 | LEGEND
OF THE MOOR'S LEGACY. The Alhambra |  |
LEGEND
OF THE MOOR'S LEGACY.
Just within the fortress of the Alhambra, in
front of the royal palace, is a broad open esplanade,
called the place or square of the cisterns,
(la plaza de los algibes) so called from being undermined
by reservoirs of water, hidden from
sight, and which have existed from the time of
the Moors. At one corner of this esplanade is a
Moorish well, cut through the living rock to a
great depth, the water of which is cold as ice
and clear as crystal. The wells made by the
Moors are always in repute, for it is well known
what pains they took to penetrate to the purest
and sweetest springs and fountains. The one we
are speaking of is famous throughout Granada,
insomuch that the water-carriers, some bearing
asses before them, laden with earthen vessels,
are ascending and descending the steep woody
avenues of the Alhambra from early dawn until
a late hour of the night.
Fountains and wells, ever since the scriptural
days, have been noted gossiping places in hot
climates, and at the well in question there is a
kind of perpetual club kept up during the livelong
day, by the invalids, old women, and other
curious, do-nothing folk of the fortress, who sit
here on the stone benches under an awning spread
over the well to shelter the toll-gatherer from
the sun, and dawdle over the gossip of the fortress,
and question any water-carrier that arrives,
about the news of the city, and make long comments
on every thing they hear and see. Not
an hour of the day but loitering housewives
and idle maid-servants may be seen, lingering
with pitcher on head or in hand, to hear the last
of the endless tattle of these worthies.
Among the water-carriers who once resorted
to this well there was a sturdy, strong-backed,
bandy-legged little fellow, named Pedro Gil, but
called Peregil for shortness. Being a water-carrier,
he was a Gallego, or native of Gallicia, of
men as she has of animals for different kinds of
drudgery. In France the shoeblacks are all
Savoyards, the porters of hotels all Swiss, and in
the days of hoops and hair powder in England,
no man could give the regular swing to a sedan
chair but a bog-trotting Irishman. So in Spain
the carriers of water and bearers of burdens are
all sturdy little natives of Gallicia. No man says,
“get me a porter,” but, “call a Gallego.”
To return from this digression. Peregil the
Gallego had begun business with merely a great
earthen jar, which he carried upon his shoulder; by
degrees he rose in the world, and was enabled to
purchase an assistant, of a correspondent class of
animals, being a stout shaggy-haired donkey. On
each side of this his long eared aid-de-camp, in a
kind of pannier, were slung his water-jars covered
with fig leaves to protect them from the sun.
There was not a more industrious water-carrier
in all Granada, nor one more merry withal.
The streets rang with his cheerful voice as he
trudged after his donkey, singing forth the usual
summer note that resounds through the Spanish
towns: “quien quiere agua—agua mas fria
que la nieve.—Who wants water—water colder
the Alhambra—cold as ice and clear as crystal?”
When he served a customer with a sparkling
glass, it was always with a pleasant word
that caused a smile, and if, perchance, it was a
comely dame, or dimpling damsel, it was always
with a sly leer and a compliment to her beauty
that was irresistible. Thus Peregil the Gallego
was noted throughout all Granada for being one
of the civilest, pleasantest, and happiest of mortals.
Yet it is not he who sings loudest and jokes
most that has the lightest heart. Under all this
air of merriment, honest Peregil had his cares
and troubles. He had a large family of ragged
children to support, who were hungry and clamorous
as a nest of young swallows, and beset
him with their outcries for food whenever he
came home of an evening. He had a help-mate
too, who was any thing but a help to him. She
had been a village beauty before marriage, noted
for her skill in dancing the bolero and rattling
the castanets, and she still retained her early propensities,
spending the hard earnings of honest
Peregil in frippery, and laying the very donkey
under requisition for junketting parties into the
country on Sundays, and saints days, and those
in Spain than the days of the week. With
all this she was a little of a slattern, something
more of a lie-a-bed, and, above all, a gossip of
the first water; neglecting house, household and
every thing else, to loiter slip-shod in the houses
of her gossip neighbours.
He, however, who tempers the wind to the
shorn lamb, accommodates the yoke of matrimony
to the submissive neck. Peregil bore all the
heavy dispensations of wife and children with as
meek a spirit as his donkey bore the water jars;
and, however he might shake his ears in private,
never ventured to question the household virtues
of his slattern spouse.
