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 THE TALBA, 
 
 OR 
 
 MOOR OF PORTUGAL. 
 
 Z IRomantr. 
 
 BY MRS. BRAY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE WHITE HOODS ; THE PROTESTANT ; FITZ OF 
 
 FITZ-FORD, &C. &C, 
 
 ■■- " Souh made of fire, and children of the sun, 
 With whom revenge isjrirtue." Young. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR 
 
 LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN, 
 
 PATERNOSTER-HOW. 
 
 1830.
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode, 
 
 New-Street-Square,
 
 en 
 
 THE TALBA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " And Cintra's summits tell 
 
 How the grim Saracen's dread legions fell." 
 
 MiCKLE. 
 
 On one of the mountain eminences of Cintra in 
 Portugal, a pile of rugged and broken rocks, 
 adorned in part by the scanty herbage that 
 gi'ows within their cavities, overhangs a smooth 
 and somewhat broad space of ground, where, 
 notwithstanding the heat of the climate, a carpet 
 of the finest grass appears always verdant, being 
 refreshed by a little rush of water that wells out 
 beneath the rocks, and, running in a narrow 
 channel through the midst of the grassy glade, 
 finds its way down the precipice which forms a 
 boundary to this delightful spot. The view it 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 THE TALBA. 
 
 commands is magnificent; and though so va- 
 ried, yet of so interesting a character that 
 description can but feebly convey any adequate 
 idea of its beauty. The eye ranges over an ex- 
 tensive tract of country, and contemplates with 
 dehght mixed with wonder, the strange, wild, 
 and grotesque combinations of rock, that rise 
 into conical shapes, and a thousand other fan- 
 tastic forms, on all parts of the mountain; 
 whilst, between rock and rock, excepting where 
 prevented by sudden declivities, the hand of 
 cultivation has created little gardens that might 
 vie with those of Eden itself for the lively 
 beauty of their colour and the delicious perfume 
 they breathe around. The rich green of the 
 lemon groves, the pale pink blossom of the al- 
 mond tree, and hedges formed of the laurus- 
 tinus and gum cistus, are seen in great profu- 
 sion ; whilst, towards the base of these heights, 
 the vines hang in luxuriant abundance, and 
 show at one view, as do the olive and orange 
 groves, the peculiar treasures that constitute 
 the opulence and pride of the Portuguese. 
 Woods formed of elms, the evergi'een and
 
 THE TALBA. 3 
 
 prickly oak, the cork-tree and chestnut, are 
 seen in all directions around the foot of the 
 mountain ; and, contrasted with the sterile cha- 
 racter of the country in the immediate vicinity 
 of Lisbon, " serve to check," in the words of 
 a modern traveller, " any wish to wander from 
 the charming springs and shades of Cintra, or 
 to explore the sad wilderness that insulates 
 them from the chief city of Portugal." Yet 
 even this barren tract of country, by the force 
 of contrast, seems rather to enhance than in- 
 jure the finer parts of the view ; as light in 
 a picture receives greater brilliancy by the sha- 
 dows that are opposed to it. From the more 
 elevated points of the mountain, the Atlantic is 
 seen to stretch its waters into an expanse so 
 vast and boundless, that they lose themselves 
 in, and mingle with, the clouds, or that thin 
 blue vapour which forms the line of the distant 
 horizon. 
 
 How magnificent is the sight of Ocean from 
 such an elevation ! It sleeps, as it were, be- 
 low our feet; presenting an unruffled mirror, 
 in whose interminable uniformity there is sub- 
 B 2
 
 4 THE TALBA. 
 
 limity. Its waters, from so great a height, seem 
 always to present the same smooth surface : 
 whether they slumber in the calm, or their slow 
 and stately undulation be exchanged for the 
 tremendous rise and swell of angry waves, when 
 they gather and burst in the hour of the wild- 
 est tempest, it is all one ; human sight, from 
 the more elevated points of Cintra, could not 
 discern the difference. At the foot of the moun- 
 tain stands the ancient town and palace ; whilst 
 on several eminences arise the towers and walls 
 of many a convent. The ruins of a Moorish 
 castle may, to this day, be seen on a most com- 
 manding station of the rock, not far from the 
 glade of velvet turf we have already noticed in 
 the opening of these pages. The spot was con- 
 secrated by long remembered tradition, that 
 gave to it an interest which survives the changes 
 of time and of generations. Not even to this 
 hour could it be looked upon by the contem- 
 plative eye with indifference. 
 
 When Alonso the Fourth, surnamed the 
 Brave, was king of Portugal, this remarkable 
 spot was in its greatest beauty, being then
 
 THE talba; 5 
 
 adorned and tended with extreme care. A little 
 raised mound of earth lay beneath the pile of 
 rocks, near the source of the spring. It was 
 shaded by some beautiful flowering shrubs that 
 had been planted around it. A cork-tree hung 
 from the interstices of the rock above, where its 
 roots had found a bed, and, grown to an im- 
 mense size, had displayed its wrinkled bark 
 and glossy foliage to the successive summers 
 and winters of more than a century. To this 
 spot there was no access, excepting by a little 
 narrow path that wound amidst masses of rock, 
 and often by the side of deep chasms or abrupt 
 precipices, which rendered the way not merely 
 difficult, but even dangerous, to any one who 
 was not familiar with the track. On this ac- 
 count, perhaps, it was little known; for it seemed 
 scarcely trodden save by the foot of the goat, 
 or the kids, as they leaped and gambolled from 
 rock to rock, wholly unconscious of fear, — 
 which, indeed, is the greatest security to any 
 creature, whether endowed with human reason 
 or mere instinct, amid rocky paths and giddy 
 precipices. 
 
 B 3
 
 6 THE TALBA. 
 
 It was during the reign of the monarch we 
 have mentioned, on a fine evening, when the 
 sun, which looks on Spain and Portugal with 
 so much ardour, was slowly sinking below the 
 waters of the Atlantic, that a solitary figure as- 
 cended the path we have just described as lead- 
 ing to the pile of rocks, the grassy glade, and 
 that mound of earth which was the last tene- 
 ment of a human being. 
 
 The figure was a woman, tall, and so well 
 formed, that every limb seemed to be cast in 
 nature's finest mould. The features of her face 
 were regular and small, except the forehead, 
 which was of ample breadth : the complexion 
 was of the deepest brown, with a reddish cast — 
 in fact, tawny — the usual complexion of the 
 better order of Moors, who once over-ran and 
 inhabited different parts of Portugal as well as 
 Spain, The face of her we now describe, was 
 rendered expressive by the animation of eyes 
 jet black, and full of that liquid lustre so par- 
 ticularly observable in Moorish beauty. Her 
 teeth were white like ivory ; and the well-formed 
 lips, crimson as the rose of Sharon, finely har-
 
 THE 'J'ALBA. 7 
 
 monised with the richness of a complexion that 
 needed only the power of habit, perhaps, to 
 find as many admirers as the fairest skin in 
 natives of a colder climate. The beautiful Moor 
 we have here noticed, was attired after the man- 
 ner of her people at the date of our narrative, 
 towards the middle of the fourteenth century. 
 Some of the adornments of her person were 
 not such as we should think could add to her 
 beauty, yet they did not efface it ; so difficult is 
 it for art to spoil the productions of nature : 
 nor were these adornments altogether the effects 
 of mere female vanity ; since a part of them was 
 connected with the customs of her country, and 
 indicated the rank, or birth, of her who wore 
 them. 
 
 The custom to which we more particulai'ly 
 alkide, was that of staining different parts of 
 the body. Of her whom we describe, the 
 feet, the palms of her hands, and fingers' ends, 
 were of a deep saffion colour, having been dyed 
 with the plant called henna, which is still used 
 for that purpose amongst the Moors of Africa. 
 Even her eye-brows and eye-lashes were dyed 
 B 4
 
 8 THE TALBA. 
 
 according to the ancient custom amongst eastern 
 nations, noticed in Holy Writ, when Jezebel, 
 as a mark of her attention to worldly pride, is 
 said to have put her eyes in painting, — a custom 
 which our translators rendered " painting her 
 cheeks." Around her head she wore simply a 
 white kerchief twisted in the form of a turban ; 
 but the upper part was covered by a long thick 
 veil, which could either be thrown back to be- 
 come as a graceful robe, or, if dropped before 
 the face, concealed the features and even the 
 figure of the wearer. Her dark hair hung in 
 long and shining tresses down her back ; two 
 locks, however, were carefully plaited, and fell 
 in front below the waist. The large, pendent, 
 and crescent-shaped rings which she wore in 
 her ears were of gold, whilst bracelets of the 
 same material encircled her arms and glittered 
 round her slender ankles. Her necklace was 
 of clove grains and gold beads intermixed ; and 
 the feet were protected by sandals not unlike 
 those worn by the ancient Greeks. An em- 
 broidered silk vest sat close to the bosom and 
 waist, so as perfectly to show the form ; it was
 
 THE TALBA. 9 
 
 confined by a girdle rich in embroidery; and 
 tlie upper garment, or caftan, of crimson silk, 
 hung loose in elegant and flowing folds. 
 
 Such was the person and attire of the noble 
 Moor who, carrying on her arm a basket of 
 sweet-scented flowers, wound up the path to- 
 wards the romantic spot we have described amid 
 the heights of Cintra. Though eminently hand- 
 some she had passed the bloom of youth ; but, 
 from the colour of her complexion, she had lost 
 less of her personal charms than a fair beauty 
 would have done at the same age : since that 
 freshness of youth, which, like the finest flower, 
 fades almost as soon as it blows, arises perhaps 
 from the extreme delicacy of a white unsunned 
 skin. This delicacy, as it never existed in the 
 Moorish lady, could at no time have formed a 
 portion of her attractions; and, consequently, 
 there was less change between her early and 
 her more matured years. She was in every 
 respect a striking figure; and though, at the 
 time of our narrative, the Moors had lost nearly 
 all their possessions in Portugal, and those who 
 remained in it were a degraded, taxed, and 
 almost an enslaved people, yet in Aza Anzurez,
 
 10 THE TALBA. 
 
 — the name of her we describe, — there was 
 nothing which showed of fallen fortunes. 
 
 Her step was slow; her air composed yet 
 grave. Every motion of her body was replete 
 with gracefulness, and with that majesty of de- 
 meanour which is seen in some highly-favoured 
 mortals who appear born to command, and in 
 whose looks there is authority ; though we often 
 find, on a closer acquaintance with their cha- 
 racter, that such are full of singleness of heart. 
 Nature, indeed, who seems to provide every 
 one of her creatures with some mode of self- 
 defence, may probably have given them this 
 power of creating awe, to keep at a distance, 
 and to prevent too close a contact with, the 
 more cunning or artful of their kind, to whom 
 by their simplicity they otherwise would become 
 an easy prey. 
 
 As the Moor reached the spot which she had 
 toiled to gain by so difficult and rugged an 
 ascent, the vivid sunset illumined every sur- 
 rounding object with a brilliancy no language 
 can express. The colours and effects of the 
 evening hour, even in cold climates, possess 
 considerable beauty. In Portugal they were
 
 THE TALBA. 11 
 
 heightened to such a degree, as literally to 
 dazzle the sight with their lustre. Masses of 
 rock formed the bold picturesque foreground ; 
 the waters of the Atlantic were seen beyond them, 
 of the deepest ultramarine hue, fading in dis- 
 tance into an horizon refulgent and even gor- 
 geous with the fiery beams of the setting sun. 
 If the eye reposed on the Tagus, as it carried 
 its tributary waters, after passing the walls of 
 Lisbon, to the sea, a thousand vessels of all 
 kinds, and almost of all nations, were seen with 
 spreading sails glittering like silver, as they 
 caught the rays of the departing day. In some 
 places, the shades of evening had already cast 
 a gloom amid the deep chasms in the sur- 
 rounding rocks : and the stillness of the air, — 
 for there was not wind enough to stir the light 
 petal of the smallest flower, — diffused a solemnity 
 around that seemed to awaken keen and thrill- 
 ing sensations in the breast of Aza Anzurez, 
 as she stopped a moment before she advanced 
 to the little mound, — or let us call it the grave, 
 for so it was, — which she adorned and tended 
 with so much care.
 
 12 THE TALBA. 
 
 Aza paused, and sighed as she drooped her 
 head upon her bosom ; yet the pause was but 
 that of a minute. Raising herself, as if the mo- 
 tion of her body kept pace with some elevating 
 thought of her mind, she looked up. There 
 was not a tear in her eye ; though some watery 
 drops still hung upon the long dark eye-lash; 
 and, with a firm step, she advanced towards the 
 grave. Aza put down her basket, folded her 
 arms across her breast, after the Arabian custom 
 of a mourner, and stood in a fixed attitude, 
 gazing on the sod of earth that lay at her feet. 
 So deep was her attention, so perfectly absorbed 
 were all lier faculties in the melancholy contem- 
 plation of the object before her, that she neither 
 saw nor heard the approach of a youth who 
 had followed her steps to this secluded spot, 
 and, now stealing behind her, made her sensible 
 of his presence by sofdy saying, " Mother ! " 
 
 It was but a single word ; yet it was such 
 a one as carries with it a charm to the maternal 
 breast, and is seldom pronounced in vain. In 
 infancy, that name claims protection for the 
 helpless ; — in youth, when uttered by a promis-
 
 THE TALBA. 13 
 
 ing son, it calls up a sense of maternal pride, 
 mingled with affection that no earthly feeling 
 can surpass. Aza in a moment caught the 
 sound, and clasped her arms round the neck of 
 the boy, as she said, in a voice that spoke her 
 strong emotions, " Hamet ! my son ! — at this 
 place ! on this day ! — Why have you followed 
 
 me ? Leave me — now is not a time ." 
 
 " Yes, mother," answered the Moorish youth ; 
 " now, and at this place. I have followed to 
 implore you, nay, to claim it as a right of blood, 
 that I should share all the sorrows of a mother. 
 Why should the noble Alcanzor lie in his bed 
 of dust, and his son stand by and look upon it, 
 while he is yet forbidden to know each circum- 
 stance of those injuries that brought him down 
 to the grave?" 
 
 " You are yet too young, Hamet ; you are but 
 a boy," said Aza; "I fear to trust thy un- 
 governed years with the knowledge of that, 
 which, when told, will require a man's sense, as 
 well as a man's arm, to do thee right." 
 
 " But I am old enough to know you are un- 
 happy, my mother ; — to know that my father
 
 14 THE TALBA. 
 
 is dead — brought low by the cruelty of wicked 
 men ; that I, who was free born, am now as a 
 slave amongst this people. Do I need more to 
 make me safely to be trusted? Wherefore, then, 
 hide from me each particular of the sad story of 
 your wrongs ? I have no birthright to claim, 
 but that I may know the injuries I inherit. 
 They were my father's; and being his, they 
 are now mine. Give me, then, what is my 
 due." 
 
 Aza turned and gazed upon her son, as he 
 spoke, with thoughts so acutely painful, yet so 
 tender and affectionate, that her entire soul 
 seemed to speak in her eyes those feelings she 
 wanted words to express. Her son was about 
 seventeen years old ; in stature he had not yet 
 attained the full growth of manhood ; his limbs 
 were slender and elastic, but, though they 
 showed activity, there was nothing in their form- 
 ation that evinced superior strength. Hamet's 
 was the form well suited for the nimble hunter, 
 but was without that power which we attach to 
 the idea of a youth born for the toils of war. In 
 his face there was much of the same expression
 
 THE TALBA. IS 
 
 which characterised the countenance of his mo- 
 ther, yet less of majesty. It was the face of a 
 frank ingenuous youth, who feels keenly, and 
 speaks openly what he feels; yet was there 
 high enthusiasm in the bright black eye of the 
 Moorish boy. His complexion, though so 
 young, was of a darker shade than that of Aza. 
 It shone like polished marble. He wore a short 
 dress, that left bare his neck and limbs, showing 
 their slight and fine proportions to so much ad- 
 vantage, that he might have been compared to 
 one of those bronze statues of antiquity, con- 
 sidered by modern connoisseurs as models of 
 excellence in manly beauty. 
 
 The eye of maternal love sees with delight 
 the most minute perfection in its offspring. As 
 Aza looked upon her son, she seemed to dwell 
 on evei'y feature of his countenance, as if her 
 affectionate gaze could never be satisfied ; whilst 
 the boy continued, in terms full of love and 
 warmth, to urge her to confide to him the full 
 knowledge of his father's injuries. 
 
 " Thou art young, my child," Aza again re- 
 plied ; " the sun of thy days shines bright upon
 
 16 THE TAI,BA. 
 
 thee. Why, before it is needful, should I make 
 thee know such sorrows as may cast a shade on 
 them for ever ? This is the day of thy father's 
 death; and — " 
 
 " And therefore," said Hamet, " it is the day 
 that I should learn the fatal cause that brought 
 him to the grave. Here, on this spot where 
 rests the earthly dust of the noble Alcanzor — 
 here, Allah, receive my prayer!" The Moor 
 fell on his knees before the grave as he spoke, 
 and, raising his hands and eyes to heaven, he 
 thus continued : *' Allah ! thou only and true 
 God, before whose throne kneel those spirits of 
 fire that bear to thee the vows of the faithful and 
 the records of the actions of men, do Thou hear 
 my prayer ! teach me to reverence thy law ; to 
 obey thy will. Lead my youth in the paths of 
 wisdom. Give me a heart to love, to sustain 
 my mother in her afflictions, so that I may be 
 as tender as was my father to her, ere Azrael, 
 in the shadow of whose wing is death, sundered 
 his bond of life. Make me worthy to share her 
 counsels, prudent to keep them, and, if it be thy 
 will, nerve my arm and strengthen my spirit to
 
 THE TALBA. 17 
 
 avenge my father's wrongs upon these idolatrous 
 and unbelieving enemies of thy law. Hear, 
 Allah ! hear and grant my prayer ! — Now, mo- 
 ther," said Hamet, as he turned to her, " now 
 do you fear to trust me?" 
 
 " No, my son," replied Aza, " I will trust 
 thee; thou art worthy to share all my cares. 
 Look upon this earth ! He who lies there was 
 thy father, whose spirit is now refreshed in the 
 paradise of the faithful, till Israfel shall sound 
 the last dread trumpet ; at whose call, earth, and 
 sea, and air shall give up the dead; and, as the 
 waters are gathered up together, even so shall 
 these be collected, and cast into the balance of 
 judgment. Then thy father shall rise, and his 
 spirit, armed with a thousand wrongs, shall hurl 
 to the dread abyss, below the arch of Alsirat, 
 those who were his cruel oppressors. This is 
 the day of his death. First, therefore, let us 
 perform those rites due to his memory; and then, 
 if thy young heart can bear the tale, the heri- 
 tage of a father's injuries shall no longer be 
 withheld from thee." 
 
 Aza, as she spoke, took up the basket con- 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE TALBA. 
 
 taining sweet herbs and flowers, slowly paced 
 round the grave, and scattered them upon the 
 dust. The law of Mahomet, enforced by that 
 of Abdallah Meleck, of whose sect the Moors 
 were rigid followers, forbids the dead to be in- 
 terred within a mosque ; since it was considered 
 a profanation of a temple dedicated to divine 
 worship, to place within it the decaying remains 
 of mortality. The Moors, therefore, frequently 
 buried their dead in some spot which was se- 
 lected either for its beauty or its solitary and 
 sequestered character. There was a simplicity 
 in the rites of burial, together with those ob- 
 served on visiting the grave, full of pathos, and 
 well calculated to impi'ess the living with a ten- 
 der reminiscence of the departed ; as it was not 
 only a custom with this interesting people to 
 throw into rhyme any extraordinary events in 
 their history, but also to sing at the graves of 
 their dead friends some poetical recollection of 
 the acts of their lives. In obedience to this cus- 
 tom, Aza now chanted, in a low monotonous 
 tone, some verses in memory of her Alcanzor. 
 When Aza had finished her funeral song, and
 
 THE TALBA. 19 
 
 had accomplished some other simple rites due 
 to the honour of the departed, she sat down 
 upon that portion of rock, near the grave, over- 
 shadowed by the venerable cork-tree we have 
 before noticed. Hamet seated himself by her 
 side with deep attention, and, with a counte- 
 nance over which the excited state of his expec- 
 tations had cast an expression of anxiety mingled 
 with awe, prepared to listen to the story of his 
 father's fate. 
 
 Aza thus commenced her tale. — " Though 
 in me, my son, you now behold but the poor, 
 the helpless widow of Alcanzor, and who, in 
 order to maintain life, is obliged, like the meanest 
 of her people, to tend her flocks to the field, to 
 cultivate the growth of the vine, and to spin with 
 the distaff" for her daily bread ; yet once could 
 her ancestors, from this very rock, behold no 
 space of earth but what they called their oym, 
 I am the last of the daughters of the noble house 
 of Abu Ali Texefin, a prince who perished in 
 the great battle of Ourique, when the arms of 
 the Christian prevailed. His sons took shelter 
 in the kingdom of Algarve. By successive wars, 
 c 2
 
 20 THE TALBA, 
 
 the power and the dominion of our people was 
 lessened, nay, almost broken. Too well is the 
 sad history of our oppressions known to thee. 
 Scarcely, therefore, need I tell, that after many 
 victories, in which every foot of land was bought 
 by the Christian princes at the price of Moorish 
 blood, still thy noble father, my Alcanzor, held 
 out against them. His castle, like the eagle's 
 nest, was in the summit of the rock, a resting- 
 place for every passing cloud. It was impreg- 
 nable to man, and towered above men, even like 
 Alcanzor's lofty spirit, which nothing but the 
 will of Allah could subdue. Never did the 
 courage of thy father fail, till Eblis, that dark 
 spirit of evil, envying such greatness of soul in 
 a son of earth, opened the gates of treachery to 
 betray him." 
 
 " Eblis is the father of Despair," said Hamet; 
 " he fell from the obedience of God, and was 
 an outcast from Heaven. So proud a spirit 
 would not do homage to Adam, the first caliph, 
 even though at the command of Allah. I won- 
 der not so dark a power is ever at work to 
 wreak his vengeance on the sons of earth; he
 
 THE TALBA.- 21 
 
 is a spirit for whom, as holy moUahs tell us, 
 we have no weapons of victory, save those of 
 alms-giving, fasting, and prayer." 
 
 Aza continued, — " The warrior, my son, too 
 often neglects the rites of his devotion, and 
 thinks his best prayers to Allah are those which 
 speak in the trumpet summons to battle with 
 the idolatrous Christian, who worships, with as 
 little sense as if he were a brute, those images, 
 those stocks and stones, carved by his own 
 hands, and named after creatures like himself, 
 whom he calls saints ; whilst a simple virgin, 
 the daughter of man, is more worshipped than 
 Him at whose nod the waters rose, and the 
 dry land, with all that therein lived, was no 
 more found, saving the Prophet Noah and his 
 sons. * Such are Christians in their faith : — 
 but, oh ! thou Creator of man, what are they 
 m their works ? — Thy father, my Alcanzor, 
 
 * Should any of our readers, who are unacquainted with the 
 Mahometan faith, feel surprised to hear a Moor allude to any 
 circumstance of the Jewish history or of revelation, perhaps it 
 may not he amiss to infoiTn them, that in the Koran, Mahomet 
 incorporated, and often disfigured, considerable portions of the 
 Holy Bible, 
 
 c 3
 
 22 THE TALBA. 
 
 kept faith and word with them ; and how did 
 they requite him ?" 
 
 " And did my father make compact with the 
 accursed infidels of the earth ?" cried Hamet 
 with warmth. " No wonder, then, that his 
 guardian spirit was driven back by the tempt- 
 ation of Eblis." 
 
 " Thou art too hasty, my son," said Aza; 
 " do not thus in thy unpractised years attempt to 
 scan beyond that dark veil which hides from us 
 the secrets of the world invisible. Thy father 
 did nothing that misbecame him. To save the 
 Jives of many noble Moors who had become 
 prisoners to Alonso, he consented to yield to 
 him uncontested the valley, or champaign coun- 
 try, claimed by our people as an ancient pos- 
 session of their fathers. The further condition of 
 this treaty was, that the Moor should withdraw his 
 forces to the mountains ; and the king promised 
 that there his castle should be unmolested. As 
 a yet farther proof of Alcanzor's good faith, to 
 hold sacred the treaty, he consented to show 
 the rites of hospitality to any Christian who 
 might be passing the mountainous paths near
 
 THE TALBA. 23 
 
 his castle. Such were the terms : — now hear 
 with attention by what base means tliey were 
 made the cause of Alcanzor's ruin." 
 
 " My ears drink in your words," rephed 
 Hamet, " as eagerly as the fainting traveller 
 of the desert drinks of the solitary fountain that 
 rises beneath the palms of Elim. Those waters 
 are to him renewed life ; but thy words are to 
 me, my mother, as death. Yet go on." 
 
 " Alonso, who is called the Brave for hav- 
 ing so often dipped his hands in the blood of 
 our people, till they became seven times dyed 
 in as many cruel victories — he, at the very hour 
 of making this compact with the unsuspecting 
 Alcanzor, had determined on his ruin. By 
 what especial means he contrived his treachery, 
 I cannot tell you, for I have never learnt them 
 to the full extent. But thus much I can relate 
 with certainty. — A Christian traveller, for such 
 he seemed to be, begged, at our castle gates, 
 the rites of hospitality : he was admitted and 
 warmed by our hearth, for the bleak winds had 
 chilled him as he passed the mountain's top. 
 He drank from our cup ; nay, he took even salt 
 c 4
 
 24> THE TALBA. 
 
 with US at the same board. The accursed sons 
 of Judah would have respected such a bond ; 
 but this Christian, who could see the generous 
 Alcanzor as a father to all around him, — who 
 could look upon Aza, his unoffending wife, with 
 two children at her knees, and thy innocent 
 self in her arms, — this Christian, I say, who 
 could warm him by the same fire that gave 
 warmth to us his fellow beings, who drank of 
 our cup, and took the covenant of salt with us 
 in the bond of hospitality, he, even he betrayed 
 us. The walls of our castle sheltered his head ; 
 our good faith was as a shield to him, under 
 whose shadow he reposed in safety ; yet, at 
 the dead hour of sleep, when the black curtain 
 of night shrouds evil deeds, and the wolf howls 
 to the moon as he searches for his prey in the 
 mountains, but with more of mercy than man, 
 then did this Christian, having by previous 
 treachery concerted the means, throw abroad 
 our castle gates : all was in readiness without ; 
 and Don Pedro, the son and heir of Alonso, 
 rushed in upon us with a host of armed fol- 
 lowers. Our people were slain. Thy father,
 
 THE TALBA. 25 
 
 myself, with thee in my arras, became prison- 
 ers ; for we were surprised almost in our sleep: — 
 and, O Prophet of Heaven ! how shall I speak 
 the rest ? The Christians fired our castle ; and 
 both thy brothers, with many of our faithful 
 servants, perished in the flames ! For never 
 have we since heard of them. On that spot, 
 where the towers of thy father's castle had risen 
 for many a year, and appeared dark and awful 
 as they stood amidst the clouds, after this fatal 
 night was nothing left but a blackened ruin, to 
 point the fall of the last of the Moorish kings ! " 
 " If there is power in Heaven or on earth," 
 cried Hamet impatiently, " this night of hor- 
 rors shall meet with an avenger. O thou God 
 of spirits, of men, of angels, of all created 
 things, wilt thou slumber at this? Let the 
 widow's wrongs ascend to thee, and cry before 
 thy throne ! Let the prayer of a fatherless boy 
 call down thy curses of war, of famine, and the 
 spotted plague, on him who has made desolate 
 the habitation of the defender of thy laws ; on 
 him who consumed and devoured his dwelling 
 with thy own element of fire ! And, oh ! may
 
 26 THE TALBA. 
 
 I but live to chastise that treacherous hand, 
 which, like a coward and a slave, opened the 
 door to murder in the helplessness of sleep ! 
 Give me but life for this, and I shall have lived 
 ages full of honour, though my date of being 
 finished the next hour." 
 
 Hamet, as he spake these last words, cast his 
 eyes upon the grave of Alcanzor ; and, as he 
 started from his seat, pressing his hands together 
 and looking up to Heaven, at length exclaimed, 
 " I will not look upon thy dust ! Spirit of my 
 father ! it is to thee I ascend in thought. Thy 
 son shall requite thy oppressors." 
 
 " There spoke the soul of thy father — of Al- 
 canzor," said Aza Anzurez; " but listen yet with 
 patience. The time is not yet come. Hear me 
 conclude the tale of our sorrows. Thy father 
 and myself were destined for death. It might 
 be, however, that some feeling of shame for the 
 treacherous means Alonso had contrived, by 
 which his son, Don Pedro, should surprise us, 
 caused even the king to show us a false mercy ; 
 for what was granting us our lives to linger 
 them out in wretchedness, but giving us space
 
 THE TALBA. 27 
 
 more bitterly to feel our ruin ? Tlxou too, thou, 
 who in thy infant innocence, like a flower that 
 springs up amidst hard and arid rocks, mightst 
 have been as a solitary blossom of comfort in our 
 misery — thou wert held a prisoner apart from us, 
 lest thy father should instil into thy young mind 
 a spirit of growing rebellion towards his con- 
 querors. After thy father's death, which I shall 
 too soon relate, some pitying heart interceded 
 for the lone widow, and her son was restored to 
 her knees. Or it might be that Alonso thought 
 a woman of our race was by nature a slave, and 
 could never feel herself, nor teach her children 
 to feel, one noble thought of liberty. But he 
 knew not the heart of Aza Anzurez, nor shall he 
 know it." 
 
 " Mother," said Hamet, who saw, notwith- 
 standing the feeling of wounded pride and 
 honour which, in some measure, had given more 
 of energy than of tenderness to the melancholy 
 narrative of Aza, that the recollection of her 
 husband and children had brought tears into her 
 eyes, — " mother, be comforted, for 1 am left ; 
 I will be all to you. Had my father lived, he
 
 ^8 THE TALBA. 
 
 would not have watched over you with more 
 affectionate care than will Hamet; so that you 
 will but dry those tears : — ours are wrongs to 
 stir up the latent passions of the soul. Tears 
 are due to tender sorrows, but not to injuries 
 like ours : they demand such sacrifices as Eblis 
 himself would receive, — hatred, death, and all 
 that train of human misery which awaits on a 
 just and ever-breathing indignation. Had my 
 
 father lived " 
 
 " Allah be praised that he is dead !" said 
 Aza. "Would you wish that he who had 
 wielded the sceptre of a hundred kings should 
 live a slave ? No ! Alcanzor bore much, too 
 much, for my sake, in patience. He saw his 
 people fall around him, like the ripe ear before 
 the sickle of the husbandman. Tlie decree was 
 passed in fate, he could not save them. His castle 
 he saw in flames — ■ the ashes of his elder-born 
 were mingled with those of the blackened pile ! 
 He saw himself, his wife, his only living child, 
 prisoners to the enemies of God ! He saw it, 
 yet he bore it as a man, — in silence, without a 
 tear. But when the infidel came to the door of
 
 THE TALBA. 29 
 
 the ruined dwelling where we had sousrht a 
 home, and claimed that, from his hard-earned 
 daily toil, he should pay the tax as a common 
 slave, his stout heart failed; and he, who in 
 war w'as mighty as the lion seeking his prey, 
 even he drooped his manly head like a bulrush, 
 subdued by secret grief. Yet this feeling was 
 but for a moment : his high spirit returned with 
 redoubled strength. He denied he was a slave, 
 though he admitted he was a prisoner. Words 
 arose from words, till, maddened by the memory 
 of his wrongs, and now insulted by injurious 
 terms, Alcanzor arose but to destroy. He 
 smote the Christian who would have taxed him. 
 The wretched man died beneath the blow ; and 
 thy father's, thy noble father's life ^^ as made the 
 forfeit of his passionate offence. He perished, 
 by order of Alonso, for having shed Christian 
 blood in a quarrel at his own door." 
 
 Aza paused ; her agitated feelings for some 
 minutes would not allow her to proceed : and 
 Hamet, shocked and overpowered by what he 
 heard, with every tender effort, yet in silence, 
 endeavoured to soothe her distressed mind. At
 
 30 THE TALBA. 
 
 length she made an effort to conchide her me- 
 lancholy tale. 
 
 " Thus much, my son, of our sad story is 
 now fully known to you. If I have hitherto 
 concealed many of these particulars, the motive 
 has been, lest, prompted by youth and a fiery 
 impatient spirit, some act, some word, might 
 escape you in the presence of our enemies, which 
 could nothing avail us at this time, but might 
 serve them as a pretext to satisfy their jealous 
 doubts, by depriving us of the little mercy they 
 have extended towards us. I feared lest they 
 should again remove you from my sight; or, 
 may be, banish you to some far and foreign land, 
 where Hamet would languish in slavery the re- 
 mainder of those days, which now, there is hope, 
 may be shared with his sorrowing mother. Let 
 what I have said, therefore, teach you prudence. 
 If my misery at the thought of losing you for 
 ever cannot do this, nothing will ; since, alas ! 
 what other motive can I urge to make you cau- 
 tious ? Your path is encompassed by enemies 
 who lie in wait for your destruction. They are 
 like the serpents and venomous reptiles which lie
 
 THE TALBA. 31 
 
 hidden in the burnhig sands of the desert, that 
 they may surprise the heedless traveller on his 
 way, and sting him to madness and to death. — 
 Beware then." 
 
 " Fear not, my mother ! " said Hamet ; 
 " though young in years, T can, I will be old 
 in prudence, when your safety is at hazard. But 
 this is not all. You have sometimes thrown out 
 dark suggestions, imperfect hints, that a time 
 might come, when Hamet, the son of Alcanzor, 
 would be called on not to disgrace his blood. 
 What meant those words ? Tell me : I will 
 be wary." 
 
 "Notnow — notyet — some other time. Enough 
 has past this hour to prepare your mind for 
 whatever events may happen hereafter. Urge 
 me no farther : — the time is not yet come." 
 
 Hamet looked dissatisfied ; for the ardour of 
 youth is seldom restrained by motives of pru- 
 dence ; and an impatient temper like his can ill 
 brook delay or suspense, when its feelings, either 
 of curiosity or expectation, are excited. Still 
 he was an affectionate son ; and respect for the 
 distress of his mother restrained him. He did
 
 32 THE TALBA. 
 
 not, therefore, venture to urge her farther on a 
 subject she seemed reluctant to communicate. 
 In addition to which, it may be remarked that 
 the Moors, who, like Hamet, had early become 
 prisoners to the victorious Christians during the 
 wars between them (which raged, more or less 
 violently, till the infidels were finally driven out 
 of Spain at a later period), were accustomed, in 
 some measure, to an habitual self-restramt; since 
 the practice of it was necessary to secure even 
 their existence. Those who could not wholly 
 subdue their feelings of hatred towards their con- 
 querors, too often disguised them by the cloak 
 of hypocrisy. They became pliant and cunning 
 in proportion as they became more and more 
 enslaved, till at last the Moorish character lost 
 not only its original frankness and sincerity, but 
 was latterly distinguished by that of uncommon 
 talent in the mean arts of dissembling ; so true 
 is it that the liberty of man is necessary to pre- 
 serve his virtue. These remarks, however, ap- 
 ply more to the enslaved state of the Moors in 
 general, than to Hamet individually. The young 
 are seldom dissemblers; since it is not till after a
 
 THE TALBA. 33 
 
 long intercourse with society that the mind learns 
 that great art of self-defence — to conceal its feel- 
 ings and its thoughts ; a lesson taught by expe- 
 riencing those abuses to which frankness is con- 
 tinually exposed in its intercourse with a knavish 
 and a selfish world. 
 
 Hamet, on the contrary, was frank almost to 
 rashness, and warm in proportion to his sincerity. 
 Debarred those privileges to which he had a na- 
 tural right by his birth, his father dead, and his 
 fortunes reduced, he had found, since the death 
 of Alcanzor, but one fi-iend, but one being who 
 considered him with that interest and affection 
 which gives a human creature value even in his 
 own eyes. That friend was a mother. Mater- 
 nal love had supplied, with its watchful cares, its 
 unceasing tenderness, the place of all the world 
 besides. Dearly, deeply did Hamet requite it. 
 His affections were strong, and like a river 
 which flows on in one continued channel; so 
 that they had all the force of concentration in 
 one point to make them as powerful as they were 
 uniform and undivided in their course. No son 
 jever loved a parent more than Hamet loved 
 
 VOL. r. D
 
 S4 THE TALBA. 
 
 Aza. Often would he leave those exercises so 
 natural to his years and to his sex, to sit by the 
 «ide of his widowed mother, enlivening, by his 
 innocent discourse, the tedious hours of her so- 
 litude. Sometimes he would assist her in her 
 toils, or learn from her such lessons of in- 
 struction as she delighted to give to his young 
 mind. 
 
 To him this evening had been one of peculiar 
 interest. It was the first in which Aza had fully 
 confided to her son the knowledge of all tliose 
 melancholy events that had deprived him of a 
 fatlier and of a father's possessions. Long and 
 •feelingly did he converse with his mother on so 
 engrossing, yet so painful a theme; nor was 
 it till the sun had entirely set, and the shadows 
 of night were gathering around both earth and 
 sea, that the Moor, with her son, prepared to 
 return to their dwelling. Aza arose, took Hamet 
 by the hand, and, casting an affectionate look on 
 the grave, which was now but a dark mound 
 scarcely to be distinguished from the surround- 
 ing rocks, said, as she departed, " Farewell to 
 thee, Alcanzor ! This was the day of thy death.
 
 THE TAIBA. 35 
 
 If thy spirit, from the paradise of the faithful, 
 can look down on us, accept the offerings made 
 
 to thy memory by thy wife and by thy son " 
 
 She paused, raised her hand, and wiped away 
 with her veil a tear that had started to her eye. 
 " I never thought thou couldst have died," con- 
 tinued Aza, " nor that the hour would come 
 when I should stand by what once was thee, yet 
 never hear thy voice, and never see thee smile 
 upon me. But these are wild words and foolish 
 thoughts. Farewell, Alcanzor ! Light and dew 
 shall again fall upon thy grave. The flowers 
 that grow upon it shall spring up and bloom: 
 but never more will the hopes of Aza revive. 
 Cold is thy grave ; yet not so cold as the heart 
 of thy widowed mate." 
 
 Hamet pressed his mother's hand In silencCj 
 as he led her from the melancholy spot. Both 
 descended the path, and, turning Into another 
 at some little distance in the mountain, again 
 began to ascend a second path, which led to- 
 wards the ruined building that now afforded a 
 shelter to Aza and her son. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 This is some fellow 
 Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect 
 A saucy roughness. Shakspkark. 
 
 The Moors were at all times a pastoral people. 
 Their petty kings and princes, in the midst of 
 their warlike exercises and achievements, dis- 
 dained not to give their attention to the due 
 care of those flocks and herds from which, in 
 a considerable degree, they received support. 
 Aza, together with her son, now inhabited a 
 ruined building that had once been a magni- 
 ficent dwelling of her own people, ere they were 
 driven from the neighbourhood of Lisbon many 
 a year before. Aza had a small flock both of 
 sheep and goats. The wool of the former sup- 
 plied her occupation for the distaff; and the 
 milk of the latter, together with herbs, fruits,
 
 THE TALBA. 37 
 
 and bread, formed one of the principal articles 
 of food for her household ; since the poorer 
 sort of Moors seldom eat animal food, and that 
 only on extraordinary occasions. 
 
 One male domestic had followed the fallen 
 fortunes of his mistress, and still lived with her, 
 acting the part of herdsman to her flocks, or 
 doing any other offices that could assist her 
 wants and ease her toils. A little Moorish girl, 
 an orphan, was her only female attendant. An- 
 other Moor must also be mentioned, who, though 
 not absolutely an inmate with the family of Aza, 
 was nevertheless so constant and so venerated a 
 guest — often residing for months together be- 
 neath her roof — that he could command within 
 the walls of her dwelling, if he chose to do so, 
 as entirely as herself. The progress of our tale 
 now demands that we should introduce two of 
 these personages to the reader, and that on the 
 very evening the high-born Aza had communi- 
 cated to her son the melancholy story of his 
 father's fate. 
 
 The sun, as we before noticed, set in full 
 splendour over the broad bosom of the Atlantic. 
 D 8
 
 THE TALBA. 
 
