune or mismanagement,
he was continually in trouble. Thrice
was he driven from his throne, and on one occasion,
barely escaped to Africa with his life, in the disguise
of a fisherman. Still he was as brave as he
was blundering, and, though left-handed, wielded
his scimitar to such purpose, that he each time
re-established himself upon his throne, by dint of
from adversity, he hardened his neck, and
stiffened his left-arm in wilfulness. The evils of
a public nature which he thus brought upon himself
and his kingdom, may be learned by those
who will delve into the Arabian annals of Granada;
the present legend deals but with his domestic
policy.
As this Mohamed was one day riding forth, with
a train of his courtiers, by the foot of the mountain
of Elvira, he met a band of horsemen returning
from a foray into the land of the Christians. They
were conducting a long string of mules laden with
spoil, and many captives of both sexes, among
whom, the monarch was struck with the appearance
of a beautiful damsel richly attired, who sat
weeping, on a low palfrey, and heeded not the
consoling words of a duenna, who rode beside
her.
The monarch was struck with her beauty, and
on inquiring of the captain of the troop, found that
she was the daughter of the alcayde of a frontier
fortress that had been surprised and sacked in the
course of the foray.
Mohamed claimed her, as his royal share of the
booty, and had her conveyed to his harem in the
Alhambra. There every thing was devised to
more enamoured, sought to make her his queen.
The Spanish maid at first repulsed his addresses.
He was an infidel—he was the open foe of her
country—what was worse, he was stricken in
years!
The monarch finding his assiduities of no avail,
determined to enlist in his favour the duenna, who
had been captured with the lady. She was an
Andalusian by birth, whose Christian name is forgotten,
being mentioned in Moorish legends, by no
other appellation, than that of the discreet Cadiga
—and discreet, in truth she was, as her whole history
makes evident. No sooner had the Moorish
king held a little private conversation with her,
than she saw at once the cogency of his reasoning,
and undertook his cause with her young mistress.
“Go to, now!” cried she; “what is there in all this
to weep and wail about?—Is it not better to be
mistress of this beautiful palace with all its gardens
and fountains, than to be shut up within your
father's old frontier tower. As to this Mohamed being
an infidel—what is that to the purpose? You
marry him—not his religion. And if he is waxing
a little old, the sooner will you be a widow and
mistress of yourself. At any rate you are in his
power—and must either be a queen or a slave—
one's merchandise for a fair price, than to have it
taken by main force.”
The arguments of the discreet Cadiga prevailed.
The Spanish lady dried her tears and became the
spouse of Mohamed the left-handed. She even
conformed in appearance to the faith of her royal
husband, and her discreet duenna immediately became
a zealous convert to the moslem doctrines;
it was then the latter received the Arabian name
of Cadiga, and was permitted to remain in the
confidential employ of her mistress.
In due process of time, the Moorish king was
made the proud and happy father of three lovely
daughters, all born at a birth. He could have
wished they had been sons, but consoled himself
with the idea that three daughters at a birth, were
pretty well for a man somewhat stricken in years,
and left-handed.
As usual with all moslem monarchs, he summoned
his astrologers on this happy event. They
cast the nativities of the three princesses, and
shook their heads. “Daughters, O king,” said
they, “are always precarious property; but these
will most need your watchfulness when they arrive
at a marriageable age—At that time gather
them under your wing, and trust them to no other
guardianship.”
Mohamed the left-handed, was acknowledged
by his courtiers to be a wise king, and was certainly
so considered by himself. The prediction
of the astrologers, caused him but little disquiet,
trusting to his ingenuity to guard his daughters
and outwit the fates.
The threefold birth was the last matrimonial
trophy of the monarch; his queen bore him no
more children, and died within a few years, bequeathing
her infant daughters to his love, and to
the fidelity of the discreet Cadiga.
Many years had yet to elapse before the princesses
would arrive at that period of danger, the
marriageable age. “It is good, however, to be cautious
in time,” said the shrewd monarch; so he determined
to have them reared in the royal castle
of Salobreña. This was a sumptuous palace, incrusted,
as it were in a powerful Moorish fortress,
on the summit of a hill that overlooks the Mediterranean
sea.
It was a royal retreat, in which the moslem monarchs
shut up such of their relations as might endanger
their safety; allowing them all kinds of luxuries
and amusements, in the midst of which they
passed their lives in voluptuous indolence.
Here the princesses remained, immured from
the world, but surrounded by enjoyments; and attended
wishes. They had delightful gardens for their recreation,
filled with the rarest fruits and flowers,
with aromatic groves and perfumed baths. On
three sides the castle looked down upon a rich
valley, enamelled with all kinds of culture, and
bounded by the lofty Alpuxarra mountains; on the
other side it overlooked the broad sunny sea.