He loved his children too, even as an owl loves
its owlets, seeing in them his own image multiplied
and perpetuated, for they were a sturdy,
long-backed, bandylegged little brood. The
great pleasure of honest Peregil was, whenever
he could afford himself a scanty holyday and
had a handful of maravedies to spare, to take the
whole litter forth with him, some in his arms,
some tugging at his skirts, and some trudging
at his heels, and to treat them to a gambol among
the orchards of the Vega, while his wife was
of the Darro.
It was a late hour one summer night, and most
of the water-carriers had desisted from their
toils. The day had been uncommonly sultry;
the night was one of those delicious moonlights,
which tempt the inhabitants of those southern
climes to indemnify themselves for the heat and
inaction of the day, by lingering in the open air
and enjoying its tempered sweetness until after
midnight. Customers for water were therefore
still abroad. Peregil, like a considerate, painstaking
little father, thought of his hungry children.
“One more journey to the well,” said he
to himself, “to earn a good Sunday's puchero
for the little ones.” So saying, he trudged rapidly
up the steep avenue of the Alhambra, singing
as he went, and now and then bestowing a
hearty thwack with a cudgel on the flanks of his
donkey, either by way of cadence to the song,
or refreshment to the animal; for dry blows
serve in lieu for provender in Spain, for all
beasts of burden.
When arrived at the well, he found it deserted
by every one except a solitary stranger in
Moorish garb, seated on the stone bench in the
him with surprise, not unmixed with awe, but
the Moor feebly beckoned him to approach.
“I am faint and ill,” said he; “aid me to return
to the city, and I will pay thee double what
thou couldst gain by thy jars of water.”
The honest heart of the little water-carrier was
touched with compassion at the appeal of the
stranger. “God forbid,” said he, “that I
should ask fee or reward for doing a common
act of humanity.”
He accordingly helped the Moor on his donkey,
and set off slowly for Granada, the poor
Moslem being so weak that it was necessary to
hold him on the animal to keep him from falling
to the earth.
When they entered the city, the water-carrier
demanded whither he should conduct him.
“Alas!” said the Moor, faintly, “I have neither
home nor habitation. I am a stranger in the
land. Suffer me to lay my head this night beneath
thy roof, and thou shalt be amply repaid.”
Honest Peregil thus saw himself unexpectedly
saddled with an infidel guest, but he was too humane
to refuse a night's shelter to a fellow being
in so forlorn a plight; so he conducted the Moor
forth, open mouthed as usual, on hearing the
tramp of the donkey, rank back with affright,
when they beheld the turbaned stranger, and
hid themselves behind their mother. The latter
stepped forth intrepidly, like a ruffling hen before
her brood, when a vagrant dog approaches.
“What infidel companion,” cried she, “is
this you have brought home at this late hour, to
draw upon us the eyes of the Inquisition?”
“Be quiet, wife,” replied the Gallego, “here
is a poor sick stranger, without friend or home:
wouldst thou turn him forth to perish in the
streets?”
The wife would still have remonstrated, for,
though she lived in a hovel, she was a furious
stickler for the credit of her house; the little water-carrier,
however, for once was stiff-necked,
and refused to bend beneath the yoke. He
assisted the poor Moslem to alight, and spread a
mat and a sheepskin for him, on the ground, in
the coolest part of the house; being the only
kind of bed that his poverty afforded.
In a little while the Moor was seized with
violent convulsions, which defied all the ministering
skill of the simple water-carrier. The
During an interval of his fits he called
him to his side, and addressing him in a low
voice; “My end,” said he, “I fear is at hand.
If I die I bequeath you this box as a reward
for your charity.” So saying, he opened his
albornoz or cloak, and showed a small box of
sandal wood, strapped round his body.
“God grant, my friend,” replied the worthy
little Gallego, “that you may live many years to
enjoy your treasure, whatever it may be.”
The Moor shook his head; he laid his hand
upon the box, and would have said something
more concerning it, but his convulsions returned
with increased violence, and in a little while he
expired.
The water-carrier's wife was now as one distracted.
“This comes,” said she, “of your foolish
good nature, always running into scrapes to
oblige others. What will become of us when
this corpse is found in our house? We shall be
sent to prison as murderers; and if we escape
with our lives, shall be ruined by notaries and
alguazils.”