 It gleamed with uncommon lustre upon the tall 
 forest of chestnuts, intermixed with the oak and 
 .cork-tree, that lay near the base of the moun- 
 tain of Cintra. This forest was crossed by a 
 road which led towards Lisbon. Not only the 
 woods, but the environs, for many miles, pre- 
 sented a scene of rich delights only to be found 
 in a climate warmed by perpetual suns, and 
 watered by showers that refresh the earth, 
 without giving it that surcharge of vapours 
 which produces fogs, damps, and unwhole- 
 some dews. 
 
 Numerous vineyards lay around, heavily laden 
 with the clustering grape, that affords to man 
 wine to make glad his heart, and sometimes to 
 make it sad too, when moderation ceases to 
 temper the draught, and reason becomes lost 
 or degraded in the bowl. In one part of the fo- 
 rest of Cintra, a pure and crystal stream burst, 
 with a considerable fall, sparkling and bubbling 
 from a rock. Gliding onward, it found its way 
 down the gentle slope of a hill, beneath the 
 shade of the chestnut, and of many an ever- 
 green oak, that spread its broad and leafy arms
 
 THE TALBA. 39 
 
 over a wilderness of dark heath and furze, 
 mingled with aromatic herbs whose perfume 
 made the air dehcious to the senses. The iris, 
 the laurel, the myrtle, grew spontaneously 
 around, and blossomed on the banks of the 
 stream, that fed their lively verdure with its 
 refreshing moisture. 
 
 In some parts of the forest were seen those 
 long and sombre vistas, which, whilst they in- 
 vite both the eye and foot to range amid their 
 intricate paths of spreading branches chequered 
 with quivering light and shade, impress the 
 mind of the wanderer with a sense of anxiety 
 and uncertainty as to whither they lead, — a feel- 
 ing which, though not devoid of delight, carries 
 with it that slight degree of fear, sufficient, per- 
 haps, to heighten enjoyment without creating 
 terror. At the opening of these forest avenues 
 the sun darted beams of fire, which, as they 
 fell on the stately forms of many an oak, or the 
 wrinkled trunk of an ancient cork-tree, im- 
 bedded in moss, and festooned with flowers, 
 showed all their various colouring; affording, 
 also, in the breadth and strength of this tran- 
 D 4?
 
 40 THE TALBA. 
 
 sient but sunny illumination, a fine contrast to 
 the settled and deep shadows that hung thickly 
 around, like those brief but brilliant portions 
 of human existence which relieve the fixed 
 gloom that wraps in shade the fortunes of the 
 miserable. 
 
 One of the marked and peculiar features of 
 the neighbourhood of Cintra consists in those 
 giant masses of rock that arise, rugged and 
 barren, in the midst of the most wooded and 
 cultivated parts of the mountain. Such a mass 
 of rock might be seen standing in the midst of 
 the forest we have described ; and, to the eye 
 of fancy, it looked like one of those castles of 
 enchantment inhabited by the genii of the Mos- 
 lems' creed, which so often formed a subject for 
 Arabian story. It was from a portion of this 
 rock that issued the little streamlet we have 
 noticed; which, like the voice of the forest, 
 seemed constantly, in its low and musical mur- 
 murs, to hold converse with those invisible 
 spirits whom the same fanciful legends would, 
 in all probability, have held to be the guardians 
 of the spot
 
 THE TALBA. 41 
 
 All around was wild and beautiful. Two 
 human beings alone were seen, to give ani- 
 mation to this sequestered wood. One of 
 these, by his attire, could instantly be known 
 for a Talba, or wise man, so reverenced by 
 the Moors. 
 
 The office, or profession, of a talba consisted 
 essentially in a knowledge of medicine, and in 
 the study of astronomy, (added to which were 
 the power to foretell what eclipses portended 
 evil, the expounding strange dreams, and pre- 
 dicting events, in a manner considered infallible;) 
 above all, in a deep acquaintance with the arts 
 of astrology and magic ; the latter study being 
 ever accompanied with a knowledge of poisons, 
 charms, and spells of every description ; so that 
 there was not a venomous reptile which crawled 
 on the face of the eailh, nor a noxious plant, 
 from that of the deadly Afiican thorn to the 
 fatal hemlock, but its several qualities and de- 
 grees of doing evil were said to be revealed to 
 him. He of whom we speak, Hassan, was, if 
 report told truth, not the least distinguished 
 amongst his people for a knowledge in these
 
 42 THE TALBA. 
 
 arts, that made him at once respected and feared 
 both by friends and enemies. 
 
 The Talba, though advanced in age, had 
 none of that decrepitude which often marks the 
 course of time : on the contrary, he looked still 
 to be a powerful man; tall, and well propor- 
 tioned, with an air of dignity in his carriage that 
 excited an involuntary feeling of respect even 
 with those who held both his nation and his re- 
 ligion in contempt. His features were of that 
 regular cast often seen amongst the Moslems 
 inhabiting Spain and Portugal ; but there was 
 something peculiar in the expression, receiving 
 its impress from the mind, that gave to his 
 countenance the look of one whom we should 
 hold in suspicion, if not in dread. The lean 
 and swarthy cheek, the coal-black eye, deeply 
 sunk into the socket, which ^irrounded its 
 glowing pupil as a dark cavern does the small 
 bright flame of a forge that burns within it, were 
 all highly characteristic ; and the shaggy eye- 
 brow, with its gray hairs, formed a strong con- 
 trast to the wrinkled forehead that shone like 
 ^aurnished copper beneath the rising tower of a
 
 THE TAI.BA. 43 
 
 high black cap made of sheep's skin, and re- 
 taining the natural colour of the wool. The 
 form of the face was an exact oval; the nose 
 straight, and the cartilage, that divides the 
 nostrils, finely marked. The mouth was over- 
 shadowed by a long grisly beard, flowing upon the 
 breast, that gave an air of reverence to the head. 
 The athletic figure of the old man was wrapped 
 in a loose gown of red silk, fastened about the 
 middle by a broad belt. On his breast he wore 
 a square plate of silver, ornamented with pea- 
 cocks, beautifully inlaid with different coloured 
 metals, so as to imitate the plumage of these 
 birds. An inscription in the Arabic character, 
 containing some verses from the Koran, ap- 
 peared in the centre. This silver plate, worn 
 only by holy men, or learned Talbas, was, in all 
 probability, a custom borrowed from the Jewish 
 ephod of the priests under the law of Moses, 
 since not only in the Koran is contained much 
 of the history of the Jews taken from the Bible, 
 but many ceremonies also of that chosen people 
 were copied by Mahomet in the propagation of 
 his own doctrines.
 
 44 THE TALBA. 
 
 The manners of the Talba were m general 
 grave, and not without dignity, though habitual 
 caution seemed to rule his speech. Still there 
 were moments in which his powerful feelings 
 would break through all restraints, and show 
 themselves such as they were — warm, zealous, 
 and impetuous. Such moments, however, were 
 rare ; for his watchful eye, undimmed by years, 
 his foot ever ready to start in obedience to the 
 command of his Moorish mistress, the widowed 
 Aza, all spoke the conquered, the fallen Moor. 
 Nay, his enemies averred that tyranny, which 
 bound his liberty, had cast a chain yet more 
 degrading upon his mind ; so that he was held 
 captive by that base band of thoughts which 
 cunning, dissembling, and hypocrisy help to 
 make up. Thus report described the Talba: 
 if true or false remains hereafter to be seen. 
 Certain it is, too many of the Moors, sunk into 
 slavery after the yoke was thrown upon them 
 by the Christians, deserved such a character; 
 and all, indiscriminately, shared in the general 
 odium. 
 
 The companion of the Talba was of a lowet
 
 THE TALBA. 45 
 
 degree and station, being nothing but herdsman 
 to Aza Anzurez ; yet he once had filled a higher 
 office, and possessed so much natural shrewdness, 
 as to feel something very like contempt even for 
 that superstitious learning most reverenced by 
 his own people : in fact, he was one of those 
 strong spirits who soon detect falsehood, shake 
 off its yoke, but do not follow up the pursuit of 
 Truth with sufficient diligence to overtake her, 
 and to place her on the pedestal from which 
 they have thrown down the idol Error. 
 
 Cassim, so was the herdsman called, was short 
 in stature, as well as lank in limb. There was 
 a wild, a grinning expression about his face, ac- 
 companied as it was with a look of sense and 
 humour, that produced altogether a countenance 
 in which it would be difficult to decide if what 
 is grotesque, or what is intelligent, most pre- 
 vailed. Cassim, whose colour was more swart 
 than Hassan's (for there are different shades in 
 the umber complexion as well as in the fairer 
 skin), had a head covered with short thick locks 
 of hair, as curly as the back of a water-dog. 
 His teeth, white as ivory, were perpetually seen
 
 46 THE TALBA. 
 
 through the half-opened lips, as the muscles of 
 the mouth were curled by the sarcastic humour 
 of the man. His attentive ear, like that of the 
 North American Indian, seemed to have the 
 power of raising and bringing itself forward to 
 catch the most low or distant sounds ; and he 
 had also something of those pliant manners, of 
 that ready obedience, which showed the enslaved 
 Moor. 
 
 Cassim's limbs were bare; he wore nothing 
 but a vest of common gray cloth, bound round 
 the waist with a leathern belt : in it was seen a 
 long knife, so stuck as to show that the buck- 
 horn handle supported a blade fit for defence as 
 well as for commoner purposes. The voice of 
 Cassim was in nothing ill suited to his appear- 
 ance or to his character ; it was sharp and 
 shrill, like the biting frost or cutting wind, to 
 which his own nature might be compared, with 
 much truth in the figure. 
 
 As Hassan sat on a portion of the rock, en- 
 gaged, in contemplating a long scroll of parch- 
 ment he held in his hand, the herdsman, who 
 had been busied in milking the goats that sup-
 
 THE TALBA. 4? 
 
 plied the household of Aza, in returning home^ 
 at the time we introduce them to the reader^ 
 passed near the spot. He stopped — put down the 
 vessel containing the milk — then, stealing softly 
 up to the elbow of the Moorish philosopher, 
 obtruded upon his studies with an air in which 
 there was more of freedom than of respect, and 
 exclaimed, " Wise Hassan ! thou who watchest 
 the stars as I do my foolish sheep and goats, — 
 wise as thou art, I much question if the stars 
 are not as well known to me as to thee ; for I 
 gaze on them when fear of the red-fanged wolf 
 keeps me watching near the fold. And as they 
 shone last night, so will they shine to-night, and 
 every succeeding one. Yet never a word did 
 they tell me of my lot, or how long I was to 
 watch, or at what hour the four-footed skulking 
 robber would appear." 
 
 " Thou art an everlasting babbler," said the 
 Talba; " even as this water-brook, which never 
 ceases its tongue, though it utters the same 
 wearisome sound without sense, and no one 
 makes answer to it." 
 
 " Nay, that I deny," replied Cassim ; " the
 
 id THE TALBA. 
 
 sound varies ; and it hath a sense in it, which 
 never utters falsehood. Thus, when the day is 
 fine and the air soft, it comes plashing gently 
 down, talking to the stones of fair weather; 
 but when a tempest is up and the water-floods 
 are loose, it will keep temper wdth the times, 
 and roar ye like any bull fighting in the king of 
 Portugal's own ring : and when the sun burns 
 over our heads day after day, and not a cloud 
 is seen, then your waterfall hides his head and 
 keeps silence, and lets the sun have his course ; 
 like a wise fool, who knows that the hot mood 
 of his master is best to be met by keeping out 
 of sight and holding his peace. But look ! who 
 comes hither?" 
 
 Cassim pointed, as he spoke, to the road which 
 led through the forest to Lisbon; and, slowly 
 advancing up the long avenue of trees that over- 
 hung the way, perceived one of those assem- 
 blages of people frequently to be met with, even 
 at this day, in Spain and Portugal — a proces- 
 sion of pilgrims. The train was headed by a 
 friar of the order of St. Francis, a very favourite 
 saint at all times with the Portuguese. His
 
 THE TAI.BA, 4^ 
 
 long black gown, his girdle of common rope 
 that bound the middle, his bare feet, and emaci- 
 ated appearance, all showed him to be a true 
 brother of that wandering race of monks, who 
 professed to imitate the labours of the apostles. 
 He of St. Francis carried aloft a silver cross, 
 and was followed by several monks of various 
 orders in Portugal, each bearing a cross, with 
 a rosary of large beads on his arm. 
 
 As the procession advanced from beneath the 
 shadow of the trees, the sun, which gleamed 
 strong upon it, showed that those who composed 
 it were young and old of both sexes, who had 
 all been alike engaged in this holy emigration. 
 They were altogether of a mixed description. 
 Many, in fact, appeared to be petty traders, and 
 bore upon their heads, or their shoulders, wal- 
 lets and packages of merchandise. Each had a 
 scrip at his girdle, and wore a gray rochet 
 loaded with scallop shells. Their caps of black 
 silk had sundry little images of lead or pewter 
 stuck about them, besides the scallop in front ; 
 whilst a chain, composed of straw, was thrown 
 around their necks. Some carried in their 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE TALBA. 
 
 hands a hollow walking- staff, which was so con- 
 structed as to be played upon like a flute, and 
 beguiled their long and dreary journey to the 
 holy shrine. 
 
 As the procession passed on, it afforded a 
 spectacle calculated, together with the scenery, 
 to please an admirer of such picturesque effects 
 as can alone be found in a combination of ani- 
 mate and manimate nature. The various 
 mantles of the ecclesiastics, according to their 
 several orders ; the white draperies of the Car- 
 melites, as they held aloft boxes of relics, or 
 high silver crosses sparkling in the evening 
 light ; the groups of pilgrims amongst the trees, 
 some singing, others playing on their long staves, 
 or in little parties pausing to drink of the clear 
 flood; combined to form the most enlivening 
 picture, finished, as it were, by the boldness of 
 the fore-ground : for there the red beams of the 
 sun darted on the prominent parts of the rock 
 we have before described, and, with more than 
 alchymic liberality, changed into a thousand 
 strings of diamonds the little streams of water, 
 as they gushed, and strayed, and divided amidst
 
 THE TALBA. Jjl 
 
 the broken crags, till they at length united in 
 the deep hollow of a natural basin that received 
 them, ere they commenced their farther journey 
 through tlie forest. 
 
 Near this spot sat the tall and imposing figure 
 of Hassan, his tawny face glowing in the beams 
 of the sun that shot direct upon it. The half- 
 pleased, half-snai'ling countenance of Cassim 
 was seen peeping over the shoulder of Hassan, 
 as he exulted in his own smartness and wit, 
 that had puzzled the more solid sense of his 
 learned companion. Cassim pointed with out- 
 stretched hand and arm to the procession now 
 advancing towards the rock. Thev were sine;- 
 ing gay strains, accompanied by the not unpleas- 
 ing melody of the walking flutes, for so might 
 these musical staves be called. Cassim, as if 
 continuing some discourse he had addressed to 
 the Talba, said, " Why, I will tell thee, then ; 
 these are the pilgrims who go by the name of 
 the Jacobipetae, for no other reason than that 
 they walk many miles afoot to say their prayers 
 and do homage to him of Compostella in Spain, 
 whom they call a saint, whilst at the same time 
 E 2 
 
 (J. OF ILL LIB.
 
 52 THE TALBA. 
 
 they carry on some small traffic with their 
 wares, in which they but over-reach their brother 
 twice as much as they would at any other time, 
 on the strength of their prayers and absolution 
 at the shrine of St. James. Canst thou guess, 
 Hassan, what they would have of thee ?" 
 
 " Not I, truly," replied Hassan ; " what know 
 I of the infidel Nazareens ? Would that I could 
 shut them out from my sight, and those carved 
 blocks which I see some of them carrying. 
 For what saith the prophet of Mecca ? — ' Allah 
 is the true God, and the only God of man; and 
 thou shalt neither hew nor make any other 
 gods with thy hands, nor honour them.' " 
 
 " Trust me, Hassan, those Nazareens are no 
 such foolish idolaters as you take them for. 
 Their waxen images melt at the sight of money, 
 like the heart of a covetous Algrade, and will 
 grant a pardon to a sinner on the same terms 
 that the Portuguese judge doth to us Moors, — 
 by being well paid for it. Seest thou not, by 
 the images they hold up, that the leader, or 
 begging friar, comes to ask an alms of thee ? "
 
 THE TALBA. 53 
 
 " Of me?" cried Hassan. " Alas ! what 
 should I give?" 
 
 " Any thing ; he will take it, I warrant me,** 
 said Cassim, " so it be gold, silver, or brass 
 coin. He would put thy face into his pocket 
 with as good will as if it were the Santo Su- 
 dario, so he could but coin thy copper visage 
 into Portugal reis. But hush ! here comes the 
 begging friar." 
 
 At this moment several monks, who each 
 carried an image more peculiarly devoted to 
 the honour of St. James, came up and ranged 
 themselves in a row before the Talba, with an 
 evident design to lay upon him, by gentle force, 
 a voluntary contribution ; since, in the days of 
 Alonso the Fourth, the same as in those of 
 the renowned Don Quixote de la Mancha, the 
 pilgrims of Compostella were, generally speak- 
 ing, as arrant beggars, thieves, and knaves, as 
 any to be found within this part of Europe. 
 
 " Give something to the holy St. James, in 
 
 memory of his conversion !" cried a fat brother, 
 
 who had a face as large and as red as the 
 
 moon, when she rises like a ball of fire just 
 
 E 3
 
 54- THE TALBA. 
 
 above the horizon ; and as he spoke he lifted 
 up the image of a great fish surrounded by a 
 net, an emblem of the holy apostle's original 
 calling. " Give something to the fish ! " again 
 demanded the brother. 
 
 " Marry, with all my heart," answered Cas- 
 sim; " I will give the fish that which shall be 
 most acceptable, — his own element, and here 
 is the means in abundance. There is not a 
 purer stream of water to be found in the moun- 
 tains of Cintra." So saying, the cunning 
 herdsman, with that low obeisance often af- 
 fected by the Moors towards the Christians, 
 and in particular to those they held secretly 
 in contempt, bowed him down as if to take 
 up in the palms of his hands, from the clear 
 fountain, an ample sprinkling for the holy 
 image. 
 
 " Dog of a Moor P' cried the brother ; " dost 
 thou dare to offer insult to the blessed image 
 of the fish, sacred to St. James ? Rather thank 
 me, who, in brotherly charity, would allow 
 thee to give something to mother church, and 
 will not spit upon thy offering and cast it from
 
 THE TALBA. 55 
 
 him, as it woukl deserve, when proffered by 
 the hand of an infidel."' 
 
 " Most holy mollah of the faith of Issa Ben 
 Marian," said Cassim ; " how I admire thy 
 zeal for St. James, \vhich makes thee forget 
 even the smaller matters of thy own order ; for, 
 if I mistake not, thou art a brother of St. Fran- 
 cis, who, as I have been told, must not touch 
 money, even when given to him. I would, in 
 return for thy charity, put thee in remembrance 
 of thy own vows." 
 
 " Most true," said die brother, not a whit 
 abashed, " and strictly do we of the order keep 
 those vows. For look ye, — thou must drop 
 thy offering in this leathern bag whose mouth 
 hangs open by my side. We brothers of St. 
 Francis may neither touch nor take ; wherefore 
 we get some friendly hand, not fettered by like 
 vows, to dip it into the product of the bag, and 
 expend the same in deeds of charity for the 
 church at our discretion." 
 
 " Scrupulous friar !" replied Cassim, " there 
 is a proverb which I heard at Lisbon from the 
 mouth of an English yeoman; it saitli, ' Charily 
 j: 4
 
 56 THE TALBA. 
 
 begins at home.' I doubt not it is well un- 
 derstood by thy order. I have nothing to give, 
 being, as thou seest I am, a poor herdsman, a 
 Moor, a taxed head, and therefore nothing 
 better than a slave." 
 
 " But thou, old greybeard, thou wilt give 
 something ! " said a brisk young novice of the 
 order of the Carmelites, who advanced in a 
 gay step, swinging his long white sleeves, and 
 holding up a pretty box not unlike a show-box. 
 Through a small piece of glass, placed by way 
 of eye-hole, might be seen a representation of 
 the discovery of the body of St. James, buried 
 at Compostella, and pointed out to the Bishop 
 of Ira in the eighth century by angels, who 
 were good enough to come down from Heaven 
 and hold torches to the Bishop on that occa- 
 sion. " Give something to those who have 
 visited, in pain and toil, the blessed tomb and 
 shrine of St. James," cried the Carmelite. " We 
 beg for the poor and holy pilgrims just returned 
 from Compostella, and travelling a far journey 
 to their homes." 
 
 " Son," answered the Talba, rising and
 
 THE TALBA. 57 
 
 assuming that air of deep revei'ence he could 
 sometimes put on when he deemed it necessary 
 before his enemies, — " son, I respect thy holy 
 prophet St. James, or Boanerges, as he is called^ 
 for a wise and good man, who, I would say, 
 if it be not over bold, was called a Son of 
 Thunder for having in him the qualities essen- 
 tial to a learned Talba, — some acquaintance 
 with the hidden mysteries and elements of 
 creation. Knowing these things, reverence is 
 due to the holy Boanerges of the Nazareens, 
 and that respect I will pay most freely ; but to 
 ask me for money is vain : since, know ye, holy 
 fakirs and learned mollahs of the Christians, 
 that I am a Talba, a sage, one whose wealth 
 hes in the knowledge of the heavenly bodies, 
 in their revolutions, their changes, and their 
 eclipses. I am one who, by the words of wis- 
 dom found in the book of truth, can show to 
 others the way where gold and silver shall 
 spangle their path, hke stars in the firmament, 
 but who never himself lays hand on what he 
 indicates to others as worldly riches. I have 
 nothing to give but wise counsels."
 
 58 THE TALBA. 
 
 " And that being the last thmg men are 
 willing to take," said Cassmi, " I would counsel 
 you, reverend fi-iars and begging pilgrims of 
 St. James of Compostella, to pass on your way 
 as fast as you can ; seeing that unless you do 
 so, as the town of Cintra is filling with strangers 
 of all kinds and degrees, who come to witness 
 the great bull-fight about to take place, you 
 will be puzzled to get lodging for such a com- 
 pany. The hospital and the convents, I hear, 
 are nearly filled — and that to overflow." 
 
 The friars, beggars, and pilgrinis, seemed to 
 take the denial given to them much better than 
 was, perhaps, expected by the Talba or the 
 cunning Cassim ; for in nothing did the Christ- 
 ians more cruelly oppress the Moors, than by 
 making free with their purses on any pretext 
 of enforcing charity for the good of the church. 
 In justice, liowever, to our honest friends Has- 
 san and Cassim, let us say they had really 
 little or nothing to give. The grievous tax 
 laid on those Moors who were suffered to re- 
 main and support themselves by labour in 
 Portugal, after they had been driven fron;
 
 THE TALBA. 59 
 
 nearly every town or city in the kingdom, was 
 so oppressive to a people on whom burthens of 
 every kind were laid, that it may readily be 
 believed they had scarcely enough to supply 
 their own wants, and little to bestow on 
 others. 
 
 Perhaps, too, the pilgrims were not much 
 above the common order, and therefore used 
 less insolence towards these Moors than they 
 might have experienced from those whose for- 
 tune and station bore them out in whatever ill 
 usage they chose to adopt towards a depressed 
 and despised race of beings. Scarcely had the 
 pilgrims departed, and their voices died away 
 in the distance as they continued their path 
 through the wood, when another object at- 
 tracted the attention, and, indeed, excited the 
 curiosity, of Cassim. It was a pilgrim ; but one 
 who followed the procession rather than joined 
 it. 
 
 He was not afoot, like the rest, but mounted 
 on a mule; an animal fat, sleek, and comely, 
 whose steady equal pace, and eye fixed on 
 every inch of ground that lay before his nose
 
 00 THE TALBA. 
 
 as he paced on his way, showed that it was one 
 of those creatures bred to pass mountain defiles 
 and dangerous precipices. The mule's head was 
 dressed with party-coloured ribands, red, blue, 
 yellow, and green, which crowned him like a 
 nosegay stuck between his ears. A parcel of 
 little silver bells were suspended round the neck, 
 and jingled on the bridle rein. And, to show 
 that he had borne his master company on a holy 
 errand, the scallop shell, with a little image of 
 a saint formed of silver, stood erect above the 
 forehead, amidst the ribands which adorned 
 this quiet and sure-footed beast. Upon his back 
 was seated a man who wore the pilgrim's rochet, 
 rosary, scrip, straw chain, and the noted escal- 
 lop on the front and shoulders of his gown: 
 but whether he were young or old, handsome 
 or ugly, gentle or simple, could not be readily de- 
 termined, as over the black silk cap was thrown 
 an ample hood, which, either to protect the pil- 
 grim from the dust or the warm beams of the 
 sun, was so brought over his face that little 
 could be discovered of it but the eyes. 
 
 As the pilgrim rode towards the rock where
 
 THE TALBA. 61 
 
 Cassim and Hassan had held the late discourse 
 with his companions, he slackened his pace, and 
 appeared to come on with the intent of speaking 
 to them, 
 
 " Holy prophet !" exclaimed Hassan; " see 
 if there be not another beggar who comes to 
 ask alms ! A plague on these knaves ! When 
 shall we be rid of them and their mummery?" 
 
 " Nay, I think thou judgest not rightly, wise 
 Talba," said Cassim : " this pilgrim seems to be 
 a stray sheep from the flock gone on before; 
 and as he bears no fish, no net for St. James, as 
 did the Franciscan, 'tis like enough he means not 
 to hook us into it. I should judge that pilgrim to 
 be a wiser man than his brethren, inasmuch as 
 he walks on the four legs of a mule, and spares 
 his own. See, if he does not turn the creature's 
 head this way, and comes to offer speech to 
 us." 
 
 "A good even to you, my masters!" said the 
 pilgrim, as he slightly inclined his head in token 
 of salutation. 
 
 " Servants, Sir pilgrim, were the better term," 
 replied Cassim : " our people leave the name of
 
 62 THE TALBA. 
 
 masters with those who have beat down their 
 swords." 
 
 " Thou hast a quick wit, friend," said the 
 pilgrim; " and I would so far tax it, as to help 
 me to the nearest road to the hospital of the 
 Knights of Avis." 
 
 " The heels of your mule will be all-sufficient 
 to accomplish such a purpose," answered Cas- 
 sim, " if you urge them forward with your 
 riding wand; else will you hardly reach the 
 royal hospital of Avis ere the moon, like a care- 
 ful nurse, rises to watch, whilst her lord the 
 sun lies abed till morning. The hospital of 
 Avis is three leagues off." 
 
 " Three leagues off!" exclaimed the pilgrim : 
 *' this animal is jaded. I know not the road. I 
 vshall never reach the end of it." 
 
 "Assuredly not, if you stand still upon it," 
 answered Cassim ; " but tired mules and igno- 
 rant men would do nmch greater things than 
 ride three leagues by moonlight, were a brother 
 of the question at their heels.* Your compa- 
 
 * An officer employed in the punislimcnt of false pilgrims 
 and heretics.
 
 THE TALBA. G3 
 
 nions are gone on for Cintra. After them, pil- 
 grim, and I will warrant me you will all of you 
 find a lodgment together." 
 
 " But suppose, my quick-tongued friend," 
 said the pilgrim, " that I should not be able 
 to find my companions : what must I do 
 then?" 
 
 " Marry," replied Cassim, "there is no 
 danger of that miscliance. Follow where you 
 see the folks running out, and especially the 
 women, to stare at the strange sight as it passes 
 on. The very dogs, as they bark after it, will 
 point out to you where goes the procession. 
 And, if you hear a jingling of bells, a piping of 
 flutes, and a begging of every poor wretch a reis 
 for St. James, by way of burthen to some wanton 
 song, be sure of it the pilgrims who go on before 
 are those of Compostella." * 
 
 ** In sooth, thy words, I grieve to say it, speak 
 the truth," said the mounted and muffled pil- 
 
 * Should our readers feel desirous to learn a more full ac- 
 count of the pilgrims of Compostella, we would refer them to 
 " British Monachism," the excellent work of that learned anti- 
 quary, the Rev. T. D. Fosbroke j an author to whom we are 
 indebted for much curious information.
 
 64- THE TALBA. 
 
 grim. " The scandalous manners of some of my 
 mates have been one cause of my lagging be- 
 hind, and I care not to join company again this 
 nio-ht, — nay, I have some mind to sojourn with 
 yol" 
 
 " For the love of us both do not," cried Cas- 
 sim; "we shall make as ill company as thy 
 good manners would with the evil ones of the 
 beggars for St. James. If you go with me, you 
 will find but a poor supper after along journey; 
 and 1 shall find none, if you eat even that. We 
 shall, therefore, both be dissatisfied. And what 
 says the old Spanish proverb ? ' Better one 
 belly full than two tickled mouths.' Our home, 
 sir pilgrim, is almost an empty house, for we 
 serve one nearly as poor as ourselves." 
 
 " Nay, but you know the law," answered the 
 pilgrim; " I can enforce my request; and I 
 would do so, but — " 
 
 " What law?" enquired Hassan, who now 
 spoke for the first time, having maintained a 
 solemn silence whilst the flippant tongue and 
 grinning mouth of Cassim had never stood still. 
 
 " Some Moors of Granada have committed a
 
 THE TALBA. 65 
 
 great outrage," said the pilgrim ; " they have 
 set upon, beaten, and robbed a noble company 
 of high-born pilgrims on their way to Compos- 
 tella. Therefore, as some penalty for the crime 
 of these infidels, a law has been enacted, that 
 every Moor, living at peace under the dominion 
 of any Christian prince, either in Spain or Por- 
 tugal, shall be obliged to lodge and entertain any 
 single pilgrim, or company of pilgrims, of Com- 
 postella, free of all cost. So runs this law, which 
 has received the approval of His Holiness the 
 Pope." 
 
 " His Holiness is most merciful, truly," said 
 Cassim : " for the sins of a few, he has sanc<- 
 tioned a punishment to be laid on many : doubt- 
 less to lessen, by division, the burthen deserved 
 by the original offenders." 
 
 ** Not so," answered the pilgrim ; " should 
 these infidel wretches, who robbed the nobles 
 going to Compostella, be taken, they will be 
 burnt alive for having laid hands on such per- 
 sons whilst engaged on a holy errand. The 
 offence is equal to heresy in our own church. 
 In such cases, neither His Holiness, nor the pa- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE TALBA. 
 
 triarch who represents him here, can show 
 iriercy." 
 
 " Give me any thing but the Pope's mercy," 
 cried Cassim, who, hating all Christians, took 
 every opportunity, even at his own risk, to revile 
 and disparage the priesthood of Rome, from the 
 highest to the lowest ; and more than once had 
 he stood in danger for such liberties : " I once 
 saw his mercy bestowed on a Moor," continued 
 the bold herdsman, " a prince of Fez, who 
 landed at Cadiz, and burned a church with no- 
 body in it. He was made prisoner, however, 
 after his exploit, by the Christians. The prince 
 Ali Ahmed was rich, so he gave gold, silver, 
 and pearls to Rome, to save his life. He you 
 call the Pope promised not to touch it." 
 
 *' And His Holiness kept his word, no doubt," 
 said the pilgrim. 
 
 " That he did, but in his own way," answered 
 Cassim ; " for I will not touch thy life, said the 
 Pope. So he shut prince Ahmed up in prison, 
 and there gave him nothing to eat. The prince 
 died of starvation. But all the priests swore 
 their Pope had no hand in his death, inasmuch
 
 THE TALBA. 67 
 
 as it came naturally. Oh the wisdom of you 
 Christians ! It is more obscure, and yet brings 
 mightier things to pass, than pld Hassan's star- 
 gazing speculations." 
 
 " Speak not thus irreverently of the great and 
 infallible father of our church," said the pilgrim ; 
 " whatever he does must be right, seeing he 
 cannot, as the successor of St. Peter, do wrong. 
 But you Moors are ever thus free with your 
 tongues, when you fear no immediate resent- 
 ment: however, this is not the matter of our 
 debate. Will you," he continued, addressing 
 the Talba, " will you give me lodgment for thi^ 
 night? I were unwilling to foi'ce hospitality^ 
 though I might do so." 
 
 " Most holy pilgrim of Compostella," replied 
 Hassan, as he rose to answer with all the gravity 
 of the East, " the fowls of the air gather them 
 round the full ear, but leave the chaff fpr the 
 wind. Even so a hungry man seeketh a house 
 well stored, and leaveth that which is ^mpty 
 to desolation. We are too poor to entertain 
 you." 
 
 " But I see a fine yielding ojf milk in yonder 
 F 2
 
 68 THE TALBA. 
 
 vessel," observed the pilgrim, as if not altogether 
 crediting the assertions of extreme poverty 
 pleaded by the Moors to get rid of him; "and 
 I will venture to say thou hast some barley bread, 
 a meal pottage, or what not, to keep it company. 
 I am no monk of a royal foundation, that I 
 should be dainty of diet ; any thing will serve 
 me. So I will home with you, and for once 
 rest under the roof of a Moor. It will be 
 the first time I have trespassed on infidel hos- 
 pitality." 
 
 " And the last, if my wishes avail," muttered 
 Cassim. But, fearful of giving serious offence, 
 he added, in a voice that was loud enough for 
 a crier of the Muezzin, " Welcome, then, pil- 
 grim, if thou wilt force a welcome." 
 
 " What means that infidel ? " said the pil- 
 grim, in a somewhat angry tone ; " do you dare, 
 
 dog of a Moor ! to " 
 
 Here Hassan interposed. "Pilgrim of Com- 
 postella," he said, " despise not him whom thou 
 callest infidel, and who is about to feed thee ; 
 since Allah sends thee to his roof. For what 
 says thy own Scripture of the prophet of thy
 
 THE TALBA. 69 
 
 people called Elijah ? received he not food from 
 a raven, as well as from an angel ? and did it not 
 nourish him ? and he spurned not the means, but 
 was thankful. Follow me." 
 
 Hassan placed his parchments beneath the 
 folds of his robe, took up a walking-staff that 
 lay by his side, and was about to lead the 
 way. 
 
 " Stay a while," said the pilgrim : " I have a 
 follower who lingers somewhere in this forest. 
 He will join me anon. He did but leave me to 
 examine where the cross road leads to, on the 
 other side yonder knoll." 
 
 So saying, the pilgrim turned round the mule, 
 and rode forward a few paces towards the knoll. 
 He applied a small silver whistle to his lips, and 
 blew with it a shrill summons. The call was 
 speedily answered by a halloo from the woods 
 hard by ; and soon after, a young, stout-built, 
 somewhat bold-looking man, mounted also on 
 a mule, issued forth, and instantly rode towards 
 the pilgrim. 
 
 Hassan and Cassim interchanged looks. In 
 that of the former there was doubt ; in the 
 F 3
 
 70 THE TALBA. 
 
 glance of the latter, intelligence and caution. 
 Hassan bowed slightly as the new comrade ad- 
 vanced. Cassim eyed him from head to foot with 
 one look, and then put his hand on his girdle, to 
 feel that his long-bladed knife was secure and 
 ready. 
 
 " Forward ! " said the pilgrim, the moment 
 his companion joined him, and had fallen into 
 the rear like a menial. 
 
 Hassan led the way, while Cassim acted the 
 part of a modern light-infantry man, and by 
 sundry flying movements watched the guests 
 who had so strangely intruded themselves for 
 the night on Moorish hospitality ; since he 
 could not help suspecting there might be other 
 pilgrims of the same description at hand, to fol- 
 low up the first intruders. Cassim, therefore, 
 how would glide to the side of the stranger, ad- 
 dressing to him some discourse about the mule ; 
 then would he pause, and linger behind, to gather 
 wild plants, or practise any other manoeuvre that 
 occurred, by which he might best confirm or 
 dispel his suspicions. No one, however, ap- 
 peared ; and as Hassan conducted the little ca-
 
 THE TALBA. 71 
 
 valcade up a long avenue of old trees that led 
 to the habitation of Aza Anzurez, a stately pile 
 of buildings, whose outluie was distinctly seen 
 as it stood duskily towering against the clouds, 
 met the eye of the strangers. 
 
 The sun was set. Scarcely a dying tint of 
 golden light could be traced in the horizon, and 
 all was gradually sinking into the solemn dark- 
 ness of night, when Hassan advanced to an out- 
 ward gate of the building, and, striking loudly 
 upon it with the walking-staff he held in his 
 hand, a hollow sound ran echoing round the 
 walls, and proclam^ed the desolation that was 
 within them. 
 
 1- i
 
 72 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The troop is past : come, pilgrim, I will bring you 
 Where you shall host : 
 
 I humbly thank you ; 
 
 Please it this matron. Shakspeare. 
 
 The building which afforded a refuge to the 
 family of Aza Anzurez was an ancient and ruined 
 pile. It had once been a palace belonging to 
 the Moors, ere they were driven from the neigh- 
 bourhood of Cintra, after the conquest of Lisbon 
 by Alonso the First. It was now but the ruin of 
 a ruin — a place where none but the poor or de- 
 spised would seek shelter. Still, however dilapi- 
 dated, the massive walls, the fallen pillars, and 
 decaying arches, gave sufficient indications of 
 the grandeur and strength of the whole when 
 in its original state, before the exterminating
 
 THE TALBA. 73 
 
 hand of war had laid its iron grasp upon the 
 works as well as the lives of men. 
 
 The old Moorish palace stood on one of 
 those level spaces of ground which abound 
 amidst the wild and rocky eminences of Cintra. 
 The entrance was in tolerable preservation, and 
 consisted of a gateway formed of three semi- 
 circular arches. It was overshadowed by the 
 dark boughs of pine-trees and elms of great 
 antiquity. These, with the ruined walls and 
 towers that stood darkly against the sky, and 
 in parts showed it through their broken aper- 
 tures, combined to give a melanchoh' air to the 
 spot. Towards evening it was more apparent; 
 for then the immense rocks that rose near the 
 palace could alone be seen in their bqjd out- 
 line, adding a character of awe and solemnity 
 to the scene ; so much do objects of bulk im- 
 press the senses when they are half hid in 
 gloom, and the imagination is left to consider 
 them in their magnitude, without being able to 
 supply their detail but by conjecture. 
 
 In those watch-towers and battlements where 
 once the sentinel had paced his round as he
 
 74 THE TALBA. 
 
 watched the stars in their courses, the bird of 
 night now kept his vigils ; and many a bird of 
 prey also had succeeded as an inhabitant of 
 those walls, where tyrants too often in days of 
 old had held their sway. Long and vacant 
 passages served, like the harp of Eolus, to make 
 melancholy music with the winds, as they mur- 
 mured through the vaulted roofs ; grass and 
 brambles grew high and wild ; and a marble 
 fountain (a luxury generally found in Moorish 
 buildings) stood within the inner court. It was 
 dilapidated, moss-gi'own, and neglected ; though 
 its cool and gentle plashings still broke the si- 
 lence of desolation which reigned around, with 
 a murmur that called up pleasing yet pensive 
 feelings : indeed, so much does the action of 
 water possess the character of a being endowed 
 with life, that no place can strictly be called a 
 solitude where there is a falling or a running 
 stream. 
 
 Over the gateway might be seen an inscrip- 
 tion in Arabic, nearly illegible from time. A 
 kind of open gallery, like a cloister, once sur- 
 rounded the inner court. The pillars which
 
 THE TALBA. 75 
 
 sifpported it had, for the greater part, been 
 removed, probably to supply materials for some 
 more modern buildings, so that little was left; 
 yet what pillars and capitals remained, were of 
 the finest jasper, — a circumstance sufficient in 
 itself to show the former magnificence of the 
 place. The architecture of the pile was the 
 Saracenic, — a style in which richness was com- 
 bined with strength, whilst eastern lightness dis- 
 played itself in the ornamental parts. Few of 
 these now remained. It was the massive walls, 
 the high and stubborn towers, that seemed to 
 resist the hand of time as well as of conquest, 
 which gave that air of grandeur to the place, so 
 calculated to raise the mind of the beholder to 
 an elevated train of thought, as, in the lonely 
 extent, the deep silence of a building once so 
 animated with the presence of man, memory 
 busied itself m recalling those ages which, 
 marked by his actions, had become celebrated : 
 yet nothing now was left of those who founded 
 this majestic pile. Their very names, like the 
 glories of the ancient Moorish race, were fast 
 sinking into oblivion ; and even their fame — that
 
 76 THE TALBA, 
 
 breath which sustains the spirit of the brave 
 when their own breath is departing — was now 
 passing away, to become as hushed as the sur- 
 rounding scene of desolation. 
 