In this delicious abode, in a propitious climate
and under a cloudless sky, the three princesses
grew up into wondrous beauty; but, though all
reared alike, they gave early tokens of diversity of
character. Their names were Zayda, Zorayda,
and Zorahayda; and such was the order of seniority,
for there had been precisely three minutes
between their births.
Zayda, the eldest, was of an intrepid spirit, and
took the lead of her sisters in every thing, as she
had done in entering first into the world. She
was curious and inquisitive, and fond of getting at
the bottom of things.
Zorayda had a great feeling for beauty, which
was the reason, no doubt, of her delighting to regard
her own image in a mirror or a fountain, and of
her fondness for flowers and jewels, and other
tasteful ornaments.
As to Zorahayda, the youngest, she was soft and
disposable tenderness, as was evident from her
number of pet flowers, and pet birds, and pet animals,
all of which she cherished with the fondest
care. Her amusements, too, were of a gentle nature,
and mixed up with musing and reverie. She
would sit for hours in a balcony gazing on the
sparkling stars of a summer night; or on the sea when
lit up by the moon, and at such times the song of a
fisherman faintly heard from the beach, or the notes
of an arrafia or Moorish flute from some gliding bark,
sufficed to elevate her feelings into ecstasy. The
least uproar of the elements, however, filled her
with dismay, and a clap of thunder was enough
to throw her into a swoon.
Years moved on serenely, and Cadiga, to whom
the princesses were confided, was faithful to her
trust and attended them with unremitting care.
The castle of Salobreña, as has been said, was
built upon a hill on the sea coast. One of the exterior
walls straggled down the profile of the hill,
until it reached a jutting rock over-hanging the
sea, with a narrow sandy beach at its foot, laved
by the rippling billows. A small watch tower on
this rock had been fitted up as a pavilion, with
latticed windows to admit the sea breeze. Here
mid-day.
The curious Zayda, was one day seated at one
of the windows of the pavilion, as her sisters, reclined
on ottomans, were taking the siesta, or noon-tide
slumber. Her attention had been attracted
to a galley, which came coasting along, with measured
strokes of the oar. As it drew near, she observed
that it was filled with armed men. The
galley anchored at the foot of the tower; a number
of Moorish soldiers landed on the narrow
beach, conducting several Christian prisoners. The
curious Zayda awakened her sisters, and all three
peeped cautiously through the close jealousies of
the lattice, which screened them from sight.
Among the prisoners were three Spanish cavaliers,
richly dressed. They were in the flower of youth,
and of noble presence, and the lofty manner in
which they carried themselves, though loaded
with chains and surrounded with enemies, bespoke
the grandeur of their souls. The princesses gazed
with intense and breathless interest. Cooped up
as they had been in this castle among female attendants,
seeing nothing of the male sex but black
slaves, or the rude fishermen of the sea coast, it is
not to be wondered at, that the appearance of
manly beauty should produce some commotion in
their bosoms.
“Did ever nobler being tread the earth, than
that cavalier in crimson?” cried Zayda, the eldest
of the sisters. “See how proudly he bears himself,
as though all around him were his slaves!”
“But notice that one in green;” exclaimed Zorayda;
“what grace! what elegance!” what spirit!”
The gentle Zorahayda said nothing, but she secretly
gave preference to the cavalier in green.
The princesses remained gazing until the prisoners
were out of sight; then heaving long-drawn
sighs, they turned round, looked at each other for
a moment, and sat down musing and pensive on
their ottomans.
The discreet Cadiga found them in this situation;
they related to her what they had seen, and
even the withered heart of the duenna was
warmed. “Poor youths!” exclaimed she, “I'll
warrant their captivity makes many a fair and
high born lady's heart ache in their native land!
Ah, my children, you have little idea of the life
these cavaliers lead in their own country. Such
prankling at tournaments! such devotion to the ladies!
such courting and serenading!”
The curiosity of Zayda was fully aroused.
She was insatiable in her inquiries, and drew from
the duenna the most animated pictures of the
scenes of her youthful days and native land. The
beautiful Zorayda bridled up, and slyly regarded
herself in a mirror, when the theme turned upon
the charms of the Spanish ladies; while Zorahayda
suppressed a struggling sigh at the mention of
moon-light serenades.
Every day the curious Zayda renewed her inquiries;
and every day the sage duenna repeated
her stories, which were listened to with unmoved
interest, though frequent sighs, by her gentle auditors.
The discreet old woman at length awakened
to the mischief she might be doing. She
had been accustomed to think of the princesses
only as children, but they had imperceptibly
ripened beneath her eye, and now bloomed before
her three lovely damsels of the marriageable age.
