The Alhambra 42

The Alhambra 42

LEGEND OF THE ROSE OF THE ALHAMBRA

 

 

For some time after the surrender of Granada by the Moors, that

delightful city was a frequent and favorite residence of the Spanish

sovereigns, until they were frightened away by successive shocks of

earthquakes, which toppled down various houses, and made the old Moslem

towers rock to their foundation.

 

Many, many years then rolled away, during which Granada was rarely

honored by a royal guest. The palaces of the nobility remained silent

and shut up; and the Alhambra, like a slighted beauty, sat in mournful

desolation among her neglected gardens. The tower of the Infantas, once

the residence of the three beautiful Moorish princesses, partook of the

general desolation; the spider spun her web athwart the gilded vault,

and bats and owls nestled in those chambers that had been graced by the

presence of Zayda, Zorayda, and Zorahayda. The neglect of this tower may

have been partly owing to some superstitious notions of the neighbors.

It was rumored that the spirit of the youthful Zorahayda, who had

perished in that tower, was often seen by moonlight seated beside the

fountain in the hall, or moaning about the battlements, and that the

notes of her silver lute would be heard at midnight by wayfarers passing

along the glen.

 

At length the city of Granada was once more welcomed by the royal

presence. All the world knows that Philip V. was the first Bourbon that

swayed the Spanish sceptre. All the world knows that he married, in

second nuptials, Elizabetta or Isabella (for they are the same), the

beautiful princess of Parma; and all the world knows that by this chain

of contingencies a French prince and an Italian princess were seated

together on the Spanish throne. For a visit of this illustrious pair,

the Alhambra was repaired and fitted up with all possible expedition.

The arrival of the court changed the whole aspect of the lately deserted

palace. The clangor of drum and trumpet, the tramp of steed about the

avenues and outer court, the glitter of arms and display of banners

about barbican and battlement, recalled the ancient and warlike glories

of the fortress. A softer spirit, however, reigned within the royal

palace. There was the rustling of robes and the cautious tread and

murmuring voice of reverential courtiers about the antechambers; a

loitering of pages and maids of honor about the gardens, and the sound

of music stealing from open casements.

 

Among those who attended in the train of the monarchs was a favorite

page of the queen, named Ruyz de Alarcon. To say that he was a favorite

page of the queen was at once to speak his eulogium, for every one in

the suite of the stately Elizabetta was chosen for grace, and beauty,

and accomplishments. He was just turned of eighteen, light and lithe of

form, and graceful as a young Antinous. To the queen he was all

deference and respect, yet he was at heart a roguish stripling, petted

and spoiled by the ladies about the court, and experienced in the ways

of women far beyond his years.

 

This loitering page was one morning rambling about the groves of the

Generalife, which overlook the grounds of the Alhambra. He had taken

with him for his amusement a favorite ger-falcon of the queen. In the

course of his rambles, seeing a bird rising from a thicket, he unhooded

the hawk and let him fly. The falcon towered high in the air, made a

swoop at his quarry, but missing it, soared away, regardless of the

calls of the page. The latter followed the truant bird with his eye, in

its capricious flight, until he saw it alight upon the battlements of a

remote and lonely tower, in the outer wall of the Alhambra, built on the

edge of a ravine that separated the royal fortress from the grounds of

the Generalife. It was in fact the “Tower of the Princesses.”

 

The page descended into the ravine and approached the tower, but it had

no entrance from the glen, and its lofty height rendered any attempt to

scale it fruitless. Seeking one of the gates of the fortress, therefore,

he made a wide circuit to that side of the tower facing within the

walls.

 

A small garden, enclosed by a trellis-work of reeds overhung with

myrtle, lay before the tower. Opening a wicket, the page passed between

beds of flowers and thickets of roses to the door. It was closed and

bolted. A crevice in the door gave him a peep into the interior. There

was a small Moorish hall with fretted walls, light marble columns, and

an alabaster fountain surrounded with flowers. In the centre hung a gilt

cage containing a singing-bird; beneath it, on a chair, lay a

tortoise-shell cat among reels of silk and other articles of female

labor, and a guitar decorated with ribbons leaned against the fountain.

 

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 tortoise-shell 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 favorite falcon of the queen: I

dare not return to the palace without it.”

 

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

 

“I am, fair maid; but I shall lose the queen’s favor 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.

 

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 ardor

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, 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 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.