 It was through the gateway of this ancient 
 building that the pilgrim and his attendant 
 entered, on the door being opened by a little 
 Moorish girl about twelve years old. Whilst 
 Hassan preceded them, Cassim brought up the 
 rear, and the whole party moved onward across 
 the inner court or quadrangle, leading to that 
 portion of the building which, being least 
 ruinous, was therefore now inhabited by the 
 Moors. The deepening gloom prevented the 
 objects around from being clearly distinguished ; 
 but many a stately tower, and many a little 
 cupola — the favourite termination in Moorish 
 architecture — could be distinguished amid the 
 solemn gray of twilight, like monuments of 
 departed grandeur. Notwithstanding the gloom, 
 the pilgrim seemed to look at every thing 
 he passed with the searching eye of cu- 
 riosity ; and, probably, the vast extent of the 
 ruined palace might create surprise not un-
 
 THE TALBA. 77 
 
 allied to awe ; for there is somethin«^ highly im- 
 posing to the mind and chilling to the heart, 
 in the suspension of feeling between pleasure 
 and fear, excited by traversing ruins vast, un- 
 known, and half hidden by the darkness of the 
 hour. 
 
 The little company, after having crossed the 
 inner court, where the fountain stood in the 
 centre, at length entered a large hall. In times 
 past it might have been devoted to banquetting. 
 The roof in many places had fallen in, and 
 showed the blue of upper air through the aper- 
 tures. The windows, which had been nu- 
 merous, were so high as nearly to reach the 
 ceiling. There was no glass in them ; but the 
 richly carved mullions, and the light shafts, still 
 remained entire. Ivy and brambles had found 
 sufficient nourishment to grow in several places 
 about the walls. It had once been paved with 
 various coloured tiles; but now most of them 
 were broken, destroyed, or covered with earth 
 and weeds. 
 
 As they paced across the hall, they heard 
 their own footsteps run in hollow echoes, as if
 
 78 THE TALBA. 
 
 they traversed the vaults and erypts devoted to 
 the dead, whose reraains lay mouldering beneath 
 their sculptured stones. The strangers and 
 their Moorish guides observed a profound si- 
 lence, which no one seemed disposed to break. 
 In the pilgrim, perhaps, it might proceed from 
 some gloomy thoughts connected with his own 
 feelings and situation ; since the manner in 
 which he had shunned the other pilgrims, when 
 about to enter Cintra, and had sought, or rather 
 forced himself on the hospitality of poor and 
 oppressed infidels, had in it something out of 
 the common order of occurrences. Hassan 
 and Cassim thought so : and their silence might, 
 in the one, proceed from reflection ; in the other, 
 from a cautious and observing spirit, that sus- 
 pects perils in order to prepare for them. 
 
 Be this as it may, the little maid, who acted 
 the part of porteress, and had unbarred the out- 
 ward gate, now bounded forward with a step as 
 light as that of the wild gazelle. Applying her 
 feeble force to a door which stood under a low- 
 browed arch> at the end of the hall, it opened 
 instantly, and showed, by a red gleam gf. light
 
 THE TALBA. 79 
 
 which Streamed on the walls from a fire that 
 burnt within, a chamber in tolerable preserva- 
 tion, and which apparently was generally occu- 
 pied by the family. It was lofty. The walls had 
 been covered with a cement composed of lime 
 and sand, called tapia. On the surface might 
 still be seen, in parts very perfect, Arabesque 
 devices painted and gilt ; the peacock, so fa- 
 vourite an ornament with the Moors, being re- 
 peatedly introduced; here in profile, there in 
 front, now with a full -spread tail, and again 
 with a chain of gold about its neck. Extracts, 
 in Arabic, from the Koran, were also seen in 
 regular compartments. The ceiling, likewise, 
 had been carved and gilt ; though these deco- 
 rations were now almost obscured by the dusky 
 hue which time and decay had spread upon 
 them. Nothing else in this chamber retained 
 the least signs of former magnificence ; as the 
 seats were formed out of the roots of the cork- 
 tree ; and a rude table, on which stood a lamp, 
 a few mats spread on the ground, with the ad- 
 dition of some household utensils, composed the 
 entire furniture.
 
 80 THE TALBA. 
 
 Yet, however simple the room, or the cha- 
 racter of its inhabitants, had Murillo or Velas- 
 quez then been in existence, they would have 
 found in it a fine subject for the pencil. On a 
 low hearth, a few lighted brands were smoulder- 
 ing into embers ; since, in so warm a climate, 
 fire was rarely necessary but for the culinary 
 purposes of life. On the embers were seen two 
 flat earthen plates, between which a sort of 
 bread or cakes, made without leaven, were 
 being baked for the evening repast. The light 
 of the faggots cast a broad gleam on a group of 
 figures so striking, that even the pilgrim paused 
 . a moment to contemplate it ere he passed over 
 the threshold of the door. 
 
 Aza Anzurez was seen seated near the hearth. 
 Her son Hamet had thrown himself on the ground 
 at her feet. At the moment the stranger entered 
 the apartment, the majestic figure of Aza was 
 bent over her son. Yet her head was raised, as if 
 she had looked up to heaven in accompaniment 
 to some thought to which her lips had just given 
 utterance. Her high forehead — her arched brow
 
 THE TALBA. 81 
 
 —her full eye, brilliant in its darkness — her 
 lips, which, slightly parted, showed the pearly 
 whiteness of her teeth, — were all of the highest 
 order of beauty ; and the noble expression of 
 her countenance could not be seen without ex- 
 citing admiration and respect. She now had no 
 turban on her head; and her sable hair fell on 
 her neck and bosom in unbound locks, rich in 
 their profusion. Her well turned arms were 
 cast round the neck of her son, who, resting 
 his own upon his mother's knees, looked up in 
 her face as he listened with tenderness and de- 
 light to the accents that fell from her tongue. 
 
 Aza was a Moor, the daughter of a despised 
 people, an infidel ; whose race was then con- 
 sidered, by every true Christian, as accursed of 
 God. Yet Aza was so excellent in those quali- 
 ties derived from nature, that, by personal de- 
 sert, she was not unworthy to have ruled, as a 
 queen, the very palace, even in its proudest days, 
 where she now sought shelter amid its ruins. 
 The stranger bowed his head, with every mark 
 of reverence, as he entered the chamber. 
 
 "A Christian pilgrim," said he, " noble Moor, 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE TALBA. 
 
 this night asks hospitality and shelter under your 
 roof." 
 
 This address, and the request which accom- 
 panied it, recalled, pei'haps, to the mind of Aza 
 some past circumstances of her life, the recol- 
 lection of which struck on her feelings, this me- 
 morable night, with peculiar pain. She withdrew 
 her hands from Hamet's neck, and seemed to 
 shudder at the mention of hospitality being de- 
 manded by a Christian. Her son started, and 
 suddenly rose up as she turned to confront the 
 stranger. Aza exerted herself to assume com- 
 posure, and answered in a dignified manner, 
 yet coldly, " that the Moors, who, like her- 
 self, lived on sufferance in the land of their 
 conquerors, had no power to refuse what the 
 Christian might please to demand." 
 
 The pilgrim probably felt some touch of com- 
 passion for the unhappy condition of Aza, which 
 these few words had plainly enough declared ; 
 and he assured her that the hospitality he had 
 asked for the night, he wished to receive as an 
 act of kindness, for which he should feel in- 
 debted to her, and not as one of compulsion :
 
 THE TALBA. 83 
 
 weariness and the fatigue of a long journey he 
 also pleaded as an excuse for the intrusion. 
 
 " Rest you, and welcome," said Aza. " The 
 wayfarer and wanderer by night shall never be 
 turned from the door of Aza Anziirez, whilst 
 she has bread or a cup to offer for his refresh- 
 ment. However much she may have once suf- 
 fered by a treacherous guest, the wanderer shall 
 never pass her gate, and curse the bolt that shuts 
 him out to the night dew, to hunger, and the 
 wolf of the forest. Allah sends sun and rain 
 alike on the Christian and the Moor ; so should 
 bread and shelter be common to both in the hour 
 of need. Sit, Christian; doff thy cloak, and cheer 
 thee even in this house of sorrow. I am one 
 who, like a parted soul, wanders weeping till 
 the hour be come that shall join it again to its 
 earthly partner.* I am the widow of Alcanzor, 
 — a name known to the brave. And yonder 
 boy — the fresh branch of this withered tree — 
 he is my son. Hamet, bid the Christian wel- 
 come; for welcome is that which makes the 
 
 • The Mahometan faith teaches the doctrine of the Resur- 
 rection. 
 
 G 2
 
 84- THE TALBA. 
 
 homely cup refreshing, and his simple repast to 
 seem sweet to the traveller's lips." 
 
 " Welcome, pilgrim," said Hamet, in obe- 
 dience to his mother's command — " and doubly 
 welcome," added the young sharif on his own 
 score, " if you bring news with you of distant 
 lands. I love to sit and hear tidings of worlds 
 that are unknown to me. My heart beats thick, 
 and my very blood boils in my veins, when I 
 hear a tale of gallant battle, and of those far 
 countries that lie beyond the seven oceans of 
 the earth. What news canst thou tell us ? So 
 thy tale be one to cheer my dear mother, for 
 this day has been a dark one to the memory of 
 her soul, I will thank thee gratefully ; and to- 
 morrow morning, if you like the sport, I will 
 show you where the game lies in the thicket, 
 and with what springe the cock of the wood 
 may be surest caught. But stay till my mother 
 returns ; she is but gone to prepare the supper 
 for thee. Little Zora helps her, now that she 
 has no other attendant; yet once my mother 
 had a hundred maids, well born and bred, for 
 her bower-women."
 
 THE TALBA. 85 
 
 " Your mother, then, has been unfortunate, 
 my gentle youth," said the pilgrim in a good 
 natured manner, as he replied to the eager and 
 rambling discourse of young Hamet; "yet 
 she looks calm. In her majestic deportment 
 there is nothing of that depression which gene- 
 rally follows a great and violent change of for- 
 tune." 
 
 " Good pilgrim of Compostella," said Has- 
 san, who was seated cross-legged upon a mat 
 near the stranger, and had composed himself 
 with much gravity to take his part in the social 
 hour, " she is now in a more composed frame 
 of mind ; for her misfortunes are not young and 
 new to her. Her soul is in the calm of sorrow, 
 not in its storm. Aza Anzurez is as a raging 
 torrent, which, having passed in tumult its tre- 
 mendous fall, so soon as it reaches the valley 
 glides onward in peace. Calamity is better 
 borne when it becomes habitual, than at the 
 moment of its ebulUtion." 
 
 " True," replied the stranger; " it is like 
 those convulsions in a state, which during their 
 revolution produce rebellion and outrage in the 
 G 3
 
 86 THE TALBA. 
 
 whole frame of governments, yet, when accom- 
 pUshed, often settle into the calm of lasting 
 peace ; the old evils having passed off with the 
 storm." 
 
 " You know something of states, it should 
 seem, by that observation," said Hamet, his 
 eyes glittering with curiosity and expectation. 
 " Can you tell us aught of that brave kingdom 
 which struggles for liberty ? Castile I mean, 
 that would shake a tyrant from his throne. I 
 wish well to that people, though they be Christ- 
 ians and enemies to the Moors ; for their 
 struggle is for freedom — they would cast off 
 the yoke." 
 
 " The beast that is unused to the yoke," said 
 the herdsman Cassim, who now ventured to 
 speak for the first time, " will struggle hard to 
 be rid of it. But after a while it is easily borne ; 
 for, let it pinch his neck never so sharply, by 
 habit he ceases to feel it. Even such is slavery. 
 When the Castilians have got used to the yoke 
 which king Pedro — he they call the Cruel — has 
 prepared for their backs, they will not heed it, 
 or at least bear their burthen in silence."
 
 THE lALBA. 8^ 
 
 " By the tomb of the Holy Prophet!" cried 
 Hamet, " thou speakest, Cassim, but truth, 
 though in thy rude way. Even so is it with 
 our degraded people. We kiss the rod — we 
 bear in silence the burthen of our masters, as if 
 bondage were our birthright, and we would hug 
 it to our hearts. Wherefore do we bear this ? 
 For life, for that worthless thing called life ; 
 which without liberty is death. Every minute 
 of it our tyrants may reckon by the sand- 
 glass ; since in their hands is our date of being. 
 To close it is at their will. I would rather 
 be a wild boy of the desert, and range it 
 in my native freedom, than live cooped 
 within these old walls on the sufferance of my 
 oppressors." 
 
 " You speak boldly for one so young," ob- 
 served the pilgrim; " and it is well for thy 
 ardent spirit that no one hears thy words, who 
 would give account of them where they might 
 be weighed in the balance and found wanting 
 in duty to the state. Young man, a pilgrim lias 
 little to give but thanks to his entertainers. To 
 mine I would add this counsel, — that, in times 
 G 4
 
 88 THE TALBA. 
 
 when danger lurks unseen by night as well as 
 walks in open day, you would speak with more 
 caution such feelings as it is hazardous to 
 reveal." 
 
 " I care not," said Hamet eagerly : " my 
 father left me nothing but his sword ; and I 
 have learnt that which would excuse me did I 
 buckle it on," 
 
 " Foolish boy !" said the Talba; ^^ you talk 
 of hazarding life ! you talk of buckling on a 
 sword ! Look, yonder is your mother ; think of 
 her." 
 
 Hamet bent his head, as if conscience-struck 
 by a reproof he so well deserved. 
 
 " And remember, noble sharif," cried Cas- 
 sim, " that a man may as well hang a spit on 
 his thigh as a sword, if he knows not how to use 
 it. I think you have yet practised on nothing but 
 deer, boars, wild ducks, and the pretty fowls 
 that fly about in the forest, to furnish you with 
 a supper ; and do you talk of using a sword ? 
 First arm against a quintain." 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the high 
 and haughty glance which Hamet darted on
 
 THE TALBA. 89 
 
 Cassim, in answer to this sarcastic remark on 
 the young man's allusion to his sword. Hamet's 
 lips quivered with indignation; and he raised 
 his clenched hand as if about to accompany the 
 bitter reply that hung on them with a blow. 
 But his eye caught the sight of his mother, as 
 she was returning into the apartment ; and the 
 sight of Aza, in one moment, changed the 
 angry aspect of her son to brightness. He re- 
 membered this was to her a day of sacred sor- 
 row ; would he, then, add to it a single pang 
 from any cause ? The thought rushed on him 
 quick as light, at her approach. His upraised 
 hand dropped, as it were mechanically, by his 
 side : his lips were in the act to speak reproof to 
 Cassim ; now not a sound escaped them. Watch- 
 ful, attentive, and affectionate, the dutiful son 
 was in another instant at his mother's side, 
 gentle and tractable as the young bird when the 
 parent dove would first teach it to spread its 
 wings. 
 
 The frugal repast was soon prepared. Fresh 
 milk, that Cassim had brought home from his 
 goats, stood in a large oaken bowl. The cakes
 
 90 THE TALBA. 
 
 were taken hot from the hearth ; and the deli- 
 cious fiuits of Portugal added even luxury to the 
 board. Animal food there was none; nor did 
 the repast boast of wild fowl : for Hamet had 
 this day neglected his forest sports, to devote 
 his time, on the anniversary of his father's death, 
 to his mother. And though she had attempted 
 to visit the grave alone, Hamet's watchful eye 
 was upon her steps, and he had followed them 
 in love and duty. As abstinence was a religious 
 act with the Moors, on occasions of sorrow, 
 this simple repast was the first tasted by 
 Aza or her son since the commencement of 
 the day. 
 
 The little Moorish damsel brought a pitcher 
 of water from a neighbouring spring. Its ex- 
 treme purity and coldness showed the source 
 whence it came to have been embedded within 
 rocks and deep caverns inaccessible to the beams 
 of the sun. It was to this primitive supper that 
 Aza now welcomed her Christian guest. His 
 companion, whose respectful observance of the 
 pilgrim intimated him to be of inferior rank, 
 sat apart from him ; and though the answers he
 
 THE TALBA. 91 
 
 gave to the cunning enquiries of Cassim did not 
 actually declare his station, still they were suf- 
 ficient to make the wily Moor set him down as 
 a follower or varlet who had attended the holy 
 stranger on his religious journey to Compos- 
 tella. 
 
 Whatever doubts or fears had at first beset 
 the minds of Hassan and Cassim respecting the 
 Christian traveller, and the strange manner in 
 which he had forced himself on their hospitality, 
 those doubts and fears gave way to a better opi- 
 nion, as the pilgrim unbent in familiar discourse; 
 and, far from showing that insolence of manner 
 to the Moors which every good Catholic might 
 have pleaded holy Church itself to sanction, he 
 was courteous, and even respectful, in his ad- 
 dress and demeanour both to the young sharif 
 and his mother. 
 
 Whilst Aza Anzurez, her son, the Talba, and 
 the pilgrim, partook together of the repast, Cas- 
 sim and the Christian follower, with the little 
 Moorish Zora, sat apart at another rude table, 
 which was also furnished with a part of the 
 supper ; thus observing, even in the midst of
 
 92 THE TALBA. 
 
 poverty and ruin, those distinctions of condition 
 practised in every nation and every age of the 
 world. This, surely, were a proof sufficient in 
 itself to convict of absurdity those levellers who, 
 in society, would reduce all orders to one equal- 
 ity, and, by so doing, would destroy the very 
 distinctions man has received from the favour 
 of his Creator ; removing all landmarks of re- 
 spect, protection, and dependence ; confound- 
 ing with the meaner those who, by their superior 
 station, become, like the head to the members 
 of the body, guides to the less elevated, but 
 equally useful, members of society at large. 
 Well regulated orders, like the parts of a great 
 machine, produce the harmony of the whole, 
 so that they work well together. Destroy them, 
 or substitute equality, and disorder and out- 
 rage will infallibly ensue. 
 
 It was probably from some conviction of the 
 kind that Aza still maintained in her own house- 
 hold this shadow of distinction — it was, in fact, 
 little else — in her forlorn condition. Long ser- 
 vice, his former station, and the keen sense of 
 Cassim, rendered him a favoured, and, as we
 
 THE TALBA. 9.^ 
 
 have lately seen, a familiar attendant of the 
 Moor and her son. Though they ate therefore 
 at different tables, yet this distinction did not 
 extend so far as to lay a chain on the lips of 
 Cassim ; for he listened to what passed with 
 attention, asked frequent questions of the pil- 
 grim, and offered his own remarks as freely as 
 did the Talba himself. 
 
 Tlie pilgrim, by his discourse, seemed to be a 
 man well acquainted with general subjects, and 
 one who had the good taste to know how to apply 
 his knowledge. He framed his manners and his 
 conversation with singular attention to the seve- 
 ral characters present, so as to please all : a cir- 
 cumstance which, alone, bespoke a quick and 
 shrewd observer. When addressing himself to 
 Aza, he spoke in a tone of conciliation, almost 
 of sadness ; as he well knew that no voice falls 
 so sweetly on the ear of the unfortunate as that 
 which harmonises with their own feelings. With 
 Cassim, he condescended to talk good humour- 
 edly, and in a manner which showed him to be 
 not unacquainted with those subjects familiar to 
 the herdsman. Young Hamet's desire to be
 
 94 THE TALBA. 
 
 informed respecting other countries and go- 
 vernments, he gratified with information which 
 evinced sense and observation, and that the in- 
 terest of states was not unknown to him. Even 
 Hassan felt pleased by learning that the pilgrim 
 reverenced the science of astronomy, and the 
 superior skill of the Arabian physician or philo- 
 sopher. 
 
 There is nothing more likely to enhance the 
 value of a guest, than to find preconceived mis- 
 conceptions of his character removed by his own 
 affability and good conduct. Such was the case 
 in the present instance ; for the Moors, who at 
 first had entertained the worst suspicions of the 
 extraordinary person who sought hospitality at 
 their hands, how, by a sudden change of feeling, 
 which is apt to run into extremes, were induced 
 to believe that some very distinguished Christian, 
 learned both in arts and arms, and perhaps 
 nobly born, was shrouded beneath the humble 
 guise of a wayfaring devotee. 
 
 One thing, however, puzzled Hassan, and 
 excited the prying curiosity of Cassim : it was, 
 that though the pilgrim had in some measure
 
 THE TALBA. 95 
 
 removed the close muffling which so completely 
 concealed his face and head, yet he evidently 
 did not wish to be very closely observed ; as he 
 still kept on the hood. It was loosened in front, 
 so as to allow him to partake of the simple re- 
 past set before him ; yet it very much shrouded 
 his face, and in such a manner as would induce 
 the belief that, on exchanging the pilgrim's 
 dress for any other of a more open fashion, 
 it would be difficult to recognise the wearer. 
 Hassan, during the whole time of supper, eyed 
 him very closely, listened with profound atten- 
 tion to every word that fell from his lips, and 
 said little himself. Aza and Hamet also noticed 
 the evident design of the pilgrim to conceal his 
 person as much as possible ; but the high-born 
 Moors were remarkable for that native polite- 
 ness which emanates from a wish to avoid giving 
 pain to the feelings of another. The pilgrim 
 was gracious hi his manners and discourse to 
 them. A reciprocal kindness taught them not to 
 notice what their guest desired to conceal. On 
 this account, therefore, they shunned rather than
 
 96 THE TALBA. 
 
 sought any jealous observation of his counte- 
 nance. 
 
 At length the discourse turned on the fre- 
 quency of pilgrimages made to Compostella 
 from all parts of Europe; when, the stranger 
 having casually remarked the perils that threat- 
 ened travellers from the banditti who haunted 
 the mountainous pass of Texillo, which lies be- 
 tween Portugal and Spain, Hamet enquired, 
 " Of w horn we)e these banditti composed ? were 
 they Moor or Christian?" 
 
 "Christian," answered the pilgrim; "though 
 some Moors have latterly joined them." 
 
 " Ay," said Hamet ; " such is the consequence 
 of oppression. Many are the Moors who, 
 now, like wolves and foxes, hide them amid 
 caves and rocks, to avoid their conquerors : but 
 if they hunt us like wild beasts of the forest, 
 can it be matter of wonder if they make us turn 
 on them for prey? Alas ! when I think of those 
 gallant men w^ho bit the dust in doing honour- 
 able battle by my father's side, I grieve to see 
 those who remain — I grieve to witness the pre-
 
 THE TALBA. 97 
 
 sent condition of our people; so sunk, so abject, 
 so enslaved in soul as well as body. Our con- 
 querors have hated us ; they have persecuted — 
 driven us on with goads of iron, till too many of 
 us have become mean, selfish, cunning, dissem- 
 bling ; as if the only weapons left, with which we 
 could meet the Christian, were such base arts as 
 these. This last impost laid on us by Alonso the 
 Fourth (I cannot give him his title of the Brave; 
 for a brave victor kills with the sword, not by 
 slow tortures like these;) — this last impost will 
 crush to the very earth the lingering spirit of 
 the Moorish people." 
 
 "What impost?" enquired the pilgrim. 
 
 " You should be a stranger, then, to Portu- 
 gal," replied Hamet, " not to know that we are 
 now, like oxen and sheep, numbered by the' 
 head ; some sold into foreign lands as slaves ; 
 some bound to the oar of the galleys; whilst 
 those who, like us, remain, have a tax laid on 
 them for being suffered to breathe the air of 
 Portugal in what they call freedom ! We labour 
 for our masters ; we gain a hard-earned pit- 
 tance, that they may wrest it from us ; for, fail- 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE TALBA. 
 
 ing in payment of the tax, gj'^ves, the whip, and 
 the prison, are our portion." 
 
 " By whose counsel," asked the pilgrim, 
 "has Alonso become thus severe to the Moors 
 who dwell in peace in his kingdom ? His 
 father, king Denis, dealt more mercifully by 
 them." 
 
 " Nay, probably by his own counsel," said 
 Hassan ; " for Alonso needs no instigator of 
 hard measures to the vanquished Moors. Yet 
 some men say he was advised to this by his son 
 Don Pedro, the infant of Portugal, and heir- 
 apparent to the crown." 
 
 " Don Pedro," said Aza, " has been to our 
 unhappy people, wliat Pedro of Castile is now 
 to his own subjects — the Cruel. There is 
 scarcely a Moorish widow, or a fatherless boy, 
 but the one points to Alonso, and the other to 
 Pedro, as the destroyer of the husband and the 
 father. They have slain and conquered our 
 people, and now they persecute the remnant 
 that is left. I have heard, but I know not if it 
 be truth, that the prince was the man who sug- 
 gested this last impost, in the hope to drive 
 
 I
 
 THE TALBA. 99 
 
 from Estremadura the few Moors who remain 
 in it." 
 
 The Talba now spoke. " There arc those," 
 said he, " would fain make it appear, that what- 
 ever Don Pedro does amiss, it arises not so 
 much from his own will as from the influence of 
 certain Castilians — enemies to the fallen Moors 
 — who would make him the instrument to crush 
 our unhapjiy people. Such aver that the chief 
 counsellor of Don Pedro is a Castilian lady, on 
 whom they rest the blame of all his acts. If the 
 charge be false or true I know not." 
 
 " And who is this lady ? " enquired the pil- 
 grim. " His beloved princess Constantia has 
 long been dead, I know. Who, in the shape of 
 that seductive being, woman, can now influence 
 his actions either to good or evil ? " 
 
 " Donna Ines de Castro," replied Hassan; 
 " unless men greatly defame her." 
 
 " Ines de Castro ! " exclaimed the pilgrim 
 in a tone of voice that thrilled every ear with 
 its high and vehement sound. The cup of fair 
 water which he held at this moment shook with 
 the trembling of his hand; and though his coun- 
 H 2
 
 100 THE TALBA. 
 
 tenance could not be distinctly seen, yet it was 
 not so entirely hidden, but, from under the deep 
 shade of his projecting hood, the quivering of 
 his lip and the convulsive movement of the 
 muscles of his face might be perceived, in spite 
 of studied concealment, " Ines de Castro ! " re- 
 peated the pilgrim in a lower voice, as if the 
 name dropped unconsciously from his lips ; " I 
 will not believe it." 
 
 "Yet it is much noised abroad," continued 
 Hassan, who did not choose to notice, though 
 he observed, the agitation of the stranger. 
 " Ines de Castro is said to hold Don Pedro 
 of Portugal in such bonds of affection as never 
 woman, though fair as the houri of paradise, 
 has yet had the power to do with man. She to 
 him is like the sun to the earth, that would 
 have no life unless he shone upon it." 
 
 "I never heard — I did not know this," said 
 the pilgrim, with some confusion of manner. 
 
 " You are a stranger," answered Hassan, 
 " to what passes at the court of Portugal, not 
 to have heard of the growing power of the De 
 Castro family. It is attributed entirely to the
 
 THE TALBA. 101 
 
 influence of Donna Ines; and, as I am assured, 
 it is already a subject of much jealousy to the 
 courtiers and nobles of this kingdom." 
 
 "Is Donna Ines, then, married to the prince?" 
 said the pilgrim in a low but distinct voice. 
 
 " Married ! " cried Cassim, who had repeat- 
 edly, during the evening, taken his share in the 
 discourse : " oh, no ; the Christian prince, in 
 that particular, imitates our Moslem rulers. He 
 thinks a favourite mistress quite as agreeable as 
 a wedded queen; and he has built for her a 
 palace equal in splendour to the haram of the 
 famous Saladin of Syria." 
 
 "It is false!" exclaimed the pilgrim with 
 warmth; " it is false as hell ! Donna Ines was a 
 virtuous lady, the only daughter of a noble house 
 of Castile. Her father fled hither with her, to 
 avoid that death which Pedro the Cruel had 
 destined for him." 
 
 " You seem to know the history of this lady, 
 good pilgrim," said Hamet, " before she came 
 to Portugal, much better than it is known here. 
 I never heard that Donna Ines de Castro's fa- 
 ther had fled from the court of Castile to save 
 H 3
 
 102 THE TALBA. 
 
 his life. She is, I am told, the most beautiful 
 woman that was ever seen. I should like to see 
 this concubine of one of the Christian tyrants." 
 *' Concubine ! " murmured the pilgrim ; 
 *' surely it is not so — or, if it be, then is no 
 woman true." 
 
 *' The poet Zohair," said Hassan, " who 
 wrote somewhat bitterly on woman, compared 
 her virtue to the icicle, which only remains un- 
 broken in its crystal purity till the first warm 
 sunbeam, like the love of man, shines upon it, 
 and melts the frozen gem with its ardour." 
 
 " Yet surely Donna Ines may be no such 
 fragile gem," said the pilgrim. " The world 
 talks freely of the actions of princes ; and too 
 often is the fame of a fair and innocent creature 
 the price of that notice which, paid by a prince, 
 whilst it gratifies pride, makes a wreck of repu- 
 tation ; such may now be the consequence of 
 Don Pedro's notice of a fair Castilian lady." 
 
 " Then I say," cried Cassim, " if such be 
 the truth, Don Pedro's notice is not to be envied 
 by any Nazarene maiden among them. And, 
 indeed, he keeps this favourite Donna Ines very
 
 THE TALBA. 103 
 
 like those birds which, because they are favour- 
 ites, are denied their liberty, and have their 
 wings clipped as the first token of regard, and 
 sometimes get their eyes put out that they may 
 sing the sweeter. She is immured within the 
 walls of the new dwelling erected for her by 
 the prince at Cintra; and is seldom seen to 
 come forth from her gilded cage, except it be 
 to prayers that are said in the little convent 
 she has endowed at the back of her own pa- 
 lace. It stands hard by, in the wood. She has 
 filled it with Castilian damsels." 
 
 " And her brothers and father ? " said the 
 pilgrim. 
 
 " Her brothers are great men," replied Has- 
 san : " each is made the commander of a cita- 
 del. Her father is great too ; an ambassador, a 
 governor, I know not what : but strange things 
 are told of him." 
 
 " Yet none so strange, surely," said the 
 pilgrim, " as that he should countenance his 
 daughter's infamy. I will not believe it ; there 
 cannot be one word of truth in the tale ; for 
 I know not the man who was prouder of the 
 H 4
 
 104 THE TALBA. 
 
 honour of his house than old Don Manuel de 
 Castro. Let us dismiss this theme ; for what is 
 it to us with whom fame unites in bonds of love 
 the prince of Portugal ? " 
 
 The stranger then turned to other subjects 
 of discourse ; yet he supported them heavily 
 — rather like an effort than as spontaneous con- 
 versation. The hour of rest drew nigh ; and it 
 was with apparent pleasure that, soon after, the 
 pilgrim received a summons to follow Cassim, 
 who was directed to conduct him to an apart- 
 ment near that in which supper had been served, 
 where a mat, covered with soft, dried, aromatic 
 mosses and leaves, had been prepared for his 
 bed. His attendant was to share the sleeping- 
 couch of Cassim, in a chamber in a far more 
 ruinous condition. The Moor led the way. The 
 stranger graciously saluted his entertainers, and 
 followed; and, as he answered but briefly all 
 Cassim's attempts to draw him into farther dis- 
 course, the herdsman withdrew, and left the 
 holy wanderer to his repose for the night. 
 
 I
 
 105 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 'Tis now the very witching time of night, 
 
 "When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out 
 
 Contagion to this world. Shaksi-eare. 
 
 The apartment into which the pilgrim had 
 been conducted to pass the night was perfectly 
 in character with the rest of the building. It 
 was old, vast, and decaying. The high windows 
 (in many parts without the least remains of glass 
 in them) shook, as the wind whistled through 
 their apertures in melancholy cadence. The 
 massy door creaked harshly on its rusty hinges, 
 as every now and then some gust of air rushed 
 upon it ; helping to produce those night noises 
 which unconsciously affect the spirits, while the 
 cause of them is not always easily to be accounted 
 for. The bed that was to give repose to the 
 weary stranger we have already noticed. An
 
 106 THE TALBA. 
 
 old table, a bench, and a stool formed of the 
 cork tree, supplied the rest of the furniture. 
 
 One piece of ancient Moorish magnificence 
 still remained, too remarkable to be here 
 omitted, as it was most probably a vestige of 
 the original decorations of the place. It con- 
 sisted of a brazen arm and hand as large as life, 
 represented clad in mail, every ring of which 
 was finely worked and finished. The arm pro- 
 jected from a small recess in the wall ; the hand 
 held a lamp ; some old drapei'y, so disposed as 
 to appear like the robe of a person to whom it 
 might belong, hung round the arm, and thus 
 concealed its fastening to the wall. There was, 
 to delicate nerves, something frightful in this 
 accompaniment of a sleeping-chamber, whose 
 gloom was only in part dispelled by the feeble 
 light of the lamp. To a fanciful imagination 
 it might appear like the hand of an armed man 
 about to pass into the apartment, and who thus 
 held extended a light, to survey it with caution 
 before he thrust in his whole body. This idea 
 had struck the pilgrim at the time he cast a 
 passing glance upon the lamp, whilst Cassim
 
 THE TALBA. 107 
 
 was lighting it, ere the Moor retired fi'om the 
 chamber; but his thoughts were too deeply en- 
 gaged on subjects of vital interest to his feelings, 
 to allow him long to dwell on any outward 
 thing. 
 
 The night was beautiful. The moon, clear 
 and serene, from her high seat in heaven, looked 
 dowTi on the sleeping world. A few clouds, 
 white as Alpine snows, now stood fixed and 
 motionless, or, as they caught some wandering 
 breeze, floated gently onward through the soft 
 blue air. The stars, countless and brilliant — 
 those hosts of heaven — stood as it were giving 
 honour and praise to Him who guides their 
 trackless paths. The solemn light of the moon, 
 as it streamed through the windows of the 
 chamber, though of a different nature, was not 
 altogether ill associated with the awe-imposing 
 character of the lamp. All was hushed and 
 still as death. 
 
 The pilgrim threw back his hood, and, by 
 doing so, removed the muffler that had con- 
 cealed a countenance, of which, however its 
 ability to please might be doubted, the com-
 
 108 THE TALBA. 
 
 manding character was apparent at the first 
 glance. The pilgrim might be about three or 
 four and thirty years of age. His features were 
 regular and manly ; but a dark lowering expres- 
 sion, which seemed habitual, gave him the air 
 of a discontented man. His skin was tanned to 
 a deep brown, probably by exposure to foreign 
 climates ; for where those parts of the neck and 
 throat that had been less exposed were occa- 
 sionally seen, the complexion was of the fairest 
 hue. His dark eye was somewhat sunk in his 
 head; and the forehead had many a wrinkle 
 that told of early cares, and hinted the story of 
 a life marked by many trying vicissitudes, which 
 in their effects outstepped the course of time; 
 so that, though yet young, there was something 
 of the worn character, the shrunk cheek, and 
 the hollow eye of age, in the countenance of the 
 stranger. 
 
 He looked up to gaze for a moment on the 
 star-lit sky ; and though his eyes met nothing 
 but what was clear and beautiful, there was a 
 dark cloud on his own brow that had settled 
 upon it like the augury of a coming storm. For
 
 THE TALBA. 109 
 
 some time afterwai'ds he paced the apartment, 
 his arms crossed, and his head inclined upon 
 his bosom, like a man in deep thought. Now 
 and then he stopped, sighed, and uttered an eja- 
 culation, or a few words, as if he occasionally 
 thought aloud rather than spoke in regularly 
 connected sentences. - 
 
 " It must be so," said he ; " I am pledged 
 to the accomplishment of my attempt : my 
 own honour, my name, fortune, my very being, 
 rest on this bold enterprise. I am sworn to 
 him ; yet if I thought this infamous tale were 
 false — could I but still hope — I might be 
 tempted to — I might pause ere I adventured. 
 But no," he added, as he shook his head and 
 sighed deeply ; " why should I trust to hope, 
 
 a deluder more faithless than ? I will trust no 
 
 one more : away, then, all doubts, all scruples ; 
 my resolution is fixed as fate." 
 
 The pilgrim now prepared to take his rest. 
 He removed from his neck the straw chain 
 which was a distinguishing mark of a devotee 
 who had visited the shrine of Compostella. A 
 small cross was attached to it. For a moment
 
 110 THE TALBA. 
 
 he held it in his hand, and then cast it on the 
 table ; but without any marks of devotion. Nei- 
 ther did he tell his beads, though he wore a 
 large rosary by his side. But this neglect of 
 his religious duties might possibly proceed from 
 the disturbed state of his mind. He unbound 
 the girdle which girt his middle, but did not 
 remove any other part of his dress, saving that 
 he took a small and sharp pointed dagger from 
 beneath his gown, and deposited it near the 
 pillow of his homely couch. He next examined 
 the door of his apartment ; and though, from 
 the recent kind conduct of his entertainers, he 
 had not a shadow of suspicion amounting to fear, 
 he nevertheless secured it by an old rusty bolt 
 that creaked and almost screamed on being 
 moved, probably for the first time in the course 
 of a whole century. Such precaution, however, 
 was unnecessary ; as it was well known that the 
 Moors, unless they were the very dregs of their 
 race, never used treachery towards the guest 
 who had tasted with them their bread and salt 
 in peace. But though no outward circum- 
 stance could account for the extreme caution of
 
 THE TALBA. Ill 
 
 the pilgrim, something within his own bosom 
 might do so. Perhaps a dark or disappointed 
 temper might render him habitually suspicious. 
 This, however, is matter of conjecture. He had 
 given such security to his sleeping-chamber as 
 it admitted receiving, and he now stretched his 
 limbs on the couch prepared for him by the 
 care of the hospitable Aza- It was soft and 
 aromatic; and many of the dried leaves that 
 helped to compose it, seemed calculated, by their 
 balmy and soporific powei', to aid the salutary 
 weariness which produces a profound sleep. 
 
 Yet there is no opiate that will effectually 
 calm a troubled mind. The pilgrim slept ; but 
 it was only to meet, in the visionary world of 
 dreams, those anxieties that haunted him in 
 more substantial forms by day, yet scarcely 
 with more pain. In sleep — that image of death 
 — the body for a time becomes little more than 
 the clay out of which it was originally formed ; 
 but the spirit is incapable, perhaps, of rest, when 
 (like Noah's dove wandering from the ark) it is 
 absent from that world of immortality designed 
 as its final resting place. The spirit, in sleep,
 
 112 THE TALBA. 
 
 takes her flight in a manner that must for ever 
 baffle human conjecture ; proving that the soul 
 cannot penetrate the mysteries of its own nature. 
 In slumber, how active, how imaginative, is that 
 mind which, whilst waking, may often be classed 
 amongst the sluggish and the dull ! It is in 
 sleep that imagination rears with matchless 
 vigour the wand of her creation. She calls up 
 the past in colours fresh and vivid. She de- 
 corates the present with tints that are brilliant 
 as the bow of Iris, or shadows it with super- 
 natural gloom. She unveils futurity, or depicts 
 it in the fantastic forms of her own visions. 
 The dreamer has a world raised for himself 
 alone; sometimes to cheer his misery, and at 
 others to sadden his mirth. It is the dreamless 
 sleep which images death most faithfully, and 
 yet it is that which men most desire in repose. 
 
 The slumbers of the pilgrim were harassed 
 and disturbed by a thousand fearful visions con- 
 nected with his own situation ; and his imagin- 
 ation, strongly excited by recent circumstances, 
 connected them also with those images which 
 had occupied his thoughts during the day. He
 
 T«E TALBA. llS 
 
 fancied, after many wild and extravagant wan- 
 derings in his dream, that he was in the ruined 
 Moorish palace where he had taken shelter for 
 the night. There was, he thought, some mys- 
 tery attached to the armed hand which held the 
 lamp : he was desirous to penetrate it ; but, 
 whenever he attempted to do so, the light va- 
 nished from his sight, and he was left in total 
 darkness. At length it spread itself into a 
 broad red flame; the drapery which encom- 
 passed the arm fell to the ground ; and he then 
 discovered the figure to whom it belonged. It 
 was that of a warrior Moor, whose aspect 
 looked august and commanding ; and yet there 
 was something deathlike in the countenance, 
 which made his blood run chill through his 
 veins, as if he gazed upon a newly-risen tenant 
 of the grave. The figure for a while was mo- 
 tionless as monumental marble; then receding 
 from his sight, and slowly raising its arm, 
 pointed to him to follow. He struggled to do 
 so ; some invisible hand kept him back. Again 
 he struggled — and suddenly awoke. 
 