—It is time, thought the duenna, to give notice to
the king.
Mohamed the left-handed was seated one morning
on a divan in one of the court halls of the Alhambra,
when a noble arrived from the fortress of
Salobreña, with a message from the sage Cadiga,
congratulating him on the anniversary of his
daughters' birth day. The slave at the same
with flowers, within which, on a couch of vine and fig
leaves lay a peach, an apricot, and a nectarine, with
their bloom and down, and dewy sweetness upon
them, and all in the early stage of tempting ripeness.
The monarch was versed in the oriental language
of fruits and flowers, and readily divined the meaning
of this emblematical offering.
“So!” said he, “the critical period pointed out
by the astrologers is arrived,—my daughters are at
a marriageable age. What is to be done? They are
shut up from the eyes of men,—they are under
the eye of the discreet Cadiga—all very good—but
still they are not under my own eye, as was prescribed
by the astrologers.—`I must gather them
under my wing, and trust to no other guardianship.”'
So saying, he ordered that a tower of the Alhambra
should be prepared for their reception,
and departed at the head of his guards for the
fortress of Salobreña, to conduct them home in
person.
About three years had elapsed since Mohamed
had beheld his daughters, and he could scarcely
credit his eyes at the wonderful change which that
small space of time had made in their appearance.
During the interval they had passed that wondrous
the crude, unformed and thoughtless girl
from the blooming, blushing, meditative woman.
It is like passing from the flat, bleak, uninteresting
plains of La Mancha to the voluptuous valleys and
swelling hills of Andalusia.
Zayda was tall and finely formed, with a lofty
demeanour and a penetrating eye. She entered
with a stately and decided step, and made a profound
reverence to Mohamed, treating him more
as her sovereign than her father. Zorayda was of
the middle height, with an alluring look and swimming
gait, and a sparkling beauty heightened by
the assistance of the toilette. She approached
her father with a smile, kissed his hand and saluted
him with several stanzas from a popular
Arabian poet, with which the monarch was delighted.
Zorahayda was shy and timid; smaller
than her sisters, and with a beauty of that tender,
beseeching kind which looks for fondness and protection.
She was little fitted to command like her
elder sister, or to dazzle like the second; but was
rather formed to creep to the bosom of manly affection,
to nestle within it, and be content. She
drew near her father with a timid and almost
faltering step, and would have taken his hand to
kiss, but on looking up into his face, and seeing it
her nature broke forth, and she threw herself upon
his neck.
Mohamed, the left-handed, surveyed his blooming
daughters with mingled pride and perplexity;
for while he exulted in their charms, he bethought
himself of the prediction of the astrologers. “Three
daughters!—three daughters!” muttered he, repeatedly
to himself, “and all of a marriageable
age! Here's tempting hesperian fruit, that requires
a dragon watch!”
He prepared for his return to Granada, by sending
heralds before him, commanding every one to
keep out of the road by which he was to pass, and
that all doors and windows should be closed at the
approach of the princesses. This done, he set forth
escorted by a troop of black horsemen of hideous
aspect, and clad in shining armour.
The princesses rode beside the king, closely
veiled, on beautiful white palfreys, with velvet caparisons
embroidered with gold, and sweeping the
ground; the bits and stirrups were of gold, and the
silken bridles adorned with pearls and precious
stones. The palfreys were covered with little silver
bells that made the most musical tinkling as
they ambled gently along. Wo to the unlucky
wight, however, who lingered in the way when
were ordered to cut him down without mercy.
The cavalcade was drawing near to Granada,
when it overtook, on the banks of the river Xenil,
a small body of Moorish soldiers, with a convoy of
prisoners. It was too late for the soldiers to get
out of the way, so they threw themselves on their
faces on the earth, ordering their captives to do the
like. Among the prisoners, were the three identical
cavaliers whom the princesses had seen from
the pavilion. They either did not understand, or
were too haughty to obey the order, and remained
standing and gazing upon the cavalcade as it approached.
The ire of the monarch was kindled at this flagrant
defiance of his orders, and he determined to
punish it with his own hand. Drawing his scimitar
and pressing forward, he was about to deal a
left-handed blow, that would have been fatal to
at least one of the gazers, when the princesses
crowded round him, and implored mercy for the
prisoners; even the timid Zorahayda forgot her
shyness and became eloquent in their behalf. Mohamed
paused, with uplifted scimitar, when the
captain of the guard threw himself at his feet.
“Let not your majesty,” said he, “do a deed that
may cause great scandal throughout the kingdom.
who have been taken in battle, fighting like lions;
they are of high birth, and may bring great ransoms.”
