Ruyz de Alarcon was struck with these traces
of female taste and elegance in a lonely, and, as he
had supposed, deserted tower. They reminded
him of the tales of enchanted halls current in the
Alhambra; and the tortoiseshell cat might be some
spell-bound princess.

He knocked gently at the door. A beautiful
face peeped out from a little window above, but was
instantly withdrawn. He waited expecting that
the door would be opened, but he waited in vain;
no footstep was to be heard within—all was silent.
Had his senses deceived him, or was this beautiful
apparition the fairy of the tower? He knocked
again, and more loudly. After a little while the
beaming face once more peeped forth; it was that
of a blooming damsel of fifteen.

The page immediately doffed his plumed bonnet,
and entreated in the most courteous accents
to be permitted to ascend the tower in pursuit of
his falcon.

“I dare not open the door, Señor,” replied the
little damsel, blushing, “my aunt has forbidden it.”

“I do beseech you, fair maid—it is the favourite
falcon of the queen: I dare not return to the palace
without it.”

“Are you then one of the cavaliers of the
court?”

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

“I am, fair maid; but I shall lose the queen's
favour and my place, if I lose this hawk.”

“Santa Maria! It is against you cavaliers of the
court my aunt has charged me especially to bar the
door.”

“Against wicked cavaliers doubtless, but I am
none of these, but a simple harmless page, who will
be ruined and undone if you deny me this small
request.”

The heart of the little damsel was touched by
the distress of the page. It was a thousand pities
he should be ruined for the want of so trifling a
boon. Surely too he could not be one of those
dangerous beings whom her aunt had described as
a species of cannibal, ever on the prowl to make
prey of thoughtless damsels; he was gentle and
modest, and stood so entreatingly with cap in
hand, and looked so charming.

The sly page saw that the garrison began to
waver, and redoubled his entreaties in such moving
terms that it was not in the nature of mortal
maiden to deny him; so the blushing little warden
of the tower descended, and opened the door
with a trembling hand, and if the page had been
charmed by a mere glimpse of her countenance
from the window, he was ravished by the full
length portrait now revealed to him.

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

Her Andalusian bodice and trim basquiña set
off the round but delicate symmetry of her form,
which was as yet scarce verging into womanhood.
Her glossy hair was parted on her forehead with
scrupulous exactness, and decorated with a fresh
plucked rose, according to the universal custom of
the country. It is true her complexion was tinged
by the ardour of a southern sun, but it served to
give richness to the mantling bloom of her cheek,
and to heighten the lustre of her melting eyes.

Ruyz de Alarcon beheld all this with a single
glance, for it became him not to tarry; he merely
murmured his acknowledgments, and then bounded
lightly up the spiral staircase in quest of his
falcon.

He soon returned with the truant bird upon his
fist. The damsel, in the mean time, had seated
herself by the fountain in the hall, and was winding
silk; but in her agitation she let fall the reel
upon the pavement. The page sprang and picked
it up, then dropping gracefully on one knee, presented
it to her; but, seizing the hand extended
to receive it, imprinted on it a kiss more fervent
and devout than he had ever imprinted on the fair
hand of his sovereign.

“Ave Maria, Señor!” exclaimed the damsel,
blushing still deeper with confusion and surprise,

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

for never before had she received such a salutation.

The modest page made a thousand apologies,
assuring her it was the way, at court, of expressing
the most profound homage and respect.

Her anger, if anger she felt, was easily pacified,
but her agitation and embarrassment continued,
and she sat blushing deeper and deeper, with her
eyes cast down upon her work, entangling the silk
which she attempted to wind.

The cunning page saw the confusion in the opposite
camp, and would fain have profited by it,
but the fine speeches he would have uttered died
upon his lips; his attempts at gallantry were
awkward and ineffectual; and to his surprise, the
adroit page, who had figured with such grace and
effrontery among the most knowing and experienced
ladies of the court, found himself awed and
abashed in the presence of a simple damsel of
fifteen.

In fact, the artless maiden, in her own modesty
and innocence, had guardians more effectual than
the bolts and bars prescribed by her vigilant aunt.
Still, where is the female bosom proof against the
first whisperings of love? The little damsel, with
all her artlessness, instinctively comprehended all
that the faltering tongue of the page failed to

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

express, and her heart was fluttered at beholding,
for the first time, a lover at her feet—and such a
lover!

The diffidence of the page, though genuine,
was short-lived, and he was recovering his usual
ease and confidence, when a shrill voice was heard
at a distance.

“My aunt is returning from mass!” cried the
damsel in affright: “I pray you, Señor, depart.”

