The Alhambra 36

The Alhambra 36

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 the 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 wellnigh let fall his water-jar.

 

That night he tumbled and tossed, and could scarcely get a wink of sleep

for the thoughts that were bewildering his brain. 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 midnight, by the light of a taper singularly

compounded and prepared, the ingredients of which are not within my

reach. Without such a 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 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 remain open. Woe to him, however, who lingers 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 suspense, until they faintly heard the clock of the

watch-tower strike midnight; upon this they lit the waxen taper, which

diffused an odor 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 armor, 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

handfuls 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 sat grim and

motionless, glaring upon them with 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 counsel 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. If a whisper of it gets to the ear of the alcalde, 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 house-mate.” 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 and alguazils; my husband a do-no-good, that no longer brings

home bread to his family, but goes rambling about day and night, with

infidel Moors! O 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 hanging pendent from it; and, overcome by

the horrors conjured up by her imagination, fell into violent hysterics.

 

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 sheep-skin 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 counting gold pieces of Arabic

coin, trying on necklaces and earrings, 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 a jeweller’s shop in the Zacatin to offer it for

sale, 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 basquiña 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 children might have the benefit of the

mountain air, for there was no living in the city in this sultry season.

 

The neighbors 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, and an aigrette of diamonds on her head,

sailed backwards and forwards in her slattern rags about the room, now