 Tiie pilgrim started. His soul, though un- 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE TALBAi 
 
 used to fear, was shaken to its very centre. His 
 hair arose and bristled on his head, as a cold 
 sweat bathed his limbs, and stood in large drops 
 upon his forehead : for who shall describe his 
 agony — what tongue could tell his sensations — 
 when, on awaking from this terrific vision, he 
 beheld, by the cold gleam of moonlight, for the 
 lamp had gone out, which shone through the 
 windows of the apartment, a tall figure, whose 
 look and air, to the amazed fancy of the dreamer 
 awakened, had something m it of a supernatural 
 character ? 
 
 The figure was that of a man with no cover- 
 ing on his head : he was wrapped in large and 
 loose drapery. The sickly light of the moon, 
 which shot directly on his face, gave even to its 
 darkness the hue of death. For some moments 
 the figure stood rivetted to the spot where he 
 had first fixed the pilgrim's gaze. At length he 
 moved, and turning slowly towards the couch, 
 every feature of this midnight intruder was dis- 
 tinctly seen. The pilgrim, as he viewed him, 
 uttered an involuntary exclamation of alarm, 
 and seized his dagger, for he recognised the
 
 THE TALBA. 115 
 
 living phantom to be no other than Hassan the 
 Talba. Yet how changed ! how different in 
 aspect ! How opposite was the expression of his 
 face at this moment to the countenance of that 
 Hassan, who, but a few hours before, whilst 
 seated at the supper table of Aza, had there 
 discoursed with the gravity and much of the 
 dogged manner so common among such Moors 
 as aspired to the title of philosophers. His 
 head, now bare, showed his high and arched 
 forehead in all the majesty of its amplitude. 
 His coal-black eye at this instant had a light in 
 it which darted flashes like fire, yet they were 
 such as might be supposed to kindle in the eye 
 of a fiend rather than of a man. His lips 
 were compressed together, and trembled, as if 
 some powerful passion worked within him that 
 could alone be subdued with effort. He ad- 
 vanced towards the couch. 
 
 " How is this ? — why this intrusion ? — where- 
 fore am I disturbed?" cried the pilgrim in a 
 hurried and confused manner, as he endea- 
 voured to collect his scattered thoughts, and 
 recover from his alarm. 
 I 2
 
 116 THE TALBA. 
 
 The Talba was still silent, but gazed intently 
 upon the stranger. 
 
 " In the name of heaven, or of hell, speak 
 your purpose ! " said the pilgrim indignantly ; 
 " I am an armed man, and you will find me 
 one not to be trifled with." 
 
 " That you will find wze," replied the Talba, 
 in a voice deep and impressive. " Up, pilgrim ! 
 arouse thee ! on this hour hangs thy destiny 
 and mine." 
 
 " My destiny ! " said the pilgrim, with asto- 
 nishment ; " what concern is my destiny to 
 thee ? and what tie can exist between thy fate 
 and mine ? " 
 
 " The surest," answered the Talba, — " that 
 which nothing sunders but the grave, — our 
 mutual interests, our mutual will. We both 
 have vowed at the same altar ; and Hatred^ 
 with his ever-burning torch, goes before us, 
 to guide our steps to the fulfilment of our 
 vows." 
 
 " You are frantic, old man," said the pil- 
 grim : " I know something of your people, and 
 that fakirs and madmen are held, as we con-
 
 THE TALBA. 117 
 
 sider our saints, to be inspired of Heaven ; so 
 that phrensy, with you, is more sanctified than 
 reason : a sure proof that those who worship 
 madmen are themselves but fools. But I am 
 no Moslem, to endure this folly in any man 
 who may choose, or affect, to be mad whenever 
 the moon comes nearer than usual to the earth. 
 Shake off this absurdity, and tell me briefly 
 what you want, and how you came into this 
 chamber ; for the bolt in the door, I see, is not 
 withdrawn." 
 
 " The wings of Gabriel are my strength in 
 flight, pass where I will," replied the Talba : 
 " I am not mad ; I am as perfect in reason as 
 in memory and knowledge. My searching eye 
 can read yonder book of heaven, which is 
 spread before us in ever-shining characters of 
 light : there I read those decrees of fate that 
 are sealed on the forehead of man. This is the 
 hour that unites your destiny and mine, and 
 I am come to prove to you " 
 
 " My destiny, I have before told you," said 
 the pilgrim interrupting him, " is my own con- 
 cernment ; and what union can exist between 
 1 3
 
 118 - THE TALBA. 
 
 a Christian and an infidel, a follower of Maho- 
 met's accursed law ? " 
 
 A scowl, like the shadow of a cloud on a 
 dark rock, passed swiftly over the brow of the 
 Talba, as he said, with an expression of con- 
 tempt, " Thou a Christian ! thou call me infi- 
 del ! thou, who believest neither in God invi- 
 sible, nor in his word revealed by any prophet ! 
 I know thee ! " 
 
 The pilgrim sprung from the couch, and 
 drew his dagger, as he exclaimed, "Darest 
 
 thou ?" 
 
 ; " I mind not thy steel," said the Talba, 
 calmly: " I have strength in these limbs, which, 
 did I put it forth, would unarm thee in an in- 
 stant. I could bind up thy powerless hand in 
 my grasp as easily as I would restrain the slen- 
 der joints of infancy. Put up — put up thy dag- 
 ger, and listen to me. Look at this ! " 
 
 He drew from beneath his gown, as he 
 spoke, a scroll of parchment, which he slowly 
 and cautiously unrolled before the wondering 
 eyes of the stranger, who, startled by some ex- 
 pressions that had fallen fi'om Hassan's lips, felt
 
 THE TALBA. 119 
 
 a degree of curiosity mingled with strange sus- 
 picions, to know where this would end. The 
 parchment exposed to view was to him as much 
 hieroglyphics as any inscription on papyrus 
 would have been from Memphis or from Thebes. 
 The"!^ were signs, and figures, and letters upon 
 it ; such, however, as none but a learned Moor- 
 ish astrologer could have possibly understood. 
 
 " What is this scrawled parchment to me ?" 
 said the pilgrim, as he cast a glance on it. " I 
 am a man who values common sense, and am 
 neither a credulous idiot nor a doting philo- 
 sopher, that I should credit the dreams of a 
 star-gazing astrologer." 
 
 "You credited a dream just now," said the 
 Talba, " when the armed hand with the lamp 
 haunted your midnight visions." 
 
 " Ha ! how know you that ? " exclaimed the 
 pilgrim, as a cold shudder stole over him ; for 
 there was somethino; in the Talba's having ob- 
 tained a knowledge of his dream that appeared 
 supernatural. " Are there spirits of evil, who 
 wait on the wicked, and tell them the secrets of 
 hidden things — of the world invisible — that 
 J 4
 
 120 THE TALBA. 
 
 you should know this ? I have heard of such» 
 yet I never believed in them till now." 
 
 " No evil spirit but your own disturbed 
 soul, and evil enough it may be, told me this," 
 answered the Talba ; " you called aloud in 
 your sleep, and I heard you as I stood about 
 your bed. You spoke of the armed hand. I tell 
 you truth in this, that you may see I would not 
 impose upon your senses by any feigned means ; 
 though your ready credulity would give me the 
 power, were 1 inclined to do so. Now will you 
 believe me?" 
 
 " If my belief in your veracity is to extend 
 itself to the roll of parchment you hold in your 
 hand, filled with signs and scrawlings of which 
 I know nothing but their absurdity, and the 
 credulity of mankind, who are too apt to place 
 rehance on them — if, I say, I am to credit 
 these, you will find me as great an unbeliever 
 as you are yourself in the legends of Christian 
 saints." 
 
 " Shall I give you proof of my skill?" said 
 the Talba. "Beware how you condemn the 
 learning or the power of him, to whom the 
 
 I
 
 THE TAI.BA. 121 
 
 paths of heaven through the azure wilderness 
 of air are as well known as the roads to a tra- 
 veller on earth, or the track of the wild ocean 
 is to him who spreads his sails amid the depths 
 of the waters. Shall I tell you things concern- 
 ing your past life, which, in spite of prejudice, 
 will make you trust me for the future? — shall 
 I tell you on what you meditate?" 
 
 " You could not, if you would," cried the 
 pilgrim. " The very hairs on my lip have not 
 heard the utterance of my thoughts. They have 
 never found breath." 
 
 ' "Then will 1 give them a tongue," said the 
 Talba. " You meditate the ruin of Don Pedro, 
 prince of Portugal ; and that, too, in the spirit 
 of revenge." 
 
 " ISIoor, or fiend !" exclaimed the pilgrim, 
 by what black, what devilish art, practised in 
 hell, hast thou learned that thought ? " 
 
 " By no arts that are lawless," said the Talba: 
 " you know not the power of him who holds his 
 midnight counsels with the wide-spread book 
 of heaven, where the God of light and truth
 
 122 THE TALBA. 
 
 has left the impress of his own image. Dost 
 thou believe me ?" 
 
 " I know not what to believe," said the pil- 
 grim, as he gazed with strained eyes upon the 
 animated features of the Talba, in whose sha- 
 dowy brow and enkindlmg glance there was the 
 power to awe as well as to penetrate with a 
 single look the soul of ordinary men. 
 
 The pilgrim was not an ordinary man : he 
 was bold and hardy by nature ; and though he 
 found it impossible to account for the know- 
 ledge which the Talba had displayed, by any 
 means short of those which are supernatural, 
 he met Hassan's searching eye without shrink- 
 ing, yet determined to act with caution, as he 
 thus replied : — "I can scarcely believe the 
 evidence of my own senses, or that I do not 
 still wander in a dream. Am I awake ? Did I 
 lay me down to rest in this chamber ? Are these 
 my hands? Is this my pilgrim's gown ?" 
 
 " It is a pilgrim's gown," said the Talba, 
 but not thine, for thou art no pilgrim." 
 
 " No pilgrim ! " exclaimed the stranger 
 with astonishment; " sav, then, who am I?"
 
 THE TALBA. 123 
 
 " Thou art Don Diego Lopez Pacheco," 
 replied the Moor ; " Portugal gave thee birth, 
 but by adoption thy country is Castile." 
 
 " Thou speakest the fatal truth," said Don 
 ' Diego, for so we may now ventureto call him ; 
 " I am indeed that most unhappy man." 
 
 " Unhappy," said the Talba, " inasmuch 
 as regards thy fortunes, unhappy as thou servest 
 a tyrant, but yet most happy ; since by doing 
 so thou hast found the way to serve thy own 
 REVENGE ! I join my hand to thine in this aus- 
 picious hour to help the great work prepared 
 for us by destiny. In this the Moor and the 
 Christian shall be as brothers." 
 
 " The Talba extended his tawny hand as 
 he spoke. Don Diego stood for a moment as 
 if doubtful how to act; whilst with a heaving 
 chest — for his very respiration seemed to labour 
 under the contest of inward feelings — and with 
 a countenance livid as that of a dead man, he 
 gazed in silence, and fixed his eye on Hassan. 
 At length his doubts appeared to give way be- 
 fore his hopes. A resolution as sudden as the 
 power of thought succeeded. He grasped the
 
 12|« THE TALBA. 
 
 Talba by the hand, and said in a deep hollow 
 voice, " I seal the compact." 
 
 ** Your hand trembles, Nazarene," observed 
 the Moor, and your heart stirs your gown, that 
 covers your breast, with its thick throbbings. 
 Look at my hand ; I can feel and resolve as 
 strongly as you do, but not a nerve in my body 
 is shaken." He held up his hand as he spoke, 
 to show its steadiness. 
 
 " How I am known to thee I cannot tell, I 
 care not," said the pilgrim. " Be it by the 
 means of infernal spirits, or those of a better 
 order, it matters not to me ; yet by no earthly 
 means couldest thou know me. But there is 
 that power in the truth thou hast spoken — there 
 is that strength of character in thee, that hardy 
 will to be and to do what common men could 
 neither be nor do — I may no longer resist thee ; 
 — our compact is sealed. Thou didst say I 
 was known to thee : one word proved it beyond 
 a doubt. Henceforth we can understand each 
 other's purpose. There needs not to waste 
 speech on it." 
 
 " Dissension shall grow where peace sprung
 
 THE TALBA. 12^ 
 
 up like the young olive and the vine," said the 
 Talba ; " brother shall be against brother, and 
 Christian against Christian, in the proud state 
 of kings." 
 
 " The throne of Alonso shall tremble," said 
 Diego, "and Don Pedro shall fall." 
 
 He spoke in a high tone of peculiar bitterness, 
 and suddenly started as he looked round, for it 
 seemed as if his last words had been repeated 
 by some one in the chamber. 
 
 The Talba observed his alarm, and said, " It 
 is but the echo of the old walls. This apart- 
 ment was once that of the Moorish kings. It 
 was so constructed to echo notes of music in 
 soft responses : sweet was that sound whichj 
 in Moorish halls, proclaimed the fall of the bit- 
 terest foe of Ismael's sons. Could they be mute 
 at such a sound ? Hear my counsel. — You 
 come thus shrouded to Cintra to avoid detec- 
 tion. I know well the purpose of your journey, 
 and that you were last in Castile. Till all is 
 ready, you would remain unknown ; you seek 
 Don Alvaro Gonsalez. It is well : rest you 
 with him. There will I meet you ; and bring
 
 126 THE TALBA. 
 
 such aid to his secret councils, means so potent 
 in furtherance of this enterprise, that it lives not 
 in your mind even to suppose them possible. 
 Will you be ruled by me in this ?" 
 
 " I will," replied Diego : " yet that you 
 should know it is Don Gonsalez whom I most 
 desire to seek, exceeds all wonder. Gonsalez 
 knows not that I am yet alive : nay, more, 
 saving one who is his friend and mine, though 
 novy far distant in Castile, there breathes not 
 the man who knew it was my purpose ever 
 more to return, thus shrouded and concealed, 
 to my native land of Portugal. With that 
 friend, such is his condition, thou couldest never 
 have held intercourse by any means. How, 
 then, could these things be known to thee ? " 
 
 " It matters not," replied the Talba : " nay, 
 I know thy very thoughts ; the counsels of thy 
 heart are not hidden from me ; they are friendly 
 to the cause of Don Sanchez, the bastard brother 
 of Alonso, who now meditates a strife that shall 
 shake the firm footing even of the throne. To 
 the bastard and his fortunes am I sworn for 
 life or death."
 
 THE TALBA. 12? 
 
 The pilgrim looked overwhelmed with asto- 
 nishment ; his surprise rendered him even dumb 
 for the moment, as the Talba mentioned some 
 other circumstances of the deepest import, that 
 proved Diego's own designs, dark and secret as 
 they might be, were as well known to the Moor 
 as to himself. 
 
 " I must leave you," continued Hassan; 
 " yet beware ! Trust not even Gonsalez with 
 what I have spoken to you this night. — I have 
 an especial reason for this caution : Gonsalez, 
 though in secret he professes to be ours, is still 
 ostensibly attached to the kmg. I will prove 
 him to the quick ere I trust to him all our pur- 
 pose ; yet I believe him true ; and well do I 
 know that he hopes much, fears much, from me. 
 Fare thee well !" 
 
 " Stay," said Diego ; " let me but ask, 
 whatever you purpose hereafter against Alonso 
 or Don Pedro, is it known to yonder Moorish 
 boy and his noble mother?" 
 
 *' No," replied the Talba ; " they know 
 nothing of my purposes, though I hope to work 
 good out of them for both. Aza, noble as she
 
 128 THE TALBA. 
 
 is, still is a woman ; and Hamet but a boy, a 
 hot and testy boy, who feels warmly and speaks 
 frankly. Those who share in the counsels of a 
 Jofty enterprise, who walk through devious 
 paths, whilst danger and death watch their steps, 
 to profit by the first that may be heedless — they 
 who do this, must have thoughts swift as light 
 to plan, but patience to act, eyes to see, but not 
 to become as mirrors in which all the world 
 may read the reflection of their mind ; a tongue 
 for conference must be theirs, yet none for 
 babbling : no, no ; Hamet must not be trusted. 
 He may play his part hereafter : when the game 
 is afoot, he may start to hunt it down ; till then 
 I hold him in the leash. I neither trust the 
 widowof Alcanzor,nor the young sharif her son ; 
 the lion in his lair takes not the parent eagle, 
 nor her winged nursling, for the sharer of his 
 counsels. All things seek their kindred, and 
 so do I in thee. I would find a spirit who can 
 hate deeply ; I know it is in thee. I would 
 join fellowship with one who can give his hatred 
 action ; thou art that determined being. Thou 
 art bold of heart and hand : therefore do I
 
 THE TALBA. 129 
 
 choose thee. Thou art held accursed by thy 
 enemies, who are mine also, and therefore do 
 I trust thee. Ere two days are past we will 
 meet again at the house of Alvaro Gonsalez ; 
 there will we speak farther of these things ; 
 till then, farewell : be wise, be prudent, and 
 Eblis speed thy enterprise." 
 
 " Stay, yet stay," said Diego ; " something 
 there is I would ask of thee — for surely thou 
 knowest all things — something I would learn 
 ere I resolve " 
 
 " Not now," replied the Talba, " I have 
 sought you at this hour that our conference 
 might rest unknown. It is past ; the compact 
 is sealed between us ; the night wanes apace ; 
 I must to my books. Look yonder," he con- 
 tinued as he pointed to the heavens, " the 
 morning star already trembles in the east. It 
 bids me be gone. Soon will it make pale the 
 torch of night. This hour, which I must not 
 lose, is one of import, for even now fate holds 
 the balance with a fearflil hand. Before this 
 hour be past, I must search out her decree, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE TALBA. 
 
 whether for good or evil : — farewell to thee, 
 Don Diego." 
 
 "Which way go you ?" said Diego. " Yon- 
 der lies the door, to the west." 
 
 " No, not that way," replied the Talba; 
 " to the east ; my path lies to the east ; it is 
 that which leads to wisdom." 
 
 He placed his hands on his forehead as he 
 spoke, and bowed his head reverently, in token 
 of that superstitious veneration for the east so 
 common with the Moors, and immediately after 
 advanced towards a khid of niche at the lower 
 end of the chamber, in which was a small door 
 that led to a turret above, but so constructed as 
 to escape any casual observation. 
 
 ** We meet then at the house of Alvaro 
 Gonsalez?" said the Talba as he was about to 
 retire. 
 
 " I will not fail you," answered Diego : 
 *' thy designs, I doubt not, are great and dan- 
 gerous. Who shall dare execute them ?" 
 
 « The Moor ! the Moor !" exclaimed the 
 Talba, and instantly retreated within the private
 
 THE TALBA. 131 
 
 doorway to the turret, leaving the pretended 
 pilgrim in that confused state of mind which 
 may be compared to the effects of a bewilder- 
 ing dream. He felt as if just awakened ; in 
 that alarm between hope and fear, which doubts 
 if what is past be but an idle vision or an augury 
 of truth. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep, 
 And in his simple show he harbours treason. 
 
 Shaksfeare. 
 
 Morning found the pilgrim an early stirrer. 
 The rising sun had scarcely dispelled the grey 
 of dawn, when he arose from his couch, and 
 prepared to leave the friendly shelter he had 
 sought on the previous night. His attendant, 
 obedient to the orders he had received to be in 
 readiness at an early hour, was already equip- 
 ped, and awaiting him, with the mules bridled, 
 in the court-yard. Cassim was also on foot, and 
 offered such refreshment as the place could af- 
 ford to the traveller, ere he continued his jour- 
 ney. This was declined, but accompanied with 
 a request that Cassim would act as guide as far 
 as the extremity of the forest. The Moor con-
 
 THE TALBA. 133 
 
 'sen ted, and proceeded to unbar the outward 
 gates. 
 
 Cassim, whose curiosity was not a little ex 
 <;ited by what had passed on the previous even- 
 ing, now made some attempts to draw the pilgrim 
 into discourse. Finding, however, that he got 
 nothing but short answers, though given with 
 civility, he soon gave over the attempt; and ob- 
 serving that as guide he must go on first, the 
 pilgrim bade him do so with his attendant, and 
 that he would follow leisurely the path they 
 took before him. Cassim, with the varlet, thus 
 being in the van, whilst Don Diego brought up 
 the rear, the Moor asked carelessly if his master 
 had ever journeyed that road before. 
 
 " Yes," was the answer ; " I have heard him 
 say as much." 
 
 " Christian," continued the Moor, " I would 
 that I knew the subject of your master's dreams 
 last night ; for, sooth to say, it seems as if some 
 strange fantasies had been the companions of 
 his pillow. At supper he could eat, drink, and 
 speak like other men ; morning comes, and he 
 will neither break his fast nor open his lips. I 
 K 3
 
 134 THE TALBA. 
 
 wonder how he spent the niglit, that he should 
 become so changed a man in the morning ? '* 
 
 *' May be," replied the attendant, " he passed 
 the night in prayer and meditation, as pilgrims 
 are wont to do, who measure back their steps 
 from the tomb of St. James of Compostella." 
 
 "If it be so," said Cassim, "you Christians 
 differ from us Moors in more things than the 
 colour of your skins. For you must know, com- 
 panion mine, that those of our religion, who 
 sometimes go on a pilgrimage over sea to Mecca, 
 (to kiss the black stone, called the right hand 
 of Allah, which stands in the east corner of the 
 Caaba, looking towards Basra,) — such pilgrims, 
 I say, are obliged to be very fresh in memory, 
 since they are compelled to look back on their 
 past lives, and repent them of all their sins ; 
 for, enlivened and invigorated by drinking of 
 the holy waters of Zemzem, they have their re- 
 collection as clear about them as the sun at 
 noon-day. But thy master, friend, seems to 
 come back from his pilgrimage with quite a 
 contrary effect upon his memory." 
 
 " Wherefore ? " said the follower. " You
 
 THE TALBA. 135 
 
 heard him last night recount many wonders of 
 foreign countries, that prove he has not forgot- 
 ten the past; nay, that he is a keen observer 
 both of men and things." 
 
 " But not of roads and highways, as I take 
 it," said Cassim, at the same time sharply eye- 
 ing the follower ; " for were it as you say, how 
 shoidd he need my guidance through this forest, 
 to a road so direct as that to Cintra, had he 
 ever trodden it before with his eyes open ? His 
 brother pilgrims, last evening, needed no guide 
 on their return from Compostella. Wherefore 
 I take it that either the dreams or the medita- 
 tions, of our pilgrim here, have acted on his 
 memory something like a dark night, so as to 
 endanger his losing his way, though on a well- 
 known road." 
 
 The follower made no reply ; and soon after 
 Cassim, having conducted the traveller as far 
 on the route as he deemed a guide might be 
 necessary, told him to go straight on, and that 
 the town of Cintra would in a few minutes 
 appear before his eyes, so soon as he should 
 liave quitted the covert of the forest, 
 K 4
 
 136 THE TALBA. 
 
 After bidding farewell to the Moor, the pil- 
 grim pursued his course. The return of morn- 
 ing, — the gentle breeze which stirred the leaves 
 of the trees as they overarched the road, — the 
 glittering drops of dew that lay on every open- 
 ing flower and tender herb, — all seemed un- 
 heeded; nor could the united melody of a 
 thousand warbling throats, as the birds spread 
 their gay plumage and flitted from branch to 
 branch, arouse Diego, even for a moment, from 
 those deep thoughts in which he appeared to be 
 absorbed. 
 
 It was with the utmost caution that he en- 
 tered the outskirts of the town of Cintra ; when, 
 bidding his varlet enquire for the house of Don 
 Alvaro Gonsalez, who speedily found where 
 it stood, he advanced, with no little trepida- 
 tion, knocked, and gained admittance. The ar- 
 rival of a pilgrim from Compostella excited no 
 surprise in the household of Don Alvaro, since, 
 at the date of our narrative, the members and 
 relatives of the noblest families of Portugal, as 
 well as Spain, and even princes themselves, 
 were in the habit of performing what was
 
 THE TALBA. 137 
 
 deemed so meritorious a duty as that of a visit, 
 in the humble character of a pilgrim, to the 
 shrine of St. James. 
 
 Our wanderer was forthwith conducted, as 
 he desired, to the presence of the master of the 
 mansion ; when, bowing respectfully, he waited 
 in silence till the attendant who ushered him 
 in should be retired. Yet, though he spoke not, 
 he looked steadfastly at Don Gonsalez; and 
 there was that in the countenance of the Por- 
 tuguese nobleman which struck Diego as being 
 much changed since he last saw it. Gonsa- 
 Icz was a remarkable man in his appearance, 
 as well as in his character; in the latter, in- 
 deed, more remarkable than either worthy or 
 estimable. 
 
 Alvaro Gonsalez was one in whose intriguing 
 mind lay a whole volume of dark thoughts and 
 hidden plans, too dangerous to bear revealing. 
 Quick in observation, though cautious of speech, 
 his eye, restless and penetrating, watched, like 
 the lynx, the slightest expression, the least 
 change, that shadowed or illumined the coun- 
 tenance of him on whom he deemed it worth
 
 138 THE TALBA. 
 
 while to fix his severe scrutiny. The study of 
 the human face, in all its infinite varieties, was 
 to him an art he had pursued, like the fisher, 
 who watches the slightest indications on the 
 surface of the waters, to know where to throw 
 his fatal nets. Alvaro read mankind, to avail 
 himself of their inclinations, their passions, their 
 frailties, in order to use them at his own plea- 
 sure, and for his own purposes. He could be 
 eloquent, though cold and bitter sarcasm was 
 jnore generally the characteristic of his speech, 
 either in public or in private life. He had been 
 brave in the field, though cautious and artful in 
 council ; was never known to prove a friend to 
 any one, unless some motive of self-interest 
 excited him to do a friendly act; and never did 
 he become an open or declared enemy, till he 
 was certain he could be such with perfect se- 
 curity to himself. In his person, he was large 
 and powerful. Nature had not, in his exterior, 
 belied what was within ; for his countenance, 
 though the features were not bad, had in it 
 that repulsive, that haughty expression, more 
 likely to excite distrust, than to v/in confidence 
 or jxood will.
 
 THE TALBA. 139 
 
 No sooner had the varlet closed the door, 
 than the stranger asked Don Gonsalez if, under 
 his present pilgrim's garb, he could recognise an 
 ancient comrade, a countryman, and a friend. 
 
 " There is something in that voice familiar 
 to my ear," replied Gonsalez; " but those weeds 
 so shroud the person, I can scarcely say if they 
 cover friend or foe." 
 
 " Know me for the former," said the pilgrim, 
 as he threw back his hood. 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed Gonsalez starting from 
 his seat, for he well remembered the counte- 
 nance now disclosed to him. " What shadow is 
 this ? Do mine eyes deceive me, or is that a 
 living substance which stands before my view ? 
 Art thou Diego Lopez Pacheco ? My ancient 
 friend, indeed ! " 
 
 " I am," replied the pilgrim, " and still a 
 banished man. The unjust sentence which, six 
 years since, exiled me from my native land, is 
 yet unrepealed. Alvaro Gonsalez, I now stand 
 before you at the peril of my life. Tell but 
 Don Pedro, or the king, that I am here, — that 
 Diego lives, and breathes again the air of Por-
 
 140 THE TALBA. 
 
 tugal, — and my head within twenty -four hours 
 will fall by the axe of the common execu- 
 tioner." 
 
 " I would as soon betray my own," answered 
 Gonsalez. " Fear not, Don Diego; you are 
 safe. I will afford you shelter, for I know all 
 your peril. Yet I would beseech you frankly 
 to answer this. In whose service are you now, 
 and for what purpose do you come hither, thus 
 to place your life within danger of your ene- 
 mies ?" 
 
 " Exiled from Portugal," replied Diego, 
 *' I fled to Castile, where I have faithfully served 
 that king, whom most men call the Cruel. My 
 return hither, by the connivance of my royal 
 master, is at the instigation of Don Sanchez, 
 for whose cause I am employed to carry on se- 
 cret measures in furtherance of it. Now need I 
 tell Gonsalez my purpose in coming hither? 
 There are plans in agitation, schemes ripe for 
 action, that will not suffer one whose wrongs 
 pant for redress like mine to slumber at such 
 a time as this. Gonsalez, thy part in these 
 things is not unknown to me. These letters,"
 
 THE TAUJA. 141 
 
 he drew forth a packet as he spoke, " will m- 
 form thee farther of my errand, and my full 
 purpose shall be disclosed hereafter." 
 
 " Welcome, most welcome," said Gonsalez." 
 " If there was a man on earth whom I would 
 most desire should join our party at this moment 
 it is thyself. Don Sanchez will rejoice when he 
 shall learn of thy arrival to support his cause. 
 This packet from Pedro of Castile no doubt 
 refers to it." 
 
 *' It does," answered Diego: " there are those 
 in Castile who wish well to Don Sanchez, and 
 that he may prosper in the bold attempt he 
 meditates." 
 
 "And how goes the war in Castile?" en- 
 quired Gonsalez. 
 
 " The king is sorely pressed by his brother 
 Henry," replied Diego, " who, aided by the 
 valiant Du Guesclin, has driven him from the 
 throne, and now endeavours to maintain liis 
 usurpation by force of arms. Should Don San- 
 chez prevail in Portugal, Peter the Cruel hopes 
 to gain his assistance, to recover the possession 
 of his kingdom. It is reported, at least so have
 
 142 THE TALBA. 
 
 I learned as I journeyed hither, that Peter has 
 been trafficinfj with the Moors to reseat him in 
 his throne ; nay it is given out that if they will 
 join him to do this, he has offered to turn Mos- 
 lem, in requital of their good deed." 
 
 Gonsalez laughed. " Peter the Cruel," said 
 he, " I doubt not, would turn Moslem, fire- 
 worshipper, or Jew, rather than ultimately lose 
 his crown. Well, be it so, I trust he will still 
 wear it. Believe me, Diego, there are those at 
 the court of Portugal, who, though they be not 
 banished men like thyself, nevertheless so hate 
 the tyranny of Alonso, and of his son Don 
 Pedro, that they would "as gladly embroil this 
 kingdom to throw off the yoke as the men of 
 Castile, for less cause in my poor mind, have 
 done to shake oif their ruler. But not now 
 will I speak of these things ; thy own safety shall 
 be my first concern : for the present, thou shalt 
 find shelter beneath my roof You stand ex- 
 posed to much danger ; — a banished man ; — 
 death would indeed follow this return to Portu- 
 gal, should you become known before you can 
 defy all enemies. Your safety lies in joining
 
 THE TALBA. 143 
 
 those whose fortunes, like your own, must rise 
 with the times." 
 
 Don Gonsalez knew well how desirable it 
 was that Diego should be numbered with those 
 desperate men, who, leagued against the state, 
 were anxious by any means to create civil dis- 
 sensions in the country, that they might pave 
 the way for the execution of their own plans. 
 He rejoiced, therefore, to secure his ancient 
 friend as a partisan of that secret faction he Avas 
 so desirous to augment. Long and earnestly 
 did they debate of these matters, and many a 
 nefarious scheme of dark intrigue did Alvaro 
 unfold. These we pass in silence, as hereafter 
 we shall have occasion to speak of them by their 
 effects. 
 
 Diego listened with interest, and at length 
 enquired of Gonsalez, " What had been the 
 conduct of Don Pedro, the heir of Alonso, 
 that so many of the Portuguese nobility should 
 desire to league against him, and, if possible, 
 prevent his succession, in favour of Don San- 
 chez, who was only the bastard brother of the 
 present king ?"
 
 144. THE TALBA. 
 
 " Tlie causes of disgust are many," answered 
 Gonsalez: "they aieliot confined to Don Pedro 
 alone. His father Alonso is hated by our party 
 as much as the son. The clergy, too, are dis- 
 satisfied; for Alonso no more spares a priest 
 than he would a layman, and makes your monk 
 live soberly and observe the laws; a thing not 
 to be forgiven by three fourths of those drones. 
 But the chief cause of offence is the unbridled 
 insolence with which such Castilian nobles as 
 were driven from their country to seek shelter in 
 ours now lord it over us who are native born ; 
 whilst the very lands that many of us had won 
 by hard blows from the Moors are now given 
 to maintain these foreigners, and chiefly the 
 envied family of De Castro." 
 
 " The family of De Castro," said Diego, 
 " were once powerful in Castile, till old Don 
 Manuel was banished thence, as was I from 
 Portugal ; — yet, from how different a cause ! " 
 
 " And that same Manuel De Castro," said 
 Gonsalez, " is now appointed governor of Al- 
 grave, by the influence of Don Pedro with the 
 king. I solicited the post ; it was denied me ;
 
 THi: TALBA. 145 
 
 and after my long service too. But no matter ; 
 my sword, that once helpeu to gain Algrave 
 from its Moorish ruler, will find a way to carve 
 out my revenge. A Portuguese nobleman is 
 now nothing. Your Castilian is lord of the 
 ascendant; and that by the influence of a pair 
 of bright eyes ! — lues De Castro is the star that 
 now guides the prince." 
 
 " Ines De Castro," said Diego, "was once 
 the fairest, the sweetest flower that blossomed 
 in Castile ; and she seemed as innocent as she 
 was fair — but women are born to deceive, or 
 to betray." 
 
 *' And if report speaks truth," continued 
 Gonsalez, " she has done both. There is much 
 of mystery in this affair ; but you shall hear all; 
 then judge if we, the ancient nobility of Portu- 
 gal, have not just cause to vow the destruction 
 of this haughty woman, and of her usurping 
 family." 
 
 " She accompanied her father," said Diego, 
 " when he took shelter here, after flying from 
 Castile to save his life." 
 
 " She did," replied Gonsalez ; " and at that 
 vol- I. L
 
 146 THE TALBA. 
 
 time Constantia, the wife of Dcai Pedro, waS 
 alive. The princess, young and amiable, was 
 pleased with the exiled Ines ; loaded her with 
 favours ; entertained for her an affection rarely 
 seen in woman towards woman ; recommended 
 her father and brothers to the protection of 
 Don Pedro ; and so began the infant fortunes of 
 those Castilians, which, now matured, out- 
 top ours of native growth, that wither beneath 
 their shadow." 
 
 " And was Don Manuel De Castro as readily 
 taken into favour by the prince, as his daughter 
 had been by the princess ? " enquired Diego. 
 
 " He was," answered Gonsalez : " w^ealth 
 and honours were heaped upon him, as the pre- 
 lude to that high post he has since gained. The 
 unbounded affection of Constantia was returned 
 by the youthful Ines with devoted attachment: 
 if it were sincere I know not, but this I know, 
 that even then murmurs arose at the growing- 
 influence of foreigners in the court : they were 
 silenced by the princess, who would hear no- 
 thing to disparage her Castilian favourite." 
 
 " But as I have heard," said the pilgrim.
 
 THE TALliA. 147 
 
 who appealed desirous to conceal that he knew 
 any thing more of the De Castro family than 
 from public report, — "as I have heard, the 
 princess died in the flower of her age, and left 
 an infant son." 
 
 " She did," answered Gonsalez. " On her 
 death-bed she called her husband to her side 
 (such is the tale the prince himself spread 
 abroad), and earnestly begged of him that her 
 beloved Ines should be suffered to remain with 
 her child, and bestow on him those maternal 
 cares so necessary for infancy, when death 
 should have closed her eyes. Don Pedro pro- 
 mised compliance, and in a few hours after she 
 expired in the arms of her friend." 
 
 " And the prince, no doubt," said Diego, 
 " pleaded the last injunctions of the princess, 
 for continuing in favour the Lady Ines, who, on 
 the same score, accepted it." 
 
 " Ay," replied Gonsalez ; " and if it were 
 no more, all might have ended well. But there 
 are those who will tell you, that, from the very 
 first, the conduct of Ines De Castro had an 
 artful and a calculating motive ; — that, under 
 L 2
 
 148 THE TALBA. 
 
 pretext of devoted friendship and gratitude to 
 the princess, she laid snares for the heart of the 
 prince. It has been averred by many who 
 were about Constantia, that she perceived this 
 growing attachment in her husband for her 
 friend ; that it preyed on her mind, and has- 
 tened her death." 
 
 " Such reports may be the suggestions of 
 malice," said Diego : " you told me but now, 
 there were those who murmured at the favour 
 in which Ines was held in the lifetime of the 
 princess. You said she silenced them ; but 
 envy, though silenced, is not extinguished. It 
 burns like hidden fire, and bursts forth the 
 moment it can find a vent. No longer awed 
 by Constantia, malice alone might have given 
 birth to these whispers of calumny and de- 
 traction." 
 
 " It may be so," said Gonsalez : " of the 
 motives which governed the conduct of the Lady 
 Ines before the death of the princess I know 
 nothing, unless they may be inferred from her 
 subsequent actions, and if so, I should judge 
 them unfavourably ; since it now too plainly ap-
 
 THE TALBA. 146 
 
 pears that this haughty woman had practised 
 
 on the infatuated regard of Don Pedro to sa- 
 cs 
 
 tisfy her unbounded ambition, to raise herself 
 and her family to such power as none, even 
 native born in Portugal, have ever yet attained. 
 Had the influence of Ines died with the prin- 
 cess it had been well ; but soon it became 
 manifest that the prince was subdued by her. 
 The charge of the child of Constantia, thus 
 entrusted to her, threw the father constantly in 
 her way? till, under pretext of giving a suitable 
 habitation to the governess of the young prince, 
 Don Pedro built for Ines a palace, such as none 
 but love could have raised for its idol." 
 
 " Yet it might have been in honour of the 
 boy," said Diego, " as second heir to the 
 crown." 
 
 " Oh, content you," said Gonsalez : " the boy 
 was soon removed from her care by order of 
 the queen -mother. But the bird is still kept 
 within the nest, though the young one be flown. 
 This, however, refers to circumstances, of which 
 I shall speak anon : let me go on with the tale 
 in due course. The care bestowed by Ines on 
 L 3
 
 150 THE TALBA. 
 
 the child was held by many to be no more 
 than a cloak for intrigue with the father. The 
 affliction, say they, which she manifested on the 
 death of the princess enhanced her in the opi- 
 nion and regard of Don Pedro. Indeed, so 
 artfully did she affect this, that he considered 
 her a model of tenderness and virtue ; so that 
 none but Ines could assuage the grief he felt 
 for his deceased wife, and soon were his tears 
 of sorrow changed to those of passion." 
 
 " Much of this," said Diego, who appeared 
 willing to extenuate to Alvaro the conduct of 
 Ines, — " much of this must be matter of conjec- 
 ture. The actions of the prince, and of Donna 
 Ines, — may be in part known ; but who shall 
 with certainty attempt to penetrate their mo- 
 tives ? " 
 
 " I'hose who have an interest in doing so," 
 replied Gonsalez. " Trust me, men are Ar- 
 gus-eyed when they scrutinise the conduct of 
 princes. The lowly shrub may lift its head 
 unnoticed ; the lofty pine cannot but meet the 
 eye in almost every direction." 
 
 " Another circumstance, toO; gave coloiu" to
 
 THE TALBA. 151 
 
 suspicion," continued Gonsalez. " It was 
 about this period that Don Pedro procured for 
 her father the commandery of Algrave. I soli- 
 cited, but was denied the office. There are 
 those who will tell you it became the price of 
 his daughter's honour." 
 
 " It is impossible," said Diego. " Don 
 Manuel De Castro could never be so base, 
 never so far forget the honour of a Castilian 
 gentleman, to become the pander to his child." 
 
 " You speak v/armly, Diego," observed Gon- 
 salez. " I have heard you say that in early 
 life, years before your banishment, you had been 
 much in Castile ; have you, then, any interest 
 in Don Manuel, that you should thus defend 
 him?" 
 
 " No interest," answered Diego, " but such 
 as every man must feel, who would not see the 
 most sacred ties of nature thus debased. I 
 cannot think a father and a Castilian could 
 thus buy greatness with infamy." 
 
 " Many have said the same," continued Gon- 
 salez ; and Don Manuel, some, moreover, say, 
 was appointed commander of Algrave, that, by 
 L 4
 
 152 THE TALBA. 
 
 removing him from his daughter's side, the 
 prince might find the way to her favour with- 
 out parental scruples of honour to interrupt him. 
 All eyes have been turned on Don Pedro and 
 the Lady Ines. Some have watched them from 
 hatred, others from curiosity ; many from envy ; 
 but most with a desire to revenge on her the 
 affronts put on the Portugese at large, by the 
 favour showered on Castilians. The ladies of 
 the court also have not been silent ; yet, whilst 
 most vehement in their censures, might we not 
 suspect they envied her who could make a 
 prince thus stoop, like a trained falcon, to her 
 lure." 
 