“Enough,” said the king; “I will spare their
lives but punish their audacity—let them be
taken to the Vermilion towers and put to hard
labour.”
Mohamed was making one of his usual left-handed
blunders. In the tumult and agitation of
this blustering scene, the veils of the three princesses
had been thrown back, and the radiance of
their beauty revealed; and in prolonging the parley,
the king had given that beauty time to have
its full effect. In those days, people fell in love
much more suddenly than at present, as all ancient
stories make manifest; it is not a matter of
wonder, therefore, that the hearts of the three
cavaliers were completely captivated; especially
as gratitude was added to their admiration: it is
a little singular, however, though no less certain,
that each of them was enraptured with a several
beauty. As to the princesses, they were more
than ever struck with the noble demeanour of
the captives, and cherished in their hearts all
that they had heard of their valour and noble
lineage.
The cavalcade resumed its march; the three
princesses rode pensively along on their tinkling
palfreys, now and then stealing a glance behind
in search of the Christian captives, and the latter
were conducted to their allotted prison in the Vermilion
towers.
The residence provided for the princesses, was
one of the most dainty that fancy could devise.
It was in a tower somewhat apart from the main
palace of the Alhambra, though connected with
it by the main wall that encircled the whole summit
of the hill. On one side, it looked into the
interior of the fortress, and had at its foot a small
garden filled with the rarest flowers. On the other
side it overlooked a deep embowered ravine, that
separated the grounds of the Alhambra from those
of the Generalife. The interior of the tower was
divided into small fairy apartments, beautifully ornamented
in the light Arabian style, surrounding
a lofty hall, the vaulted roof of which rose almost
to the summit of the tower. The walls and ceiling
of the hall were adorned with arabesques and
fret-work sparkling with gold, and with brilliant
pencilling. In the centre of the marble pavement,
was an alabaster fountain, set round with aromatic
shrubs and flowers, and throwing up a jet of water,
that cooled the whole edifice and had a lulling
gold and silver wire, containing singing birds of
the finest plumage or sweetest note.
The princesses having been represented as always
cheerful when in the castle of Salobreña, the
king had expected to see them enraptured with the
Alhambra. To his surprise, however, they began
to pine, and grew green and melancholy, and dissatisfied
with every thing around them. The
flowers yielded them no fragrance; the song of the
nightingale disturbed their night's rest, and they
were out of all patience with the alabaster fountain,
with its eternal drop, drop, and splash,
splash, from morning till night, and from night till
morning.
The king, who was somewhat of a testy, tyrannical
old man, took this at first in high dudgeon;
but he reflected that his daughters had arrived at
an age when the female mind expands and its
desires augment. “They are no longer children,”
said he to himself; “they are women grown, and
require suitable objects to interest them. He
put in requisition, therefore, all the dress makers,
and the jewellers, and the artificers in gold and
silver throughout the Zacatin of Granada, and the
princesses were overwhelmed with robes of silk,
and of tissue and of brocade, and cachemire shawls,
and bracelets, and anklets, and all manner of precious
things.
All, however, was of no avail. The princesses
continued pale and languid in the midst of their
finery, and looked like three blighted rose buds,
drooping from one stalk. The king was at his wit's
end. He had in general a laudable confidence
in his own judgment, and never took advice. “The
whims and caprices of three marriageable damsels,
however, are sufficient,” said he, “to puzzle
the shrewdest head.”—So, for once in his life, he
called in the aid of counsel.
The person to whom he applied was the experienced
duenna.
“Cadiga,” said the king, “I know you to be one
of the most discreet women in the whole world,
as well as one of the most trustworthy; for these
reasons, I have always continued you about the
persons of my daughters. Fathers cannot be too
wary in whom they repose such confidence. I
now wish you to find out the secret malady that is
preying upon the princesses, and to devise some
means of restoring them to health and cheerfulness.
Cadiga promised implicit obdience. In fact, she
knew more of the malady of the princesses than
them, however, she endeavoured to insinuate herself
into their confidence.
“My dear children, what is the reason you are so
dismal and downcast, in so beautiful a place, where
you have every thing that heart can wish?”
The princesses looked vacantly round the apartment,
and sighed.
“What more, then, would you have? Shall I get
you the wonderful parrot that talks all languages,
and is the delight of Granada?”
“Odious!” exclaimed the princess Zayda. “A
horrid screaming bird, that chatters words without
ideas! One must be without brains to tolerate such
a pest.”
“Shall I send for a monkey from the rock of
Gibraltar, to divert you with his antics?”
“A monkey! faugh!” cried Zorayda, “the detestable
mimic of man. I hate the nauseous animal.”