Poor Peregil was in equal tribulation, and almost
repented himself of having done a good
not yet day,” said he. “I can convey the dead
body out of the city and bury it in the sands on
the banks of the Xenil. No one saw the Moor
enter our dwelling, and no one will know any
thing of his death.” So said, so done. The
wife aided him: they rolled the body of the unfortunate
Moslem in the mat on which he had
expired, laid it across the ass, and Mattias set out
with it for the banks of the river.
As ill luck would have it, there lived opposite
to the water-carrier a barber, named Pedrillo
Pedrugo, one of the most prying, tattling, mischief-making,
of his gossip tribe. He was a
weasel-faced, spider-legged varlet, supple and
insinuating; the famous Barber of Seville could
not surpass him for his universal knowledge of
the affairs of others, and he had no more power
of retention than a sieve. It was said that he
slept with but one eye at a time, and kept one
ear uncovered, so that, even in his sleep, he
might see and hear all that was going on. Certain
it is, he was a sort of scandalous chronicle
for the quidnuncs of Granada, and had more
customers than all the rest of his fraternity.
This meddlesome barber heard Peregil arrive
of his wife and children. His head was instantly
popped out of a little window which served
him as a look out, and he saw his neighbour assist
a man in a Moorish garb into his dwelling.
This was so strange an occurrence, that Pedrillo
Pedrugo slept not a wink that night—every five
minutes he was at his loop-hole, watching the
lights that gleamed through the chinks of his
neighbour's door, and before daylight he beheld
Peregil sally forth with his donkey unusually
laden.
The inquisitive barber was in a fidget; he slipped
on his clothes, and, stealing forth silently, followed
the water-carrier at a distance, until he
saw him dig a hole in the sandy bank of the Xenil,
and bury something that had the appearance
of a dead body.
The barber hied him home and fidgeted about
his shop, setting every thing upside down, until
sunrise. He then took basin under his arm,
and sallied forth to the house of his daily customer
the Alcalde.
The Alcalde was just risen. Pedrillo Pedrugo
seated him in a chair, threw a napkin round his
and began to mollify his beard with his fingers.
“Strange doings,” said Pedrugo, who played
barber and newsmonger at the same time.
“Strange doings! Robbery, and murder, and
burial, all in one night!”
“Hey? how! What is it you say?” cried the
Alcalde.
“I say,” replied the barber, rubbing a piece
of soap over the nose and mouth of the dignitary,
for a Spanish barber disdains to employ a brush:
“I say that Peregil the Gallego has robbed and
murdered a Morrish Musselman, and buried him
this blessed night,—maldita sea la noche,—accursed
be the night for the same!”
“But how do you know all this?” demanded
the Alcalde.
“Be patient, Señor, and you shall hear all
about it,” replied Pedrillo, taking him by the
nose and sliding a razor over his cheek. He
then recounted all that he had seen, going through
both operations at the same time, shaving his
beard, washing his chin, and wiping him dry
with a dirty napkin, while he was robbing, murdering,
and burying the Moslem.
Now so it happened that this Alcalde was one
of the most overbearing, and at the same time
most griping and corrupt curmudgeons in all
Granada. It could not be denied, however, that
he set a high value upon justice, for he sold it at
its weight in gold. He presumed the case in
point to be one of murder and robbery; doubtless
there must be rich spoil; how was it to be secured
into the legitimate hands of the law? for as
to merely entrapping the delinquent—that would
be feeding the gallows; but entrapping the booty
—that would be enriching the judge; and such,
according to his creed, was the great end of justice.
So thinking, he summoned to his presence his
trustiest alguazil; a gaunt hungry looking varlet,
clad, according to the custom of his order, in the
ancient Spanish garb—a broad black beaver, turned
up at the sides; a quaint ruff, a small black cloak
dangling from his shoulders; rusty black under
clothes that set off his spare wiry form; while
in his hand he bore a slender white wand, the
dreaded insignia of his office. Such was the legal
blood-hound of the ancient Spanish breed,
that he put upon the traces of the unlucky water-carrier;
and such was his speed and certainty
that he was upon the haunches of poor Peregil
brought both him and his donkey before the dispenser
of justice.
