The Alhambra 38

The Alhambra 38

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 Hayzari, 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 everything 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.[18] Still he was as brave

as he was blundering; and though left-handed, wielded his cimeter to

such purpose, that he each time re-established himself upon his throne

by dint of hard fighting. Instead, however, of learning wisdom 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 everything was devised

to soothe her melancholy; and the monarch, more and more enamored,

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 favor 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

Kadiga; 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.

When in the hands of a robber, it is better to sell one’s merchandise

for a fair price, than to have it taken by main force.”

 

The arguments of the discreet Kadiga 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 Kadiga,

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 wings, and trust

them to no other guardianship.”

 

Mohamed the Left-handed was acknowledged to be a wise king by his

courtiers, 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 Kadiga.

 

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 overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. It was a royal

retreat, in which the Moslem monarchs shut up such of their relatives 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

enjoyment, and attended by female slaves who anticipated their 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 their 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 everything, as she had done in entering 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 timid, and extremely

sensitive, with a vast deal of 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’s 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 a 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 rolled on smoothly and serenely; the discreet Kadiga, 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 overhanging 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 the princesses used to pass the

sultry hours of mid-day.

 

The curious Zayda was one day seated at a window of the pavilion, as her

sisters, reclining on ottomans, were taking the siesta or noontide

slumber. Her attention was 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 jalousies 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 three gallant cavaliers, in the pride of youth and

manly beauty, should produce some commotion in their bosom.

 

“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 blue.

 

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 Kadiga found them in this situation; they related 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