Calavar; or, The Knight of The Conquest, A Romance of Mexico

The loud cry of "Calavar! the Penitent Knight! the valiant Don Gabriel!" set up by the bewildered and awe-struck infantry, reached the ears of the novice. He spurred on with new ardour, and reaching the footmen just as they divided in pursuit of the flying barbarians, he sprung from his horse, and beheld his kinsman lying senseless, and as it appeared to him, lifeless, in the arms of the wounded Baltasar.

"In the name of heaven, and Amen! what is this? and what do I see?" he cried. "Oh heaven, is this my knight? – and doth he live?"

"He lives," said Baltasar, "and he feels as of flesh and blood; and yet did he die on the lake-side. God forgive us our sins! for neither heaven nor hell will hold the dead!"

Just at that moment, the knight opened his eyes, and rolled them on his kinsman, – but his kinsman regarded him not. A low moaning voice of one never to be forgotten, fell on the ear of the novice, as he gazed on his friend; and starting up, he beheld, hard by, the page Jacinto, lying on the body of Abdalla, from whose head he had torn the helm, and now strove, with feeble fingers, to remove the broken and blood-stained corslet.

"Jacinto! – Leila!" cried Amador, with a voice of rapture, flinging himself at her side, (for now, though the garments of escaupil still concealed the figure of the Moorish maid, the disguise could be continued no longer.) The joy of the cavalier vanished, for the maiden replied only with lamentations; while the Zegri fixed upon him an eye, in which the stony hardness of death was mingled with the fires of human passion.

"Place my head upon thine arm, cavalier!" said Abdalla, faintly, "and let me look upon him who has slain me."

"Oh, my father! my father!" cried the Moorish girl.

"God forbid that thou shouldst die, even for the sake of the maiden I love," exclaimed Amador, eagerly, supporting his head. "Thou art a Wali, a Christian, and the father of her that dwells in my heart. Live, therefore; for though thou have neither land nor people, neither home nor friends, neither brother nor champion, yet am I all to thee; for I crave the love of thy daughter."

The maiden sobbed, and heard not the words of the cavalier; but the dying Moor eyed her with a look of joy, and then turning his gaze upon Amador, said, —

"God be thy judge, as thou dealest truly with her, who, although the offspring of kings, is yet an orphan, landless, homeless, and friendless on the earth."

"I swear to thee," said the novice, – "and I protest – "

"Protest me nothing: hearken to my words, for they are few; the angel of death calls to me to come, and my moments fly from me like the blood-drops," said the Zegri. "Until the day, when I dreamed thou wert slumbering in the lake, I knew not of this that hath passed between ye. Had it been known to me, perhaps this death that comes to me, might not have come; for, what I did, I did for the honour and weal of my child, knowing that, in the hand of Spaniards, she was in the power of oppressors and villains. That I have struck for revenge, is true; I have shed the blood of Castilians and rejoiced, for therein I reckoned me the vengeance of Granada. Yet, had it been apparent to me, that the feeble maid, who, besides myself, knew no other protector of innocence in the world, could have claimed the love of an honourable cavalier, and enjoyed it without the shame of disguise and menial occupation, then had I submitted to my fate, and locked up in the darkness of my heart, the memory of the Alpujarras."

"Who speaks of the Alpujarras?" cried the knight of Rhodes, staring wildly around; "who speaks of the Alpujarras?"

"I!" said the Moor, with a firm voice, bending his eye on Don Gabriel, and striving, though in vain, for his nether limbs were paralyzed, to turn his body likewise; "I Gabriel of Calavar, I speak of the Alpujarras; and good reason have I to speak, and thou to listen; for I was of the mourning, and thou of the destroyers."

"Pity me, heaven!" cried the knight, staring on the Moor, in the greatest disorder. "I have seen thee, and yet I know thee not."

"Rememberest thou not the field of Zugar, and the oath sworn on the cross of a blood-stained sword, by the river-side?"

"Hah!" cried Don Gabriel; "dost thou speak of mine oath? – mine oath to Alharef?"

"And the town of Bucarcs, among the hills?" continued the Zegri, loudly, and with a frown made still more ghastly by approaching death; "dost thou remember the false and felon blow that smote the friend of Zugar, – and that, still falser and fouler, which shed the blood of Zayda, the beloved of the Alpujarras?"

As the Wali spoke, the knight, as if uplifted by some supernatural power, rose to his feet, and approached the speaker, staring at him with eyes of horror. At the name of Zayda, he dropt on his knees crying, —

"Miserere mei, Deus! I slew her! and thou that art Alharef, though struck down by the same sword, yet livest thou again to upbraid me!"

