CONCLUSION.

Of the secondary characters of this history, enough has been already narrated. Our respect, however, for the memory of the magician, Botello, requires that we should mention two circ.u.mstances in relation to his fate, and his chief and most mystical familiar. His unexpected death, instead of destroying his credit among those who survived the Noche Triste, gave him additional claims to respect, even in the grave; for when it was remembered, that the arrows which slew so many Spaniards, were adorned with the feathers of eagles, as well as other birds of prey, they perceived, in his fate, only a confirmation of the juggling subtlety of the fiends that 'palter with us in a double sense.' "Truly,"

said they, "Botello was borne out of danger on the wings of eagles, as he prophesied, albeit he was borne to heaven." In after days, when Mexico had become the prey of the invader, the lake was dragged for the bones of the Christians who had fallen with him in the nocturnal retreat, which were then deposited, with many religious ceremonies, in ground consecrated for the purpose. In the last ditch, at the very spot where Botello had fallen, a fortunate fisherman hooked up the magic Crystal, the prison of Kalidon-Sadabath; who, greatly to the horror of the finder, began instantly, as of old, to dance, and curvet, and perform other diabolical antics, in his hands. No other conjurer in the army having the skill to interpret the motions of this mysterious imp, his crystal habitation was transmitted, along with divers Mexican rarities, to the shelves of the Escurial, where it was long viewed with wonder and respect, as an instrument contrived by the hands, and devoted to its unearthly uses by the skill, of the celebrated Cornelius Agrippa.

A philosopher, who was thought, as was Feyjoo in later days, by his countrymen, to have too little consideration for vulgar prejudices, a.s.serted, after attentive examination, that the marvellous crystal was nothing more than a piece of gla.s.s, hollowed by the maker into many singular cavities, wherein was deposited a coloured drop of some volatile liquor, which being, at any time, expanded by the heat of the breath, or of the hand, would instantly dart about, and a.s.sume the most fantastic shapes, according to the sinuous vacuities through which it happened to be impelled. This explanation was received with incredulity; but, nevertheless, Kalidon of the Crystal was treated with neglect, and, in course of time, entirely forgotten. We surmise, however, and the conjecture is not without argument, that the Enchanted Crystal, presented, half a century afterwards, by the angel Uriel to the famous English conjurer, Doctor Dee, was no other than this identical stone, filched by the angelic thief from its dusty repository, and given to him who best knew how to put it to its proper uses.

Late in the autumn of the following year, the senor Don Amador de Leste sat watching the sunset of a peaceful day, from a little bower, on a lawn in front of his castle Del Alcornoque. A clump of aged oaks flung their branches over a low, square, and mouldering tower,--the work of the Moorish masters of Spain many a long year back, and a fragment, as it seemed, of some ancient bath or fountain; for a body of pure water still made its way through the disjointed stones, and fell bubbling into a little basin beneath.

The scene, as beheld from this spot, was one of enchanting beauty and repose. The fountain was, perhaps, midway on the slope of a long hill, a few rods in advance of the castle, (with which it was, indeed, connected by a somewhat neglected walk of orange trees,) whose irregular turrets and frowning battlements rose among groups of cork-trees, while a broken forest of these, extended behind, up to and over the crest of the hill.

In front, the little valley, wherein was embosomed the silvery Jucar, was bounded now by sharp cliffs and jutting promontories, and now by green lawns, which ran sweeping upwards to the hill-tops on the opposite side. A hazy, smoky atmosphere, warmed into l.u.s.tre by the sinking luminary, while it mellowed all objects into beauty, did not conceal from the eye the flocks of sheep which dotted the distant slopes, the cattle standing at the river-side, and the groups of peasantry, who adding their songs to the lowing of the herds and the cawing of a flight of crows, urged forward the burthened a.s.s from the vine-tree. A monastery rose in the forest, a little village glimmered pleasantly on the river bank, under the shadow of a cliff; and over the ridges, which shut in the valley to the south, was seen the dim outline of those sierras of Morena, from which might be traced the peaks of the Alpujarras.