The Alcalde bent upon him one of his most
terrific frowns. “Hark ye, culprit,” roared he
in a voice that made the knees of the little Gallego
smite together,—“Hark ye, culprit! there
is no need of denying thy guilt: every thing is
known to me. A gallows is the proper reward
for the crime thou hast committed, but I am
merciful, and readily listen to reason. The man
that has been murdered in thy house was a
Moor, an infidel, the enemy of our faith. It
was doubtless in a fit of religious zeal that
thou hast slain him. I will be indulgent, therefore;
render up the property of which thou hast
robbed him, and we will hush the matter up.”
The poor water-carrier called upon all the
saints to witness his innocence; alas! not one
of them appeared, and if there had, the Alcalde
would have disbelieved the whole kalendar.
The water-carrier related the whole story of the
dying Moor with the straight forward simplicity
of truth, but it was all in vain: “Wilt thou
this Moslem had neither gold nor jewels, which
were the object of thy cupidity?”
“As I hope to be saved, your worship,” replied
the water-carrier, “he had nothing but a
small box of sandal wood, which he bequeathed
to me in reward of my services.”
“A box of sandal wood! a box of sandal
wood!” exclaimed the Alcalde, his eyes sparkling
at the idea of precious jewels, “and where
is this box? where have you concealed it?”
“An'it please your grace,” replied the water-carrier,
“it is in one of the panniers of my mule,
and heartily at the service of your worship.”
He had hardly spoken the words when the
keen alguazil darted off and reappeared in an instant
with the mysterious box of sandal wood.
The Alcalde opened it with an eager and trembling
hand, all pressed forward to gaze upon the
treasures it was expected to contain; when, to
their disappointment, nothing appeared within
but a parchment scroll, covered with Arabic
characters, and an end of a waxen taper!
When there is nothing to be gained by the
conviction of a prisoner, justice, even in Spain,
is apt to be impartial. The Alcalde, having recovered
there was really no booty in the case, now listened
dispassionately to the explanation of the
water-carrier, which was corroborated by the
testimony of his wife. Being convinced, therefore,
of his innocence, he discharged him from
arrest; nay more, he permitted him to carry off
the Moor's legacy, the box of sandal wood and
its contents, as the well merited reward of his
humanity; but he retained his donkey in payment
of cost and charges.
Behold the unfortunate little Gallego reduced
once more to the necessity of being his own water-carrier,
and trudging up to the well of the
Alhambra with a great earthen jar upon his
shoulder. As he toiled up the hill in the heat
of a summer noon his usual good-humour forsook
him. “Dog of an Alcalde!” would he
cry, “to rob a poor man of the means of his
subsistence—of the best friend he had in the
world!” And then at the remembrance of the
beloved companion of his labours all the kindness
of his nature would break forth. “Ah
donkey of my heart!” would he exclaim, resting
his burden on a stone, and wiping the sweat
from his brow, “Ah donkey of my heart! I
warrant me thou missest the water jars:—poor
beast!”
To add to his afflictions his wife received him,
on his return home, with whimperings and repinings;
she had clearly the vantage-ground of
him, having warned him not to commit the egregious
act of hospitality that had brought on him
all these misfortunes, and like a knowing woman,
she took every occasion to throw her superior
sagacity in his teeth. If ever her children
lacked food, or needed a new garment, she
would answer with a sneer, “Go to your father;
he's heir to king Chico of the Alhambra. Ask
him to help you out of the Moor's strong box.”
Was ever poor mortal more soundly punished,
for having done a good action! The unlucky
Peregil was grieved in flesh and spirit, but still
he bore meekly with the railings of his spouse.
At length one evening, when, after a hot day's
toil, she taunted him in the usual manner, he
lost all patience. He did not venture to retort
upon her, but his eye rested upon the box of
sandal wood, which lay on a shelf with lid half
open, as if laughing in mockery of his vexation.
Siezing it up he dashed it with indignation on
set eyes on thee,” he cried, “or sheltered thy
master beneath my roof.”
As the box struck the floor the lid flew wide
open, and the parchment scroll rolled forth.