 " And what says Don Pedro to these cen- 
 sures? have they never reached his ears ?" en- 
 quired Diego. 
 
 " I know not," answered Gonsalez ; " for I 
 have forborne his presence since he denied me 
 the commandery of Algrave. The prince treated 
 the Lady Ines with so much public distinction, 
 such profound respect, that his sister, the In- 
 fanta Mary, was the first to take alarm at it, to 
 conceive the possibility, that, blinded by passion,
 
 THE TALBA. 153 
 
 and governed by the arts of this woman, her 
 brother might so far forget what was due to his 
 high birth as to marry her." 
 
 " To marry her ! " exclaimed Diego. 
 
 " Ay, to marry her," repeated Gonsalez. 
 " The Princess Mary lost not a moment in 
 communicating her suspicions to the king, well 
 knowing that he would frustrate such a plan if 
 it existed, since Alonso had declared his inten- 
 tion that his son should form some second 
 mai'riage advantageous to the state." 
 
 " And what did Alonso on hearing these 
 suspicions of the infanta ?" said Diego. 
 
 " What did he ! " continued Gonsalez : " act 
 with his accustomed arts of deep laid policy. 
 He knew well the character of his son, that 
 open opposition to his purpose would but 
 strengthen it, and may be hasten its com- 
 pletion. The king, therefore, appeared to treat 
 Donna Ines with all outward marks of regard, 
 and, under pretext of conferring a high honour, 
 named her as sponsor to the young prince, Don 
 Ferdinand, the son of Constantia : thus placing 
 an eternal barrier between her and Don Pedro:
 
 154 THE TALBA. 
 
 since, as all men know, in the church of Rome 
 the office of sponsor creates a religious alliance, 
 which disables the godmother fi'om ever be- 
 comino; the wife of the father to the child for 
 whom she has vowed in baptism." 
 
 " The scheme was subtle," observed Diego: 
 " it was such as none but Alonso would have 
 dared suggest." 
 
 " It was evidently designed as a bar to the 
 marriage, if Don Pedro ever meditated mar- 
 riage," said Gonsalez ; " since, soon after this 
 event, the Princess Mary and the queen -mother 
 procured the removal of the child fi'om the care 
 of Donna Ines. He is now grown a noble boy, 
 but seldom is he allowed to visit her. Yet the 
 Castilian influence is in nothing shaken. If a 
 suit is to be advanced at court, a De Castro 
 must undertake it; if a place is vacant, a De 
 Castro fills it, or sells it ; whilst the court and 
 city swarm with exiled Castilians ; — men of all 
 fortunes, who, driven from their own country 
 by the civil broils that rend it, seek shelter in 
 Portugal ; and as drones in a hive devour the 
 stores of the industrious bee, even so do these
 
 THE TALBA. 155 
 
 Castilians batten on us, whilst we toil to feed 
 the hungry mouths of foreign beggars." 
 
 " It is strange," said Diego, " that, through 
 the influence of Don Pedro, Alonso should have 
 allowed foreigners to gain so much power in this 
 country. He was wont to be jealous of all Cas- 
 tilians." 
 
 " Alonso is inflexible, obstinate in the pre- 
 conceptions of his own mind," said Gonsalez ; 
 " yet there are points in which he is easily ma- 
 naged by Don Pedro. It is now to Don Pedro 
 that the oppressed, the beggared, the fugitive 
 Castilians look for support, assured that the in- 
 fluence of the Lady Ines will be exerted in their 
 favour ; whilst, as the sum of all the honours 
 heaped on old Don Manuel, he has been sent, 
 even by the king himself, on a secret embassy, 
 to Arragon. This is a fact passing all wonder. 
 For what purpose this last insult should have 
 been added to so many already cast on the no- 
 bility of Portugal remains to be discovered ; 
 but dearly will Alonso repent having chosen a 
 Castilian, the father of his son's mistress, for his 
 ambassador."
 
 156 THE TALBA. 
 
 Some other causes of discontent were stated 
 by Gonsalez. These we pass in silence, having 
 given at large that which will be found hereafter 
 intimately connected with the subject of our nar- 
 rative. We now, therefore, shall merely add, 
 that Diego remained concealed in the house of 
 his friend, who, ere two days elapsed, confided 
 to him the entire plan of an enterprise, yet in 
 embryo, that none but a dark and intriguing 
 mind could suggest, and none but a daring spirit 
 would execute.
 
 157 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 He is come to ope 
 
 The purp]e testament of bleeding war. Shakspeare. 
 
 Alonso, who has more than once been men- 
 tioned in these pages, was one of the most 
 remarkable kmgs that distinguished themselves 
 diu'ing the chivalrous and romantic period of 
 the fourteenth century. And though many 
 of those events we have undertaken to relate 
 were, in a great measure, brought about by the 
 personal character rather than by the regal au- 
 thority of this prince, yet it becomes necessary 
 we should here say a few words respecting him 
 in both particulars, for the better elucidation of 
 our narrative. 
 
 The uncommon prowess he had displayed at 
 the great battle of Celdano against the Moors, 
 where many thousands of that unhappy race
 
 158 THE TALBA. 
 
 were totally defeated, obtained for him the sur- 
 name of the Brave. He was a king great in 
 spirit and fortunate in war ; and although bitter 
 and even bloody quarrels had subsisted between 
 him and the late monarch of Castile, (Alfonso, 
 father of Peter the Cruel,) yet, nevertheless, 
 when that kingdom was attacked by the Moors, 
 Alonso of Portugal had sufficient magnanimity 
 to bury his private resentments in oblivion, in 
 order to render the assistance of his powerful 
 arm against the common enemy, an infidel peo- 
 ple, considered by the church alike accursed of 
 God and man. Of the darker shades of his 
 mind we shall have occasion to speak more at 
 large hereafter, but our present purpose de- 
 mands we should state that he was a great poli- 
 tician, in the worst sense of the word, since he 
 never scrupled to sacrifice his principles to his 
 policy, whenever he thought by so doing he 
 could promote the designs he had at heart. In 
 his temper he was rash, sudden, and impetuous; 
 consequently he committed many acts that were 
 unworthy a Christian and a prince. But 
 though prone to rash and violent deeds, h.e was
 
 THE TALCA. 159 
 
 not blind to those faults in himself which 
 prompted them; so that he quickly saw his error, 
 and generally was as quickly desirous to repair 
 it. In his administration of justice, he was un- 
 bending ; rigid, but impartial. No rank, no 
 station, were considered by him as an exemption 
 from the salutary power of the laws. Yet, such 
 is the infirmity of human nature, Alonso, who 
 was so rigid in seeing justice done between his 
 subjects at large, was too apt to forget it when 
 his own passions interfered with its adminis- 
 tration. 
 
 He was neither an oppressive nor an ava- 
 ricious prince, though he was a rich one ; for 
 commerce, husbandry, and industry of all kinds, 
 flourished under his auspices. The revenues of 
 the crown, therefore, increased with the prosper- 
 ity of the country. Some deep stains upon his 
 character may be said to have accompanied him 
 almost to the throne ; since, more than once, 
 had he rebelled against his father, the good 
 king Denis. To these acts he had been 
 prompted solely by a spirit of jealousy ond 
 resentment for injuries that had no founda-
 
 160 THE TALBA. 
 
 tion but in his own disturbed, mistrustful mind; 
 and by the suggestions of those wicked counsel- 
 lors by whom he was beset for many years. 
 These disgraceful transactions, however, had 
 taken place during his minority, and he had 
 shown many strong tokens of remorse before his 
 father's death. And indeed in his own eyes, as 
 well as in those of the monks, he had completely 
 washed out, in the blood of the Moors, these 
 dark defilements of his early and unnatural re- 
 bellion. 
 
 To sum up this slight sketch of Alonso in a 
 few words, we may say, perhaps, with truth, 
 that his subjects at large had all the benefit of 
 his virtues, whilst his own family, and those who 
 were immediately about his person, suffered, 
 and often severely, from his vices. His manners 
 were far from conciliatory. He was seldom 
 warmed but by anger ; and the haughty reserve 
 of his character kept his very friends aloof: so 
 that, although he was esteemed a great sol- 
 dier, he was little beloved, either by the court or 
 by his family. His kingdom, generally speak- 
 ing, was in a prosperous state ; but, at the time
 
 THE TALBA. 161 
 
 we commence our narrative, many internal dis- 
 cords, parties, and factions, shook that strength, 
 ever the result of union, which constitutes the 
 health and vigour of a state, and which, if once 
 shaken, often leads to some violent convulsion, 
 or to its decline and fall. 
 
 The council of the palace (where the king 
 took his seat as supreme head, and whose power, 
 even in this council, was arbitrary, if he chose 
 to use it,) was composed both of nobles and ec- 
 clesiastics, as well as of the princes of the blood. 
 All matters of deep import were here finally 
 debated or arranged ; and it was one duty also 
 of this assembly to receive appeals from the 
 lower courts, or common councils of state. This 
 august bod}' had met in a spacious hall of the 
 ancient palace at Cintra, expecting the presence 
 of Alonso, to hear an appeal which it was un- 
 derstood would be brought forward on a matter 
 of some moment touching a distinguished noble- 
 man in exile. 
 
 Amongst the members of the council present 
 was the celebrated Azevedo, who, though once 
 peculiarly obnoxious to Alonso, was now dis- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE TALBA. 
 
 tinguished, honoured, and respected by him. 
 So entirely opposite was he in character to his 
 royal master, that many had predicted his fall 
 immediately on the death of the late king ; yet, 
 contrary to all expectation, he was taken into 
 favour by his successor. Azevedo had now 
 been nearly forty years a faithful minister of 
 state. He had honestly, fearlessly served king 
 Denis. When, moreover, Alonso rebelled 
 against his father, he was the only courtier 
 who was hardy enough to seek the prince ; and, 
 •whilst threatened by him with death as the 
 reward of his boldness, openly and severely re- 
 proved him for such unnatural rebellion. On 
 the accession of Alonso, this was the man 
 whom he chose for his most trusted counsellor ; 
 and though, from the natural impetuosity of 
 his temper, he often treated harshly the wise 
 counsels of the venerable Azevedo, no rival in 
 power, no jealous enemy, had ever yet been 
 able to shake the high trust he reposed in this 
 good and faithful servant of the late king his 
 father. 
 
 In person Azevedo was gravcj venerable,
 
 THE TALBA. 163 
 
 and dignified. There was a mild benignity in 
 his aspect that invited confidence; whilst in 
 every feature of his face shone honesty, like that 
 which it so truly resembles, the clear and open 
 day. His wisdom was the fruit of his expe- 
 rience, yet it had none of those prejudices so 
 frequently found to beset even the wisest in 
 old age. Candid and liberal, Azevedo was 
 ever the first to hear with mildness the opi- 
 nions of others ; to view the matter in debate 
 as it would best advantage that country at 
 whose helm he stood as pilot ; whilst all per- 
 sonal interests, all private feelings, were for- 
 gotten by him in the general good. Though 
 respectful to the king, as his own and the 
 people's lawful governor, yet he neither flat- 
 tered his vices, nor spared to show him his 
 errors ; and, strange to say, Alonso sometimes 
 endured from this old counsellor such sharp 
 reproofs as no other would have been suffered 
 to utter on peril of his head. 
 
 Joseph, Count of Amiranti, was also present 
 at the council. This nobleman filled the post 
 of master to the religious and military Order of 
 M 2
 
 164 THE TALBA. 
 
 the Wing. It was first instituted in Portugal 
 by Alphonso during the 12th century, in com- 
 memoration of his victory over the Moors at 
 Santeren ; because, in that decisive battle, he 
 saw a winged arm fighting near him, which he 
 took to be the arm of the good St. Michael 
 doing battle in his cause. The Count of Ami- 
 ranti was attired in long white robes, with an 
 azure wing, richly embroidered on a ground of 
 gold, upon his left shoulder. The sword which 
 hung from his magnificent belt was jewelledj 
 and sheathed in a red scabbard. Round his 
 neck he wore a gold chain and medallion. Upon 
 the latter was chased the winged arm of St. 
 Michael and a cross. These words were seen 
 around it. The Wing of the Cross. The mas- 
 ters of the Order of St. James and of Christy 
 the admiral of Portugal, Lansarata Pesania^ 
 and many other distinguished nobles, were 
 also present. And here we must particularly 
 notice amongst them Paul, prior of Evora, a 
 rich and proud ecclesiastic, as he will be found 
 to play a somewhat conspicuous part in our 
 drama. He had been frequently engaged in
 
 THE TALBA. 165 
 
 those disputes, both with the late and the pre- 
 sent king, (respecting certain rights, privileges, 
 and immunities of the church,) which had been 
 the cause of the most serious evils to the kins- 
 
 o 
 
 dom ; since, more than once, by the influence 
 of the prior with Pope Martin the Fourth, an 
 interdict had been laid on all Portugal till the 
 disputes in question could be adjusted between 
 the clergy and the throne. However, of late, 
 not the king had been humbled but the prior, 
 by the patriarch of Lisbon having decided a 
 cause (which was subsequently confirmed at 
 Rome) in favour of Alonso. This the haughty 
 spirit of Paul could not pardon ; and the king, 
 who hated him for his arrogance and pride, 
 the more so, perhaps, that his sacred cha- 
 racter protected him from immediate chastise?- 
 ment, took every opportunity of mortifying and 
 taunting him in public; and in private, of curs- 
 ing the prior with all the bitterness of impotent 
 rage that longs for an occasion to make itself 
 felt in something more substantial than words. 
 
 The prior was submissive in his manners to 
 the king, — a, thing which such as knew his cjia- 
 M 3
 
 166 THE TALBA. 
 
 racter considered a worse sign than had he 
 openly resented the insults cast upon him ; 
 since, though destitute of high intellectual 
 powers, his cunning was equal to his pride, 
 whilst he had sense enough to turn both to 
 account on any occasion of self-interest. Yet 
 so strange a compound is human character, no 
 casual observer of the prior, within the pre- 
 cincts of his own monastery, would for a moment 
 have suspected him to be a man capable of 
 intriguing with popes or quarrelling with kings. 
 He was a round-made burly priest, with a skin 
 as dark as that of a Moor, and a pair of bright 
 twinkling eyes that, over a goblet of wine, 
 would dilate and sparkle in joyous hilarity to 
 honour the god of the grape. At Evora he 
 reigned with undisputed sovereignty. His 
 pride gratified, he was an easy ruler ; since an 
 obedient brother never found in him a hard or 
 stern superior, who would deny an absolution, 
 or even a dispensation, when the wine was old, 
 and the cock crew matins before the last bowl 
 was drained. 
 
 Out of the convent, however, he was another
 
 THE TALBA. 167 
 
 man. At court he would seldom taste beyond 
 the first cup, and would dispute, wrangle, and 
 beard even the very king himself with unbridled 
 pride and insolence, if the slightest innovation 
 was attempted on the clergy. For church 
 rights and church immunities he would, like 
 Hotspur, " cavil on the ninth part of a hair." 
 And though he dearly loved the joyous indo^ 
 lent life of a prior within his own walls, yet he 
 had sense enough to know that the dignity of the 
 ecclesiastical character would suffer by such 
 indulgence in the face of the world. 
 
 He was attired with considerable pomp. His 
 gown and cope were embroidered with gold and 
 pearls. The crucifixion that covered the back 
 was represented in the finest needle-woi'k. 
 From a chain of gold and jewels round his 
 neck was suspended a diamond cross ; whilst 
 his gloves, where they covered the back of the 
 hand, were also jewelled. 
 
 The council sat expecting the arrival of the 
 king, whose unusual delay excited some sur- 
 prise, and mafiy conjectures as to its cause ; for 
 Alonso was wont to say that the life of man 
 M 4
 
 168 THE TALBA. 
 
 sped too swiftly to admit of one moment being 
 lost with impunity. The chamber in which the 
 members were assembled was situated near the 
 king's own apartment in the palace or castle of 
 Cintra. Like most buildings of importance 
 in Portugal, this was of Moorish origin ; for, 
 under the caliphs of the West, and before the 
 Moors were driven from Cordova, they ranked 
 the first in arts, as well as in arms, throughout 
 the world. Their mosques, palaces, and other 
 public edifices, were of a structure so costly 
 and magnificent as to astonish the architects of 
 succeeding ages with the grandeur of their 
 design, and the splendour of their execution. 
 
 At length the impatient counsellors were 
 relieved from their suspense. A trumpet 
 sounded : the door of the council flew open ; 
 and, ere ushers, chamberlains, body squires, 
 and pages could arrange themselves into any 
 order to receive majesty with that state and 
 decorum, frequently not the least imposing ac- 
 companiment of royalty, Alonso of Portugal 
 made his way hastily through them all, putting 
 every one to flight or into motion, whilst he
 
 THE TALBA. 169 
 
 passed on regardless alike of those who shrunk 
 back, or of others who saluted him. Anger 
 was in his looks ; his short but deep breathing 
 showed impatience more, perhaps, than speed, 
 as with long strides he made his way to the 
 council board. 
 
 Alonso, in his person, belied not the idea 
 which the mind involuntarily forms of a man 
 who had won his name by the strength and 
 valour of his arm. His limbs were large and 
 robust. He had thews and sinews as hard as 
 the greaves and mail with which they were 
 protected in battle. In stature taller than ordi- 
 nary men, his bulk would have been unseemly 
 but for his unusual height. His forehead was 
 broad and high, with hair of raven blackness, 
 thick, and tufted, which fell in curls on either 
 side his face, and united with a short beard 
 that bristled in glossy brightness. Though 
 Alonso was more than fifty years old, there 
 was not a grey hair about his head or face. His 
 eye was hazel, brilliant and large in the pupil. 
 Whenever he spoke, how painful soever might 
 be the subject to the person whom he addressed.
 
 170 THE TALBA. 
 
 he looked him directly in the face ; for Alonso 
 had none of that delicacy intuitive to minds of 
 a better order than his own, which shuns to 
 meet the eye of the object for whose feelings of 
 shame, of innocence, or guilt, it feels a generous 
 sympathy. Alonso could look a man down un- 
 moved ; and few dared meet his eye, especially 
 in moments of displeasure. The features that 
 composed the face of this extraordinary man 
 were on a large scale, like his body, yet were 
 they handsome ; and the deep scar left by the 
 cut of a Moorish cimeter, which was seen 
 across his forehead, agreed well with a certain 
 military air that distinguished the warrior 
 king. 
 
 His dress was plain even to homeliness; for 
 he came to the council in such haste, that he 
 had not stayed to put off his hunting suit, 
 which indeed was his usual attire ; hunting and 
 hawking being his favourite pursuits both in 
 war and peace. A leathern jerkin and belt, 
 with a short mantle of forest-green cloth, formed 
 this simple dress. He wore a light cap and 
 plume ; and a single jewel of immense value,
 
 THE TALBA. 171 
 
 which fastened the band, alone showed the 
 wearer to be above the ordinary rank. A 
 poniard was in his girdle, and a short hunting 
 spear he still carried in his hand. Two noble 
 English hounds, or alaunts, such as were used to 
 chase the wild boar and the wolf, followed close 
 by his side. These were so large and strong 
 in limb, that they looked as if able to contend 
 with the lion in his lair. They had been pre- 
 sented to him by an English baron who visited 
 the court of Alonso in his way to the Holy Land. 
 Brian and Harefoot, emboldened by the pre- 
 sence of their royal master, bounded on before 
 him to the council table, unheeding the inter- 
 ference of an usher who attempted to exclude 
 such four-footed intruders from so august an 
 assembly. 
 
 The king was evidently in high displeasurej 
 as with thick and hurried accents he thus ad>r 
 dressed the council, fixing his eye, which darted 
 keen and fierce glances on the aged Azevedo. 
 " So, here is goodly work ! — Close the doors 
 of the chamber, and let all but the members of 
 this council depart on the instant."
 
 17^ THE TALBA. 
 
 He was obeyed ; when throwing him self into 
 the chair of state before the table, he thus con- 
 tinued, " This is the result of your counsels, 
 Azevedo : we may not enjoy our very pastime 
 but we are called from it by intelligence of 
 treason ! " 
 
 " Treason!" echoed several of the members 
 with astonishment. 
 
 *' Surely, sire," said Azevedo, " this must be 
 some devise of your Grace's enemies to disturb 
 your peace. There is not a kingdom of the 
 West more secure in its obedience to a rightful 
 prince than that of Portugal to you." 
 
 " It is false, old man, false as thy counsels,''' 
 cried the king with warmth. " See, lords ! I 
 am accoutred for the chase : I was this morning 
 on my way to the forest, when these letters from 
 our governor of Codeceyra were put mto my 
 hands. Their import is full of danger, and 
 shows the fallacy of your plans. Look, Aze^ 
 vedo ! peruse these papers, and then judge to 
 what your counsels of mercy, which we, in weak- 
 ness rather than wisdom, adopted, have given 
 birth."
 
 THE TALBA. 173 
 
 He threw the letter to Azevedo as he spokej 
 and whilst the aged counsellor was engaged 
 in the perusal, Alonso thus vehemently con- 
 tinued to give vent to his passion, with that 
 rapid utterance so common to him in his moody 
 fits : — By St. Michael of the Wing, we are 
 bearded with impunity, and that in our very 
 court, where our word can lay tw'enty thousand 
 lances in rest ere the sun rise again. The 
 bastard, lords, our bastard brother, that evil 
 humour, that blistering sore of the blood of old 
 King Denis, is up in arms against us !" 
 
 A murmur of surprise ran through the as- 
 sembly. " What ! Don Sanchez ?" said the mas- 
 ter of the Wing : " I am astonished at what I 
 hear ! When I lately returned from Syria, I 
 learned your Grace's brother was held in dis- 
 pleasure at court. I knew no more, and from 
 respect to my sovereign I forbore to enquire into 
 the cause." 
 
 " Learn it, then, from me," replied the king. 
 " This Don Sanchez, our elder, but our bastard 
 brother, was the favoured son of our late father. 
 Indeed, so much was he a favourite, that to the
 
 174 THE TALBA. 
 
 dead king's blinded love for this lawless issue 
 of his royal house do I owe die origin of all 
 the sins of my youth — now repented, and ab- 
 solved by the holy church. Denis the Liberal, 
 the father of his country, as he was named for 
 his princely virtues, purposed to apply to the 
 pontiff of Rome to legitimate this favoured son, 
 to make him instead of me the successor to his 
 crown." 
 
 " Pardon me. Sire," said Azevedo, " if I am 
 bold enough to gainsay the assertion. Truth, 
 i'espect to the memory of your great father, my 
 beloved master, will not let me hear in silence 
 ia measure of such injustice to your Grace at- 
 tributed to him. King Denis never designed 
 to make the bastard Don Sanchez heir to the 
 crown of Portugal." 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed Alonso, as he struck the 
 table in the intemperance of his mood, " darest 
 thou brave me with this bold denial ? darest 
 thou make thy prince a liar in the eyes of all 
 his council ?" 
 
 " I dare defend the memory of a dead 
 prince," said Azevedo firmly, " though a living
 
 THE TALBA. 175 
 
 one would send me to seek him in another 
 world for my boldness. I dare speak truth, 
 and that is well known to Alonso the Brave." 
 
 " See, lords ! " cried the king, his passion ra- 
 ther increased than diminished by the calm 
 bearing of Azevedo, as his cheek became 
 flushed, and his eye dilated with anger, — " seej 
 if taking advantage of his years and his labours 
 in our service, which protect him, he does not 
 beard us Hke our rebel brother ? But we may 
 not endure this. If Azevedo, in his old age^ 
 have license to babble, and, like infancy, for its 
 very helplessness need not fear chastisementj 
 he should at least be as little heeded." 
 
 " And if I," said the cunning prior of Evora, 
 " as a member of this council, may say as 
 much, without being suspected of any motived 
 but that of zeal for the honour and respect due 
 to the great Alonso, I would counsel that when 
 old age babbles impertinence to the crowned 
 head of Portugal, it were time to give it a lower 
 place than that of secretary at this table." 
 
 " But not by your suggestion, dark prior of 
 Evora," said the king, who, exceedingly jealous
 
 176 THE TALBAi 
 
 of the advice of others, and capricious even in 
 fits of passion, now tui'ned his anger on the 
 prior. 
 
 "What!" he continued, "you would dic- 
 tate to us, and in this assembly ! You would 
 have us displace our secretary ; ay, cast out yon- 
 der honest man to make room for a church- 
 man, who might rule our council with bell, 
 book, and candle, as Becket did England ; or 
 threaten an interdict, if we make laws and see 
 them executed on priests as well as laymen. 
 By the soul of old King Denis, who loved no 
 priest so much as wholesome law, we will not 
 be led, as a hound in a leash, by any monk, were 
 it even his holiness himself. Come hither, Aze- 
 vedo ; if we reprove thee ourself for thy over 
 blunt speech, we do it in no malice. Thou art 
 like these very dogs that lie at our feet, — noble 
 in thy nature, faithful in thy service, but, like 
 them too, thou art rough and over bold to en- 
 croach on the favour of thy master." 
 
 It seemed as if Brian understood this allusion 
 to himself and his companion ; and, in order to 
 give a practical illustration of the simile, he 
 
 I
 
 THE TALBA. 177 
 
 jumped up, resting his two fore-paws on the 
 knee of the king, and, thrusting forward his 
 shaggy head, began to lick the hands of his 
 master. 
 
 " Down, Brian, down ! " said the king, " thy 
 boldness, like Azevedo's, is ill timed. Down ! 
 I say," and he shook off the noble hound 
 as he spoke. The dog, chagrined by this re- 
 pulse, hanging his tail and ears, slunk under the 
 council table, there to hide himself and his mor- 
 tification together. 
 
 " If," said Azevedo, who now rose to take 
 advantage of a favourable change in the mood of 
 the king, " if I have done service to your grace, 
 I would implore you to suffer me to speak of 
 your unhappy brother. Few are the days that 
 in the course of nature must remain to me on 
 earth. Suffer me, then, sire, to end them in as 
 true service as that with which I began them to 
 your majesty's father. Grant me permission, 
 with that noble-mindedness you once extended 
 to me, to speak freely and honestly to my 
 king." 
 
 Alonso seemed touched by the candour that 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE TALBA. 
 
 displayed itself both in the words and conduct 
 of Azevedo. " I have not forgot," said he, " the 
 past. Well do I remember that to you I owe 
 the greatest benefit that can be conferred on a 
 prince; for you taught me to know what be- 
 longed to the duties of my station. Hear, 
 lords," continued Alonso, who was often as 
 vehement in repairing an error as in committing 
 it, " and you, proud priest of Evora, hearken to 
 a lesson worthy to be learned even by a church- 
 man, — how to give honest counsel. The king 
 shall tell his own folly, and the wisdom of Aze- 
 vedo. When we succeeded to the throne of our 
 father Denis, whom in our youth we had griev- 
 ously offended, — like a young and lusty ranger 
 of the woods, we left the business of our state 
 to the council, and followed hawk and hound, 
 in the forests of Cintra, without thought 
 of other matters. Once, as we entered the 
 council, after a month's absence, we thought, 
 by St. Julian ! of bucks and herons, boars and 
 wolves, more than of our subjects or the state ; 
 till, mistaking our counsellors for grooms and 
 falconers, we held them in debate on the pro-
 
 THE TALBA. 179 
 
 gress of our sports. Was it not so, Azevedo? 
 Thou wilt not gainsay me now ? " 
 
 Azevedo bowed respectfully, said nothing, 
 but held up the letter the king had given him to 
 read, as if to remind Alonso how widely he 
 was wandering from the business on which at 
 first he had entered with so much warmtli. He 
 seemed to understand the silent hint of his aged 
 secretary ; for he said, — 
 
 " We will speak of that matter anon ; our 
 story of thy honesty will not detain us long; 
 and we see that the prior of Evora so loves to 
 hear of thy praise, that we would not he should 
 lose one v.ord that shall honour thee. Azevedo, 
 thou didst reprove us for talking of hawk and 
 hound, when the grievances of our people 
 called loudly for redress. Thou didst threaten 
 me with saying, that they would find a ruler for 
 themselves if I forgot to be such. I drew my 
 poniard at thy words — I would have struck 
 thee ; — but thou didst bare thy breast, and bade 
 me search in thy heart for the truth I doubted 
 in thee. Thy greatness made me great. I did 
 embrace thee as my faithful servant, and with 
 N 2
 
 180 THE TALBA. 
 
 those words, He cannot long have suhjects 'who 
 will not be a king, took my place at this very 
 board as became a sovereign, as head of the 
 council of Portugal. This was thy work, my 
 honest Azevedo. Now will we to business." 
 
 *' Your grace would speak of the affair at 
 Codeceyra," said the master of the Wing. 
 ■ " Ay, of the bastard, lords," cried Alonso. 
 ** He has fled to Codeceyra ; taken possession 
 of the town ; claimed it as his, in right of a grant 
 bestowed on him by our late father, and bade 
 our governor of the castle acknowledsje him as 
 lord. Failing to do this, Don Sanchez holds 
 him a prisoner. Such is the daring, such the 
 rebellious spirit of this man, which, like his evil 
 birth, is ever lawless and base. Had we not 
 been over-ruled by j^our counsels of false mercy, 
 Sanchez had bit the dust; he had not been 
 spared to raise the standard of rebellion in the 
 very heart of our kingdom. Though, Azevedo, 
 you meant honestly, yet but for your counsels 
 my hand had rid our royal tree from this rotten, 
 this spurious branch. Thy grey hairs made 
 me listen to thy counsels. Would that, in this
 
 THE TALBA. 181 
 
 instance, they had possessed the wisdom as 
 well as the authority of age ! — How will you 
 answer it?" „f «« fj^n^^t 
 
 V " With truth, as a just man should answer 
 it," replied Azevedo : I deny the charge. It 
 pains me to be thus bold with your grace, but 
 you have publicly accused me, and I am called 
 on, therefore, as publicly to vindicate my honour. 
 — You, Sire, have caused this daring outrage in 
 your brother : but for your severity the ba^ta^d 
 had never acted thus." ^ ?t > ^"^ >,'oi^^ff 
 
 " What, again !" exclaimed Alonso. '' Be- 
 ware, Azevedo ; do not tempt our patience too 
 far. Think ye because the lion sleeps that he 
 will therefore be plucked by the beard without 
 awaking ? I can be a severe king ; and that thou 
 knowest." 
 
 " And I can be a fearless counsellor," said 
 Azevedo; "and that the king has not forgotten. 
 Suffer me to stand in this presence as the advo- 
 cate of your absent, your erring brother; and the 
 man, it may be, who extenuates his fault, shall 
 find a way to make it change into a virtue." 
 
 " Hast thou studied in the schools of the 
 u 3
 
 182 THE TALBA. 
 
 Moors?" said the kinff. " Dost thou deal in 
 the arts of Arabia ? Wilt thou undertake to find 
 out nature's greatest secret, to turn what is base 
 into gold? If thou canst make the bastard a 
 loyal subject and true brother, thy power were 
 godlike. Speak, however ; we will hear thee." 
 
 " Don Sanchez," said Azevedo, " is of a 
 noble nature, though somewhat rash and hasty 
 in temper." 
 
 " Why, ay," cried Alonso : " in that the 
 bastard proves his claim to kindred with our 
 house. Our father was hot, and as hasty in 
 action as the caged lion that has slipt his chain. 
 And, sooth to say, the blood of old king Denis 
 has not cooled in its passage into our own 
 veins." 
 
 " Your grace mistrusted your brother," con- 
 tinued Azevedo, " when you came to the 
 throne, and " 
 
 " Had I not* cause?" exclaimed Alonso, in- 
 terrupting him. " Sinner that I am, hath lie 
 not been the origin of all the early errors of 
 my life ? It is no secret, lords ; all the world 
 knows the quarrels of Alonso with his father.
 
 THE TALBA. 183 
 
 and that they often led to blood. This San- 
 chez was the cause." 
 
 " Not of your grace's youthful errors/' said 
 Azevedo, " unless suspicion can justify the as- 
 sertion. You thought Don Sanchez aimed at 
 the succession, and that the late king, my re- 
 vered master, sanctioned his hopes." 
 
 " I think so still," cried Alonso ; " and this 
 new act of violence on the part of the bastard 
 is not likely to change my opinion." 
 
 *' This act, sire, I grieve to say it, is but the 
 consequence of your grace's severity to your 
 brother. On your accession, before even time 
 could be given to make trial of his faith or 
 loyalty, you proclaimed him traitor ! seized his 
 gi'eat estate, and, as the motive to a deed so 
 violent, caused it to be spread abroad that Don 
 Sanchez incurred justly these severities for 
 having been the means of your grace's unhappy 
 differences with your father. I foresaw what 
 would follow, and I then presumed to tell you, 
 what I now repeat, that to proclaim your bro- 
 ther a traitor to his king was the way to 
 N 4
 
 1^4 THE TALBA. 
 
 make hira such^ >He might have been won by 
 
 favour." h'-'t^i |»np . nriinin '^i!')l[i 
 
 cifl/* DitI we not show him mercy ?" said the 
 king, as his dark brow frowned on the council ; 
 for no one present dared to contradict what the 
 aged secretary had so boldly averred. Did we 
 not spare his life? He has now read us a 
 lesson, not easily to be forgotten, that there is 
 no way to deal with a viper but to crush t 
 when it lies in your path, or it will turn and 
 sting you on the first occasion. What says 
 our admiral ? what counsel will he give for the 
 manner in which it would be just to deal with 
 this rebel?" 
 
 " My counsel, sire," replied the admiral of 
 Portugal, as he bowed respectfully to the king, 
 *' would be to try generous measures with Don 
 Sanchez. I would offer him free pardon, if he 
 forthwith returned to his obedience." 
 lic^' And mine," said the prior of Evora, " would 
 be, that the royal brothers should submit their 
 cause of dispute to the arbitration of the church. 
 Let the patriarch, the abbots, bishops, and chief 
 ecclesiastics of this realm judge righteous judg-
 
 THE TALBA. IB$ 
 
 ment between the king and Don Sanchez in 
 these claims for township and lands. For it 
 may be there is some wrong, in which the 
 church should exercise her authority. Thus, 
 for instance, if king Denis gave this city of 
 Codeceyra to the bastard in fulfilment of any 
 vow, or by any oath made on any relic of the 
 saints, or before the altar; in such case king 
 Alonso can in no wise claim or alienate the 
 same on any pretext, without the sanction of 
 the church. To decide in all such matters is 
 a privilege that not the poorest monk, who 
 wears cowl or gown, would yield to any king, 
 however great in arms." 
 
 " We will have no priests meddle in our 
 matters," said the king. " Think ye if the 
 herons quarrelled amongst themselves they would 
 call in the kites to settle the difference ? No, 
 prior of Evora, we will have no swoop of thine 
 or of thy brothers, to find occasion to carry off 
 church lands in the fray. We have seized 
 on the town and lordship of Codeceyra in right 
 of the crown, to which it is parcel. This is
 
 186 THE TALBA. 
 
 no matter to be settled save by the secular 
 powers." 
 
 " The church, sire, is appointed as God's 
 deputy on earth," said the prior, " to rule the 
 hearts of kings, and to reprove injustice even 
 in the highest place. When Ahab seized the 
 vineyard of Naboth, it was Elijah, a prophet 
 of God, who denounced judgment on the 
 act." 
 
 With a dark scowl did the angry Alonso 
 receive this haughty reply of the troublesome 
 prior. The insinuation it conveyed was too 
 marked to be misunderstood ; and he exclaimed 
 in raffe, " We will not endure this insolence. 
 Thank thy cope and shaven crown, proud 
 priest, that protects thee from our instant in- 
 dignation. What means this insolence ? We 
 are no Ahab to take away our brother's just 
 inheritance, had it been just,. on the witness of 
 any son of Belial ; and thou art no prophet, as 
 Elijah was, that the Lord of heaven should 
 call thee to reprove us ! We will take better 
 counsel than thine in this matter. What says 
 Azevedo ?"
 
 THE TALBA. 18? 
 
 " Sire," replied the aged minister, " when 
 3^our grace first came to the throne of your 
 father, there was an excellent law, enacted 
 solely by the suggestions of j'our own wisdom, 
 a law which had its foundation in divine mercy, 
 making no man to be the judge of his own 
 wrong, lest passion and not justice should deal 
 forth the measure of retribution. This great 
 act of your grace was the bulwark of personal 
 security, since it prohibited private men from 
 revenging their own injuries, and compelled 
 them to have recourse to the law, as to that 
 impartial Judge, who says, ' Vengeance is mine, 
 I will repay.' I would, therefore, in the pre- 
 sent mstance, implore your grace to recall that 
 severe decree issued against your brother, since 
 it was contrary to this law, and made yourself 
 the witness, the judge, and the avenger." 
 
 " The law was made for the benefit of our 
 people," said the king, " to prevent private 
 revenge and secret murder ; but are we, there- 
 fore, we, a crowned prince, to hold the sceptre 
 in our hand as an empty pageant, liaving the
 
 188 THE TALBA. 
 
 ensign but not the power of authority ? Shall 
 we not be a king in act as well as name?" 
 
 *' God forbid it should be other, my royal 
 master," replied Azevedo ; " but the first great 
 attribute of kingly rule is justice ; the second, 
 mercy. The first, like the sword of a warrior, 
 awes mankind with its naked strength ; but 
 mercy, even as the sheath, hides the blade 
 when it becomes too terrible for sight. You 
 have enacted, sire, a wholesome law that tem- 
 pers justice with mercy; teach your people, 
 then, to respect it, by giving them the example 
 of observing it in your own person. Recall 
 the decree of forfeiture passed against your 
 brother, and I will pledge life itself, that, on 
 this royal act of clemency, he returns to his 
 allegiance. Summon him before his peers. Let 
 the knights of St. James assemble in judgment 
 upon him. Let them hear your grace's accu- 
 sations of disloyalty against Don Sanchez in the 
 time of the late king Denis; and if they are 
 proved, he will have judgment in the course of 
 law; but do not you thus pass and execute a 
 sentence without hearing his defence, — without
 
 THE TALE A. 189 
 
 giving him the opportunity to vindicate his 
 honour: judge him not unheard!" 
 ', .^' He has been heard," said the king. " Was 
 not his past life trial sufficient ? Did not every 
 act speak ? Was he not ever the cause of those 
 unhappy broils that subsisted between our father 
 and ourself? and did not the old king make 
 him chief mmister of state at the very hour we 
 were up in arms to remove this dangerous and 
 unnatural brother from our path ? He grasped 
 at power in order to secure partisans that might 
 hereafter support him in his daring aim at the 
 succession." 
 
 " And surely your grace must remember," 
 replied Azevedo, " that Don Sanchez, in order 
 to satisfy your doubts, to restore peace to his 
 father's mind and to the country, nobly and 
 freely resigned liis office." 
 
 " True," said the king; " but art thou, 
 Azevedo, so young and green in the ways of 
 this world, that thou couldst not read such an 
 artifice ? Tiust me, it was too shallow to de- 
 ceive even the most willing lielievers in the 
 honesty of Don Sanchez ; none were deceived
 
 190 THE TALBA. 
 
 by it, saving his doating father. He had made 
 free with the public purse, till it was nearly 
 bankrupt, and then, forsooth, he resigned his 
 office ! — We will hear no more in his defence. 
 Thou, Azevedo, hast said thy mind ; we have 
 heard thee patiently. Now hear our resolution, 
 and seek not to alter it, for it is not to be 
 changed. We are not to be turned, like the 
 vane, with every breath that blows. Our bro- 
 ther, after a thousand injurious acts, has at 
 length broke out in actual rebellion against our 
 authority, claimed and seized upon our city of 
 Codeceyra ; for ours it is, since we will it to be 
 ours. For this he shall be taught submission. 
 Hark thee, Azevedo ; we give thee our orders, 
 that a herald be instantly despatched, with these 
 terms to the bastard : — That he forthwith dis- 
 miss his followers, resign all his pretended 
 rights, abandon the city of which he has taken 
 possession, set at liberty our governor, and that 
 he come unarmed, bare-headed, shoeless, with 
 a halter round his traitorous throat; that he 
 kneel at our feet, confess his crime, and ask our
 
 THE TALBA. 191 
 
 forgiveness. Let him do this, and may be we 
 will then talk of mercy, like Azevedo." 
 