“Not until you grant me that rose from your
hair as a remembrance.”

She hastily untwisted the rose from her raven
locks. “Take it,” cried she, agitated and blushing,
“but pray begone.”

The page took the rose, and at the same time
covered with kisses the fair hand that gave it.
Then, placing the flower in his bonnet, and taking
the falcon upon his fist, he bounded off through
the garden, bearing away with him the heart of
the gentle Jacinta.

When the vigilant aunt arrived at the tower,
she remarked the agitation of her niece, and an
air of confusion in the hall; but a word of explanation
sufficed. “A ger-falcon had pursued his
prey into the hall.”

“Mercy on us! to think of a falcon flying
into the tower. Did ever one hear of so saucy

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

a hawk? Why, the very bird in the cage is not
safe!”

The vigilant Fredegonda was one of the most
wary of ancient spinsters. She had a becoming
terror and distrust of what she denominated “the
opposite sex,” which had gradually increased
through a long life of celibacy. Not that the
good lady had ever suffered from their wiles, nature
having set up a safeguard in her face that forbade
all trespass upon her premises; but ladies who have
least cause to fear for themselves are most ready to
keep a watch over their more tempting neighbours.

The niece was the orphan of an officer who had
fallen in the wars. She had been educated in a
convent, and had recently been transferred from
her sacred asylum to the immediate guardianship
of her aunt, under whose overshadowing care she
vegetated in obscurity, like an opening rose blooming
beneath a briar. Nor indeed is this comparison
entirely accidental; for, to tell the truth, her fresh
and dawning beauty had caught the public eye, even
in her seclusion, and, with that poetical turn common
to the people of Andalusia, the peasantry of
the neighbourhood had given her the appellation
of “the Rose of the Alhambra.”

The wary aunt continued to keep a faithful
watch over her tempting little niece as long as the

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

court continued at Granada, and flattered herself
that her vigilance had been successful. It is true,
the good lady was now and then discomposed by
the tinkling of guitars and chanting of love ditties
from the moonlit groves beneath the tower; but
she would exhort her niece to shut her ears against
such idle minstrelsy, assuring her that it was one
of the arts of the opposite sex, by which simple
maids were often lured to their undoing. Alas!
what chance with a simple maid has a dry lecture
against a moonlight serenade?

At length king Philip cut short his sojourn at
Granada, and suddenly departed with all his train.
The vigilant Fredegonda watched the royal pageant
as it issued forth from the gate of Justice, and
descended the great avenue leading to the city.
When the last banner disappeared from her sight,
she returned exulting to her tower, for all her
cares were over. To her surprise, a light Arabian
steed pawed the ground at the wicketgate
of the garden:—to her horror, she saw
through the thickets of roses a youth, in gayly
embroidered dress, at the feet of her neice. At
the sound of her footsteps he gave a tender adieu,
bounded lightly over the barrier of reeds and
myrtles, sprang upon his horse, and was out of
sight in an instant.

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

The tender Jacinta, in the agony of her grief,
lost all thought of her aunt's displeasure. Throwing
herself into her arms, she broke forth into
sobs and tears.

“Ay de mi!” cried she; “he's gone!—he's
gone!—he's gone! and I shall never see him
more!”

“Gone!—who is gone?—what youth is that I
saw at your feet?”

“A queen's page, aunt, who came to bid me
farewell.”

“A queen's page, child!” echoed the vigilant
Fredegonda, faintly; “and when did you become
acquainted with the queen's page?”

“The morning that the ger-falcon came into the
tower. It was the queen's ger-falcon, and he came
in pursuit of it.”

“Ah silly, silly girl! know that there are no
ger-falcons half so dangerous as these young
prankling pages, and it is precisely such simple
birds as thee that they pounce upon.”

The aunt was at first indignant at learning that
in despite of her boasted vigilance, a tender intercourse
had been carried on by the youthful lovers,
almost beneath her eye; but when she found that
her simple-hearted niece, though thus exposed,
without the protection of bolt or bar, to all the

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

machinations of the opposite sex, had come forth
unsinged from the fiery ordeal, she consoled herself
with the persuasion that it was owing to the
chaste and cautious maxims in which she had, as
it were, steeped her to the very lips.

While the aunt laid this soothing unction to her
pride, the niece treasured up the oft-repeated vows
of fidelity of the page. But what is the love of
restless, roving man? A vagrant stream that dallies
for a time with each flower upon its bank, then
passes on, and leaves them all in tears.