Peregil sat regarding the scroll for some time
in moody silence. At length rallying his ideas,
“Who knows,” thought he, “but this writing
may be of some importance, as the Moor seems
to have guarded it with such care.” Picking it
up, therefore, he put it in his bosom, and the
next morning, as he was crying water through
the streets, he stopped at the shop of a Moor, a
native of Tangiers, who sold trinkets and perfumery
in the Zacatin, and asked him to explain
the contents.
The Moor read the scroll attentively, then
stroked his beard and smiled. “This manuscript,”
said he, “is a form of incantation for
the recovery of hidden treasure, that is under
the power of enchantment. It is said to have
such virtue that the strongest bolts and bars, nay
the adamantine rock itself will yield before it.”
“Bah!” cried the little Gallego, “what is all
that to me. I am no enchanter, and know
nothing of buried treasure.” So saying he
hands of the Moor, and trudged forward on his
daily rounds.
That evening, however, as he rested himself
about twilight at the well of the Alhambra, he
found a number of gossips assembled at the place,
and their conversation, as is not unusual at that
shadowy hour, turned upon old tales and traditions
of a supernatural nature. Being all poor as
rats, they dwelt with peculiar fondness upon the
popular theme of enchanted riches left by the
Moors in various parts of the Alhambra. Above
all, they concurred in the belief that there were
great treasures buried deep in the earth under
the tower of the Seven Floors.
These stories made an unusual impression on
the mind of honest Peregil, and they sank deeper
and deeper into his thoughts as he returned alone
down the darkling avenues. “If, after all, there
should be treasure hid beneath that tower—and if
the scroll I left with the Moor should enable me
to get at it!” In the sudden ecstasy of the thought
he had well nigh let fall his water jar.
That night he tumbled and tossed, and could
scarcely get a wink of sleep for the thoughts that
bright and early, he repaired to the shop of the
Moor, and told him all that was passing in his
mind. “You can read Arabic,” said he, “suppose
we go together to the tower and try the effect
of the charm; if it fails we are no worse off
than before, but if it succeeds we will share equally
all the treasure we may discover.”
“Hold,” replied the Moslem, “this writing
is not sufficient of itself; it must be read at mid-night,
by the light of a taper singularly compounded
and prepared, the ingredients of which
are not within my reach. Without such taper
the scroll is of no avail.”
“Say no more!” cried the little Gallego. “I
have such a taper at hand and will bring it here
in a moment.” So saying he hastened home,
and soon returned with the end of a yellow wax
taper that he had found in the box of sandal
wood.
The Moor felt it, and smelt to it. “Here are
rare and costly perfumes,” said he, “combined
with this yellow wax. This is the kind of taper
specified in the scroll. While this burns, the
strongest walls and most secret caverns will
within until it be extinguished. He will remain
enchanted with the treasure.”
It was now agreed between them to try the
charm that very night. At a late hour, therefore,
when nothing was stirring but bats and owls,
they ascended the woody hill of the Alhambra,
and approached that awful tower, shrouded by
trees and rendered formidable by so many traditionary
tales.
By the light of a lantern, they groped their
way through bushes, and over fallen stones, to
the door of a vault beneath the tower. With fear
and trembling they descended a flight of steps
cut into the rock. It led to an empty chamber,
damp and drear, from which another flight of
steps led to a deeper vault. In this way they descended
four several flights, leading into as many
vaults, one below the other, but the floor of the
fourth was solid, and though, according to tradition,
there remained three vaults still below, it
was said to be impossible to penetrate further, the
residue being shut up by strong enchantment.
The air of this vault was damp and chilly, and
had an earthy smell, and the light scarce cast forth
any rays. They paused here for a time in breathless
of the watch tower strike midnight; upon this
they lit the waxen taper, which diffused an odour
of myrrh, and frankincense, and storax.
The Moor began to read in a hurried voice.
He had scarce finished, when there was a noise
as of subterraneous thunder. The earth shook,
and the floor yawning open disclosed a flight of
steps. Trembling with awe they descended, and
by the light of the lantern found themselves in
another vault, covered with Arabic inscriptions.
In the centre stood a great chest, secured with
seven bands of steel, at each end of which sat an
enchanted Moor in armour, but motionless as a
statue, being controlled by the power of the incantation.
Before the chest were several jars
filled with gold and silver and precious stones.