"Struck down by thy steel, yet not then, but now!" exclaimed the Moor. "I live again, but not to upbraid thee – I am Alharef-ben-Ismail, and I forgive thee."

At this name, already made of such painful interest to the novice, his astonishment was so great, that, as he started, he had nearly suffered the dying prince (for such were the Walis of Moorish Spain,) to fall to the earth. He caught him again in his arms, and turned his amazed eye from him to Don Gabriel, who, trembling in every limb, still stared with a distracted countenance on that of his ancient preserver.

"I am Alharef, and, though dying, yet do I live," went on the Zegri, interrupted as much by the wails of his daughter, as by his own increasing agonies. "The sword wounded, but it slew not – it slew not all– Zayda fell, yet live I, to tell thee, thou art forgiven. Rash man! rash and most unhappy! thine anger was unjust; and therefore didst thou shed the blood of the good, the pure, the loving and the beautiful, and thereby cover thyself, and him that was thy true friend, with misery. When thou soughtest the love of Zayda, she was the betrothed of Alharef. Miserable art thou, Gabriel of Calavar! and therefore have I forgiven thee; miserable art thou, for I have watched thee by night, and looked upon thee by day, and seen that the asp was at work in thy bosom, and that the fire did not slumber. Great was thy sin, but greater is thy grief; and therefore doth Zayda, who is in heaven, forgive thee."

"She pardons me not," murmured Don Gabriel, not a moment relaxing the steadfast eagerness of his stare. "At the pyramid of Cholula, on the anniversary of her death, she appeared to me in person, and, O God! with the beauty of her youth and innocence, yet robed in the blackness of anger!"

"And have thine eyes been as dark as the looks of the lover?" cried Alharef. "Stand up, Zayda, the child of Zayda! or turn thy face upon Calavar, that his delusion may leave him."

As he spoke, he lifted feebly the arm which embraced his child, removed the cap, and parted the thick clustering locks from her forehead. Still, however, did she look rather the effeminate boy, upon whom Calavar had been accustomed to gaze, than a woman; – for there is no effort of imagination stronger than that required to transform, in the mind, the object which preserves an unchanging appearance to the eye. Nevertheless, though such a transformation could not be imagined by Don Gabriel, there came, as he wistfully surveyed the pallid features of the maiden, strange visions and memories, which, every moment, associated a stronger resemblance between the living and the dead. He trembled still more violently, heavy dew-drops started from his brow, and he gazed upon the weeping girl as upon a basilisk.

"Wherefore," continued the Zegri, speaking rapidly, but with broken accents, – "when I had resolved to fly to the pagans, as being men whom, I thought, God had commissioned me to defend from rapine and slavery. I resolved to take such advantage of their credulity, as might best enable me to befriend them, – I say, wherefore I resolved this, I need not speak. I protected my child, by recommending her to their superstition; and, had I fallen dead in the streets, still did I know, that reverence and fear would wait upon the steps of one whom I delivered to them as a messenger from heaven. In this light, I revealed her to the princes at the temple, when – "

"It is enough!" muttered Don Gabriel, with the deep and agitated tones of sorrow; "I wake from a dream. – God forgive me! and thou art of the blood of Zayda? the child of her whom I slew? – Alharef forgives me; he says, that Zayda forgives me; but thou that art her child, dost thou forgive me?"

"Father! dear father, she doth!" cried Amador, gazing with awe on the altered countenance of Alharef, and listening with grief to the moans of Zayda. "O holy padre!" he exclaimed, perceiving the priest Olmedo rising, at a little distance, from the side of a man, to whom he had been offering the last consolations of religion, – "Hither, father, for the love of heaven, and absolve the soul of a dying Christian!"

"Is there a priest at my side?" said the Zegri, reviving from what seemed the lethargy of approaching dissolution, and looking eagerly into the face of the good Olmedo. Then, turning to Amador, he said solemnly, though with broken words, "Thou lovest the orphan Zayda?"

"Heaven be my help, as I do," replied the cavalier.

"And thou, Gabriel, that wert my friend, and standest in the light of this young man's parent, – dost thou consent that he shall espouse the daughter of Zayda, saved, while a piteous infant, by Christian men, from out the house of death?"

The knight bowed his head on his breast, and strove to answer, but, in his agitation, could not speak a word.

"Quick, father! for heaven's sake, quick!" cried Alharef, eagerly; "let me, ere I die, know that my child rests on the bosom of a husband. Quick! for the sand runs fast; and there is that in my bosom, which tells me of death. Love and honour thy bride; for thou hast the last and noblest relic of Granada. Take her – thou wert her protector from harsh words and the violence of blows. Quick, father, quick! quick, for mine eyes are glazing!"

The strangely timed and hurried ceremony was hastened by the exclamations of Alharef; and the words of nuptial benediction were, at last, hurriedly pronounced.