“What say you to the famous black singer, Casem,
from the royal harem in Morocco. They say
he has a voice as fine as a woman's.”
“I am terrified at the sight of these black
slaves,” said the delicate Zorahayda; “beside, I
have lost all relish for music.”
“Ah, my child, you would not say so,” replied
the old woman, slyly, “had you heard the music
I heard last evening, from the three Spanish cavaliers
me, children! what is the matter that you blush
so, and are in such a flutter?”
“Nothing, nothing, good mother, pray proceed.”
“Well—as I was passing by the Vermilion towers,
last evening, I saw the three cavaliers resting
after their day's labour. One was playing on the
guitar so gracefully, and the others sang by turns
—and they did it in such style, that the very
guards seemed like statues or men enchanted. Allah
forgive me, I could not help being moved at
hearing the songs of my native country—And then
to see three such noble and handsome youths in
chains and slavery!”
Here, the kind-hearted old woman could not restrain
her tears.
“Perhaps, mother, you could manage to procure
us a sight of these cavaliers,” said Zayda.
“I think,” said Zorayda, “a little music would
be quite reviving.”
The timid Zorahayda said nothing, but threw
her arms round the neck of Cadiga.
“Mercy on me!” exclaimed the discreet old woman;
“what are you talking of, my children?
Your father would be the death of us all, if he
heard of such a thing. To be sure, these cavaliers
are evidently well-bred and high-minded
youths—but what of that! they are the enemies of
but with abhorrence.”
There is an admirable intrepidity in the female
will, particularly about the marriageable age,
which is not to be deterred by dangers and prohibitions.
The princesses hung round their old duenna,
and coaxed and entreated, and declared that
a refusal would break their hearts. What could
she do? She was certainly the most discreet old
woman in the whole world, and one of the most
faithful servants to the king—but was she to see
three beautiful princesses break their hearts for
the mere tinkling of a guitar? Beside, though she
had been so long among the Moors, and changed
her faith, in imitation of her mistress, like a trusty
follower, yet she was a Spaniard born, and had the
lingerings of Christianity in her heart. So she set
about to contrive how the wishes of the princesses
might be gratified.
The Christian captives confined in the Vermilion
towers, were under the charge of a big-whiskered-broad-shouldered
renegado, called Hussein
Baba, who was reported to have a most itching
palm. She went to him, privately, and slipping a
broad piece of gold into his hand, “Hussein Baba,”
said she, “my mistresses, the three princesses, who
are shut up in the tower, and in sad want of amusement,
have heard of the musical talents of the three
of their skill. I am sure you are too kind-hearted
to refuse them so innocent a gratification.”
“What, and to have my head set grinning
over the gate of my own tower—for that would
be the reward, if the king should discover it.”
“No danger of any thing of the kind; the affair
may be managed so that the whim of the princesses
may be gratified, and their father be never
the wiser. You know the deep ravine outside of
the walls, that passes immediately below the tower.
Put the three Christians to work there, and at the
intervals of their labour let them play and sing,
as if for their own recreation. In this way, the
princesses will be able to hear them from the windows
of the tower, and you may be sure of their
paying well for your compliance.”
As the good old woman concluded her harangue,
she kindly pressed the rough hand of the renegado,
and left within it another piece of gold.
Her eloquence was irresistible. The very next
day the three cavaliers were put to work in the
ravine. During the noon-tide heat when their
fellow labourers were sleeping in the shade, and
the guard nodded drowsily at his post, they seated
themselves among the herbage at the foot of the
tower, and sang a Spanish roundelay to the accompaniment
of the guitar.
The glen was deep, the tower was high, but
their voices rose distinctly in the stillness of the
summer noon. The princesses listened from their
balcony; they had been taught the Spanish language
by their duenna, and were moved by the tenderness
of the song.
The discreet Cadiga, on the contrary, was terribly
shocked. “Allah preserve us,” cried she,
“they are singing a love ditty addressed to yourselves,—did
ever mortal hear of such audacity? I
will run to the slave master and have them sound-ly
bastinadoed.”
“What, bastinado such gallant cavaliers, and
for singing so charmingly!” The three beautiful
princesses were filled with horror at the idea.
With all her virtuous indignation, the good old
woman was of a placable nature and easily appeased.
Beside, the music seemed to have a beneficial
effect upon her young mistresses. A rosy
bloom had already come to their cheeks, and
their eyes began to sparkle. She made no farther
objection, therefore, to the amorous ditty of
the cavaliers.
When it was finished, the princesses remained
silent for a time; at length Zorayda took up a lute,
and with a sweet though faint and trembling
voice, warbled a little Arabian air, the burden of
which was, “The rose is concealed among her
the nightingale.”