Days, weeks, months elapsed, and nothing more
was heard of the page. The pomegranate ripened,
the vine yielded up its fruit, the autumnal rains
descended in torrents from the mountains; the
Sierra Nevada became covered with a snowy
mantle, and wintry blasts howled through the
halls of the Alhambra—still he came not. The
winter passed away. Again the genial spring
burst forth with song and blossom and balmy
zephyr; the snows melted from the mountains,
until none remained but on the lofty summit of
Nevada, glistening through the sultry summer air.
Still nothing was heard of the forgetful page.

In the mean time, the poor little Jacinta grew
pale and thoughtful. Her former occupations and
amusements were abandoned, her silk lay entangled,

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

her guitar unstrung, her flowers were neglected,
the notes of her bird unheeded, and her eyes, once
so bright, were dimmed with secret weeping. If
any solitude could be devised to foster the passion
of a love-lorn damsel, it would be such a place as
the Alhambra, where every thing seems disposed
to produce tender and romantic reveries. It is a
very paradise for lovers: how hard then to be
alone in such a paradise—and not merely alone,
but forsaken!

“Alas, silly child!” would the staid and immaculate
Fredegonda say, when she found her
niece in one of her desponding moods—“did I
not warn thee against the wiles and deceptions
of these men? What couldst thou expect, too,
from one of a haughty and aspiring family—thou
an orphan, the descendant of a fallen and impoverished
line? Be assured, if the youth were
true, his father, who is one of the proudest nobles
about the court, would prohibit his union with one
so humble and portionless as thou. Pluck up thy
resolution, therefore, and drive these idle notions
from thy mind.”

The words of the immaculate Fredegonda only
served to increase the melancholy of her niece,
but she sought to indulge it in private. At a late
hour one midsummer night, after her aunt had

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

retired to rest, she remained alone in the hall of
the tower, seated beside the alabaster fountain.
It was here that the faithless page had first knelt
and kissed her hand; it was here that he had often
vowed eternal fidelity. The poor little damsel's
heart was overladen with sad and tender recollections,
her tears began to flow, and slowly fell drop
by drop into the fountain. By degrees the crystal
water became agitated, and—bubble—bubble—
bubble—boiled up and was tossed about, until a
female figure, richly clad in Moorish robes, slowly
rose to view.

Jacinta was so frightened that she fled from the
hall, and did not venture to return. The next
morning she related what she had seen to her aunt,
but the good lady treated it as a phantasy of her
troubled mind, or supposed she had fallen asleep
and dreamt beside the fountain. “Thou hast been
thinking of the story of the three Moorish princesses
that once inhabited this tower,” continued
she, “and it has entered into thy dreams.”

“What story, aunt? I know nothing of it.”

“Thou hast certainly heard of the three princesses,
Zayda, Zorayda, and Zorahayda, who were
confined in this tower by the king their father,
and agreed to fly with three Christian cavaliers.
The two first accomplished their escape, but the

[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]

third failed in her resolution, and, it is said, died
in this tower.”

“I now recollect to have heard of it,” said
Jacinta, “and to have wept over the fate of the
gentle Zorahayda.”

“Thou mayest well weep over her fate,” continued
the aunt, “for the lover of Zorahayda was
thy ancestor. He long bemoaned his Moorish
love, but time cured him of his grief, and he
married a Spanish lady, from whom thou art
descended.”

Jacinta ruminated upon these words. “That
what I have seen is no phantasy of the brain,”
said she to herself, “I am confident. If indeed it
be the spirit of the gentle Zorahayda, which I
have heard lingers about this tower, of what should
I be afraid? I'll watch by the fountain to-night—
perhaps the visit will be repeated.”

Towards midnight, when every thing was quiet,
she again took her seat in the hall. As the bell in
the distant watch-tower of the Alhambra struck
the midnight hour, the fountain was again agitated;
and bubble—bubble—bubble—it tossed about the
waters until the Moorish female again rose to view.
She was young and beautiful; her dress was rich
with jewels, and in her hand she held a silver lute.
Jacinta trembled and was faint, but was reassured

[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]

by the soft and plaintive voice of the apparition,
and the sweet expression of her pale, melancholy
countenance.

“Daughter of mortality,” said she, “what aileth
thee? Why do thy tears trouble my fountain,
and thy sighs and plaints disturb the quiet watches
of the night?”

“I weep because of the faithlessness of man,
and I bemoan my solitary and forsaken state.”