 " Don Sanchez will never yield to terms so 
 full of ignominy," replied the venerable coun- 
 sellor. " I beseech you, sire, think again. 
 Kindness may subdue him. Insult can but 
 spread the flame of rebellion, which, fanned by 
 your wrath, will become a consuming fire." 
 
 " Wliy, then, our master of the Wing shall 
 quench it," said Alonso. " Hear you, my lord 
 count of Amiranti ; receive our commands. 
 Summon your knights, your men at arms; 
 hasten to surprise the bastard in Codeceyra: 
 we will give farther orders that you shall have 
 support fx'om the bands of St. James and St. 
 Eustatius, and, ere this moon wanes, bring us 
 the bastard rebel on his knees before our 
 throne ; or send us his head upon thy lance, 
 and it shall be to thee as a banneret of glory, — 
 a guide to thy fortunes, to honour in the state. 
 See you to this without delay." 
 
 *' I would beseech you, sire, to pause," said 
 
 Azevedo, " to hear " 
 
 " I will hear nothing," cried the king, as he
 
 192 THE TALBA. 
 
 struck his hand upon the table in the vehemence 
 of passion : " by St. Michael, though he were 
 our brother legitimate in blood, had he been 
 nurtured with us at the same breast, twin-born 
 from the womb, rocked in one cradle, fed from 
 the same board, the companion of our infancy 
 and youth, yet would we not spare him for this 
 daring contempt of our authority, our lawful rule. 
 And shall he, as bastard in loyalty as in birth, 
 shall he hope to escape ? No ; his life is for- 
 feit; it shall be paid. We will hear no more. 
 Master of the Wing, you will this day summon 
 your followers for Codeceyra, and thither march 
 without delay." 
 
 The master of the Wing bowed, and spoke 
 aside to Azevedo. 
 
 " What would the counsel now bring before 
 us?" enquired the king. " These are no times 
 to slumber, when treason wakes throughout the 
 land. — How now, who comes hither?" 
 
 The door of the chamber opened, and an 
 officer in attendance entered. " May it please 
 your grace," he said, " a messenger from the 
 ambassador to Arragon waits without."
 
 THE TALBA. 193 
 
 " Let him advance and speak his mission," 
 replied the king. " We would gladly learn news 
 from Ai'ragon." 
 
 *' Don Manuel de Castro, my liege," said 
 the attendant, " hath sent him forward to an- 
 nounce his immediate return from the embassy. 
 Don Manuel journeys on in breathless speed : 
 this very night he looks to be with your grace, 
 and craves a private audience." 
 
 " Ha ! " exclaimed the king, " What may 
 that import ? It shall be granted : we will in- 
 stantly admit him. When say you that he 
 
 comes ? To night ! Then . Break up 
 
 the council ; yet stay. This night will we meet 
 again. I trust the intelligence our ambassador 
 brings fi'om Arragon is such as we shall rejoice 
 to lay before your wisdom for your assent. Till 
 the hour we meet again, farewell, lords. Master 
 of the Wing, look to your charge." 
 
 The king instantly retired, and thus sud- 
 denly broke up a council, in which an event, 
 fraught with the most serious consequences to 
 the kingdom at large, was hastily determined 
 upon by the voice of one man, the king, who in 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 IQ^ THE TALBA. 
 
 this day's debate had exhibited some of those 
 traits of character which rendered him so great 
 a mixture of good and evil ; of what was gene- 
 rous in sentiment, yet passionate and vindictive 
 in conduct, that even the admirers of Alonso 
 were somewhat puzzled to decide whether a 
 great prince or a great tyrant would be the 
 title to which he might lay the fairest claim. 
 Perhaps he had pretensions to both ; for his 
 virtues were bright and many, had they not been 
 sullied by the vices of a jealous, stern, and 
 revengeful temper.
 
 19' 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Is there no pity sitting in the clouds. 
 
 That sees into the bottom of my grief? Shakspeare. 
 
 Ines de Castro, whose name has been so fre- 
 quently mentioned in these pages, and who was 
 tlie envy and admiration of the court of Por- 
 tugal, lived near Cintra, in a residence so 
 delightfully situated, so costly in its structure, 
 that it might have served for the palace of a 
 princess. 
 
 The environs of her dwelling were of the-- 
 most beautiful and romantic character, well 
 adapted to afford shelter from the extreme heat 
 of the climate. A stately grove of pines led 
 into the gardens, where clumps of orange, 
 lemon, and almond trees, with the luxuriant 
 laurel, the myrtle, and gum cystus, spread around 
 })erfumes of the finest odour. The vine also 
 o 2
 
 196 THE TALBA. 
 
 twisted its graceful tendrils about many an 
 alcove. Parterres of brilliant flowers were seen 
 to circle a fountain of white marble that threw 
 its streams of sparkling waters high into the air, 
 giving to it that delicious coolness so desired 
 in a country where the sun diffuses its rays 
 without a cloud to intercept their ardour. Sta- 
 tues of the finest sculpture stood around, like 
 the mute guardians of the fountain, whilst 
 from a neighbouring grove the wildest me- 
 lody met the ear, as it was poured forth by 
 "'various birds of rare song, some at liberty, and 
 others confined within the wiry prison of an 
 
 aviary. 
 
 ^''' The grove consisted, principally, of acacias, 
 vivid in their foliage and gi-aceful in their 
 forms; many a drooping birch, with a few 
 elms and evergreen oaks, might there also be 
 found. The whole scene was at once seques- 
 tered and voluptuous. There were the deepest 
 shadows which a contemplative mind could 
 desire; whilst a lover of the senses became 
 enchanted by the softness of the air and the 
 perfume of flowers and aromatic plants. The
 
 THE TALBA. 19{7 
 
 soul, indeed, gradually sunk, as it were, into in- 
 dolent repose, lulled by the warbling of birds, 
 the cool plashings of the silver fountain, and 
 the murmurs of a stream that wandered through 
 the gardens amid masses of the living rock. 
 
 A saloon, that commanded a view of the 
 gardens and the country beyond, terminated by 
 the mountainous heights of Cintra, stood facing 
 this fountain. It was the favourite apartment 
 of the beautiful Ines de Castro, and such as 
 love, we may suppose, would raise for the bower 
 of beauty. The saloon partook of that Moorisli 
 character, both of architecture and ornament, 
 which, in Portugal as well as Spain, had be- 
 come general, even with the Christians; ori- 
 ginating from the magnificent examples of art 
 to be found in the city of Cordova, which, 
 though conquered by tlie arms of the Cross at 
 the beginning of the thirteenth century, had for 
 more than five hundred years been the seat of 
 the caliphs of the West. The columns which 
 supported the saloon were of jasper : they ran 
 round the interior ; whilst an open gallery, like 
 a cloister, that faced the garden, was also sup-
 
 198 THE TALBA. 
 
 ported by pillars of the same material. The 
 internal walls were inlaid with marble, and de- 
 corated by arabesque ornaments, painted and 
 gilt with the utmost delicacy of pencilling. The 
 pavement was formed of porcelain of the finest 
 quality; and towards the upper end of the 
 room were spread the richest carpets of Persia. 
 By a contrivance of long pipes concealed from 
 sight, a small fountain, also in this chamber, 
 played into a marble basin surrounded by the 
 choicest plants. It was a copy, though on a 
 smaller scale, of the celebrated fountain of the 
 lions at the Alhambra of Granada. 
 
 The ceiling, exquisitely painted by an Italian 
 artist, represented the loves of Cupid and 
 Psyche. A piece of luxury of the most re- 
 fined description, and peculiar to the Moors, 
 might also be seen in this apartment : it was 
 a small slab of white marble, pierced with holes, 
 through which the most delicious perfumes 
 were exhaled from frankincense and other odor- 
 iferous gums that were kept constantly burning 
 beneath. A large mirror of Venetian manu- 
 facture, and of so costly a price as only to be
 
 THE TALBA. 199 
 
 purchased by princes, hung in a frame of silver, 
 and reflected the magnificence of the saloon. 
 Vases for fruits and flowers, also of chased 
 silver, sconces to bear lights of the same rich 
 material, and carved seats of ebony, inlaid with 
 ivory, stood around, together with every minor 
 piece of furniture of corresponding value. 
 
 One noble work of art that hung on the walls 
 of the apartment was of inestimable worth ; 
 namely, the portrait of Ines de Castro, exe- 
 cuted by a Moorish artist, the celebrated Zohair, 
 who, at the early age of twenty -five, was both 
 an accomplished painter and poet. He was 
 said to have died of a fever, brought on by 
 mental anxiety, in consequence of having heard 
 that his native town in Spain had surrendered 
 to the Christians. He was also said to have 
 directed, before his death, that his poems should 
 be burnt, that they might not fall into the 
 hands of his enemies. 
 
 The portrait, true to nature, had, perhaps, but 
 
 one fault. It arose from the Moor (who, like 
 
 all his people, considered a fair skin rather a 
 
 defect than a beauty,) having given too deep a 
 
 o '^
 
 200 THE TALBA. 
 
 colour to the complexion. Ines de Castro, the 
 original of this valuable picture, was of a sylph- 
 like figure, so exquisitely proportioned, so de- 
 licate in every limb and feature, that she seemed 
 as if unfit for the common trials, or even the 
 trivial ills, incidental to humanity. She looked 
 like a flower which hangs on so slender a stem, 
 that the first rude breath of wind would snap it 
 from its feeble support, and lay its head prostrate 
 on the lap of earth. Her complexion was so fair 
 that every blue vein might be seen as it wan- 
 dered over her neck and forehead. Her hazel 
 eye, enshrined beneath the superb arch of an 
 eyebrow which, dark and full, gave to the head 
 an air of dignity that might otherwise have 
 been wanting ; since the eye itself was more 
 calculated to express tenderness and affection 
 than to kindle with lofty or energetic feelings. 
 Her cheek, if it had a fault, was too pale. It 
 was almost as fair and transparent as her neck. 
 This imperfection, however, in personal beauty, 
 did but assist in displaying the yet greater 
 beauty of a sensitive mind ; for, on the least 
 emotion, a light blush, as delicate as the first
 
 01. 
 THE TALBA. 201 
 
 roseate tint of morning on a fleecy cloud, would 
 mantle in her cheek, and even spread itself 
 over her neck and bosom. The nicest critic in 
 female loveliness must have pronounced the 
 mouth faultless. Her lips, soft, full, and crim- 
 son, would smile with sweetness, or part to 
 give utterance to a voice in whose lowest a<j-^. 
 cents there was melody. , 
 
 Her hair, of light brown, hung in rich pro- 
 fusion about her neck. Its tresses were bound, , 
 by a fillet of orient pearls ; and though she 
 wore around her arms bracelets of the same, 
 the eye, in viewing them, neither heeded their 
 value nor their beauty, whilst it contemplated 
 with wonder the exquisite whiteness and pro- 
 portions of the limbs they encircled. Her tunic 
 was confined by a cote hardie of light blue 
 velvet, fastened down the front with clasps of 
 diamonds. A veil of silver tissue, and a mantle 
 of crimson silk, completed her attire. Such 
 was Ines de Castro; and feeble is our attempt 
 to portray one whose beauty has been extolled 
 by historians, celebrated by poets, made the 
 subject of painters, and the fame of it rendered
 
 2©2 THE TALBA. 
 
 immortal by the misfortunes to which it gave 
 birth. 
 
 Yet young, lovely, rich, and possessing an 
 influence which made her an object of envy 
 even with the highest in blood and the proudest 
 in place, the melancholy expression of her coun- 
 tenance, at the time we introduce her to the 
 reader, was singularly in contrast to the appa- 
 rent gaiety and happiness in which she lived. 
 Ines, in company witli her most favoured at- 
 tendant, Ximena, reclined on a low couch in 
 the saloon. The latter held a lute in her hand, 
 as if she had been recently playing for the 
 amusement of her mistress, who was occupied 
 in embroidering a banner, — a common pastime 
 with ladies in the ages of chivalry. Ximena, 
 though a Moor, and a captive, was nobly born. 
 Her disposition was good ; and her mistress, 
 attached to her by the gratitude she displayed, 
 treated her with the utmost confidence; even 
 friendship subsisted between them, notwith- 
 standing the difference of their condition. 
 
 The attendant watched the countenance of 
 her lady, whose slender fingers continued to
 
 THE TALBA. 203 
 
 ply the needle, though mechanically, for she 
 seemed as if scarcely conscious of what she did. 
 Her eyes were constantly downcast, her looks 
 dejected, her cheek more than usually pale, 
 with an air of anxiety and doubt, which some- 
 times induced her to put down her work, whilst 
 she listened, as if expecting some one to ap- 
 proach the chamber from without. 
 
 All these things convinced the observant 
 Ximena that an unusual cause of trouble had 
 cast a cloud over the mind of her mistress. 
 Anxious to dispel it, she once more touched 
 the lute, and sang, with simplicity but sweet- 
 ness, a little Moorish song, which called up to 
 her own mind in the most feeling manner a 
 remembrance of her people. And on laying 
 down the instrument at the conclusion of her 
 song, she sighed deeply. 
 
 " Ximena," said Ines, as she kindly addressed 
 her attendant, " that sigh, my girl, was wafted 
 towards home." 
 
 " No, lady," replied Ximena, " my home is 
 with you. You are kind to me, you love me.
 
 m 
 
 THE TALBA. 
 
 and have heaped favours on me ; why should I 
 think of any other home ? " 
 
 *' Why ?" said Ines, "because nature will be 
 heard in spite of all our efforts to silence her. 
 Oh, Ximena ! there is that about old feelings 
 and recollections which never forsakes us. In 
 our bright fortunes we give an involuntary 
 sigh to the remembrance of those days, gone 
 for ever, when in our tranquil obscurity we en- 
 joyed happiness, though we knew not that we 
 did so. But I have lived long enough in the 
 world, Ximena, to know that happiness is 
 neither found in the tumult of mirth nor in 
 the splendour of fortune." ''' -^'^^ *"-'" 
 
 " You are sad to-day, dear lady,** ting Werfect 
 Ximena, " and I know it ; for I have often re- 
 marked, that when you are so you are apt to 
 talk about happiness, whilst those who laugh 
 and sing all day long never seem to think 
 about it, though they enjoy it. You are sad, 
 Donna Ines." "§ ^1 i89a odi -tam ^is.r 
 
 "I have cause to be so," said Ines de Castro. 
 " Ximena, my flither returns this day from Ar-
 
 THE TA13A. 2^5 
 
 ifagQi^^j He has long been absent on a secret 
 embassy ; but I have not seen him shice he was 
 appointed governoi- of Algrave. My father 
 returns this day." 
 
 ,^*' Oh that I could say so of mine, lady," re- 
 plied her attendant ; " but he died in Algrave 
 with the noble Alcanzor. We shall meet no 
 more in this world, nor hi the next, if father 
 Ambrose spoke truth when he preached the 
 
 everlasting condemnation of all unbelievers." 
 o 
 
 " Yet thou, Ximena, art a Christian," said 
 Ines, " and I will hope for thy sake, though 
 the priest Ambrose would chide me for saying 
 so, that the unbelieving father may be spared 
 for the sake of the believing child. Did thy 
 father love thee? Was he tender to thee, 
 Ximena ?n'* ^07 
 
 " He was a warrior, lady, and could be, like 
 the lion, terrible in battle ; but to me, and to 
 my mother, he was gentle as the dove which 
 hovers near the nest to guard his mate and 
 young ones from harm. I love the very name 
 of father: there is music and endearment in
 
 206 THE TALBA. 
 
 the sound. Why then did you speak of 3'ours 
 in accents of fear ?" 
 
 Ines sighed as she said, " Alas ! Ximena, 
 you know not my father, nor the cause which 
 makes me conceal from him what I have dared 
 to do. How shall I meet his eye ? I long to 
 see him, yet I dread his return. Surely as he 
 gives me his blessing I shall wither beneath 
 his look. You know all, should you betray 
 me " 
 
 " Betray you ! " echoed Ximena ; " oh, fear 
 me not, you know not the heart of your poor 
 Ximena ; you have taught me to be a Christian. 
 To be faithful was a part of our Moslem creed. 
 And think you, that my new and better faith 
 will teach me less than that did ? Lady, in 
 the story of Christianity there was no part that 
 shocked me so much as where Judas betrayed 
 a kind Master. My lips are sealed till you bid 
 me speak," 
 
 "I know it, I believe it," said Ines. "Ximena, 
 you are aware of the fatal secret which preys 
 on my mind, but you know not the cause of my
 
 THE TALBA. 207 
 
 greatest sorrow. It gives so bitter a pang to 
 this heart, that I have never spoken it. I would 
 hide it, if I could, even from my own thoughts 
 — never have I yet revealed it to you." 
 
 " Yet griefs, wise men say," replied the at- 
 tendant, " are, like burdens, lightened by 
 being shared. I speak not this to pry into the 
 hidden sorrows of my dear mistress. I would 
 wish to know those cares that I might help to 
 remove them, or give them my tears if I could 
 not. I have not forgot the time when I came 
 to you as a slave, but with you I felt not the 
 rigours of bondage. You cherished me, — taught 
 me to know the true God and his Son. How 
 can I ever repay you for thus bestowing on me 
 liberty of mind as well as body ? " 
 
 *' Kind, grateful, affectionate Ximena," said 
 Ines, " I will trust you. A heart like yours 
 merits all my confidence. But you will better 
 understand my cause of alarm, and my sorrow, 
 if I tell you the character of my father. By 
 birth he is a Castilian." 
 
 " And noble I am sure l)e must be," said
 
 208 THE TALBA. 
 
 Ximena ; " for no man, save of noble blood, 
 could have been the father of Donna Ines." 
 
 " He is, indeed, noble, both by birth and 
 nature," replied Ines. " You know he is 
 now " 
 
 " Favoured by the prince of Portugal, who 
 influenced the king to make him governor of 
 Algrave, he is powerful as well as great," said 
 Ximena. 
 
 " Ay," replied Ines, " but he is still a Cas- 
 tilian; and not all the fair, broad lands that 
 make up a foreign country is half so dear in his 
 sight as one lone field of his native land. My 
 father, it is true, lives in Portugal, but his soul 
 is not there. Like a man in a dream, whose 
 body slumbers whilst his thoughts are trans- 
 ported to a distant shore, even so are my father's 
 thoughts for ever bent on his country. He has 
 no resting-place for his hopes ; no home for his 
 heart; not even would he find a sepulchre for 
 his head, save in Castile. But, hark ! Ximena ! 
 what noise was that ? Sure it is he ! It is my 
 father. Whilst I yet speak of him, he comes :
 
 THE TALBA. 209 
 
 oiv can it be ? — but no, not at this liour. 
 Go, Xiinena, go, see who comes. I will en- 
 deavour to be myself to meet him." 
 
 Ximena obeyed her mistress, yet, ere she 
 could return to satisfy her, a cavalier, who stood 
 not on any ceremony for admission, entered the 
 apartment. Ines looked up, and instantly 
 recognised her father, notwithstanding the close 
 and large mantle which was wrapped about 
 him, so as almost to conceal his person. 
 
 The large limbs, the face that became a 
 helmet better than a courtly hood ; those 
 features calculated to awe rather than to please, 
 to enforce obedience more than to win con- 
 fidence and affection ; all showed the cavalier 
 to be no other than Don Manuel de Castro; 
 that patriot, who had preferred his country to 
 every motive of self-interest ; who had suffered, 
 bled, and been exiled in the cause of freedom, 
 in defence of the oppressed. A Castilian by 
 birth, an enthusiast by nature, — though driven 
 into banishment, he still carried the worshipped 
 image of his country in his heart, at whose 
 shrine every sacrifice was to be made. Don 
 VOL. I. r
 
 210 THE TALBA. 
 
 Manuel de Castro had seen adversity in her 
 severest front. He had fled from Castile in 
 consequence of the conduct of Peter the Cruel, 
 who seized his lands, and even sought his life, 
 in revenge for his having espoused the cause of 
 his kinswoman, Joanna de Castro, whom that 
 Nero of modern times had married and aban- 
 doned; and happy was it for her that she 
 escaped the fate of Blanch of Bourbon, his fii'st 
 wife, whom Peter imprisoned and poisoned. 
 
 Such was the ruling passion of the venerable 
 Manuel de Castro. For the rest, he had all 
 that high sense of honour which constitutes the 
 very life-blood of the old Castilian noble. Yet, 
 in him it was more of a patriotic than personal 
 feeling ; so that, however prosperous he might 
 be in his exile, whilst he considered the honour 
 of his country tarnished, he deemed his own 
 crest but as drooping in the dust. 
 
 In his manners he was often harsh; there 
 was at times even an asperity about him that 
 gave pain to his dearest friends. This defect 
 of temper, however, was more the consequence 
 of long solicitude and anxiety than of nature.
 
 THE tALBA. 21 I 
 
 And though so many months had elapsed 
 since he had seen his daughter, he now met her 
 in evident disorder ; a dark cloud hung about 
 his brow, which not even the light of her eye, 
 as sparkling with tears of affection it was fixed 
 on his face, could dissipate. Yet the feelings 
 of the father were powerful in his heart ; for, as 
 he strained Ines in his embrace, he exclaimed, 
 vith a tenderness of manner unusual to one so 
 stern, " My daughter ! my dear Ines ! I have 
 wished for this hour. It is come ; — am I 
 welcome ? " 
 
 " Welcome, my father ? " said Ines ; " oh, 
 can you doubt it ! many and worthy have been 
 the thoughts that I have entertained for you." 
 
 *' But hast thou entertained the like for thy- 
 self, Ines?" continued Don Manuel, as he bent 
 on her a look of anxious enquiry. " What 
 truth is there in the things I hear of thee ? 
 Even at the court of Arragon it is noised 
 abroad that the daughter of De Castro is more 
 to the prince of Portugal than suits with her 
 own fame or her father's honour. I would not 
 decide rashly. I will hear calmly and judge 
 p 2
 
 212 THE TALBA. 
 
 fairly. Thy head is cast down, there is a blush 
 on thy cheek. Look up, Ines ! darest thou 
 look up, and say thou art worthy to call thyself 
 the child of old Manuel De Castro?" 
 
 Ines seemed deeply aiFected, and her agitation 
 increased at every word that was spoken by 
 her father. She did not answer. 
 
 " Nay, then, I see how it is," he cried ; 
 " thou art worthless. Oh, Ines, I would 
 rather see thee dead than see thee shamed ; — 
 yet I cannot think ; — speak but the word, say 
 thou art guiltless. Do not break the heart of 
 thy father — already does it bleed with sorrow; — 
 say thou art innocent, and he lives ! " 
 
 Ines, in a transport of feeling, rushed to her 
 father's arms, clasped her hands, and vehe- 
 mently exclaimed, "As there is a God in 
 heaven who sees the truth of all hearts, so 
 does he know that I am mnocent ! These foul 
 suspicions, these whispers of envy and calumny, 
 these may disturb my peace, but they cannot 
 alarm my conscience." 
 
 Don Manuel seemed in some degree relieved 
 by this emphatic declaration of his daughter;
 
 THE TALBA. 213 
 
 for there was in it that fervour of expression 
 which truth imparts to those who are inspired 
 by the love of virtue. " Holy Virgin be 
 praised !" he said : " I no longer doubt thee. 
 Thine, Ines, is not the brow of shame ; nor 
 was so fair an index as this face made to bear 
 the character of dishonour. Whence is it, then, 
 that these reports have arisen ? I know the 
 sacred alliance which subsists between Don 
 Pedro and yourself, that of your being sponsor 
 to his son. I know it sanctions his devoted 
 respect, his attentions to you. These things 
 make it in some degree a duty that he should 
 be to you as a faithful friend, a brother. In 
 consequence of this holy alliance, he gave to 
 you the very palace in which I find you as a 
 residence. Yet I hear the boy is removed 
 from your care, whilst his father has made no 
 change in his devotion to your service." 
 
 *' The youthful Ferdinand is of sufficient 
 age," replied Ines, " to be removed to the 
 charge of a governor. The prince of Portugal, 
 his father, is wise and virtuous, incapable of 
 
 dishonour, and " 
 
 p 3
 
 214- THE TALBA. 
 
 " And loves ihee," said Don Manuel, as, 
 with a penetrating look, he fixed his eye on his 
 daughter to read her inmost soul. " I see it is 
 so. I will not, therefore, question thee on that 
 point : I will not tempt thee to sully thy pure 
 mind with even a thought of dissembling. But, 
 oh, Ines, beware : — I know the sacred tie, 
 which, through the medium of his boy, binds 
 thee to Don Pedro. Beware, lest it becomes 
 abused. The prince, both by the laws of the 
 church and of his station, can never be more 
 to thee than he now is. There lies a gulf 
 between you. To pass it would be infamy. It 
 is a boundary guarded by the interdict of 
 heaven itself. Wliilst you respect it, you are 
 safe. Attempt to climb the height on which the 
 prince soars so far above you, and ruin, misery, 
 and death must follow. Did all else fail, I 
 would play the Roman father rather than see 
 thee live dishonoured. Remember my admo- 
 nition, and beware " 
 
 " I shall never forget, Sir," said Ines, " what 
 is due to my own honour or to yours. The prince 
 himself, I am convinced, would no longer
 
 THE TALBA. 215 
 
 esteem me could I become base. His heart is 
 full of virtue, and his lips breathe its dictates." 
 
 " It may be so," said Don Manuel, " yet 
 princes are not as other men. There is a lustre 
 about their high station which throws a light, 
 though it be a false one, even on their very 
 vices. Beware, my daughter; in one so far 
 above you, there is seduction in his very favour. 
 The wrath of a prince is far less destructive 
 than his affections when they are lawless. Too 
 often are they like poisons, sweet to the lips, 
 but deadly in the draught. So much for this. 
 Now for other matters. Dost thou know I was 
 sent from Algrave to Arragon, as ambassador 
 from Alonso kin<j of Portugal ?" 
 
 " I have heard as much, Sir," replied Ines. 
 " The object of your mission I did not learn. 
 But as I heard you undertook it with more 
 than ordinary anxiety, I conjectured that, what- 
 ever the mission might be, it in some way 
 affected your native country of Castile." 
 
 " You were right, my child," replied Don 
 Manuel, " it did affect Castile, — nay, more, 
 the very existence of my country, so long ex- 
 p 4
 
 216 THE TALBA. 
 
 posed to danger, rests on the ultimate success 
 of this mission to Arragon. Thou knowest 
 that the count of Transtamare, who has risen 
 in arms against the tyrant, Peter the Cruel, 
 has applied to Alonso of Portugal to become 
 his ally in the enterprise. Alonso, desirous to 
 give effectual aid, sent me as ambassador to 
 Arragon, to propose terms that should induce 
 the sovereign of that country to join him. I 
 have fulfilled my mission, and now return to 
 Portugal in the hope to bring all things to a 
 favourable close." 
 
 " Yet I hear," said Ines, " that Peter the 
 Cruel has obtained the support of England. 
 What hope, therefore, has Castile?" 
 
 " All hope," replied Don Manuel, " if Por- 
 tugal, if Arragon, take up arms in her behalf. 
 And that Arragon may do so, now depends on 
 one condition. Should that fail, Castile may 
 be numbered with those countries that lie de- 
 luged in blood, and look on misery as on their 
 inheritance ; whilst here, there will breathe no 
 soul who will lay these griefs to heart but one 
 old man, whose arm, weakened by age, already
 
 THE TALBA. 217 
 
 trembles as it wields the sword. If this purpose 
 fails in flavour of Castile, I shall go down to the 
 grave in sorrow and in shame." 
 
 " Alas, sir," said Ines, " you think too 
 deeply on these things. You have suffered 
 every peril in the support of your native land ; 
 whilst you could aid her, nothing have you 
 spared to do so. If she must fall, console 
 yourself with thinking it to be the will of 
 Heaven ; and do, my dearest father, do en- 
 deavour to forget these anxious thoughts." 
 
 "Forget!" cried Don Manuel; "as soon 
 could I forget my own soul. No ; if the tyrant 
 who now rules Castile falls or lives, I will not 
 forget her. Tyrants have their date of life, 
 they pass away, but our country never. Have 
 I not cause of grief? Does it not seem as if, 
 at this very time, the wrath of God was poured 
 out on the nations of the earth ? It is as if the 
 fourth seal were opened, and that death with 
 the pale horse, followed by hell, had power 
 given to them : for surely the sword, hunger, 
 and misery, have spared no corner of the wide
 
 218 THE TALBA. 
 
 world. Do they not chasten it with their iron 
 scourge ? Peter the Cruel reigns in Castile. 
 His subjects have been butchered like herds 
 for the slaughter. Nobles, princes, his own 
 brother, nay, the very wife of his bosom, have 
 helped to make up his account of midnight 
 murder ! In Arragon, though the alliance of 
 that country is necessary to us, yet there also 
 reigns a prince who dyes his very robes of 
 royalty in human blood. France has her king 
 a captive. Her own hand has made the grave 
 of her own children ; whilst the hand of con- 
 quest presses her down to the very earth. In 
 England there is faction. In Rome two popes 
 cause fearful divisions. The Guelphs and 
 Gibbelines render Florence a scene of war and 
 fury. In Germany two emperors contend 
 fiercely as rivals for a crown. Tamerlane has 
 ovei'-run all Asia. The very earth is watered 
 with blood, which falls on its thirsty surface 
 like rain, that makes it teem with increase from 
 human sacrifices. In Granada, the Moors 
 maintain an empire ; and there, and elsewhere.
 
 THE TALBA. 219- 
 
 do they continually rise up in arms to molest 
 the Christians. Where then is peace to be 
 found on earth ? Where will old Manuel de 
 Castro, who sorrows for these miseries, but 
 most of all for his dear country, where will he 
 find a quiet grave ?" 
 
 " Do not talk thus, my beloved father," said 
 lues ; " have better thoughts. But now you 
 expressed warm hopes that your mission to the 
 court of Arragon would be attended with suc- 
 cess. That country, uniting with Portugal, 
 would finally restore peace and happiness to 
 Castile, by driving from its throne a cruel and 
 blood-thirsty prince." 
 
 " I did say as much," replied Don Manuel, 
 " but I fear thy resolution." 
 
 Ines looked surprised. " My resolution?" 
 she said. " What have I to do with this?" 
 
 " Thou ! " exclaimed Don Manuel, " thou 
 art said to influence Don Pedro of Portugal in 
 a manner no one else living dare hope to do. 
 The terms with Arragon cannot go forward 
 without his sanction ; and I fear thou wilt not 
 give them thy support with the prince."
 
 220 THE TALBA. 
 
 " You think hardly of me, sir," said Ines. 
 " Tell me, what are these terms ? for being 
 sanctioned by you I have warrant for their 
 worthiness ; and then prove me, if I love not 
 my native country so as to desire the accom- 
 plishment of such terms with Arragon as may 
 give to Castile the support of two united 
 crowns." 
 
 " United crowns they will be," said Don 
 Manuel, " if the terms are carried into effect. 
 They propose the alliance in favour of Castile 
 to go forward after the union of the royal 
 houses ; the infanta of Arragon to become the 
 wife of Don Pedro of Portugal, who shall then 
 make war on his own account, since, by his 
 mother's side, he has some claims on the crown 
 of Castile." 
 
 Ines de Castro replied not a word. A deadly 
 paleness overspread her features. Her limbs 
 trembled, and refused her support. She sank 
 on a cushion that was near her. Shocked, and 
 even indignant, at observing this agitation in 
 his daughter, on the mention of the proposed 
 marriage of Don Pedro with the princess of
 
 THE TALBA. 221 
 
 Arragon, Don Manuel seemed to lose, in a 
 moment, those tender feelings which had filled 
 his heart on first meeting her. With a stern 
 air, and in accents that showed how little he 
 sympathised with her feelings, he severely up- 
 braided his child for mdulging an affection for 
 a prince alike removed from her by the sacred 
 ties of the church and by his station; for 
 though he did not doubt the honour of her 
 mind, yet he feared its firmness; and that, 
 unable herself to wed the prince, she would 
 use her influence to prevent his espousing 
 another. As his daughter was godmother to 
 the son of the heir-apparent, an office then held 
 of great consequence and privilege, Don Manuel 
 dared not remove her from the court, else he 
 would not have scrupled to do so on the instant, 
 when he now so evidently saw the danger to 
 which she was exposed by her affection. 
 
 Ines appeared to labour under feelings which 
 she endeavoured to conceal, but could not con- 
 quer ; and, in return to her father's repeated 
 questions, she could only assure him he judged
 
 225 THE TALBA. 
 
 her harshly, unkindly ; pleaded her agitation 
 in excuse, and allowed there was something 
 preyed on her spirits, and rendered her un- 
 happy; yet conjured him, as he regarded her 
 life or peace, not to urge her to confess the 
 cause. 
 
 Astonished, confounded, yet determined in 
 his purpose, Don Manuel, after repeatedly 
 commanding his daughter to see Don Pedro 
 as little as possible, but if she did see him, to 
 advise the marriage with the infanta, prepared 
 to take his leave. " I go, Ines," said he ; 
 *' think upon my words. Think if thou canst 
 bear to lose a father's blessing, to abide a 
 father's curse ! I leave, perhaps, in your hands 
 the fate of Castile. Think of that, the fate of 
 thy country. Wouldst thou see her bleed 
 while it was in thy power to save her fiom de- 
 struction ? If this marriage goes forward, all 
 will unite for the glorious work of deliverance. 
 Who that has one generous feeling would let 
 his own selfish passions interfere ? Dispel this 
 weakness ; for I suspect it lurks in thee. Thou
 
 THE TALBA. 223 
 
 canst never wed Don Pedro ; — kneel then at 
 his feet, and, if thou hast the power with him 
 for which men give thee credit, use it to save 
 thy country." 
 
 Don Manuel retired, leaving his daughter in 
 a state of mind that was almost insupport- 
 able. The late scene caused her to adopt a 
 resolution which we shall communicate to the 
 reader in the following chapter.
 
 224 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Whence this dishonour but from thee, thou false one? 
 
 Otwat. 
 
 Near the extremity of the gardens, and with- 
 out the wails of the palace, there stood a small 
 chapel which belonged to a convent of nuns, 
 who were especially favoured by Ines de Castro. 
 Many of them were poor Castilian ladies, the 
 daughters of the exiled and ruined nobility. 
 Such as had chosen the cloister Ines portioned 
 to become inmates of this sanctuary. The ve- 
 nerable bishop of Guarda, also, much favoured 
 the convent of St. Mary, and frequently officiated 
 at the mass, or in the confessional. 
 
 The chapel stood prettily embowered within 
 a small wood, where there were many winding 
 paths ; and as in these extraordinary regions of 
 wildness and cultivation, of barrenness and fer-
 
 THE TALBA. 225 
 
 tility, no place could be found without the face 
 of an old rock to diversify the scene with its 
 grotesque features, so was there here one which 
 arose abruptly near the chapel, and reared its 
 ivy-hung and weather-beaten head far above 
 every tall forest tree that grew thickly around 
 its base. Devotion had placed a consecrating 
 mark on the summit of this rock, and that by 
 superadding art to nature : a pine tree, that 
 grew on the very verge, had, possibly by a tem- 
 pest, been shorne of its top and limbs, and a 
 branch nailed on the trunk transformed it into 
 a cross. Near the foot of this rude emblem 
 of a Christian's faith issued a little crystal 
 spring, which, gently gliding down the rock, 
 found its way through the wood, and supplied 
 with its waters those many fountains and streams 
 that adorned the gardens of the palace. 
 
 The chapel itself was a beautiful Gothic 
 building. It was thither that Ines resolved to 
 bend her steps after the late painful interview 
 with her father. She called Ximena to bring 
 her veil, and, having equipped herself for the 
 purpose, declared her intention of going alone 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE TALBA. 
 
 to the confessional. Ximena knew that it was 
 frequently her custom to do so, as she there 
 met the bishop of Guarda, who was her spi- 
 ritual director, and the friend of Don Pedro. 
 The faithful Moor, therefore, felt no surprise ; 
 and as she saw from her expressive countenance 
 that some deep cause of anxiety lurked within 
 the bosom of her mistress, she forbore all ques- 
 tions : for Ximena never forgot, even in mo- 
 ments of the greatest familiarity, the distance 
 between herself and her lady ; a prudent and 
 delicate line of conduct, which it were well if 
 all favourites and humble confidants observed 
 towards their superiors. 
 
 As Donna Ines slowly advanced, she ob- 
 served by the grey light of evening, for that was 
 the time, portions of the building peeping be- 
 tween the trees, whilst the solemn glow of the 
 windows, illumined by the tapers burning at 
 the shrines of the different altars within, were 
 now seen, now lost, and again became visible in 
 all their gorgeous colouring, as the windings of 
 the little path gave to or hid them from the 
 view. Every step she took seemed holy ground ;
 
 THE TALBA. 227 
 
 for beneath every tree, whose superior claim to 
 distinction rested on the veneration due to age, 
 might be seen some image, some cross, or a 
 sylvan shrine, there placed to remind the tra- 
 veller that holy thoughts should begirt his path 
 of life, even as did holy things his steps to the 
 house of prayer. An image of our Lady of 
 Seven Sorrows, with each of those particular 
 griefs carved round the base of its pillar, stood 
 not a stone's throw from the chapel, and at the 
 end of one of those cross paths that penetrated 
 through the wood. 
 
 Ines remarked a figure seated on one of the 
 steps which surrounded this pillar. By the 
 twilight she could alone distinguish that the 
 person was wrapped in long garments, and 
 looked like a monk; and as she knew there 
 was in the vicinity a convent of the wandering 
 order of St. Francis, she immediately concluded 
 this to be some brother of that house. On 
 passing, therefore, Ines graciously saluted him 
 with one of those pious modes of address so 
 common to the period, — " May the blessing of 
 our Lady of Seven Sorrows be upon you, holy 
 9 2
 
 228 THE TALBA. 
 
 man ! May she avert all sorrow from thy soul, 
 or give thee patience to bear it ! " 
 
 The person to whom this courteous benison 
 was spoken seemed to be aroused from some 
 deep reverie by the sounds of her voice. He 
 started, raised his head from its drooping pos- 
 ture, bowed reverently, but made no answer. 
 Donna Ines passed en ; and as she looked back 
 ere she reached the turn of the pathway, per- 
 ceived that the silent brother had quitted his 
 seat, and was advancing towai-ds the chapel. 
 
 It was with feelings of deep devotion that 
 Ines entered the sacred fane. Within the walls 
 of any building dedicated to the worship of that 
 great Being who made us all (though men may 
 differ in its mode), there is solemnity. It is 
 sacred to God, and therefore it is awful ; for 
 there the silent monitor, conscience, seems to 
 whisper, " Here, sinner ! bow, and ask for 
 mercy; thou needest it — thou art mortal." Few 
 can carry with them feelings of levity even to 
 strange altars ; few but experience some thought 
 that is holy, though it may be transient, and 
 suiFered to find wings by no effort being made
 
 THE TALBA. 229 
 
 to cherish or detain it. If such are the feelings 
 of those least prone to the exercise of devotion, 
 how deep, how soul-stirring are the sensations 
 of the truly religious ! With them duty to 
 Heaven in prayer becomes entwined with their 
 very being ; and to God do they give the heart, 
 as that which is the first " to feel life and the 
 last to quit it." 
 