From this time forward the cavaliers worked
almost daily in the ravine. The considerate
Hussein Baba became more and more indulgent,
and daily more prone to sleep at his post. For
some time a vague intercourse was kept up by
popular songs and romances; which in some measure
responded to each other, and breathed the
feelings of the parties. By degrees the princesses
showed themselves at the balcony, when
they could do so without being perceived by the
guards. They conversed with the cavaliers also
by means of flowers, with the symbolical language
of which they were mutually acquainted:
the difficulties of their intercourse added to its
charms, and strengthened the passion they had so
singularly conceived; for love delights to struggle
with difficulties, and thrives the most hardily on
the scantiest soil.
The change effected in the looks and spirits of
the princesses by this secret intercourse, surprised
and gratified the left-handed king; but no one was
more elated than the discreet Cadiga, who considered
it all owing to her able management.
At length there was an interruption in this telegraphic
correspondence, for several days the cavaliers
ceased to make their appearance in the glen.
tower in vain.—In vain they stretched their swanlike
necks from the balcony; in vain they sang
like captive nightingales in their cage; nothing
was to be seen of their Christian lovers, not a note
responded from the groves. The discreet Cadiga
sallied forth in quest of intelligence, and soon returned
with a face full of trouble. “Ah, my children!”
cried she, “I saw what all this would come
to, but you would have your way; you may now
hang up your lutes on the willows. The Spanish
cavaliers are ransomed by their families; they are
down in Granada, and preparing to return to
their native country.
The three beautiful princesses were in despair
at the tidings. The fair Zayda was indignant at
the slight put upon them, in being thus deserted
without a parting word. Zorayda wrung her
hands and cried, and looked in the glass, and
wiped away her tears, and cried afresh. The gentle
Zorahayda leaned over the balcony, and wept
in silence, and her tears fell drop by drop, among
the flowers of the bank where the faithless cavaliers
had so often been seated.
The discreet Cadiga did all in her power to
sooth their sorrow. “Take comfort, my children,”
said she; “this is nothing, when you are
used to it. This is the way of the world. Ah,
to value these men. I'll warrant these cavaliers
have their loves among the Spanish beauties of
Cordova and Seville, and will soon be serenading
under their balconies, and thinking no more of the
Moorish beauties in the Alhambra.—Take comfort,
therefore, my children, and drive them from
your hearts.”
The comforting words of the discreet Cadiga,
only redoubled the distress of the princesses, and
for two days they continued inconsolable. On the
morning of the third, the good old woman entered
their apartment all ruffling with indignation.
“Who would have believed such insolence in
mortal man?” exclaimed she, as soon as she could
find words to express herself; “but I am rightly
served for having connived at this deception of
your worthy father—never talk more to me of
your Spanish cavaliers.”
“Why, what has happened, good Cadiga?” exclaimed
the princesses, in breathless anxiety.
“What has happened? treason has happened!
—or what is almost as bad, treason has been proposed—and
to me—the faithfulest of subjects—
the trustiest of duennas—yes, my children—the
Spanish cavaliers have dared to tamper with me;
that I should persuade you to fly with them to Cordova,
and become their wives.”
Here the excellent old woman covered her face
with her hands, and gave way to a violent burst
of grief and indignation.
The three beautiful princesses turned pale and
red, and trembled, and looked down; and cast shy
looks at each other, but said nothing: meantime,
the old woman sat rocking backward and forward
in violent agitation, and now and then breaking
out into exclamations—“That ever I should live
to be so insulted—I, the faithfulest of servants!”
At length the eldest princess, who had most spirit,
and always took the lead, approached her, and laying
her hand upon her shoulder—“Well, mother,”
said she, “supposing we were willing to fly with
these Christian cavaliers—Is such a thing possible?”
The good old woman paused suddenly in her
grief, and looking up—“Possible!” echoed she, “to
be sure it is possible. Have not the cavaliers already
bribed Hussein Baba, the renegado captain
of the guard, and arranged the whole plan?—But
then to think of deceiving your father—your father,
who has placed such confidence in me?”
Here the worthy old woman gave way to a
fresh burst of grief, and began again to rock backwards
and forwards, and to wring her hands.
“But our father has never placed any confidence
in us,” said the eldest princess; “but has trusted to
bolts and bars, and treated us as captives.”
“Why, that is true enough,” replied the old woman,
again pausing in her grief—“He has indeed
treated you most unreasonably. Keeping you shut
up here to waste your bloom in a moping old tower,
like roses left to wither in a flower jar. But
then to fly from your native land.”