“Take comfort; thy sorrows may yet have an
end. Thou beholdest a Moorish princess, who,
like thee, was unhappy in her love. A Christian
knight, thy ancestor, won my heart, and would
have borne me to his native land and to the bosom
of his church. I was a convert in my heart, but
I lacked courage equal to my faith, and lingered
till too late. For this the evil genii are permitted
to have power over me, and I remain enchanted
in this tower until some pure Christian will deign
to break the magic spell. Wilt thou undertake
the task?”

“I will,” replied the damsel, trembling.

“Come hither then, and fear not; dip thy hand
in the fountain, sprinkle the water over me, and
baptize me after the manner of thy faith; so shall
the enchantment be dispelled, and my troubled
spirit have repose.”

[figure description] Page 114.[end figure description]

The damsel advanced with faltering steps, dipped
her hand in the fountain, collected water in
the palm, and sprinkled it over the pale face of
the phantom.

The latter smiled with ineffable benignity. She
dropped her silver lute at the feet of Jacinta,
crossed her white arms upon her bosom, and
melted from sight, so that it seemed merely as if
a shower of dew-drops had fallen into the fountain.

Jacinta retired from the hall filled with awe and
wonder. She scarcely closed her eyes that night,
but when she awoke at daybreak out of a troubled
slumber, the whole appeared to her like a distempered
dream. On descending into the hall, however,
the truth of the vision was established, for,
beside the fountain, she beheld the silver lute glittering
in the morning sunshine.

She hastened to her aunt, to relate all that had
befallen her, and called her to behold the lute as a
testimonial of the reality of her story. If the
good lady had any lingering doubts, they were
removed when Jacinta touched the instrument, for
she drew forth such ravishing tones as to thaw
even the frigid bosom of the immaculate Fredegonda,
that region of eternal winter, into a genial
flow. Nothing but supernatural melody could
have produced such an effect.

[figure description] Page 115.[end figure description]

The extraordinary power of the lute became
every day more and more apparent. The wayfarer
passing by the tower was detained, and, as it
were, spell-bound, in breathless ecstacy. The very
birds gathered in the neighbouring trees, and hushing
their own strains, listened in charmed silence.

Rumour soon spread the news abroad. The
inhabitants of Granada thronged to the Alhambra
to catch a few notes of the transcendent music that
floated about the tower of Las Infantas.

The lovely little minstrel was at length drawn
forth from her retreat. The rich and powerful of
the land contended who should entertain and do
honour to her; or rather, who should secure the
charms of her lute to draw fashionable throngs to
their saloons. Wherever she went her vigilant
aunt kept a dragon watch at her elbow, awing the
throngs of impassioned admirers, who hung in
raptures on her strains. The report of her wonderful
powers spread from city to city. Malaga,
Seville, Cordova, all became successively mad on
the theme; nothing was talked of throughout
Andalusia but the beautiful minstrel of the Alhambra.
How could it be otherwise among a people
so musical and gallant as the Andalusians, when
the lute was magical in its powers, and the minstrel
inspired by love!

[figure description] Page 116.[end figure description]

While all Andalusia was thus music mad, a
different mood prevailed at the court of Spain.
Philip V., as is well known, was a miserable
hypochondriac, and subject to all kinds of fancies.
Sometimes he would keep to his bed for weeks
together, groaning under imaginary complaints.
At other times he would insist upon abdicating his
throne, to the great annoyance of his royal spouse,
who had a strong relish for the splendours of a
court, and the glories of a crown, and guided the
sceptre of her imbecile lord with an expert and
steady hand.

Nothing was found to be so efficacious in dispelling
the royal megrims as the powers of music;
the queen took care, therefore, to have the best
performers, both vocal and instrumental, at hand,
and retained the famous Italian singer Farinelli
about the court as a kind of royal physician.

At the moment we treat of, however, a freak
had come over the mind of this sapient and illustrious
Bourbon that surpassed all former vagaries.
After a long spell of imaginary illness, which set
all the strains of Farinelli and the consultations
of a whole orchestra of court fiddlers at defiance,
the monarch fairly, in idea, gave up the ghost, and
considered himself absolutely dead.

This would have been harmless enough, and

[figure description] Page 117.[end figure description]

even convenient both to his queen and courtiers,
had he been content to remain in the quietude
befitting a dead man; but to their annoyance he
insisted upon having the funeral ceremonies performed
over him, and, to their inexpressible perplexity,
began to grow impatient, and to revile
bitterly at them for negligence and disrespect, in
leaving him unburied. What was to be done?
To disobey the king's positive commands was
monstrous in the eyes of the obsequious courtiers
of a punctilious court—but to obey him, and bury
him alive, would be downright regicide!

