The Moors of Spain, who shared the fate of their sovereign, dispersed themselves throughout Africa; the tribes of the Zegris and the Gomeres settled in the kingdom of Fez, which was their aboriginal country; the Vanegas and the Alabeses took up their abode upon the coast, from Oran to Algiers; finally the Abencerrages established themselves in the environs of Tunis; they formed, within sight of the ruins of Carthage, a colony, which, even in our own times, is distinguished from the Moors of Africa, by its elegant manners, and the mildness of its laws.
These families carried into their new country the remembrance of their old one. The Paradise of Granada lived constantly in their memory, the mothers repeated its name to their children at the breast. They lulled them to sleep with the romances of the Zegris and the Abencerrages. Prayers were repeated in the mosque every five days, with the face turned towards Granada; and Allah was implored to restore to his chosen people that land of delights. In vain did the country of the Lotos-eaters present to the exiles its fruits, its waters, its verdure, and its glorious sun; far from the Vermilion Towers,[2] there were neither pleasant fruits, limpid springs, fresh verdure, nor sun worthy to be looked at. If any one shewed the plains of Bagrada to an exile, the latter only shook his head, and exclaimed with a sigh: “Granada!”
The Abencerrages, particularly, preserved the most tender and faithful remembrance of their country. They had quitted, with the most poignant anguish, the theatre of their glory, and the banks which they had made so often ring with the war-cry of “Honour and love.” Being no longer able to lift the lance in the deserts, or to wear the helmet in a colony of farmers, they had devoted themselves to the study of simples, a profession in equal estimation among the Arabs with that of arms. Thus did that race of warriors, which formerly inflicted wounds, now make its occupation that of healing them. In this particular, it retained something of its original genius, for the knights themselves frequently dressed the wounds of the enemies they had overthrown.
The cottage of that family, which formerly possessed palaces, was not placed in the hamlet of the other exiles, at the foot of Mount Mamelife; it was built amidst the very ruins of Carthage, on the sea-shore, in the place where St. Louis expired on the ashes, and where a Mahometan hermitage is now to be seen. Along the walls of the cottage were hung bucklers made of lions’ skins, bearing, impressed upon a field of azure, two figures of savages breaking down a town with a club; round the device was this motto: “It is but little!” the coat of arms and device of the Abencerrages. Lances adorned with white and blue pennons, burnouses, and cassocks of slashed satin, were ranged by the side of the bucklers, and figured in the midst of scimitars and poniards. Here and there also were suspended gauntlets, bits ornamented with precious stones, large silver stirrups, long swords, whose sheaths had been embroidered by the hands of princesses, and golden spurs, with which the Iseults, the Guineveres and Orianas were wont of old to invest gallant knights.
Beneath these trophies of glory, were placed upon tables the trophies of a life of peace. These were plants culled on the summits of Mount Atlas, and in the desert of Sahara; many of them had even been brought from the plain of Granada. Some were intended to relieve the ailments of the body; others were supposed to mitigate the severity of mental suffering. The Abencerrages regarded as most valuable those which were useful in calming vain regrets, in dissipating foolish illusions, and the ever-reviving, ever-deceived, hopes of happiness. Unfortunately these simples possessed qualities of an opposite nature, and the sweet odour of a flower of their own country frequently acted as a sort of poison to the illustrious exiles.
Twenty-four years had passed away since the taking of Granada. In that short space of time, fourteen Abencerrages had perished, by the effects of a new climate, the accidents of a wandering life, and principally through grief, which imperceptibly undermines the strength of man. One single descendant was the sole hope of that illustrious family. Aben-Hamet bore the name of that Abencerrage, who was accused by the Zegris of having seduced the sultana Alfayma. In him were united the beauty, the valour, the courtesy and the generosity of his ancestors, with that mild lustre and slight tinge of melancholy which adversity, nobly supported, inspires. He was only twenty-two years of age when he lost his father; he then determined to make a pilgrimage to the land of his ancestors, in order to gratify the secret longing of his heart, and to execute a plan which he carefully concealed from his mother.
He embarked at the port of Tunis; a favourable wind carried him to Carthagena, where he landed, and immediately proceeded on the road to Granada. He gave himself out for an Arabian physician, who had come to collect plants amid the rocks of the Sierra Nevada. A quiet mule bore him slowly along in the country where formerly the Abencerrages were carried with the swiftness of the wind on warlike coursers; a guide walked before, leading two other mules ornamented with bells and parti-coloured woollen tufts. Aben-Hamet crossed the large heaths and woods of palm-trees of the kingdom of Murcia; from the great age of these trees, he conjectured that they must have been planted by his ancestors, and his heart was pierced by regret. There rose a tower in which the sentinel, in former times, kept watch, during the wars of the Moors and Christians; here appeared a ruined building whose architecture proved its Moorish origin; a fresh subject of grief to Aben-Hamet! He dismounted from his mule, and, on pretence of seeking for plants, hid himself for a few moments, in the ruins, in order to give free vent to his tears. He then proceeded on his road, in a state of reverie, which was encouraged by the noise of the mule-bells, and the monotonous song of his guide. The latter only interrupted his long-winded ditty, in order to quicken the pace of his mules by giving them the names of beautiful and brave, or to scold them by the epithets of lazy and obstinate.
Flocks of sheep, directed by a shepherd like an army, in sere and barren plains, and occasionally a solitary traveller, far from diffusing an appearance of life upon the road, only served, in a manner, to make it more gloomy and desert. These travellers all wore a sword attached to the waist; they were wrapped up in a mantle, and a large slouched hat half covered their faces. As they passed, they saluted Aben-Hamet, who could only make out, in their noble salutation, the names of God, of Señor and of Knight. At the close of day, the Abencerrage took his place in the midst of strangers at the inn, without being troubled by their indiscreet curiosity. No one spoke to him, no one questioned him; his turban, his robe, and his arms, excited no surprise. As it had been the will of Allah, that the Moors of Spain should lose their beautiful country, Aben-Hamet could not help entertaining a feeling of esteem for its grave conquerors.
Emotions still more vivid awaited the Abencerrage at the end of his journey. Granada is built at the foot of the Sierra Nevada, on two high hills, separated by a deep valley. The houses, built on the declivities in the hollow of the valley, give this city the shape and appearance of a grenado half open, from which resemblance it derives its name. Two rivers, the Xenil and the Darro, the sands of the first of which contain gold, and the other silver, wash the feet of the hills, form a junction, and afterwards take a serpentine course in the midst of a charming valley, called the Vega. This plain, which is overlooked by Granada, is covered with vines, with pomegranate, fig, mulberry and orange-trees; it is surrounded by mountains of singularly beautiful form and colour. An enchanting sky, a pure and delicious air, affect the soul with a secret languor, from which even the passing traveller finds it difficult to preserve himself. Every one feels that, in this country, the tender passions would have very soon stifled the heroic ones, if true love did not always feel the wish to have glory as its companion.
As soon as Aben-Hamet discovered the tops of the first buildings of Granada, his heart beat so violently, that he was obliged to stop his mule. Crossing his arms over his breast, and fixing his eyes on the holy city, he remained speechless and immovable. The guide halted in his turn; and, as elevated sentiments are easily understood by a Spaniard, he appeared affected, and conjectured that the Moor’s feelings were excited by the sight of his former country. The Abencerrage at last broke silence.