In the largest of these they thrust their arms up
to the elbow, and at every dip hauled forth handsfull
of broad yellow pieces of Moorish gold, or
bracelets and ornaments of the same precious
metal, while occasionally a necklace of oriental
pearl would stick to their fingers. Still they
trembled and breathed short while cramming
their pockets with the spoils; and cast many a
fearful glance at the two enchanted Moors, who
unwinking eyes. At length, struck with a sudden
panic at some fancied noise, they both rushed up
the staircase, tumbled over one another into the
upper apartment, overturned and extinguished
the waxen taper, and the pavement again closed
with a thundering sound.
Filled with dismay, they did not pause until they
had groped their way out of the tower, and beheld
the stars shining through the trees. Then
seating themselves upon the grass they divided the
spoil, determining to content themselves for the
present, with this mere skimming of the jars, but
to return on some future night and drain them to
the bottom. To make sure of each other's good
faith, also, they divided the talismans between
them, one retaining the scroll and the other the
taper; this done, they set off with light hearts
and well lined pockets for Granada.
As they wended their way down the hill, the
shrewd Moor whispered a word of council in the
ear of the simple little water-carrier.
“Friend Peregil,” said he, “all this affair must
be kept a profound secret until we have secured
the treasure and conveyed it out of harm's way.
we are undone!”
“Certainly!” replied the Gallego; “nothing
can be more true.”
“Friend Peregil,” said the Moor, “you are a
discreet man, and I make no doubt can keep a secret;
but—you have a wife—”
“She shall not know a word of it!” replied
the little water-carrier sturdily.
“Enough,” said the Moor, “I depend upon
thy discretion and thy promise.”
Never was promise more positive and sincere;
but alas! what man can keep a secret from his
wife? Certainly not such a one as Peregil the water-carrier,
who was one of the most loving and
tractable of husbands. On his return home he
found his wife moping in a corner.
“Mighty well!” cried she, as he entered;
“you've come at last; after rambling about until
this hour of the night. I wonder you have not
brought home another Moor as a housemate.”
Then bursting into tears she began to wring her
hands and smite her breast. “Unhappy woman
that I am!” exclaimed she, “what will become of
me! My house stripped and plundered by lawyers
that no longer brings home bread for his family,
but goes rambling about, day and night, with infidel
Moors. Oh my children! my children!
what will become of us; we shall all have to beg
in the streets!”
Honest Peregil was so moved by the distress
of his spouse, that he could not help whimpering
also. His heart was as full as his pocket, and
not to be restrained. Thrusting his hand into the
latter he hauled forth three or four broad gold
pieces and slipped them into her bosom. The
poor woman stared with astonishment, and could
not understand the meaning of this golden shower.
Before she could recover her surprise, the
little Gallego drew forth a chain of gold and dangled
it before her, capering with exultation, his
mouth distended from ear to ear.
“Holy Virgin protect us!” exclaimed the wife.
“What hast thou been doing, Peregil? Surely
thou hast not been committing murder and robbery!”
The idea scarce entered the brain of the poor
woman than it became a certainty with her. She
saw a prison and a gallows in the distance, and
a little bandy-legged Gallego dangling pendant
up by her imagination, fell into violent hyterics.
What could the poor man do? He had no other
means of pacifying his wife and dispelling the
phantoms of her fancy, than by relating the
whole story of his good fortune. This, however,
he did not do until he had exacted from her the
most solemn promise to keep it a profound secret
from every living being.
To describe her joy would be impossible. She
flung her arms round the neck of her husband,
and almost strangled him with her caresses.
“Now, wife!” exclaimed the little man with honest
exultation, “what say you now to the Moor's
legacy? Henceforth never abuse me for helping a
fellow creature in distress.”
The honest Gallego retired to his sheepskin
mat, and slept as soundly as if on a bed of down.
Not so his wife.—She emptied the whole contents
of his pockets upon the mat, and sat all
night counting gold pieces of Arabic coin, trying
on necklaces and ear-rings, and fancying
the figure she should one day make when permitted
to enjoy her riches.
On the following morning the honest Gallego
took a broad golden coin, and repaired with it to
pretending to have found it among the ruins of
the Alhambra. The jeweller saw that it had an
Arabic inscription and was of the purest gold; he
offered, however, but a third of its value, with
which the water-carrier was perfectly content.
Peregil now bought new clothes for his little
flock, and all kinds of toys, together with ample
provisions for a hearty meal, and returning to
his dwelling set all his children dancing around
him, while he capered in the midst, the happiest
of fathers.
