Leila | Page 4

built. A plain black robe, something in the fashion of the
Armenian gown, hung long and loosely over a tunic of bright scarlet,
girdled by a broad belt, from the centre of which was suspended a small
golden key, while at the left side appeared the jewelled hilt of a
crooked dagger. His features were cast in a larger and grander mould
than was common among the Moors of Spain; the forehead was broad,
massive, and singularly high, and the dark eyes of unusual size and
brilliancy; his beard, short, black, and glossy, curled upward, and
concealed all the lower part of the face, save a firm, compressed, and
resolute expression in the lips, which were large and full; the nose was
high, aquiline, and well-shaped; and the whole character of the head
(which was, for symmetry, on too large and gigantic a scale as
proportioned to the form) was indicative of extraordinary energy and
power. At the first glance, the stranger might have seemed scarce on
the borders of middle age; but, on a more careful examination, the deep
lines and wrinkles, marked on the forehead and round the eyes,
betrayed a more advanced period of life. With arms folded on his breast,
he stood by the side of the king, waiting in silence the moment when
his presence should be perceived.
He did not wait long; the eyes and gesture of the girl nestled at the feet
of Boabdil drew the king's attention to the spot where the stranger stood:
his eye brightened when it fell upon him.

"Almamen," cried Boabdil, eagerly, "you are welcome." As he spoke,
he motioned to the dancing-girls to withdraw. "May I not rest? O core
of my heart, thy bird is in its home," murmured the songstress at the
king's feet.
"Sweet Amine," answered Boabdil, tenderly smoothing down her
ringlets as he bent to kiss her brow, "you should witness only my hours
of delight. Toil and business have nought with thee; I will join thee ere
yet the nightingale hymns his last music to the moon." Amine sighed,
rose, and vanished with her companions.
"My friend," said the king, when alone with Almamen, "your counsels
often soothe me into quiet, yet in such hours quiet is a crime. But what
do?-- how struggle?--how act? Alas! at the hour of his birth, rightly did
they affix to the name of Boabdil, the epithet of El Zogoybi. [The
Unlucky]. Misfortune set upon my brow her dark and fated stamp ere
yet my lips could shape a prayer against her power. My fierce father,
whose frown was as the frown of Azrael, hated me in my cradle; in my
youth my name was invoked by rebels against my will; imprisoned by
my father, with the poison-bowl or the dagger hourly before my eyes, I
was saved only by the artifice of my mother. When age and infirmity
broke the iron sceptre of the king, my claims to the throne were set
aside, and my uncle, El Zagal, usurped my birthright. Amidst open war
and secret treason I wrestled for my crown; and now, the sole sovereign
of Granada, when, as I fondly imagined, my uncle had lost all claim on
the affections of my people by succumbing to the Christian king, and
accepting a fief under his dominion, I find that the very crime of El
Zagal is fixed upon me by my unhappy subjects--that they deem he
would not have yielded but for my supineness. At the moment of my
delivery from my rival, I am received with execration by my subjects,
and, driven into this my fortress of the Alhambra, dare not venture to
head my armies, or to face my people; yet am I called weak and
irresolute, when strength and courage are forbid me. And as the water
glides from yonder rock, that hath no power to retain it, I see the tide of
empire welling from my hands."
The young king spoke warmly and bitterly; and, in the irritation of his

thoughts, strode, while he spoke, with rapid and irregular strides along
the chamber. Almamen marked his emotion with an eye and lip of rigid
composure.
"Light of the faithful," said he, when Boabdil had concluded, "the
powers above never doom man to perpetual sorrow, nor perpetual joy:
the cloud and the sunshine are alike essential to the heaven of our
destinies; and if thou hast suffered in thy youth, thou hast exhausted the
calamities of fate, and thy manhood will be glorious, and thine age
serene."
"Thou speakest as if the armies of Ferdinand were not already around
my walls," said Boabdil, impatiently.
"The armies of Sennacherib were as mighty," answered Almamen.
"Wise seer," returned the king, in a tone half sarcastic and half solemn,
"we, the Mussulmans of Spain,