In the midst of this fearful dilemma a rumour
reached the court, of the female minstrel who was
turning the brains of all Andalusia. The queen
despatched missions in all haste to summon her to
St. Ildefonso, where the court at that time resided.

Within a few days, as the queen with her maids
of honour was walking in those stately gardens,
intended, with their avenues and terraces and
fountains, to eclipse the glories of Versailles, the
far-famed minstrel was conducted into her presence.
The imperial Elizabetta gazed with surprise
at the youthful and unpretending appearance
of the little being that had set the world madding.
She was in her picturesque Andalusian dress, her
silver lute was in her hand, and she stood with

[figure description] Page 118.[end figure description]

modest and downcast eyes, but with a simplicity
and freshness of beauty that still bespoke her “the
Rose of the Alhambra.”

As usual she was accompanied by the ever-vigilant
Fredegonda, who gave the whole history of
her parentage and descent to the inquiring queen.
If the stately Elizabetta had been interested by the
appearance of Jacinta, she was still more pleased
when she learnt that she was of a meritorious
though impoverished line, and that her father had
bravely fallen in the service of the crown. “If
thy powers equal their renown,” said she, “and
thou canst cast forth this evil spirit that possesses
thy sovereign, thy fortunes shall henceforth be my
care, and honours and wealth attend thee.”

Impatient to make trial of her skill, she led the
way at once to the apartment of the moody
monarch.

Jacinta followed with downcast eyes through
files of guards and crowds of courtiers. They
arrived at length at a great chamber hung with
black. The windows were closed to exclude the
light of day: a number of yellow wax tapers in
silver sconces diffused a lugubrious light, and dimly
revealed the figures of mutes in mourning dresses,
and courtiers who glided about with noiseless step
and woe-begone visage. On the midst of a funeral

[figure description] Page 119.[end figure description]

bed or bier, his hands folded on his breast, and the
tip of his nose just visible, lay extended this
would-be-buried monarch.

The queen entered the chamber in silence, and
pointing to a footstool in an obscure corner, beckoned
to Jacinta to sit down and commence.

At first she touched her lute with a faltering
hand, but gathering confidence and animation as
she proceeded, drew forth such soft aerial harmony,
that all present could scarce believe it mortal. As
to the monarch, who had already considered himself
in the world of spirits, he set it down for some
angelic melody or the music of the spheres. By
degrees the theme was varied, and the voice of the
minstrel accompanied the instrument. She poured
forth one of the legendary ballads treating of the
ancient glories of the Alhambra and the achievements
of the Moors. Her whole soul entered into
the theme, for with the recollections of the Alhambra
was associated the story of her love. The
funeral chamber resounded with the animating
strain. It entered into the gloomy heart of the
monarch. He raised his head and gazed around:
he sat up on his couch, his eye began to kindle—
at length, leaping upon the floor, he called for
sword and buckler.

The triumph of music, or rather of the enchanted

[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]

lute, was complete; the demon of melancholy was
cast forth; and, as it were, a dead man brought to
life. The windows of the apartment were thrown
open; the glorious effulgence of Spanish sunshine
burst into the late lugubrious chamber; all eyes
sought the lovely enchantress, but the lute had
fallen from her hand, she had sunk upon the earth,
and the next moment was clasped to the bosom of
Ruyz de Alarcon.

The nuptials of the happy couple were shortly
after celebrated with great splendour;—but hold—
I hear the reader ask, how did Ruyz de Alarcon
account for his long neglect? O that was all
owing to the opposition of a proud pragmatical old
father: besides young people, who really like one
another, soon come to an amicable understanding,
and bury all past grievances when once they meet.

But how was the proud pragmatical old father
reconciled to the match?

O his scruples were easily overcome by a word
or two from the queen, especially as dignities and
rewards were showered upon the blooming favourite
of royalty. Besides, the lute of Jacinta,
you know, possessed a magic power, and could
control the most stubborn head and hardest breast.

And what came of the enchanted lute?

O that is the most curious matter of all, and

[figure description] Page 121.[end figure description]

plainly proves the truth of all this story. That
lute remained for some time in the family, but
was purloined and carried off, as was supposed, by
the great singer Farinelli, in pure jealousy. At
his death it passed into other hands in Italy, who
were ignorant of its mystic powers, and melting
down the silver, transferred the strings to an old
cremona fiddle. The strings still retain something
of their magic virtues. A word in the
reader's ear, but let it go no further—that fiddle
is now bewitching the whole world—it is the
fiddle of Paganini!

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p226-350

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