 Already had the evening service commenced. 
 She entered at the beginning of the peni- 
 tential hymn; and the effect it produced was 
 not, perhaps, the less imposing that sounds 
 so full of melody came from unseen lips, as the 
 nuns who chanted were concealed by a black 
 curtain, which hung before a large iron grating. 
 Ines listened with emotion. The deep swell of 
 the organ, as it rolled along its world of sound, 
 and shook the aisles with its vibration ; the full 
 and plaintive chorus, now modulated into the 
 richest tones of harmony, or raised to high and 
 thrilling notes, called up every feeling of the 
 soul, softened the energy of passion, and ele- 
 vated the mind beyond the boundary of earth to 
 rest its thoughts in heaven. 
 9 3
 
 230 THE TALBA. 
 
 Some few persons were assembled in the 
 aisles of the chapel ; among whom might be 
 seen a wandering monk, and two or three pil- 
 grims. Ines de Castro had taken her seat near 
 a small lateral altar dedicated to St. Anne. 
 Towards the conclusion of the evening service, 
 at the elevation of the host, the black curtain 
 was suddenlj-^ withdrawn, when through the 
 iron grating might be seen, within a low vaulted 
 chamber, the nuns closely veiled on bended 
 knees, singing the praises of the great Re- 
 deemer. After a short space the curtain fell 
 and concealed them from sight. Presently 
 voices were again heard, solemn and low, as at 
 a distance. At these sounds all the congrega- 
 tion turned towards the west The voices gra- 
 dually grew louder and louder, the organ pealed, 
 as, with slow and stately step, issuing from be- 
 neath a gothic portal, came the lady abbess, 
 bearing in her hand a silver cross, and followed 
 by the sisters, who covered, yet not concealed 
 by their thin black veils, advanced parading 
 through the different aisles of the church, sing- 
 ing in full chorus the hymn to the Virgin.
 
 THE TALBA. 23 1 
 
 As the procession passed on, Ines remarked 
 that the figure she had before seen in the forest 
 stood leaning against one of the pillars of the 
 transcept, and that his eyes were fixed upon her- 
 self. There was, perhaps, nothing extraordi* 
 nary in the circumstance, since many persons, 
 especially strangers, gazed with much curiosity, 
 both in or out of church, on the famed beauty 
 of Ines de Castro. Though this man stood 
 apart, and where a broad shadow, that fell upon 
 him from the superincumbent arches, prevented 
 his person from being distinctly seen, yet Ines 
 could perceive he wore the garb of a pilgrim. 
 So fixedly did he gaze upon her that he seemed 
 unconscious of the presence of every other per- 
 son ; and though the procession, as it passed 
 along the transcept where he stood, for a few 
 minutes concealed him from her view, yet, 
 when it had retired into another aisle, Ines still 
 beheld the pilgrim in the same spot, in the same 
 attitude, and with his looks in the same fixed 
 manner bent upon herself. 
 
 An involuntary shudder stole over her as 
 she observed this ; yet why it should be so she 
 C 4
 
 232 THE TALBA. 
 
 knew not. Possibly the alarmed state of her 
 mind, which made every nerve in her body 
 tremble on the slightest emotion, like the leaves 
 of the aspen by the least breath of aii", might be 
 the cause. The service was now concluded; 
 every one hastened to quit the church, and she 
 likewise quitted it to enter the locutory of the 
 convent. There she remained but a brief 
 space, since the bishop of Guarda, whom she 
 sought, was absent. Again she passed through 
 the church. On crossing near the transcept, 
 the figure of the pilgrim, standing on the same 
 spot, again met her view. Every other person 
 had by this time retreated ; and with hasty steps 
 she also did the same. 
 
 As Ines retired, she could not help fancying 
 this singular being was employed to watch her. 
 In order to shun him, she turned into a dif- 
 ferent path from that by which she had entered 
 the church. Yet her precaution was vain ; for 
 at the very moment she was passing the base of 
 the rock we have lately named, to strike down 
 another way leading to the gardens, the pilgrim 
 stood between her and the very path she was 
 about to follow.
 
 THE TALBA. 23S 
 
 Alarmed by this action, Ines hesitated a mo- 
 ment ; but thinking, after all, that the singular 
 conduct of the stranger might arise merely from 
 his necessities, as begging and a pilgrim's gown 
 were so often found in company, she said, as 
 she prepared to open her almonier that hung 
 from her girdle, " Pilgrim ! if thou hast crossed 
 my path with the intent to crave alms, yet want 
 resolution to speak thy necessity, it is but a part 
 of my duty, in returning from the shrine of our 
 lady, to prevent thy asking and thy wants. 
 Take this in charity." 
 
 " The charity I would ask of thee, lady," 
 replied the pilgrim, " is to show pity to thy- 
 self." 
 
 " To myself!" exclaimed Ines ; "whatmeans 
 this strange address ? I saw you but now with 
 fixed attention watch me in the church — you 
 have followed me hither — you intercept my 
 path, and now accost me in terms of inexpli- 
 cable mystery. Wliat may this mean ? If there 
 is import in your words, speak it ; if not, take 
 my gift and suflPer me to pass on." 
 
 " You pass not on till you have heard me,"
 
 234 THE TALBA. 
 
 replied the pilgrim. " There is import in my 
 words — life or death hangs on them. Thou 
 art the daughter of old Don Manuel de Cas- 
 tro." 
 
 " If you know who I am," said Ines, " you 
 should also know that I am not subject to 
 command, far less to be thus interrupted, and 
 forcibly detained by a stranger. If you have 
 aught of real import to communicate, follow me 
 to my house ; there it will better suit me to 
 hear you than in this lone spot." 
 
 " No," answered the pilgrim : " here I have 
 encountered you, and here will I be heard. — 
 Have you prayed this evening, lady, and for 
 pardon of those injuries you have inflicted?" 
 
 " Have I prayed?" said Ines, repeating his 
 words with astonishment ; " I am but this mo- 
 ment retired from the altars of our holy church. 
 Imperfect as my prayers may be, pilgrim, I 
 mock not God in them — they are sincere : but 
 you are not my confessor, to demand of me so 
 strange a question. Many are my faults to 
 Heaven, but I know not that I have injured a 
 fellow-being."
 
 THE TALBA. 235 
 
 '■ But I know it," answered the pilgrim; " and 
 such injury as none save those who feel the like 
 can estimate its extent. Will thy heart tell 
 thee nothing?" 
 
 " I am not bound to answer thee if it did," 
 said Ines, in a tone of displeasure. " Thou art 
 a stranger, intrusive, and free of speech : yet, if 
 thy garment speaks thy real character, thou 
 shouldest be holy. You have charged me with 
 I know not what. Be brief — explain this, or 
 let me pass on. I will not brook delay ; your 
 words are insolent and bold." 
 
 " My words are not bold," replied the pil- 
 grim, " unless they be bold to speak the truth ; 
 for, as there is a God above us, I speak but sober 
 verity ! I say there lives a being whom you, 
 lady, have deeply injured, and he now stands 
 before you. Have you forgotten the unfortu- 
 nate Diego ? " 
 
 " Holy saints and angels ! " cried Ines de 
 Castro, "art thou he?" As she spoke her 
 countenance turned pale ; her hands, which she 
 pressed together against her brow, shook ; and
 
 236 THE TALBA. 
 
 her whole frame, trembling and disordered, 
 expressed alarm mingled with embarrassment. 
 
 " I am that injured, that unhappy man," 
 said the pilgrim ; " yet neither injuries, nor 
 misery, nor time itself, have conquered my af- 
 fection. You see before you the same Diego, 
 once betrayed by you, but who now comes wil- 
 ling and resolute to save you from destruction, — 
 willing to pardon, to forget past injury, would 
 you but let him do so." 
 
 For some time the pilgrim, or rather Don 
 Diego, continued to speak without interruption, 
 for it seemed as if the surprise of the lady Ines 
 held her mute. At length she recovered suffi- 
 cient resolution to say — " Oh, forbear ! you 
 know not what you urge. I have not injured 
 you, that is, not wilfully. The engagement 
 between us in my early youth, ere I quitted 
 Castile, was my father's act, not mine ; to have 
 kept it, on my part, would have been far greater 
 guilt than to break it. Cease, then, to reproach 
 me. If I have been the involuntary instrument 
 to do you wrong, suffer me to make such repar-
 
 THE TALBA. 237 
 
 ation as may be in my power. If fortune has 
 dealt hardly by you, I have the means, the will 
 to do you good." 
 
 " Is it thus that you speak to Diego ?" he 
 exclaimed in a haughty tone, as his cheek 
 flushed, and his dark eye kindled with offended 
 pride. " Forbear to add insult to injury. You 
 little know the mind of Diego, if you think that 
 he would stoop to take at your hands, though 
 he were grovelling in misery, in the very 
 dust of the earth, aught saving a full per- 
 formance of that solemn contract. Think not 
 that a heart, which for seven long years hag 
 loved faithfully in spite of fortune, — has loved 
 through the changes and chances of time, of 
 country, of each variety of suffering, — think 
 not that such a heart will deign to receive less 
 than would satisfy its fidelity. It is yourself 
 alone can be my recompense. No wealth, no 
 idle show of power, though you could place its 
 sceptre in my hand, would requite me for all 
 the injuries, the sufferings I have sustained for 
 you." 
 
 " Alas ! then," said Ines, " I have nothing
 
 238 THE TALBA. 
 
 to bestow. My heart can never be yours ; our 
 ancient engagement, — my father's act, not 
 mine, — can never be fulfilled. Here all must 
 end. Leave me; and take my prayers for 
 your peace, since all else you reject, save what 
 I cannot give. You say that I have injured 
 you, because I could not mock God's holiest 
 institution, to offer vows upon his altar which 
 my heart could never ratify. If this is to in- 
 jure you, grant me pardon. Leave me, and 
 may God guide you ! " 
 
 *' He will guide me," said Diego, — " and to 
 save you, thou lovely, though obdurate, yet 
 most beloved woman ! I cannot see you fall, 
 whilst I have a hand still free to extend it to 
 snatch you from the gulf that lies before your 
 steps. Hear me, — I must be brief; — all I 
 could reveal I dare not. This is no time, no 
 place, for such a confidence ; yet thus much 
 must be told. In this country, in this very 
 court, there exists a faction vowed to your 
 destruction. You are a favoured stranger ; an 
 object of envy, of hatred, of jealousy, to the 
 native Portuguese. This you owe to the un-
 
 THE TALBA. 239 
 
 bounded influence you have exerted with the 
 prince, with that Don Pedro whose love will be 
 your ruin. I am not one of those who join with 
 the giddy multitude in the voice of censure: 
 I have turned a deaf ear to the slanders of envy, 
 the suggestions of malice. To your purity of 
 heart I have done full justice, and never have 
 I suspected your honour." 
 
 " You dare not suspect it," said Ines, co- 
 louring as she spoke : " I heed not the whispers 
 of envy. — But my affairs are not your concern- 
 ment. If you mean well, I thank you; but I 
 have friends, and do not need your service." 
 
 " Friends ! " exclaimed Diego ; " ay, Ines, 
 so might the lamb say, when the wolves by 
 night steal round the fold to watch the moment 
 to break in for destruction : such are your 
 friends. But you have one better than they; 
 you have a friend who is yours in evil days — 
 one who will cherish, honour, and confide in 
 you through ill report as well as honourable 
 praise ; a friend whom none but yourself can 
 make other. Nay, Diego will save you in 
 spite of yourself, and trust to your own sense
 
 240 THE TALBA. 
 
 of the act for his future happiness. Abandon 
 the court, quit the presence of Don Pedro, fly 
 his importunity, sequester yourself from his 
 favour, or he will prove your destruction. 
 Already are you deceived. Fly him ere you 
 become his prey." 
 
 " I will hear no more," said Ines, in a tone 
 of passionate indignation. " Don Pedro is in- 
 capable of aught but what is worthy and noble. 
 His honour, hke his station, is raised above all 
 others, that he may be the example, or rather 
 model, by which to fashion the gallant knight 
 and virtuous gentleman. I, as well as my 
 father, am guarded by the prince ; and no 
 tongue in my presence shall dare censure him 
 unjustly." 
 
 " Yet he will destroy you," said Diego ; — 
 " but it shall not be. Your father, say you ! 
 I could whisper to him such things as should 
 make him tremble to know that Don Pedro did 
 but look upon his child. Away with this ; hear 
 me ; what I have asserted I can prove. I have 
 learned but this hour the arrival of your father 
 from Arragon. Follow me to his presence;
 
 THE TALBA. 241 
 
 and there, in the face of God and man, I will 
 reveal such things as shall force conviction even 
 upon you. I will show Don Manuel matter 
 dark and perilous. Nay more, by doing so 
 my life will be in his power. Be this my 
 pledge of truth. Let me but save you, — 
 model me after your own will. I will be as 
 wax in your hand, so you but give me some 
 impress bearing the characters of hope. I am 
 embarked on a sea full of crossing tides and 
 dangerous billows. They may engulf me, or 
 they may lead me on to safety. Say but the 
 word, give me but the hope that I may save 
 you — that I may think of you in times to 
 come, as I did in my boyish days, and I leave 
 all for you. Deny me, and here we part. Yet 
 our parting shall be like that of body and soul, 
 to meet again at an hour of fearful reckoning. 
 Come with me to Don Manuel ; we will seek 
 your father." 
 
 As he spoke, Diego attempted to grasp 
 Donna Ines by the hand. She suddenly ex- 
 tricated herself from his hold, and in a loud 
 voice demanded that he would suffer her to pass 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 242 THE TALEA. 
 
 on. This he totally disregai'ded ; and, again 
 entreating her to accompany him to Don 
 Manuel, that he might make known to her the 
 dangers he had so darkly hinted, he once more 
 forcibly seized her arm, as if to lead her from 
 the spot. 
 
 This she resisted, as she exclaimed, " Un- 
 hand me, sir ; I will not yield to this unman- 
 nered force. I will cry aloud for help ; these 
 very woods shall send me a deliverer. It 
 cannot be but some traveller, some passenger, is 
 near at hand, who will aid me. Beware what 
 you do ; you may suffer for this boldness ; a 
 word of mine would crush you, did I but use 
 the power I have to speak it to your enemy." 
 
 " Speak it ! " cried Don Diego. " Do so, 
 ungrateful woman. Call on the prince to 
 destroy the man to whom you were once so 
 solemnly betrothed, that all but the last vows 
 had bound you to him. Tell Don Pedro who 
 I am, and what I would do, at the risk of life 
 itself, to preserve you. Say to him, under 
 these pilgrim's weeds there lurks the man 
 banished by your princely order, and for a
 
 THE TALBA. 243 
 
 crime which had its origin in the most faithful 
 love. Do this, Ines, if you have the heart to 
 do it; but if not, as you value honour, life, 
 peace on earth, or hope of heaven, come with 
 me to your father." 
 
 Again he attempted to place his hand upon 
 her arm. She shrieked aloud. The cry brought 
 assistance more speedily than might have been 
 expected ; for a slight rustling among the 
 leaves was followed by the sudden appearance 
 of a cavalier, who stepped boldly forward, and, 
 in a firm and indignant voice, commanded the 
 pilgrim, at the peril of his life, instantly to let 
 go the arm of the lady. 
 
 Ines de Castro, in those agitating and con- 
 fused moments, stole a hasty glance at her 
 deliverer : instantly recognising him, she cried 
 aloud, " It is the prince !" 
 
 Don Pedro, confronting the pilgrim, laid his 
 hand on the hilt of his sword, as he said, 
 " Who are you, that dare thus offer inter- 
 ruption to a noble lady? For what cause ? -^ 
 from what motive? Speak, or you die. Are 
 R 2
 
 244 THE TALBA. 
 
 you a pilgrim, or a robber thus tricked in a 
 holy guise ? " 
 
 " Thou art the robber," exclaimed Don 
 Diego ; " and I, who am the injured man, dare 
 say as much to Don Pedro, though he be prince 
 of Portugal." 
 
 " Insolent villain ! " said the prince. 
 
 " Cease your invective," replied his oppo- 
 nent. " Have you forgot me ? " 
 
 " By all the powers of heaven, no ! " cried 
 Don Pedro. " Now do I remember thee too 
 well. Thou art Don Diego Lopez Pacheco. 
 This present insolence suits well with thy 
 former presumption. This shall not go un- 
 punished : thou art a banished man." 
 
 " Ay," exclaimed Diego, " and was sen- 
 tenced into banishment for having struck the 
 prince of Portugal with my dagger ; for having 
 drawn his blood in return for a blow, — a vile, 
 a dastard blow, — such as cowards give to 
 slaves, — bestowed on me by the hand of the 
 heir-apparent to the crown ; and that, too, in a 
 quarrel about some rival attention paid to my
 
 THE TALBA. 245 
 
 betrothed bride, to Donna Ines. It was some- 
 what unworthy of a prince." 
 
 " If you so well remember the cause and the 
 punishment of your offence," said Don Pedro, 
 " you should also remember that the forfeit of 
 your return, uncalled from banishment, is life. 
 Your life, at this moment, is in my power." 
 
 " Take it," answered Diego, " it is yours ; " 
 and he added, in a tone of marked irony, " it 
 will complete the acts that shall hereafter seem 
 most worthy in the annals of a great prince : — 
 to rob a noble gentleman of his betrothed bride ; 
 to spurn, nay, to strike him, when he dared 
 upbraid thee for the crime. Yes, you struck 
 me. I answered it with steel, — I drew blood 
 from those princely veins. But not that blood, 
 — not seven years of shame and banishment, — 
 have washed from my remembrance that in- 
 delible mark of my dishonour. Once more am I 
 in thy power ; and, at the peril of my life, I bid 
 defiance to thee in thy teeth. I demand com- 
 pensation to my injured honour ; or bid you, if 
 you will, fill up the account of your own un- 
 worthy acts by taking my forfeited life. It is 
 R 3
 
 246 THE TALBA. 
 
 yours, — the law will give it you : I am un- 
 armed, and have no means of defence." 
 
 " It is that which saves you," said Don Pe- 
 dro. " I wage no combat with an unarmed man, 
 however justly I may be incensed against him. 
 By the laws of Portugal, you were sentenced to 
 death for having wounded, in my person, the 
 heir to the crown. If I struck you in haste, in 
 passion, when provoked by unbridled insolence, 
 in cooler moments I preserved your life ; since, 
 but that I solicited some mitigation of that sen- 
 tence, death, and not banishment, had been 
 your portion." 
 
 " I cannot thank you for such mercy," said 
 Diego. " You did but procure me length of 
 days, that I might end them in disgrace. To 
 rob me of her who was affianced mine, to aim 
 at me a blow, to chase me from my country in 
 poverty and ruin, are injuries not to be for- 
 given. I live to be avenged ; I tell you this : 
 if you are wise, profit by it now I am in your 
 power, for I will never yield." 
 
 " Alas," said Lies, who spoke for the first 
 time during this sudden and confused scene, —
 
 THE TALBA. 247 
 
 " alas ! he speaks mere madness. Do not 
 heed him, noble prince. Don Diego thmks 
 himself injured, and I fear too justly, by me. 
 I would entreat you to pardon him. Suffer 
 him to depart unharmed." 
 
 " Not by you be such a prayer offered to one 
 who has betrayed us both," said Don Diego. 
 " We were happy till Don Pedro came between 
 us. Our parents in infancy had betrothed our 
 hands. But you were fair and frail, weak, and 
 easily won by the vain glory of a princely 
 wooer. I was the first victim of his power ; 
 you are reserved for the last. But, oh, there 
 will come a fatal hour of retribution." 
 
 " I heed not your words," said Don Pedro. 
 " I can allow for the feelings of anger and dis- 
 appointment, though they rest in the bosom of 
 my enemy. Go, Don Diego, go in safety; I 
 will not betray you. And learn this, that at 
 the very hour you returned hither, uncalled, to 
 heap fresh insults on a prince, he was labour- 
 ing for your deliverance from banishment. But 
 that this day I was prevented attending the 
 council, I had purposed, with the concurrence 
 R 4
 
 248 THE TALBA. 
 
 of the venerable Azevedo, to appeal to the 
 king's mercy in your behalf. Go in peace. 
 But remember, though I can pardon injuries 
 offered to myself, I will not pardon any repeti- 
 tion of conduct so violent as you this day offered 
 to this lady. She was never thine by her own 
 will. Leave me instantly, or you may find me 
 dangerous." 
 
 A bitter expression curled the lip of Diego 
 as, with a feeling even of contempt, he prepared 
 to give some answer to the prince. Don Pedro, 
 however, as if unwilling to receive any further 
 provocation from one whom he was conscious 
 he had been the means of injuring in his ten- 
 derest affections, would no longer listen, but, 
 leading the lady Ines from the spot, hastily re- 
 treated towards the gardens of her habitation, 
 entered by a postern gate of which he had the 
 key, and secured it after him. Don Diego, as 
 she retreated, stood gazing upon the figure of 
 his lost and beloved Ines, till the woods ex- 
 cluded her from his sight. And as he retraced 
 his steps he was in a frame of mind so despe- 
 rate, to which he had been wrought by strong
 
 THE TALBA. 249 
 
 and contending passions, that then he first re- 
 solved on trustino; a knowledfje of the whole 
 affair to Gonsalez, and on communicating to 
 him a plan which it will hereafter be our task 
 to set before the reader.
 
 250 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 The prince, who so opportunely rescued Donna 
 Ines from the miportunity of the impassioned 
 Diego, informed her, as they returned to the 
 house, that not long after she had quitted it, he 
 had there sought her. Ximena told him that 
 her lady was gone to attend the evening service 
 at the little chapel in the wood. Thither had 
 he followed, and was advancing towards it by a 
 sequestered path, when her cry for assistance 
 met his ear. This relation finished, Don Pe- 
 dro, who saw how much Ines was agitated by 
 what had passed, forbore to increase her dis- 
 tress by any farther allusion to the circum- 
 stance, but hastened to support her onward, 
 that on her return home she might have time 
 and rest to recover her spirits from the recent
 
 THE TALBA. 251 
 
 alarm, Don Pedro, though some years had 
 elapsed since the death of his princess Constan- 
 tia, and though his son Ferdinand was nearly 
 twelve years old, was himself little more than 
 five and thirty ; so early in life had he been 
 married from motives of state policy, and so 
 early had death deprived him of his wife. The 
 prince was, in person, like his father Alonso, 
 more than commonly tall. He was esteemed 
 one of the handsomest and most accomplished 
 men of his time. His air was dignified. Re- 
 gular and handsome in themselves, his features 
 were rendered still more captivating by his eye, 
 which, large, black, and quick, in a moment 
 became lighted up with animation, or softened 
 into the tenderest expression. As a poet would 
 have said, it was an index to his soul. His 
 flowing hair, bound by a fillet of pearls about 
 the head, fell in graceful ringlets over his 
 shoulders. Indeed, his whole person was strik- 
 ing and princely. 
 
 He was not only a patron of, but an adept in, 
 many of the arts and sciences. Music had the 
 most powerful effects upon his feelings. It
 
 252 THE TALBA. 
 
 could soothe or elevate his mind in no common 
 degree. He was deemed one of the most ele- 
 gant poets of his time. So much did he esteem 
 learning, that he not only cultivated it himself, 
 but, when found in others, it was ever a certain 
 passport to his favour. He loved the chase ; 
 and as for his disposition, it was warlike ; yet 
 not in the same manner as in his father. Alonso 
 was fond of war for its own sake. It was his 
 native element. A time of peace was to him a 
 time either of restless anxiety, or of languor, 
 and almost torpor. He was heedless, daring, 
 wreckless in battle ; whilst Don Pedro, on the 
 contrary, united prudence with courage ; and 
 though hitherto he had shown no taste for war, 
 save on occasions of just necessity, yet when in 
 the field he acquitted himself gallantly, tem- 
 pering mercy with victory. His manners were 
 affable, grave, and pleasing. His temper, his 
 affections, were in general tranquil. Like most 
 persons, however, of a grave disposition, his 
 feelings were neither to be read nor under- 
 stood by common men. They lay deep and 
 hidden. There are affections, and amiable
 
 THE TALBA. 253 
 
 ones too, which, like water when the shghtest 
 thing touches its surface, give way to the im- 
 pression, and become agitated by it, yet in a 
 little while they subside again, and are as calm, 
 as tranquil, as if they had received no disturb- 
 ance. Such was not the character of Don 
 Pedro. His heart might be more justly com- 
 pared to a rock ; not easily to be engraved 
 upon, but when once it receives the impression, 
 it is lasting. Storm or sunshine may visit the 
 surface with darkness or with light, but there is 
 no change in the inscription. 
 
 Such was the heart of Don Pedro. He was 
 also liberal and generous ; a lover of justice 
 and a friend to the poor. Yet, as if humanity, 
 even in its brightest state, could not be without 
 spot ; in the midst of so many great and shin- 
 ing qualities, nature had planted one, as baneful 
 in itself as injurious to the possessor, — pride. 
 Don Pedro, in a word, was the proudest man 
 in Christendom. Such was his character at the 
 time we introduce him to the reader. In what 
 respect it was acted upon by subsequent events 
 will be seen in the following pages.
 
 254 THE TALBA. 
 
 The prince of Portugal was attired with more 
 of taste than splendour ; for it was one feature 
 in his character, that might have its origin in 
 pride, to neglect all magnificence about his per- 
 son, or in his mode of living, except on rare 
 and public occasions. He wished to owe no 
 distinction, no homage, to adventitious aids ; he 
 would be great in himself. He was at all times 
 heir apparent to the crown of Portugal. 
 
 With this pride of heart, no wonder that, in 
 a court where all were magnificent, he rather 
 chose to be distinguished by the plainness of 
 his attire, and a total neglect of external decor- 
 ation. 
 
 On returning to the dwelling of Donna Ines, 
 he conducted her to the door of her apartment, 
 where he was compelled to leave her to give 
 some orders to his attendant. It is probable 
 that she employed the time of his brief absence 
 in endeavouring to compose her feelings. Yet, 
 when he returned, there were traces upon her 
 brow of recent agitation ; and as she received, 
 and fondly returned, the embrace with which he
 
 THE TALBA. 255 
 
 strained her to his bosom, tears bedewed her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Nay, fairest and best beloved," said Don 
 Pedro, *' dry these tears. Wherefore this dis- 
 tress? Let not the violence of yon frantic 
 intruder trouble thus your peace. I am near 
 you, — I am yours in tenderest affection, in the 
 most watchful cares. "What then should excite 
 alarm whilst Pedro lives but for you ?" 
 
 " Alas ! " said Donna Ines, " I have a cause 
 of grief, which fain I would make known to 
 you, but yet fear to do it." 
 
 " Fear nothing," replied Don Pedro. " If 
 there is aught about your state or person which 
 may be deemed beneath your quality or your 
 desert, say but the word and it shall be rec- 
 tified. There is not a thing which wealth, from 
 sea or land, can command, but I would exhaust 
 it to gratify your wishes." 
 
 " Nay, not so; it is not of such wishes I 
 would speak," said Ines. " Alas ! you know 
 me not. It is not outward things that could 
 thus disturb my peace. To your affection I 
 owe my elevation. The height is a proud
 
 256 THE TALBA. 
 
 one, but it is almost too dazzling for my weak 
 sight. If I look down I am giddy, and think 
 how uncertain is my footing, how great would 
 be my fall. Believe me there are moments, 
 when, always excepting thy love, I could sigh 
 for my once obscure fortune, that fortune 
 which had nothing in it to fix the attention, or 
 to create the envy of the world. I have not 
 forgot my early home, where, but for your 
 love, I had flourished, withered, and decayed, 
 unheeded and unknown." 
 
 " Not so," said Don Pedro. " Thou, Ines, 
 wert more like some beauteous flower that 
 grows neo;lected amid the forest wilds of na- 
 ture; yet so noble in thyself, so worthy the. 
 admiration of mankind, that to plant thee on a 
 royal stock would add to its lustre, but could 
 not to thine own excellence. Have I not given 
 thee every proof of a love so pure and devoted 
 that Heaven it may be is jealous of too much 
 worship bestowed on his creature, and, there- 
 fore, thus troubles my peace ? Why then these 
 tears ? Never do we meet but they fall to 
 ffrieve me."
 
 THE TALBA. 257 
 
 " They do, indeed," said Ines ; " yet never 
 had I so much cause for alarm as at this mo- 
 ment. Never, since the hour 1 first forgot 
 what was due to duty, have I known so much 
 distress: I am beset with unquiet thoughts, with 
 struggling affections, and opposing cares. Tliere 
 is but one way to cure all." 
 
 " Speak it ! " said Don Pedro. 
 
 " I fear to do it," answered Ines ; " and yet 
 this is no moment to shrink back, when there 
 lies before me a gulf which threatens ruin." 
 
 " Gracious heaven ! " exclaimed Don Pedro, 
 ** what can this mean ? Give thy purpose 
 plain words. What is it you would have me 
 do?" 
 
 " Declare our marriage," answered Ines, in 
 a tone of voice and manner that spoke the 
 alarm with which she made the proposal. Don 
 Pedro started at hearing her words. In a 
 moment a lowering look of displeasure seemed 
 to settle on his brow, changing at once his 
 cheerful aspect into gloom, even as the gather- 
 ing storm shadows the sunny earth ere it bursts 
 upon it. 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 THE TALBA. 
 
 *' You know the cause," he replied in a low 
 voice, and with a gravity that evinced a reso- 
 lution not easily to be shaken ; " you know 
 the cause that forbids it. Our secret marriage 
 was sanctioned by the dispensation I privately 
 obtained from Rome. Surely this marriage 
 ought to be sufficient. Your own scruples 
 were satisfied. You are my wife in the sight 
 of God and your own conscience. Would you 
 have ruin overwhelm us both by so heedless an 
 avowal?" 
 
 " Ruin will fall on both, at least on me," 
 said Ines, " unless that avowal is made. Hear 
 me, I beseech you. And if ever hapless woman 
 had claim on the pity, on the affections of man, 
 I have a claim on you. Hear me, and grant 
 my prayer." 
 
 " I have granted much, Ines," repHed Don 
 Pedro. " To call you mine, think what I have 
 sacrificed, and to what perils I have exposed 
 my own head. My father's wrath — a wrath 
 which, like the whirlwind, sweeps down all 
 before it, and carries death in its course — to 
 this danger have I perilled myself for love of
 
 THE TALBA. 259 
 
 thee. I have refused the heh'ship of a second 
 crown by marriage with a queen, and have 
 thought the palest wreath of summer blossoms 
 that binds thy locks of gold, dearer and richer 
 than her diadem. For thee and thine I have 
 exposed myself to the jealous hatred of an 
 angry faction — nay, more, so jealous is the 
 nation, so fearful of Castilian influence and 
 power, that I have perilled my very right to 
 the succession by a marriage whose sole in- 
 terest lies but in the heart. Surely, then, I 
 have deserved something at your hands, some 
 forbearance, some regard to my safety. The 
 preference of a prince to an obscure maiden, 
 however lovely, might deserve some grateful 
 token that would prove it was not quite for- 
 gotten." 
 
 " Is that, think you," said Ines, " the mo- 
 tive that would influence me ? Know me better, 
 my husband ; know better the heart of Ines, 
 the heart of woman. Think you that her 
 gentler sense of affection would place the idol 
 of her heart even for a moment beside either 
 worldly rank or worldly power ? No, prince ; 
 s 2
 
 260 THE TALBA. 
 
 to woman's love the least tender thought, the 
 slightest care bestowed on her by him she 
 loves, is of more worth, has a higher claim on 
 her gratitude, than did he gird around her 
 brows the golden circle of an empire. It was 
 the heart of Pedro that won on the soul of 
 Ines de Castro. Boast not then of things like 
 these, though men value them as their greatest 
 sacrifices." 
 
 " But if they are all a man can give, surely 
 they may have some weight in the scale of 
 affection," said Don Pedro. 
 
 " It may be so," replied Ines. " But I tell 
 you, that woman's love outweighs them all. 
 What are her hopes, what her possessions ? 
 Placed by nature in a lower sphere of action 
 than man, her all is her affections. When she 
 gives her heart and hand, from that hour she 
 places love, happiness, honour, liberty, all in 
 the power of man. Her very existence is 
 bound up in that of another, who may cherish 
 it or destroy it at his will. Can woman give 
 aught that is dearer if she be the tenant of a 
 cottage ? Can she give aught more precious
 
 THE TALBA. 261 
 
 though she be a queen ? Learn then to know 
 her heart, and do not rate its sacrifices by the 
 .gaudes that weigh in the balance of ambition." 
 
 Don Pedro sensibly moved by his wife's ten- 
 der expressions of her love, clasped her to his 
 bosom. 
 
 " How excellent," said he, " are the thoughts 
 of thy mind, and the feelings of thy heart ! 
 Who would not love thee? Did I need an 
 excuse for that affection which has prompted 
 me to give up all for thy sake, I would say it is 
 less to be found in the charms of thy beauty, 
 matchless though it be, than in the generous 
 feelings of thy soul. You are my wife, my most 
 •beloved wife; yet I must not, I dare not be 
 moved by your request, to acknowledge you as 
 such." 
 
 " If my words cannot move you," said Ines, 
 ■" think upon our children ; think of those in- 
 nocent pledges of our love, and what may be 
 the consequence to them of this concealment of 
 our marriage. Do not, as you are a father and 
 a prince, do not expose the honourable branches 
 of a royal house to be looked upon as a de- 
 
 H o
 
 262 THE TALBA. 
 
 graded, a base-born issue. Their very exist- 
 ence is now concealed, whilst I, — their fond, 
 their anxious mother, — I am debarred the na- 
 tural right of openly watching over their infant 
 years. I dare not visit the place of their con- 
 cealment, unless it be by stealth. Oh ! think of 
 this; and think of my deep shame — that I, who 
 as a matron should hold my place amid the 
 honourable mothers of the land, I dare but steal 
 to them under cover of darkness, like a wretch 
 who would hide her degraded offspring from 
 the eye of the world." 
 
 " Forbear, I beseech you to forbear," said 
 Don Pedro. 
 
 " Trust me," continued Ines, " they are fair 
 and promising, and in nothing would disgrace 
 their royal lineage, by claiming some portion in 
 the blood of my fathers. I can feel this, and 
 though I am of no princely house, my honour 
 is as dear to me as thine." 
 
 " Peace, Ines, peace, I beseech you," replied 
 Don Pedro. " Forbear to urge this. I have 
 told you that the day shall come when our 
 marriage may with safety be tevealed."
 
 THE TALBA. 263 
 
 " And that day is now at hand," said Ines. 
 " For whether I speak, or whether I forbear, 
 there are circumstances that will compel you to 
 
 declare it, unless " She paused, and her 
 
 voice, tremulous with emotion, seemed to fail 
 her ; so much was she overpowered by wounded 
 feelings. 
 " Unless what?" exclaimed Don Pedro. 
 
 " Unless you purpose to disclaim me altoge- 
 ther," continued Ines ; " to break the slender, 
 though sacred tie, that binds a prince in mar- 
 riage to an inferior; to play with holy rites, 
 and annul them by some future dispensation, 
 that may be obtained from Rome, perhaps, 
 with as much ease as that which was procured 
 at the suggestions of impassioned love." 
 
 " I have not merited these doubts," said 
 Don Pedro : " you know me incapable of such 
 baseness. Has my affection lost one touch of 
 its ardour, or of its constancy, since it was 
 sanctified by the marriage vow?" 
 
 " Then know the truth," cried Ines. " There 
 will be a bold attempt made to break it. My 
 father is returned from Arragon. To me he 
 s 4
 
 264 THE TALBA. 
 
 has revealed the purpose of his embassy. Nay, 
 more, he has urged upon me, and in terms I 
 tremble but to think upon, that — holy saints 
 and angels ! — that I, thy lawful wife, should 
 counsel thee to unite thyself m marriage with 
 the infanta of that kingdom ; so that, on this 
 union taking effect, Arragon and Portugal may 
 unite for the deliverance of Castile, and that 
 thou, having cast down the tyrant, Peter the 
 Cruel, shalt set up thy own claims to fill his 
 throne in right of thy mother's blood. This 
 is my father's counsel; you know if he darC' 
 maintain it." 
 
 " Not against my will," exclaimed Don 
 Pedro. " Let him be thus bold, let him but 
 venture to lay such a contract at my feet, and 
 I would spurn it from me, bid defiance to Ar- 
 ragon, and chastise the man who should dare but 
 in thought to fetter my will at his pleasure." 
 
 " But your father," said Ines, " is privy to 
 this contract. Think you that he, on any light 
 excuse, will grant you the liberty of free choice, 
 when a kingdom Avould be lost by such refusal ! 
 Hear me : there is but one way for safety. —
 
 THE TALBA. 265 
 
 Take thy infants by the hand, lead them to the 
 foot of thfe throne, confess that, governed by 
 strong affection, thou wert led to many with 
 Ines de Castro; show Alonso the innocent fruits 
 of that ill-fated marriage, and beseech him, if he 
 have the pity of a man, if he have the heart of 
 a father, to pardon our offence for the sake of 
 those helpless children. Remind him that his 
 own blood flows in their veins; that Juan is the 
 image of his grandsire. Their innocent looks, 
 as they kneel at his feet, shall plead for mercy. 
 The king tsaill pardon thee, for he is a father ! " 
 " I dare not," said Don Pedro. " Ines, I 
 may no longer hide the truth. You know not 
 Alonso. You think him formed of mould like 
 other men. While the king lives, I must never 
 acknowledge our union. When death shall 
 have closed the gates of the grave on Portu- 
 gal's proud king, and, plucking from his brows 
 the crown, shall place it upon mine, then, but 
 not till then, must I avow thee to be my wife, 
 my queen ! Till that hour comes, not the tomb 
 itself can be more silent than must be the secret 
 of our married love."
 
 266 THE TALBA. 
 
 " Then am I lost indeed ! " said Ines. " Yet, 
 surely you are in error. Though a passionate 
 prince, yet, when his mood has given place to 
 reason, Alonso is a just one." 
 
 " I dare not trust him," said Don Pedro. 
 " Offences far less than he would deem this to 
 be have been visited with death ; witness the 
 fate of the late bishop of Evora. Wlien Alonso 
 rebelled against his father, he did but threaten 
 to proceed against him with the spiritual de- 
 nunciations of the church. What was the 
 consequence ? The prelate's death followed, 
 and that without space being given even to 
 plead for mercy. Alonso, I tell you, is ge- 
 nerous where he thinks his own interest or that 
 of his country may have been the motive to 
 boldness in the conduct of another. But trust 
 me, disobedience in a point so vital to the 
 honour of his blood, so allied to the interests 
 of the crown, as that of my marriage, would 
 be visited with a punishment I could not 
 avert." 
 
 " Surely the wife, the children of his son," 
 said Ines, " would not be so hardly dealt with
 
 THE TALBA. 267 
 
 as you seem to fear. Your word would save 
 them." 
 
 " My word would not reach his ear, Ines," 
 replied Don Pedro. " Think you that a king, 
 who, for jealousy of a brother, had rebelled 
 against his own father, would spare his son ? J 
 should be cast into prison, my unhappy off- 
 spring would be banished the land of their 
 birth as base and ignoble, whilst their sorrow- 
 ing mother would be offered up to death as a 
 sacrifice for what he deemed so deadly a blot 
 on the honour of his house. I must not, I dare 
 not grant your prayer." 
 
 " What must be done then ? " said Ines, 
 " May Heaven help me, for all earthly aid 
 seems vain." 
 
 " I will think upon it," replied Don Pedro. 
 " In the mean time, compose these agitated 
 thoughts. Remember my words. Death, ruin 
 to thyself, thy father, and thy kindred (for 
 trust me thou couldest not save them if this 
 thing were known), all hangs on the discovery. 
 The destruction of ovn* children, of myself (for 
 I could not survive such miserv) would follow.
 
 268 THE TALBA. 
 
 Be cautious, wait in patience; be silent, and all 
 may yet be well. Alonso thinks I love thee, 
 but never would he dream that thou wert 
 wedded to his son." 
 
 Ines blushed deeply at the humiliating 
 thought of the shame to which she was ex- 
 posed by her secret and unadvised marriage 
 with Don Pedro. Distressed in mind, yet see- 
 ing no immediate hopes of relief, she dropped 
 a tear in silence as her husband pressed her to 
 his arms, and, after many a vain effort to re- 
 assure and calm her agitation, he at length was 
 compelled to leave her, that, by the king's com- 
 mand, he might attend his father in council ere 
 he retired to rest.
 
 269 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The lists are op'd, the spacious area clear'd, 
 Thousands on thousands piled are seated round ; 
 Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard, 
 No vacant space for lated wight is found : 
 Here dous, grandees, but cliiefly dames abound. 
 
 Childe Habold. 
 
 It was with a mixture of bitter and indignant 
 feelings that Don Diego quitted Ines de Castro 
 to return to his associate in deep-laid schemes 
 of villany — Alvaro Gonsalez, a villain, if pos- 
 sible, more subtle than himself. The hatred 
 of Alvaro towards the prince and the venerable 
 Manuel de Castro knew no bounds ; since, after 
 a vain attempt at rivalship in state policy, it 
 had been hurried on to its utmost excess by 
 the government of Algrave having been de- 
 nied to this dark politician, and given to Don 
 Manuel.
 