The wife of the water-carrier kept her promise
of secrecy with surprising strictness. For a whole
day and a half she went about with a look of
mystery and a heart swelling almost to bursting,
yet she held her peace, though surrounded by
her gossips. It is true she could not help giving
herself a few airs, apologized for her ragged
dress, and talked of ordering a new basquina all
trimmed with gold lace and bugles, and a new
lace mantilla. She threw out hints of her husband's
intention of leaving off his trade of water-carrying,
as it did not altogether agree with
his health. In fact she thought they should all
retire to the country for the summer, that the
air, for there was no living in the city in this sultry
season.
The neighbours stared at each other, and
thought the poor woman had lost her wits, and
her airs and graces and elegant pretensions were
the theme of universal scoffing and merriment
among her friends, the moment her back was
turned.
If she restrained herself abroad, however, she
indemnified herself at home, and, putting a string
of rich oriental pearls round her neck, Moorish
bracelets on her arms; an aigrette of diamonds
on her head, sailed backwards and forwards in
her slattern rags about the room, now and then
stopping to admire herself in a piece of broken
mirror. Nay, in the impulse of her simple vanity,
she could not resist on one occasion showing
herself at the window, to enjoy the effect of
her finery on the passers by.
As the fates would have it, Pedrillo Pedrugo,
the meddlesome barber, was at this moment sitting
idly in his shop on the opposite side of the
street, when his ever watchful eye caught the
sparkle of a diamond. In an instant he was at
his loop-hole reconnoitering the slattern spouse of
of an eastern bride. No sooner had he taken an
accurate inventory of her ornaments than he posted
off with all speed to the Alcalde. In a little
while the hungry alguazil was again on the scent,
and before the day was over, the unfortunate
Peregil was again dragged into the presence of
the judge.
“How is this, villain!” cried the Alcalde in
a furious voice. “You told me that the infidel
who died in your house left nothing behind but
an empty coffer, and now I hear of your wife
flaunting in her rags decked out with pearls and
diamonds. Wretch that thou art! prepare to
render up the spoils of thy miserable victim,
and to swing on the gallows that is already tired
of waiting for thee.”
The terrified water-carrier fell on his knees,
and made a full relation of the marvellous manner
in which he had gained his wealth. The
Alcalde, the alguazil, and the inquisitive barber
listened with greedy ears to this Arabian tale of
enchanted treasure. The alguazil was despatched
to bring the Moor who had assisted in the incantation.
The Moslem entered half frightened out
of his wits at finding himself in the hands of the
standing with sheepish look and downcast
countenance, he comprehended the whole
matter. “Miserable animal,” said he, as he passed
near him, “did I not warn thee against babbling
to thy wife?”
The story of the Moor coincided exactly with
that of his colleague; but the Alcalde affected to
be slow of belief, and threw out menaces of imprisonment
and rigorous investigation.
“Softly, good Señor Alcalde,” said the Mussulman,
who by this time had recovered his usual
shrewdness and self-possession. “Let us not mar
fortune's favours in the scramble for them. Nobody
knows any thing of this matter but ourselves;
let us keep the secret. There is wealth
enough in the cave to enrich us all. Promise a
fair division, and all shall be produced; refuse,
and the cave shall remain for ever closed.”
The Alcalde consulted apart with the alguazil.
The latter was an old fox in his profession. “Promise
any thing,” said he, “until you get possession
of the treasure. You may then seize upon
the whole, and if he and his accomplice dare to
murmur, threaten them with the faggot and the
stake as infidels and sorcerers.”
The Alcalde relished the advice. Smoothing
his brow and turning to the Moor,—“This is a
strange story,” said he, “and may be true, but I
must have ocular proof of it. This very night
you must repeat the incantation in my presence.
If there be really such treasure, we will share it
amicably between us, and say nothing further of
the matter; if ye have deceived me, expect no
mercy at my hands. In the mean time you must
remain in custody.”
The Moor and the water-carrier cheerfully
agreed to these conditions, satisfied that the event
would prove the truth of their words.