Over this fair prospect, the young cavalier looked with pride, for it was the inheritance handed down to him by a long line of ancestors,--not s.n.a.t.c.hed away by violence from vanquished Moors, but reclaimed from them by a bold knight, whose genealogical tree had been rooted in those hills, before Tarik, the Arab, had yet looked upon the Pillars of Hercules. He gazed on it also with joy, for he had learned to love peace; and this seemed the chosen abode of tranquillity.

"It doth indeed appear to me, _now_," he muttered, "as if my past life were a foolish dream. There is a rapture in this quiet nook, a happiness in this prospect of loveliness and content, entirely beyond any pleasure which I ever experienced in my days of tumult and fame. What can there be, to add a further charm to this paradise?"

Perhaps he muttered this interrogatory in the spirit of an improver and adorner of nature.--It was answered by the fall of a gentle footstep. He looked behind him, and beheld, standing at his back, pausing a moment with patient and yet dignified affection, the fair figure of a woman, who had no sooner caught his eye, than she smiled, and pointed to a female attendant, who bore in her arms, hard by, a sleeping infant. A cross of rubies glittered on the lady's breast.

"If thou didst apprehend, Leila!" said the cavalier, with eyes of joy, "that I reckoned this hill-side a paradise, without thinking of thyself and my young Gabriel, thou didst most grievously wrong me; for I protest to thee, I never cease thinking of ye."

"Never?" murmured the mild voice of the Moorish lady: "Heaven be praised!--But, sometimes, when thou lookest upon the sports of our little brother Rosario, it seems to me, thou dost forget us."

"I vow to thee, my honoured and beloved lady," said the hidalgo, earnestly, "and, if thou wilt believe me the rather for that, I swear by the bright eyes of my young boy, that, since I discovered thou wert alive, and, especially, since thou hast been mine own Zayda, I have come to look with new eyes upon those things, which were the joys of my youth. Let us sit down upon this mossy stone; and, while we gaze a little upon Rosario, who, thou seest, is hacking the wooden Turk's-head on the knoll--Thou knowest, he did so gash my young plantations of olive-trees, that I was enforced to allow him this block, for his recreation----While we thus regard him, (for, of a truth, he is a most gallant boy, and of soldierly bearing,) I will discourse to thee in such manner, as to convince thee that I have utterly weeded from my bosom the foul plants of ambition, and that I am equally solicitous to cleanse the breast of my brother.--Hah! by my faith, what now?--Seest thou yonder ill-looking, lurking knave? I doubt me, he has been robbing my vineyard.--May I die, but the young varlet doth advance his sword against him! Well done, sir Hector!--And he knows not I am near, to give him aidance!--What ho, sirrah Rosario! put up thy sword--This is no robber."

"It is a pilgrim--some poor pilgrim," exclaimed the lady:--"Rosario gives him his hand, and leads him towards us."

It was even as the fair Dona had said. The youth Rosario, who had, at first, advanced valiantly towards the stranger, as if to question his right to walk so near the castle, was now seen to sink his weapon, speak a word or two to the comer, and then give him his hand, as if to conduct him to the cavalier.

As they approached, Don Amador could perceive that the stranger had robed his figure in a cloak of the humblest texture; he was barefooted; he held a staff in his hand; and his great slouched hat was adorned with scallop-sh.e.l.ls. He seemed a palmer, who had performed a long and painful pilgrimage; for, though obviously a young man, his frame was wasted, his beard long and haggard, and his cheeks were very thin and pale.

"By my faith," said Don Amador, "this palmer hath speedily won the heart of my brother; for, thou seest, Rosario doth look into his face, as though he had got him the hand of some great knight from Judea.--I welcome you with peace and good-will, senor pilgrim; and my gates are open to you.--Art thou from Compostella or Loretto? Or, perhaps, thou comest even from the Holy Land?"