“And is not the land we fly to the native land
of our mother; where we shall live in freedom?—
and shall we not each have a youthful husband in
exchange for a severe old father?”
“Why, that again is all very true—and your father,
I must confess, is rather tyrannical—But what
then”—relapsing into her grief—“would you leave
me behind to bear the brunt of his vengeance?”
“By no means, my good Cadiga. Cannot you fly
with us!”
“Very true, my child, and to tell the truth,
when I talked the matter over with Hussein Baba,
he promised to take care of me if I would accompany
you in your flight: but then, bethink you, my
children; are you willing to renounce the faith of
your father?”
“The Christian faith was the original faith of
our mother,” said the eldest princess; “I am ready
to embrace it; and so I am sure are my sisters.
“Right again!” exclaimed the old woman, brightening
up—It was the original faith of your mother;
and bitterly did she lament, on her death-bed,
then to take care of your souls, and I am rejoiced
to see that they are now in a fair way to be saved.
Yes, my children; I too was born a Christian—and
have always been a Christian in my heart; and
am resolved to return to the faith. I have talked
on the subject with Hussein Baba, who is a Spaniard
by birth, and comes from a place not far
from my native town. He is equally anxious to
see his own country and to be reconciled to the
church, and the cavaliers have promised that if
we are disposed to become man and wife on returning
to our native land, they will provide for us
handsomely.”
In a word, it appeared that this extremely discreet
and provident old woman had consulted with
the cavaliers and the renegado, and had concerted
the whole plan of escape. The eldest princess immediately
assented to it, and her example as usual
determined the conduct of her sisters. It is true,
the youngest hesitated, for she was gentle and timid
of soul, and there was a struggle in her bosom
between filial feeling and youthful passion. The
latter, however, as usual, gained the victory, and
with silent tears and stifled sighs she prepared herself
for flight.
The rugged hill on which the Alhambra is
built, was in old times perforated with subterranean
from the fortress to various parts of the city, and
to distant sally-ports on the banks of the Darro and
the Xenil. They had been constructed at different
times, by the Moorish kings, as means of escape
from sudden insurrection, or of secretly issuing
forth on private enterprises. Many of them are
now entirely lost, while others remain, partly
choked up with rubbish, and partly walled up—
monuments of the jealous precautions and warlike
stratagems of the Moorish government. By one
of these passages, Hussein Baba had undertaken
to conduct the princesses to a sally-port beyond
the walls of the city, where the cavaliers were to
be ready with fleet steeds to bear them all over
the borders.
The appointed night arrived. The tower of the
princesses had been locked up as usual, and the
Alhambra was buried in deep sleep. Towards
midnight the discreet Cadiga listened from a balcony
of a window that looked into the garden.
Hussein Baba, the renegado, was already below,
and gave the appointed signal. The duenna fastened
the end of a ladder of ropes to the balcony,
lowered it into the garden, and descended. The
two eldest princesses followed her with beating
hearts; but when it came to the turn of the youngest
princess, Zorahayda, she hesitated and trembled.
upon the ladder, and as often drew it back; while
her poor little heart fluttered more and more the
longer she delayed. She cast a wistful look back
into the silken chamber, she had lived in it, to be
sure, like a bird in a cage, but within it she was secure—who
could not tell what dangers might beset
her should she flutter forth into the wide world?
Now she bethought her of her gallant Christian lover,
and her little foot was instantly upon the ladder,
and anon she thought of her father, and shrunk
back. But fruitless is the attempt to describe the
conflict in the bosom of one so young, and tender,
and loving, but so timid and so ignorant of the
world. In vain her sisters implored, the duenna
scolded, and the renegado blasphemed beneath the
balcony. The gentle little Moorish maid stood
doubting and wavering on the verge of elopement;
tempted by the sweetness of the sin, but terrified
at its perils.
Every moment increased the danger of discovery.
A distant tramp was heard.—“The patrols
are walking the rounds,” cried the renegado,
“if we linger longer we perish—princess, descend
instantly, or we leave you.”
Zorahayda was for a moment in fearful agitation,
then loosening the ladder of ropes, with desperate
resolution she flung it from the balcony.
“It is decided!” cried she, “flight is now out of my
power!—Allah guide and bless ye, my dear sisters!”
The two eldest princesses were shocked at the
thoughts of leaving her behind, and would fain
have lingered, but the patrol was advancing; the
renegado was furious, and they were hurried
away to the subterraneous passage. They groped
their way through a fearful labyrinth cut through
the heart of the mountain, and succeeded in
reaching, undiscovered, an iron gate that opened
outside of the walls. The Spanish cavaliers were
waiting to receive them, disguised as Moorish
soldiers of the guard commanded by the renegado.