Towards midnight the Alcalde sallied forth secretly,
attended by the alguazil and the meddlesome
barber, all strongly armed. They conducted
the Moor and the water-carrier as prisoners, and
were provided with the stout donkey of the latter,
to bear off the expected treasure. They arrived
at the tower without being observed, and tying
the donkey to a fig-tree descended into the
fourth vault of the tower.
The scroll was produced, the yellow waxen taper
lighted, and the Moor read the form of incantation.
The earth trembled as before, and the
pavement opened with a thundering sound, disclosing
the alguazil, and the barber were struck aghast,
and could not summon courage to descend. The
Moor and the water-carrier entered the lower
vault and found the two Moors seated as before,
silent and motionless. They removed two of
the great jars, filled with golden coin and precious
stones. The water-carrier bore them up
one by one upon his shoulders, but though a
strong-backed little man, and accustomed to carry
burdens, he staggered beneath their weight,
and found, when slung on each side of his donkey,
they were as much as the animal could
bear.
“Let us be content for the present,” said the
Moor; “here is as much treasure as we can carry
off without being perceived, and enough to make
us all wealthy to our heart's desire.”
“Is there more treasure remaining behind?”
demanded the Alcalde.
“The greatest prize of all,” said the Moor;
“a huge coffer, bound with bands of steel, and
filled with pearls and precious stones.”
“Let us have up the coffer by all means,”
cried the grasping Alcalde.
“I will descend for no more,” said the Moor,
man; more is superfluous.”
“And I,” said the water-carrier, “will bring
up no further burthen to break the back of my
poor donkey.”
Finding commands, threats, and entreaties
equally vain, the Alcalde turned to his two adherents.
“Aid me,” said he, “to bring up the
coffer, and its contents shall be divided between
us.” So saying he descended the steps, followed,
with trembling reluctance, by the alguazil and
the barber.
No sooner did the Moor behold them fairly
earthed than he extinguished the yellow taper:
the pavement closed with its usual crash, and the
three worthies remained buried in its womb.
He then hastened up the different flights of
steps, nor stopped until in the open air. The
little water-carrier followed him as fast as his
short legs would permit.
“What hast thou done?” cried Peregil, as
soon as he could recover breath. “The Alcalde
and the other two are shut up in the vault!”
“It is the will of Allah!” said the Moor devoutly.
“And will you not release them?” demanded
the Gallego.
“Allah forbid!” replied the Moor, smoothing
his beard. “It is written in the book of fate
that they shall remain enchanted until some future
adventurer shall come to break the charm.
The will of God be done!” So saying he hurled
the end of the waxen taper far among the gloomy
thickets of the glen.
There was now no remedy; so the Moor and
the water-carrier proceeded with the richly laden
donkey towards the city: nor could honest Peregil
refrain from hugging and kissing his longeared
fellow labourer, thus restored to him from
the clutches of the law; and, in fact, it is doubtful
which gave the simple-hearted little man most
joy at the moment, the gaining of the treasure
or the recovery of the donkey.
The two partners in good luck divided their
spoil amicably and fairly, excepting that the
Moor, who had a little taste for trinketry, made
out to get into his heap the most of the pearls
and precious stones, and other baubles, but then
he always gave the water-carrier in lieu magnificent
jewels of massy gold four times the size,
took care not to linger within reach of accidents,
but made off to enjoy their wealth undisturbed in
other countries. The Moor returned into Africa,
to his native city of Tetuan, and the Gallego,
with his wife, his children and his donkey, made
the best of his way to Portugal. Here, under the
admonition and tuition of his wife, he became a
personage of some consequence, for she made the
little man array his long body and short legs in
doublet and hose, with a feather in his hat and a
sword by his side; and, laying aside the familiar
appellation of Peregil, assume the more sonorous
title of Don Pedro Gil. His progeny grew up a
thriving and merry-hearted, though short and
bandy-legged generation; while the Senora Gil,
be-fringed, be-laced, and be-tasselled from her
head to her heels, with glittering rings on every
finger, became a model of slattern fashion and
finery.
As to the Alcalde, and his adjuncts, they remained
shut up under the great tower of the
Seven Floors, and there they remain spell bound
at the present day. Whenever there shall be a
lack in Spain of pimping barbers, sharking alguazels,
after; but if they have to wait until such time for
their deliverance, there is danger of their enchantment
enduring until doomsday.
| LEGEND
OF THE MOOR'S LEGACY. The Alhambra | |