While the cavalier spoke, the Moorish lady surveyed the features of the pilgrim with a surprise and agitation which drew the attention of Don Amador; but before he could speak, the pilgrim replied:

"Not from the Holy Land, but from a land accurst,--from death and the grave, from the depths of the heathen lake and the maws of Mexicans----"

At these words, the lady screamed, and Don Amador himself started aghast, as he listened to the voice of the speaker.

"In the name of G.o.d, amen!" he cried, recoiling a step; "I know thy voice, and I saw thee perish!"

"Pardon me, n.o.ble patron!" said the pilgrim, hastily; "I spoke but in figures; and therein I spoke not amiss, since I perceived that my n.o.ble lord looked upon me as one that was dead. Alas, senor, I live--I am your honour's poor ward and secretary, Fabueno."

"Fabueno!" cried the cavalier, recovering himself a little: "If thou livest, thou liest; for Lorenzo is dead!"

"Hast thou been lying, then, thou knave?" cried Rosario, with much indignation. "I will knock the c.o.c.kles from thy cap; for thou saidst, thou hadst fought with the great Cortes, among the Indians!"

"Alas, senor!" cried Lorenzo, "will you still think me dead? Have sorrow and misery so changed me, that your n.o.ble goodness cannot see, in this broken frame and this withered visage, your poor follower, Fabueno?"

"By my troth, I am amazed! This hand is flesh and blood; this darkened brow and weeping eye--Pho! Look upon him, Zayda!--Thou livest, then?--G.o.d be praised! And thou sheddest tears, too? Never believe me, but I am rejoiced to see thee; and thou shalt dwell with me, till thy dying day--Heaven be thanked!--By what miracle wert thou revived, after being both killed and drowned? I'faith, thou didst greatly shock my lady.--'Tis wondrous, how soon she knew thee!"

"Knew me?" exclaimed the secretary, gazing with a bewildered eye upon the lady.

"Why, dost thou forget," cried the cavalier, catching the hand of Leila, over whose brow a faint colour rose at the remembrance,--"dost thou forget my dear and beloved page, Jacinto?"

"Alas, madam," said Lorenzo, bending to the earth, "nothing but my confusion could have made me so blind; and this is more wondrous, too, since his excellency, Don Hernan, had made me acquainted with the happiness of my lord."

"Speakest thou of Don Hernan?" cried the cavalier. "By my troth, I have an hundred thousand questions to ask thee; and I know not which to demand first. But thine own reappearance is so marvellous, that I must first question thee of that; and, afterward, thou shall speak to me of Don Hernan. How wert thou fished up?"

"Fished up, senor!" said Lorenzo, sadly; "I know not well what your favour means. At that moment of distraction and horror," he went on, with a shudder, "when I called to you for succour----"

"I heard you," said Amador, "and I ran to your a.s.sistance,--but, heaven forgive me! I cursed the act afterwards, when I discovered that it had lost me my poor Jacinto. Ah, senora mia! was there ever so dreadful a night?"

"When I called," continued Fabueno, "I was then beset by the infidels.

The princess--the poor princess, was slain in my arms, and my horse speared under me, so that we fell to the earth. Senor, I know not well what happened to me, then, for my mind fled from me: I only remember, that, as they flung me into a canoe, there came a cavalier, the valiant Don Francisco de Saucedo, as I found by his voice, to my a.s.sistance, shouting aloud. I think, he was slain on the spot; for I heard a plunging in the water, as if his horse had fallen into the lake."

"It was he, then," said Don Amador, "whom I saw sink so miserably into the flood! Heaven give him rest!--I thought it was thyself."

"Senor," continued the secretary, "I will not weary you, now, with all the particulars of my sorrow. When heaven restored me my reason, I found myself lying in a wicker den,--a cage of victims,--in the temple yard, under the pyramid; and I knew that I was saved, only to be made a sacrifice."

"Heaven forefend!" cried Amador, while Zayda grew white with horror.

"I tell you the truth, senor," said Fabueno, trembling in every limb.