The lover of Zorahayda was frantic when he
learned that she had refused to leave the tower; but
there was no time to waste in lamentations. The
two princesses were placed behind their lovers; the
discreet Cadiga mounted behind the renegado, and
all set off at a round pace in the direction of the
pass of Lope, which leads through the mountains
towards Cordova.
They had not proceeded far when they heard
the noise of drums and trumpets from the battlements
of the Alhambra. “Our flight is discovered,”
said the renegado. “We have fleet steeds, the
night is dark, and we may distance all pursuit,”
replied the cavaliers.
They put spurs to their horses and scoured
the mountain of Elvira, which stretches like a
promontory into the plain. The renegado paused
and listened. “As yet,” said he, “there is no one
on our traces, we shall make good our escape to
the mountains.” While he spoke a ball of fire
sprang up in a light blaze on the top of the watch
tower of the Alhambra.
“Confusion!” cried the renegado, “that fire will
will put all the guards of the passes on the alert.
Away, away, spur like mad; there is no time to be
lost.”
Away they dashed—the clattering of their
horses' hoofs echoed from rock to rock as they
swept along the road that skirts the rocky mountain
of Elvira. As they galloped on, they beheld
that the ball of fire of the Alhambra was answered
in every direction; lightafter light blazed on
the atalayas or watch towers of the mountains.
“Forward! forward!” cried the renegado, with
many an oath—“to the bridge!—to the bridge!
before the alarm has reached there.”
They doubled the promontory of the mountain,
and arrived in sight of the famous Puente del Pinos,
that crosses a rushing stream often dyed with
Christian and moslem blood. To their confusion
the tower on the bridge blazed with lights and
glittered with armed men. The renegado pulled
him for a moment, then beckoning to the cavaliers
he struck off from the road, skirted the river
for some distance, and dashed into its waters.
The cavaliers called upon the princesses to cling
to them, and did the same. They were borne for
some distance down the rapid current, the surges
roared round them, but the beautiful princesses
clung to their Christian knights and never uttered
a complaint. The cavaliers attained the opposite
bank in safety, and were conducted, by the renegado,
by rude and unfrequented paths, and wild
barrancos through the heart of the mountains, so
as to avoid all the regular passes. In a word,
they succeeded in reaching the ancient city of
Cordova; when their restoration to their country
and friends was celebrated with great rejoicings,
for they were of the noblest families. The beautiful
princesses were forthwith received into the
bosom of the church, and after being in all due
form made regular Christians, were rendered happy
lovers.
In our hurry to make good the escape of the
princesses across the river and up the mountains,
we forgot to mention the fate of the discreet Cadiga.
She had clung like a cat to Hussein Baba,
in the scamper across the Vega, screaming at
every bound and drawing many an oath from the
plunge his steed into the river her terror knew no
bounds.
“Grasp me not so tightly,” cried Hussein Baba;
“hold on by my belt, and fear nothing.”
She held firmly with both hands by the leathern
belt that girded the broad-backed renegado; but
when he halted with the cavaliers to take breath
on the mountain summit, the duenna was no longer
to be seen.
“What has become of Cadiga?” cried the princesses
in alarm.
“I know not,” replied the renegado. “My belt
came loose in the midst of the river, and Cadiga
was swept with it down the stream. The will of
Allah be done!—but it was an embroidered belt
and of great price!”
There was no time to waste in idle reports, yet
bitterly did the princesses bewail the loss of their
faithful and discreet counsellor. That excellent
old woman, however, did not lose more than half
of her nine lives in the stream—A fisherman who
was drawing his nets some distance down the
stream, brought her to land and was not a little
astonished at his miraculous draught. What farther
became of the discreet Cadiga, the legend
does not mention—Certain it is, that she evinced
of Mohamed the left-handed.
Almost as little is known of the conduct of that
sagacious monarch, when he discovered the escape
of his daughters and the deceit practised upon him
by the most faithful of servants. It was the only instance
in which he had called in the aid of counsel,
and he was never afterwards known to be guilty
of a similar weakness. He took good care, however,
to guard his remaining daughter; who had no
disposition to elope. It is thought, indeed, that
she secretly repented having remained behind.
Now and then she was seen leaning on the battlements
of the tower and looking mournfully towards
the mountains, in the direction of Cordova; and
sometimes the notes of her lute were heard accompanying
plaintive ditties, in which she was
said to lament the loss of her sisters and her lover,
and to bewail her solitary life. She died young,
and, according to popular rumour, was buried in a
vault beneath the tower, and her untimely fate
has given rise to more than one traditionary fable.
| LEGEND
OF THE THREE BEAUTIFUL PRINCESSES. The Alhambra | |