"I see thee not, my child!" muttered the Moor, immediately after. "My blessing to thee, Amador, – Gabriel, thou art forgiven. – Thine arm round my neck, Zayda; thy lips to mine. Would that I could see thee! – Get thee to Granada, with thy lord – to the tomb of thy mother – I will follow thee – Tarry not in this land of blood – I will be with thee; we have a power yet in the hills – "

"Let the cross rest on thy lips, if thou diest a Christian," said the father.

The novice drew the maiden aside; the Zegri pressed the sacred symbol to his lips, but still they muttered strangely of Granada.

"I am of the faith of Christ, and Mahomet I defy. My people shall be followers of the cross, but they shall sweep away the false Spaniard, as the wind brushes away the leaves. – The Emir of Oran is prepared – the king of Morocco will follow. – A power in the hills – Ah! – We will creep, by night, to Granada – a brave blow! – Africa shall follow – Ha, ha! – Seize the gates! storm the Alhambra! – but spare life – kill no women! – Remember Zayda! – "

With such wild words, accompanied by the faint cries of his daughter, the spirit of the Moor passed away, and Alharef-ben-Ismail lay dead in the land of strangers.

Don Gabriel uttered a deep groan, and fell across the feet of his ancient friend.

At this moment, Cortes descended from his horse, and, followed by other cavaliers, stepped up to the lamenting group.

"And Calavar, the valiant, has been murdered by this traitor Moor!" he cried.

"Señor Don Hernan," said the novice, sternly, and as he spoke, rising from the earth, and folding the Moorish maiden to his heart, "you speak of him who was Alharef-ben-Ismail, a Wali of Granada, driven by the injustice of our companions, and in part, by your own harshness, to take arms against you. As one that am now his representative, and, as I may say, his son, I claim for him the honourable burial of a Christian soldier; and, after that, will hold myself prepared, with sword and spear, to defend his memory from insult."

CHAPTER LXV

A few words will finish the first part of the chronicle of Don Cristobal.

The victory so marvellously gained, removed the last obstruction from the path of the Spaniards. The ensuing day beheld them entering the territories of their allies; and, in four days more, the chiefs of Tlascala ushered them, with songs of joy, into the republican city.

Six days after this happy event, the novice of Rhodes sat by the death-bed of his kinsman. – From the moment when Calavar roused out of the fit of unconsciousness, into which he had fallen on the field of Otumba, his brain wandered with delirium; but it gave his young kinsman, as well as the faithful Baltasar, much relief to perceive, that his visions were oftener of a pleasant than a disagreeable character. Thus, the reappearance of Alharef, after such long seeming death, dwelt in his memory, without the recollection of his subsequent decease; and with this came the conceit that Zayda yet lived among the Alpujarras, restored, like the Wali, to life, and all forgetful of the wrongs he had done her. He prattled of returning now to Spain, and now to Rhodes, and now of making a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. It is true, that, sometimes, dark thoughts crept to his brain, and agitated him with his former griefs; but these were ever chased away by the sight of Leila, whose countenance seemed to him as that of a holy seraph, sent from heaven, to bid him be of good cheer.

On the fifth day, he recovered his senses, and being sensible of his approaching dissolution, assembled at his bed-side, after having received absolution, the padre Olmedo, and the few friends and followers whom heaven had spared him in this pagan land, being the young cavalier of Cuenza, the melancholy Zayda, or Leila, as Amador yet loved to call her, and Baltasar. The spear of Alharef had not harmed him; he was dying, the victim of a long remorse; or, rather, as it may be said, he expired, when the excitement of this passion no longer supported him. For, perhaps, the same thing may be said of many mental diseases, which is true of certain physical ones, to which a human constitution has been long accustomed; that is, they may obtain so vital a command over all its functions, as to become in themselves the elements, or at least the bulwarks, of life; so that, when they are arrested by some unskilful leech, death shall almost immediately follow the cure.

"I have now called you, my children," he said, bending an eye of affection upon the pair, and speaking very feebly, "to give you such counsel as may be drawn from the history of my life. Its secrets are revealed to you, its pages all lie open; and as you read, your spirits will find their own instruction; for they will discover, that the indulgence of passion, especially the passion of anger, doth lodge a barb in the bosom, never to be plucked out, save by the hand of death. What I have to say, is rather of command than advice; and thou wilt listen to me, Amador, my son, for God hath given thee, in the person of this gentle Zayda, an argument of obedience, which will touch thy heart more eloquently than words. – Break thy sword, hack off thy spurs, cast thine armour into the sea, and think no more of war, unless to defend thy fire-side, and the altars of thy country, from the fury of invaders."