"There were more than thirty such cages around me, and in every one a wounded Spaniard, as I could both hear and see; and every day, there was one dragged out by the priests, and immolated.--I could hear their yells from the temple top.--Senor, these things drove me into a delirium, which must have lasted long; for when I came again to my wits, I looked out, and saw that the cages were empty--all but _one_. Then, I beheld the priests come to mine own dungeon, and debate over me. I tried to pray--but, in my fear, I swooned. When I looked forth again, they were dragging away my fellow-prisoner.--I knew that I should die upon the morrow.--That night, I fell into a frenzy, and with my teeth (for my arms were bound behind me,) I gnawed away the wooden bars of my cage.

Heaven helped me! G.o.d gave me strength! and St. James, to whom I cried, sharpened my teeth as though they were edged with iron! So, by this miracle, I escaped; and, bound as I was, and beaten to the earth by a tempest which raved over the lake, I made my way, I know not how, by a causeway that lies to the north, until I had reached the sh.o.r.e of the lake. I hid me, by day, in groves and in marshes, and when the night came, I journeyed onward, though I knew not whither. What sufferings I endured from hunger and thirst, I will not weary you by recounting. Mine arms were still bound behind me; and when it was my good fortune to find a field of green maize, I could only seize upon the ears, like a beast, with my teeth. I strove, by rolling upon the earth, and rubbing against trees, to get rid of the thongs, but all in vain. This maddened me; and I thought that heaven had deserted me. But the good St. James showed me, one day, a place where the Indians had made a fire. I rekindled it with my breath, and when it began to blaze, I prayed and held my arms in the flames, until the green withes, wherewith I was bound, were burned asunder."

"Good heaven!" cried Amador, starling from the stone on which he had seated himself, while Zayda bent forward, as if to s.n.a.t.c.h the poor youth from the flames, which still burned in her imagination;--"didst thou suffer all this horrible combustion? Or, perhaps, heaven vouchsafed thee a miracle, and scorched away the cords, without suffering the fire to do thee harm?"

"Had I been there," said Rosario, doughtily, "I would have cut the thongs with my sword; and, then, I would have killed the bitter pagans that wronged thee!"

"The miracle whereby I escaped from the cage, was more than my sins deserved," said the secretary, bending his head upon his bosom, and speaking with an agitated voice. "Heaven took not the pangs from the fire, but it gave me strength to bear them. I am here again, restored to my native land, and among Christian men--but mine arms are withered."

"Were they hacked off at the shoulders," cried Amador, ardently, "ay, and thy legs into the bargain, yet will I so entertain thee here in my castle, that thou shall cease to lament them."

"Nay," said the youth, looking with grat.i.tude on the cavalier, "'tis not so bad as that, as my lord may see; for, though I may never more bear sword, yet I can carry the pilgrim's staff--ay, and I can raise them to my cheek, to brush away my thanks.--I have yet strength enough left to wield a pen; and, if my n.o.ble patron----"

"Speak no more of this, good Lorenzo," said the Moorish lady, quickly and kindly. "My lord hath told thee thou art welcome; and I say to thee also, thou art very welcome."

"By my troth, _I_ say so too," cried Rosario. "But after all, thou wilt be but pitiful, if thou hast not strength left to handle a sword. I hoped you should teach me a little; for old Baltasar is grum and crusty."

"Peace, Hector! what art thou talking about?" said Don Amador.--"Think no more of thy misfortune, Lorenzo; but give me to know the rest of thy adventures."

"They are spoken in a word," said the secretary. "When mine arms were freed, though so dreadfully scorched, I could travel with more peace of mind. I doubted not, that all the Christians had been slain on the lake; yet, I thought, if I could but reach the sea-coast, I might be, sometime, s.n.a.t.c.hed out of the hands of the barbarians. Nevertheless, this hope deserted me, when I perceived that the land was covered with people; and, one day, finding a cave among the mountains, hard by to a water-fall, with a wooden cross stuck up at the mouth----"

"Surely," said Zayda, "this was the cavern, wherein I found my lord, Don Gabriel."