 270 THE TALBA. 
 
 The hour was midnight. Gonsalez had but 
 that instant returned from the council of 
 Cintra, when he met his friend Diego in his 
 own apartment. A flushed cheek, a kindhng 
 eye, a manner agitated and restless, all told 
 Gonsalez the disturbed state of his associate's 
 mind. A short pause ensued. It was broken 
 by the impassioned and disappointed Portu- 
 guese, who, in the bitterness of his soul, and in 
 no measured terms, communicated the story of 
 his wrongs, both real and supposed, to that 
 friend who now sheltered his head from the 
 danger of the laws. 
 
 The wily Gonsalez listened with attention. 
 He saw in a moment how much this cause of 
 complaint might be made to assist the great 
 purpose he had at heart ; namely, to weaken 
 the present frame of government, if, by this or 
 any other means, a division could be brought 
 about between father and son, in the persons of 
 the king and the prince of Portugal. The idea 
 also, that, possibly, Diego's cause of wrong 
 would afford opportunity for a signal vengeance 
 on the whole of the De Castro family, flashed
 
 THE TALBA. 271 
 
 across his mind with the rapidity of lightning ; 
 and many dark thoughts instantly suggested 
 themselves to his intriguing spirit. 
 
 " Thou hast been foiled in thy attempt to 
 win upon an obdurate woman," said Gonsalez 
 to his friend, after listening to his tale ; " I see 
 it in thy angry brow, as well as in thy words : 
 but I will teach thee a way to win her, and, at 
 the same time, to wreak thy vengeance, where 
 it shall be most keenly felt, on thy hated rival, 
 Don Pedro." 
 
 " You talk wildly," said Diego. " It is true 
 I have been foiled — What of that ? She is 
 but a woman. I will steel my heart, and learn 
 to forget her. She cares not for me." 
 
 " Not while you are thus tame in the pur- 
 suit," replied Gonsalez. " Know you not 
 women ? then will I teach you what they are : 
 insolent in power, vain in beauty, careless of 
 true affection while it is at their command, but 
 unwilling to lose that which they but seem to 
 resist ; — once gained, tame and docile as the 
 domestic cat, which strays not from the hearth 
 of its master."
 
 272 THE TALBA. 
 
 " Such may be women of ordinary mould," 
 said Diego, " but such is not Ines de Castro. 
 You must not judge her by the general cha- 
 racter of her sex. She is of another nature ; 
 though, I grant you, obdurate, and little sen- 
 sible to the passion of one who would give life 
 itself to save her." 
 
 " It is thus," said Gonsalez, " that every 
 true lover makes out his own idol to be one of 
 a higher order than the rest of creation. What 
 wilt thou say to me, if I should point out a way 
 to give thee this woman in spite of all her re- 
 sistance ? Thou art moody, and dost think, 
 because her brow has frowned on thee, that she 
 is no longer an object of thy care. Well, re- 
 sist love if thou wilt; but, to my mind, revenge 
 has something in it yet more bewitching. Listen 
 to me, and both passions shall be satisfied, 
 whilst our schemes are forwarded to boot." 
 
 " You utter mere madness," said Diego ; 
 " speak within compass of reason, and I will 
 listen." 
 
 " Well then," continued Gonsalez, " I will 
 speak reason. I am but this hour returned
 
 THE TALBA. 273 
 
 from the council, summoned thither by the king ; 
 — and what think you was the purpose of such 
 a summons ?" 
 
 " Some sudden resolution against Don San- 
 chez belike, who lies under the imputation of 
 treason, for having re-seized the town and lands; 
 of Codycera, given to him by his late father, 
 king Denis, and wrested from him by his 
 tyrannical brother, king Alonso." 
 
 " There was something of that mooted, I 
 grant you," replied Gonsalez ; " but the hotr 
 headed king had a new purpose, that brooked 
 no delay. He would have instant despatch. 
 He would ratify the treaty before the sun rose 
 again to throw light upon it. He would give 
 liand and glove on it, sign and seal in the 
 presence of his council, that Don Pedro should 
 forthwith confirm the contract to the infanta of 
 Arragon. Now dost thou understand me ? " 
 
 " I do," answered Diego ; " but what of that ? 
 In what can the impatience of Alonso to have 
 his son wedded to the princess of Arragon 
 affect me ? Whilst Donna Ines is faithless and 
 cold, and refuses my aid to save her from the 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274" THE TALBA. 
 
 perils by which she is surrounded, what have I 
 to hope ? " 
 
 " Oh, content you there," said Gonsalez ; 
 *' you have all to hope. It can do all. I will 
 be brief: Don Pedro, openly before the 
 council, refused compliance, defied the au- 
 thority of his father, and would do nothing in 
 the way of obedience, saving that he consented 
 to head the men-at-arms who are to be sent out 
 to bring this Don Sanchez to reason. All who 
 were present, the king himself, laid this refusal 
 solely to the score of Ines de Castro; and so 
 long as she holds him in thraldom it is thought 
 he will never wed. Now, mark me : — Alonso 
 prides himself on seeing justice, as he calls it, 
 rigidly fulfilled; especially when it coincides 
 with his own interest. Plead thy contract, 
 given many years since, with the consent of 
 Donna Ines and her father. My life for it, she 
 is yours at a word." 
 
 " It is impossible," said Diego ; " I am a 
 banished man, — banished for having struck with 
 my dagger the heir of Portugal." 
 
 . J' No matter," replied Gonsalez. " Hadst
 
 THE TALBA. 275 
 
 thou struck the king himself, and yet would 
 now step forward to uphold thy claim to rid 
 him of this hinderance to his son's advancement, 
 this Donna Ines, thy pardon would be ensured, 
 thy claim would be received, thy banishment 
 recallecl, and tliou mightst carry on with sure 
 effect our future plans; whilst, should failure or 
 any other accident drive thee back to Castile, 
 the part thou hast played here to give intelli- 
 gence to the friends of Peter the Cruel would 
 give thee a certain claim to the forfeited lands 
 of old Manuel de Castro. Say, is not mine a 
 scheme worth the trial ? " 
 
 " But how to execute it?" replied Diego. 
 Whilst my sentence of banishment is unre- 
 pealed, I dare not openly appear in Portugal." 
 
 " Leave that to me," said Gonsalez ; " I will 
 prepare all things to make smooth the way for 
 the attempt. The king shall be so warned, so 
 dealt with, as to desire thy appearing. You 
 know the day of St. Francis is at hand : — now 
 mark my farther counsel. On that day the 
 king feasts the court. A bull-fight, such as in 
 splendour has not been seen for many a year, is 
 T 2
 
 276 THE TALBA. 
 
 devised for the entertainment of the populace. 
 Don Pedro will be absent; and the king, fol- 
 lowing an ancient custom of the realm, has 
 given out, that, in honour of the memory of the 
 good St. Francis, he will, so soon as the lists 
 are closed, receive appeals from all those who 
 have aught to claim, even though it should 
 affect his royal house. Now dost thou under- 
 staiidme? — We will speak farther of this anon, 
 and devise other necessary matters. Thou art 
 wearied; betake thee to rest. To-morrow we 
 meet again ; and in the mean time I will work 
 my rude plan into a shape more perfect." 
 
 " But I fear," said Don Diego, " should I 
 fail " 
 
 " Fear not, and fail not, — be that thy motto," 
 answered Gonsalez: ** I will stir up friends to 
 aid thee. Leave the rest to me." 
 
 They parted for the night, after a brief 
 conference, in which Gonsalez intimated his 
 design to lose not an hour in such preparatory 
 measures as he deemed necessary before the 
 day of St. Francis should arrive. 
 
 The preparations for the great festival men-
 
 THE TALBA. 277 
 
 tioned by Gonsalez were, indeed, magnificent. 
 An open space, in a beautiful valley not far 
 from Cintra, was appointed as the arena for the 
 principal sports of the day. It lay imbosomed 
 amid a wild tract of hills, whose high and 
 abrupt forms aspired to a mountainous cha- 
 racter. A dark forest of pine trees clothed the 
 sides of the boldest eminence to the north; 
 whilst, lively in colour, and beautiful in con- 
 trast, that, to the south, displayed the vivid 
 greens of oaks and elms, and many a grey 
 poplar, as it rose above the cottage of the vine- 
 dressers or the husbandman. 
 
 The day of the festival at length arrived. 
 Scarcely was the glimmering light of dawn seen 
 in the east, when hundreds left their beds, 
 eager to prepare for the expected sports. Cintra 
 poured out her inhabitants from her gates in 
 such throngs, that it seemed as if the houses 
 within them would be left desolate. Every 
 hamlet, nay, every surrounding cottage, was 
 deserted; so deep was the interest excited in 
 the breasts of the populace by the savage 
 spectacle of a bull-fight. 
 T 3
 
 278 THE TALBA. 
 
 The mornino; was delightful as it broke over 
 earth and sea ; and soon the kindling heavens, 
 the mountains, their high tops tinged with 
 brilliant light, the rocks and wandering rivers, 
 the dew-spangled herb, the cities of men, and 
 the wild woods of nature, were all seen shining 
 and glowing, and animated by the presence of 
 the majestic sun, which, as a conqueror, went 
 forth, in triumph, to begin another day. 
 
 The arena was a wide circus, encompassed 
 with raised seats ; and towards the eastern 
 extremity were seen three open, elevated, 
 and miignificent pavilions, where the king, the 
 court, the fairest ladies of the realm, and 
 most of its nobility, were to take their seats 
 as spectators. Those of the clergy who held 
 no distinguished rank, the hidalgos, and the 
 commons, were to occupy the benches below. 
 
 At an early hour the marshals, toridors, 
 matidors, and heralds, who had each some 
 office to fill on this occasion, had taken then* 
 stations ; and though the noble animals which 
 were to combat had been confined within a 
 strong enclosure, communicating with the lists,
 
 THE TALBA. 279 
 
 and could not be seen till they were, one by 
 one, let loose for battle, yet their deep bellowing 
 met the ear in sounds calculated to raise ex- 
 pectation, if not terror. 
 
 In a short time, those places open to the 
 populace were filled to overflowing. Strange 
 and motley was the scene. Women, some with 
 infants in their arms, men of every rank in 
 society, the warrior knight, the trusty squire, 
 the light-footed page, the jovial ecclesiastic, the 
 ascetic monk, the merchant, whose vine and 
 olive yards bore him wealth from distant lands, 
 the simple mechanic, the expounder of the laws, 
 the griping taxman, and the conquered and 
 taxed Moor, who was often the victim of his 
 hard hearted avarice, — all, all were seen, opposite 
 as they were in character, yet now governed by 
 one feeling, and intent on one and the same 
 sports : so much does the stimulus of curiosity 
 bring mankind upon a level; and, like death 
 itself, whatever be their station, stows them all 
 within as small a compass as that of a well-filled 
 church-yard. 
 
 We do not dwell on the magnificence of the 
 T 4.
 
 280 THE TALBA. 
 
 pavilions, hung, as they were, with whatever 
 is costly in velvets, silks, gold, and tapestry. 
 It is living objects we would rather depict; 
 and yet, if mute things may be said to have a 
 voice responsive to pleasure, the very woods, 
 around the valley, seemed to take up and re- 
 peat the glad sounds of the mellow horns, the 
 loud clash of the Moorish cymbals, the bray- 
 ing trumpet, and the " spirit-stirring drum," 
 as their concord of wild harmony proclaimed 
 the advance of the great cavalcade. The pro- 
 cession was headed by several members of the 
 religious and military order of the Wing. 
 These appeared mounted on their war-horses, 
 whose sides were covered with splendid hous- 
 ings of silk, embroidered with the arms of the 
 order. The long white robes of the knights, 
 tlieir glittering bacinets of steel, glancing and 
 flashing as the sun shone upon them, the azure 
 wing, on a ground of gold, that was seen on 
 their robes and streaming banners, attracted 
 the gaze of the multitude as they advanced ; 
 their horses so governed and checked by the 
 bridle as to maintain a slow and stately pace,
 
 THE TALBA. 281 
 
 whilst, by tossing their heads, and champing 
 the bit, they seemed impatient of the restraint 
 to which they were compelled to submit their 
 strength by the mastery of man. Tlie knights 
 were followed by the order of Christ, also a 
 military as well as religious body, whose chief 
 distinction was that of a silver cross, em- 
 broidered like a breast-plate on the forepart of 
 their robes. The order of St. James then ad- 
 vanced in the same state and manner. 
 
 Next appeared, led on by a guard of knights, 
 esquires, heralds, chamberlains, nobles, and 
 minstrels, Alonso the Brave, dressed in royal 
 robes, and mounted on a steed milk white and 
 beautiful, that " his aspiring rider seemed to 
 know." Proudly he paced on ; and as his 
 master ever and anon stopped for a moment 
 to return the greetings of the multitude, the 
 animal pawed the ground, reared his arched 
 neck, and shook his costly mane, that hung 
 like tresses of the softest silk. The spectacle 
 of both horse and rider was indeed princely. 
 Alonso wore only a light suit of body armour 
 under his robes ; and on his head a cap of
 
 282 THE TALBA. 
 
 velvet, surrounded by a circle of gold and 
 jewels. His bold and dark brow, his coun- 
 tenance, in whose lofty expression there was 
 the dignity as well as the terror of a warrior 
 king, were calculated to strike and to awe; so 
 that even those who murmured in secret, who 
 were plotting against his government, and 
 longed to tear the crown from his head, never- 
 theless, as he passed like some mighty power 
 before their sight, felt the ascendency of his 
 great spirit, and, with involuntary feeling, 
 bowed the knee in homage, or cried aloud, 
 " God preserve thee, noble king ! " 
 
 His very banner, that was borne before him 
 by the esquire of the royal body, seemed to 
 speak his lofty spirit. Its devise was an eagle 
 on the wing, with this motto, Altiora Peto, 
 So engrossing was the presence of Alonso, 
 that, though attended by a circle from one of 
 the most brilliant courts at that time in 
 Europe, as the distinguished persons who 
 helped to form it appeared, they scarcely 
 seemed to occupy a thought, the eyes of all 
 •being fixed upon the king; on whom they
 
 THE TALBA. 283 
 
 gazed with the attention which men exhibit 
 when contemplating a gallant ship as she rides 
 majestically upon the deep, whilst the little 
 barks or vessels that follow in her wake are 
 almost wholly unnoticed. 
 
 Yet soon a train appeared, whose presence, 
 though less imposing, was, as far as personal 
 charms have power to please, yet more dazzling 
 than that of the king and his companions. 
 This was the crowd of ladies that surrounded 
 the queen of Portugal, and the infanta, prin- 
 cess Mary. The queen, Beatrice of Castile, 
 was of a calm and dignified deportment. 
 Though time had rifled in her countenance 
 those beauties which distinguished it in youth, 
 still, even in decay, enough was left to testify 
 what superior loveliness had once been hers. 
 The princess Mary in nothing resembled the 
 queen. Far greater was her likeness to Alonso. 
 She had in her features all the prominent cha- 
 racteristics which distinguished his, yet want- 
 ing that open expression which in her father 
 had an air of frankness well suited to his mili- 
 tary deportment. The princess's countenance
 
 SS'i' THE TALBA. 
 
 was, on the whole, such as we like not to see 
 in woman. It was stern and masculine, with- 
 out any redeeming beauty. 
 
 Many and noble were the ladies of the court. 
 Yet there was one, who, whilst she retired as 
 much as her situation would allow from the 
 public gaze, far outshone them all, — the lovely 
 Ines de Castro, the secret and unhappy wife of 
 the heir to Portugal's crown. Her dress was 
 a^ure. A few jewels decorated her neck and 
 arms. She wore a loose crimson mantle over 
 her coat hardie, — a thing then much in fashion 
 with ladies when they rode abroad. Over her 
 graceful head and shoulders hung a thin veil of 
 silver tissue. On this day her station in the 
 procession was not a prominent one ; as she 
 mixed, perhaps purposely, with many of the 
 inferior ladies of the court, who were somewhat 
 crowded around her. Yet neither these, nor 
 the light gauze, could conceal from observation 
 her all-surpassing beauty ; though, as the sun 
 in the splendour of his meridian, gives a lustre 
 to those very clouds that would conceal his 
 face, even so did the presence of Ines de
 
 THE TALBA. 28S 
 
 Castro render more brilliant that inferior com- 
 pany of which she was the centre and the 
 light. 
 
 As she passed along, two knights, mounted 
 and richly caparisoned, (who had kept some- 
 what aloof, and had drawn their horses up on 
 the turf, leaving the road free for the cavalcade,) 
 gazed upon her with intense interest. " By 
 the rood," exclaimed the tallest of these to his 
 companion, " she is lovely as the lone lily by 
 the springs of water, as an Arabian adapter of 
 rhymes would say, did he now gaze on so 
 goodly a creature. Fair is she, most fair to 
 look on ; and there is that about her brov/ full 
 of majesty and sweetness. There is soul and 
 intelligence in every line of her countenance. 
 By the mass, but that I am thy sworn brother 
 in arms, 1 could almost be tempted to play 
 false friend, and cast in my own venture for so 
 fair a prize. Thou art a happy man, Diego, 
 if the king gives her to thee." 
 
 " It may be so," replied Diego, for it was he 
 who now answered his friend Gonsalez ; " yet 
 I doubt it is scarcely a knightly act to win
 
 286 THE TALBA. 
 
 woman's love by force. In her absence I am 
 prone to design, and bold to execute ; but when 
 I see her, her very eye makes a coward of me, 
 though it speaks not but benignantly. I have 
 almost a mind to give way to these suggestions, 
 which, possibly, are those of some guardian 
 spirit, and return whence I came; an injured 
 man myself, yet injuring no one." 
 
 " Why, how now ! Don Diego," said Gon- 
 salez, in a tone bordering on sarcastic scorn. 
 " Hast thou been closeted this morning with 
 some penitential monk ? who has preached to 
 thee most godly lessons of patience and for- 
 bearance, — telling thee how Christian-like it is 
 to put up with a woman's falsehood for the sake 
 of her fair fame ; to swear her lightest whim is 
 of more value than thy own honour ; and ' that 
 the buffet which her princely lover, thy rival, 
 lent thee for daring to think thou hadst some 
 claim on thy affianced bride, was to be most 
 quietly endured, — nay, that, when he smote 
 thee on the one cheek, far from resenting the 
 blow, thou shouldst have turned the other ! 
 Death ! to hear a man talk thus ; to see hini
 
 THE TALBA. 287 
 
 quake before the eye of a pale-faced wench, and 
 yet write himself comrade in our brave enter- 
 prise ! " 
 
 " Forbear," said Diego in a low voice, 
 whilst the convulsed motion of his lips, and the 
 scowl of a dark malign passion, as it overspread 
 his brow, showed how deeply he felt these 
 caustic and stinging sarcasms of Gonsalez, 
 pointed, as they were, in reference to the in- 
 juries he had received from Ines, and calculated 
 to call up, or renew, at a moment so critical, 
 the bitter resentments he entertained against 
 Don Pedro. " Forbear, Gonsalez," he con- 
 tinued ; " every man has his weak moments ; I 
 have mine. But they are gone ; they fly before 
 the breathings of my just resentments like 
 chaff before the wind. I feel my injuries, I 
 know what they demand, and I can be iron- 
 hearted, ay, and iron-handed too, as well as 
 thyself. So no more of this. — Didst thou mark 
 the king ? " 
 
 «Idid. What of that?" 
 
 " I thought," continued Diego, " that he 
 looked upon me, as he passed along, with an
 
 288 THE TALBA. 
 
 enquiring eye, yet not an angry one ; as if he 
 knew or guessed who I was, and would give 
 me confidence to approach him. Didst thou 
 mark it ?" 
 
 " Ay," said Gonsalez, « that did I. Me 
 he knew well enough, as 1 dropped my lance 
 to him. And marked you how he reined up 
 his steed, paused a moment, and returned your 
 salutation with fixed attention ? He looked fiill 
 at you, and smiled, as he waved his hand, ere 
 he passed on." 
 
 " Yet I like not to see Alonso smile," said 
 Diego ; " for there is that in it, like the playfiil 
 mood of a lion, which shows in its very sport 
 the nature of tlie mighty brute ; and that sport 
 itself may change into fury, as speedily as the 
 black thunder-cloud becomes a sheet of light 
 and fire. I will not trust the king's appear- 
 ance, no, nor his better purpose, for all thy 
 vaunting it." 
 
 " Then trust his evil pui^pose, and repose in 
 that for thy safety," replied Gonsalez. " Trust 
 me, the man who will be the means to remove 
 from him Tnes de Castro, that powerful obstacle
 
 THE TALBA. S89 
 
 to his son's marriage with Arragon, need fear 
 neither smile nor frown from Alonso." 
 
 " The prince, Don Pedro, you say is ab- 
 sent," observed Diego. " Are you sure he is 
 departed ?" 
 
 " Ay, at the head of his hundred lances,'* 
 said Gonsalez ; " gone to offer terms to his 
 rebel uncle, or to thrust them down his throat 
 at the sword's point. He is gone ; and let us 
 but play our game well in his absence, and what- 
 ever he may do, it shall but forward our great 
 purpose, and fan the fire of discontent. Nay, 
 follow my counsel, and Alonso shall be brought 
 to reason when he has served our turn. I fear 
 not for Don Sanchez, he is bravely manned 
 and armed; and those Castilian caterpillars that 
 now surround the king and feed on the state, 
 those caterpillars, I say, that devour, as the 
 locusts did in Egypt, every green leaf in Por- 
 tugal, they shall be torn from their hold and 
 crushed like reptiles as they are, under foot; 
 whilst thou wilt be " 
 
 " Tell me not what I shall be," replied 
 Diego ; " for in after-times, it may be, men 
 
 VOL. I. V
 
 290 THE TALBA. 
 
 would give a name to him who does what I am 
 about to do, such as I would not brook did 
 aught human speak it now I am a living man." 
 
 " Wherefore thus unresolved ?" said Gon- 
 salez. " Be determined, or be nothmg. Thy 
 mind, Diego, (so is it constituted,) hath neither 
 the courage to do what it deems evil, nor yet 
 the constancy to forsake it. Shadows of thy 
 own imaginings affright thee. Say, wilt thou 
 bear injuries or resent them ? There needs no 
 other question." 
 
 " I will resent them, and that to the death," 
 replied Diego. 
 
 " Forward, then," said Gonsalez. " Re- 
 member after the sports. Art thou pre- 
 pared?" 
 
 " I am," answered Diego. 
 
 " On, then, in the name of all that is manly," 
 said Gonsalez ; " and do thyself right." 
 
 They both turned their horses' heads, gained 
 the road, and joined the stream as it flowed 
 towards the arena. 
 
 Amongst the crowd that pressed forward as 
 spectators of the sports there were many
 
 THE TALBA. 291 
 
 Moors, who, notwithstanding the contempt 
 they were certain to meet with, felt quite as 
 keenly as those of a fairer complexion the strong 
 impulse of curiosity, and that excitement which 
 is ever produced by national games. The 
 Moors, indeed, felt a more than ordinary in- 
 terest in these sports; since, in the days of their 
 prosperity, they were famed for the magnificence 
 of their bull-fights. Cordova and Granada in 
 Spain (the latter, at the date of our narrative, 
 a kingdom formidable in its wars with the 
 Christians,) did not yield to any cities in the 
 splendour of such animating exhibitions. The 
 skill of the Moors in running at the ring, in 
 reed games, and other exercises, was also cele- 
 brated ; so that even these unfortunate indi- 
 viduals of this once famous people, who now 
 endured the yoke of conquest in Portugal, 
 were roused at the very summons to a bull- 
 fight, like the war-horse, which, though no 
 longer fit for action, is said to start at the 
 sound of the trumpet, as if impatient for the 
 field of battle. 
 
 u 2
 
 292 THE TALBA. 
 
 Amongst those who took their seats on the 
 lower benches, was Hassan the Talba, Hamet 
 the young sharif, and Cassim the herdsman. 
 They had been early comers, and for some time 
 occupied a station to which no one approached. 
 Hamet, with the eager curiosity of youth, that 
 finds a pleasure in every thing new, whether 
 trifling or important, examined, with a delighted 
 eye, the splendour of the pavilions of gold, the 
 beautiful tapestry, the attire of the nobles, the 
 lovely forms and faces of the ladies, and the 
 brilliant dresses of the knights. All these ex- 
 cited his admiration, and he seemed to forget 
 every thing save the magnificent objects that 
 met his gaze. Not so the Talba: there was 
 in the countenance of Hassan a look of pride, 
 mingled with disdain, as if he were out of his 
 place ; and, therefore, felt dissatisfied with those 
 very sports that had drawn him to the arena. 
 Cassim, who neither displayed the proud re- 
 serve of Hassan, nor the eager curiosity of 
 Hamet, seemed to be chiefly intent on observing 
 what passed around him, in order to feed his 
 own humour, whose highest relish was found in
 
 THE TALBA. 293 
 
 ridiculing the follies as well as the vices of 
 mankind. 
 
 And now the sounds of minstrelsy, loud 
 bursts from the populace, the braying of trum- 
 pets, and the simultaneous movement of all who 
 were within, or around the arena, proclaimed 
 the approach of the king, who rode directly 
 into the lists, followed by his train, and paced 
 them round ere he dismounted to take his 
 station in the pavilion. 
 
 The warlike figure, the dignified air, and the 
 lofty, though stern, countenance of Alonso, 
 failed not to impress young Hamet, who beheld 
 him, for the first time, with an involuntary 
 feeling of admiration. He knew the king to 
 have been the enemy of his father, of his 
 people, and of himself; yet, so apt is youth to 
 be dazzled by the splendour of majesty, while 
 the imagination, more active than the judgment 
 at such an age, yields to the impression made 
 on the senses, that, " See ! " he exclaimed, 
 " how noble is Alonso ! He sits his horse as 
 if he and the animal were one. It seems to 
 obey his thought rather than his hand. There 
 u 3
 
 294 THE TALBA. 
 
 is that about Alonso which stamps him a 
 leader of armies. He looks what he is, a 
 king ! » 
 
 " And a tyrant king, over a conquered, an 
 enslaved people," said Hassan. " Have you 
 forgot he is the enemy, the victor, the spoiler 
 of him, who was also once a king, — thy 
 father ? Thou art Alcanzor's son ! Have you 
 forgot this?" 
 
 " No ! " cried Hamet, his eye kindling at the 
 suggestions of his own feelings. " My heart 
 swells within me when I look upon Alonso. 
 I am glad that he is thus princely; that he, 
 against whom I would unsheath my father's 
 sword, is no mean man. It is poor sport when 
 the hunter pursues the timid hare ; but the 
 lion of the desert is worthy game, since it re- 
 quires courage and a free spirit to rouse him 
 from his lair, and meet him when he turns to 
 bay. It were a poor deed to vow vengeance on 
 the king, but that he is warlike." 
 
 *' You talk well, my dear young master," 
 said Cassim. " But bold words are much 
 safer than bold deeds ; though, in a place like
 
 THE TALBA. 295 
 
 this, it were more prudent to keep the peace ; 
 for, did not the tumult around us render our 
 words inaudible, except to our own ears, it 
 might be that, though given under the figure of 
 lions and hares, a challenge to Alonso the 
 Brave from a youth, who is a Moor, and who 
 never yet did battle, saving with such pleasant 
 enemies as the denizens of the woods, — it 
 might be, I say, that such a challenge were 
 answered by the master of the king's whips and 
 gyves in the old dungeon of the castle of Cintra. 
 Trust me, Hamet, that man was no fool who 
 thought silence to be wisdom in doubtful com- 
 pany." 
 
 " Then practise it thvself," replied Hamel, 
 " for I will speak my heart, though my head 
 pay for it." 
 
 ** Which it would be very like to do, if but 
 a bird of the air should carry your challenge 
 to the king. Be wise, youth, if it is but for thy 
 mother's sake." 
 
 " Well, you have schooled me," said Hamet, 
 and his countenance fell as he yielded to the 
 friendly reproof of the herdsman. " But there 
 u 4
 
 296 THE TALBA. 
 
 is no want of wisdom, I trow, in talking of in- 
 animate things ; so, for want of other matter, I 
 will even tell thee, that, notwithstanding I 
 could find a warmer theme for discourse, I am 
 well content to day to be pleased with what I 
 see. These decorations are magnificent : I never 
 saw so splendid a preparation." 
 
 *' Because you are young," said Hassan, 
 whose recollections of the sports of the Moors, 
 before they were so degraded, acted on his 
 mind with something like an envious spirit that 
 coidd not brook to see in another people what 
 his own no longer could boast. " You have 
 never seen the arena prepared for the bull- 
 fights of Cordova, of Granada, or of the now 
 conquered Algrave. It was in such places that 
 the Moorish kings soared, even in their very 
 sports, as much above these Christian princes 
 as the vast mountains of Estramadura soar 
 above the little hills that crouch at their feet 
 like slaves. Hadst thou ever seen the Al- 
 hambra and its arena, what were such a sight 
 as this ! The Alhambra was a palace fit for 
 him, who, like Kaled, the conqueror of Da-
 
 THE TALBA. 297 
 
 mascus, might be called the sword of God. 
 To form a dwelling-place for the kings of thy 
 father's people, the marble rocks yielded their 
 choicest veins ; the cedar, whose stately head 
 rises as lord of the forests, was felled to line its 
 halls and its roofs. Its hundred courts were 
 of alabaster, and its doors of brass were over- 
 laid with gold. Numberless were its refresh- 
 ing fountains, never failing, as the stars of 
 heaven shone on their streams by night, and 
 the sun played its beams upon them by day. 
 It was there where lived our Moorish princes; 
 those great chastisers of idolatry, they who, at 
 the command of the prophet of the faithful, 
 cut off with the sword all such as would give 
 the only true God partners in that worship, in 
 that honour due to him alone. Such was the 
 dwellings of our ancient kings, whilst liberty 
 reposed beneath their shadow." 
 
 " Peace," cried Cassim : " let us remove 
 from this seat, for here comes Arias Coello, 
 the taxman." 
 
 " Arias Coello, the taxman ! " exclaimed 
 young Hamet, " and I move because he comes
 
 298 THE TALBA. 
 
 hither ! I will not stir an inch. I will keep my 
 seat, though he comes supported by his band 
 of archers and officers, who hang keys of 
 prison doors at their girdles, and carry fetters 
 and chains with them to fright Moorish boys 
 and women if they fail or murmur to pay the 
 tax. Arias Coello bandied words with my 
 mother last year; he called yesterday evening 
 when I was from home, and behaved insolently. 
 He is not yet paid. If I quit my seat he will 
 think I fear him. Not, an inch will I stir, nor 
 any greeting will I show him." 
 
 So saying, young Hamet, who had before 
 been standing and looking around him, unme- 
 diately seated himself; and with an angry eye 
 looked the taxman directly in the face, as he 
 seemed to enjoy the opportunity thus afforded 
 him of taking his seat near the Moors, con- 
 scious, from circumstances that had recently 
 passed, his presence was particularly disagree- 
 able to young Hamet. We here must pause a 
 moment to say something respecting this man 
 and his office.
 
 THE TALBA. 299 
 
 Alonso the Brave had been much com- 
 mended for laying a tax on every conquered 
 Moor who was suffered to Kve by the labour 
 of his hands in Portugal, instead of being held 
 in prison, sent to the galleys, or put to death. 
 Though this tax, as laid on a heathen people, 
 had received the applause of the church, it is 
 much to be doubted if it did not produce many 
 evils. The depressed state of the Moors after 
 the signal victories in Algrave, their poverty 
 and hard life, were all sufficient misfortunes to 
 keep down their spirit ; but this tax, which 
 carried with it personal humiliation and the 
 idea, rather than the reality, of slavery, was an 
 irritating imposition ; and the Moors, who con- 
 ceived it to be a payment for the freedom of 
 breathing the very air necessary to their exist- 
 ence, not only murmured under it, but, as it 
 more than once appeared, by rebellions often 
 formidable, endeavoured to shake it off. None 
 but the old, the weak, and the helpless, paid it 
 without complaint. Some even carried their 
 obstinacy so far as to endure the imprisonment 
 to which they were liable, rather than yield to
 
 300 THE TALBA. 
 
 what they believed an act that gave their own 
 sanction to slavery. 
 
 At first, men of inferior note were ap- 
 pointed to collect this tax and see it duly paid ; 
 but the frequent quarrels, brawls, and even 
 fatal affrays, that took place during these col- 
 lections, induced the government to appoint a 
 man of some quality as chief taxman, whose 
 power and authority would be more likely to 
 compel obedience, or command assistance, in 
 cases of necessity. To this chief all the minor 
 taxmen were amenable, and he made it a cus- 
 tom occasionally to join them on their collect- 
 ing days, to see that they properly enforced 
 the law. 
 
 So much for the office. For the man who 
 filled it, great discrimination had been found 
 necessary in the choice ; since every Portu- 
 guese, of any quality, in whose bosom there 
 was one spark of generous feeling, or of self- 
 respect, declined, however opulent it might 
 make him, to become so odious an officer as 
 chief taxman over the Moors, under an arbi- 
 trary king. At last, Arias Coello was fixed
 
 THE TALBA. 301 
 
 upon, not only as an efficient person, but as 
 one who felt no scruples whatever in regard to 
 the duties he had to perform. 
 
 It was this Arias Coello who now approached 
 the benches, in order to take his seat near 
 some of those very people who so hated him, 
 as they groaned beneath the yoke which his hand 
 pressed still sorer upon them. He was a man 
 about fifty years old, and of middle stature ; 
 but whose broad shoulders, ill-proportioned, 
 thick, and unsightly limbs, gave him the ap- 
 pearance of being much shorter than he really 
 was. His features were hard, thin, and 
 strongly marked. A pair of curly jet-black 
 mustachios grew above his upper lip, so as 
 almost to hide his mouth ; and a row of teeth, 
 white and projecting, became prominently dis- 
 agreeable by their close contrast to this sable 
 fringe upon his lips and chin. An eye, small, 
 quick, and black, was shaded by a large pair 
 of eye-brows ; and though he had that down 
 look which is frequently seen in men whose 
 minds are bent on close dark schemes of hy- 
 pocrisy, yet, whenever he ventured to raise his
 
 302 THE TALBA. 
 
 eye, so that the countenance could be viewed 
 at once, there was about it an expression of 
 keen intelligence and penetration, such as in- 
 dicated sense and talent. In a word, the 
 figure of Arias Coello, considered apart from 
 his dress, was exactly such as the timid and 
 doubtful traveller would start at if he met it by 
 the way-side in a solitary road; so much had 
 he the look of a sharp-witted cut-throat. 
 
 He was attired in black velvet; a cap and 
 hood of the same material formed the finishing 
 ornament of such a head as we have but feebly 
 succeeded in describing. A chain of massive 
 gold, to which was appended a medallion as a 
 token of ofiice, hung round his neck. He wore a 
 gypsire, richly embroidered, by way of pocket. 
 He had no arms, saving a poniard, stuck into 
 a broad belt. Such was the chief taxman in 
 his exterior ; for character there was no want 
 of correspondence. 
 
 If his person was repulsive, his manners 
 were not less so. No man loved him, yet not 
 a few feared him. And as fear, as well as 
 esteem, often procures much external deference
 
 THE TALBA. 303 
 
 and respect, Arias Coello was quite satisfied 
 with the effect, without troubHng himself as to 
 the cause, of that ascendency he was careful to 
 maintain. Cold in temper, hard hearted, grip- 
 ing, and avaricious, extortion and impost with 
 him supplied the place of passions in ordinary 
 minds. Faithful to his trust, for he showed 
 that virtue in the exercise of his hideous autho- 
 rity, he was as scrupulous as severe; and as 
 unrelenting in his extortions respecting the tax 
 for the crown as if he had collected the whole 
 on his own account. Cold and solitary in his 
 habits, he made no one a friend; yet he suf- 
 fered no one to become an open enemy, with- 
 out showing some resentment in his own heart- 
 less or calculating manner ; so that even his 
 own associates, who often cursed him, took 
 care that such curses should not fall within 
 ear-shot of Arias. 
 
 There was but one man who both used and 
 despised him to his face — that man was the 
 king. And Arias, like those dogs whose na- 
 ture is more savage than noble, would take a 
 buffet from the hand of one so resolute, whilst
 
 304 THE TALBA. 
 
 he would have flown at the throat of any less 
 bold or less exalted a person. He now took 
 his seat near the Moors in sullen silence. Dark 
 looks passed between them, but not a word 
 was spoken. However, such ill neighbours, 
 perhaps, would not long have been at peace, 
 had not the attention of the warm-hearted 
 Hamet, the cold-blooded taxman, of Hassan, 
 Cassim, as well as every one else, been diverted 
 by the signal that the arena was about to be 
 cleared for the sports. 
 
 By this time Alonso had taken his seat be- 
 neath the pavilion. The queen was on his 
 right} the infanta on his left. These royal per- 
 sonages were in an elevated situation, sur- 
 rounded by the most ancient nobility of the 
 realm. The lady, Ines de Castro, sat towards 
 the side of the pavilion, on the fi'ont row that 
 immediately looked over the arena ; so that had 
 she dropped the spreading feathers of the pea- 
 cock which she held in her hand, a sort of fan 
 common at the period, it would have fallen 
 into the lists. 
 
 There was a momentary stillness in the
 
 THE TALBA. 305 
 
 crowd and amongst the spectators, whilst the 
 persons appomted for that duty paced and 
 examined the arena to see all obstacles re- 
 moved. This silence was broken by the blast 
 of a trumpet that sounded thrice without the 
 barriers, and was immediately followed by the 
 appearance of two mounted cavaliers who 
 entered within the circle. They wore no ar- 
 mour ; since such defence, necessary in the 
 tournament, would have been reckoned a cow- 
 ardly or unfair protection against an enemy 
 whose weapon was not a lance in hand, but 
 horns on his head. 
 
 The dress of these knights was, according to 
 the custom of the country, (founded indeed on 
 the customs of the despised Moors, for by 
 them had it been originally introduced,) ex- 
 pressive of those passions supposed to be pre- 
 dominant in the minds of the wearers. Tlie 
 foremost knight was attired in black and yellow 
 silk, richly decorated with gold and embroi- 
 dery : these colours were expressive of sor- 
 row. On his head he wore a light steel-cap, 
 closed round the face, and covering the chin as 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 THE TALBA. 
 
 high as the under lip. A panache of white 
 feathers waved above the crown. In his right 
 hand he carried a light lance, and on his bridle 
 arm a small round shield of leather, on which 
 was seen no devise, but this motto, " Fear not 
 and fail not^^ His horse was covered with 
 rich housings, but much shorter than such as, 
 resembling petticoats for the animals, were 
 used at the tournament. 
 
 The companion of this knight, whom our 
 readers will readily recognise as Don Alvaro 
 Gonsalez, the friend of Diego, was clad in 
 green, the emblem of hope. On his round 
 shield appeared a star guiding a ship, with the 
 words, " I point the isoay" 
 
 Both cavaliers were gallantly mounted. As 
 they passed before the pavilion, they lowered 
 their lances in token of respect, and made their 
 well trained horses kneel thrice before the king. 
 A burst of music suddenly proclaimed that the 
 monarch allowed the combat, whilst he raised 
 a staff he held in his hand, as director of the 
 sports ; accompanying the action with these 
 words, " Be thy arms strong and thy hearts 
 fearless ! "
 
 THE TALBA. 307 
 
 Having thus paid their duty to the king, the 
 knights raised their lances, returned to the 
 opposite side of the lists, and stood ready to 
 receive their opponent when he should be let 
 loose against them. All persons now had 
 quitted the arena, saving such as had some 
 part to sustain in the ensuing scene. These 
 we shall briefly name ; and we believe the like 
 offices are to this day pretty much the same 
 both in Spain and Portugal at the festival of a 
 bull-fight, though the splendour of the mo- 
 dern exhibition can no longer be compared to 
 that of the middle ages. The assistants of the 
 toridor, or mounted cavalier, were called the 
 chulos. Besides these were the banderillas, or 
 foot combatants, and also the matadors. Of 
 each we shall have occasion to speak as they 
 are called into action. The scene, however, 
 requires another chapter. 
 
 THE END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode, 
 
 New.Street-.Square. 
 
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