1. I.
Age had not diminished, nor could defeat and disappointment
discourage, the energies of Melchior. Desert-born,
he had been taught to endure trial and to love
adventure. Enthusiastic and resolute by nature, the
life which he had led had early tutored him in a habit
of mental concentration, which made him equally tenacious
and fearless in the pursuit of his object. Vicissitudes
had taught him religion, and its ennobling sentiments,
linked with his natural enthusiasm of character,
had made him zealous in the prosecution of what he
deemed his duties. The dangers which surrounded him
in that strange city, full of his enemies,—the darkness
of the night,—his own fatigues of frame in the long
travel of the day, and the excitements through which he
had gone,—were all as nothing to the aged man. Filled
with the cheering hope which the conversation with Pelayo
had imparted, of improving the condition of his
people, he thought neither of danger nor fatigue. His
spirit was aroused, and he suffered no sleep to visit his
eyelids until he had done something towards the great
object with which his bosom laboured. His purpose
now was an immediate conference with such of his
people as had power over the rest, and could be relied
upon in a scheme so perilous as that in view. This
was a work of caution, and well did Melchior know that
there were few, even among his own tribe, who could
well be trusted. There were but few, indeed, to whom
he could dare confide the secret of his own presence in
that city of his foe; and this was one of the reasons
which prompted him to go forth, at that late hour, under
the shelter of the night. Moving through the gloomy
city like one long familiar with all its haunts, he made
his way to a yet more secluded portion of the Hebrew
suburb than that which he had left. At length he
reached a dwelling that stood at a little distance from all
other buildings. It was a poor and mean-looking fabric,
and nothing in its external appearance could possibly
have spoken for wealth or affluence within. Melchior
tapped lightly at a little low, arched entrance,
and was instantly admitted. A few words, uttered in a
strange language to him who waited, were soon understood,
and the visiter at once followed the porter into
the body of the dwelling.
If the outward aspect of this fabric was base and unassuming,
such certainly was not the character of the
interior. The apartment into which Melchior was conducted
amply compensated, by its exquisite beauty and
richness of ornament, for the humility of its outward
show. It was a chamber of surpassing grandeur of
decoration and arrangement. All things familiar to the
luxurious tastes of that period and country, for the gratification
of the eye and the pleasure of the senses,
seemed here to have been studiously and profusely
drawn together. Roman luxury and Saracen voluptuousness
were made to vie in the wealth and multiplicity
of their productions. The oriental storehouse
had been ransacked, and a foretaste of the future glories
of the “Alhambra” might have been found, like so much
hidden treasure, awaiting the hour of its delivery from
the mine, in the humble home of a trembling father to a
degraded and derided people.
