Chapter IV: Part 4

So bold and surprising an action excited the admiration of the whole Court, and of all the people; the place re-echoed with shouts of applause and acclamations; nothing was to be heard for a full quarter of an hour, but, _long live the Knight of the Blue Scarf, the strongest and bravest man of the age_. While the valour of Ozmin was being thus proclaimed and celebrated, the timid Daraxa, whom the first sight of the bull had filled with the most dreadful apprehensions for her lover, was still so confounded, that she thought she saw the animal all in fury before her; but the acclamations of the spectators, at length, by degrees, brought her to her senses. She looked instantly all over the square for her dear Moor; and not perceiving him, she enquired with anxiety what was become of him; and he was pointed out to her at a considerable distance from the lists, and followed by a crowd of people, who appeared as if they would never be tired of gazing upon a man who had so eminently distinguished himself.

It was now night, and the square in an instant shone with an infinite number of flambeaux, which created a very fine illumination. The diversion of the _sporting spears_ was soon to begin. Twelve squadrons were seen advancing with their trumpets, fifes and kettle-drums, followed by their livery servants, and twelve valets laden with bundles of reeds made into sporting spears. The led horses of the knights had velvet caparisons, of the colour of the squadron to which they belonged, embroidered with gold and silver, and the arms of each chief; not only gold and silver glistened in their equipages, but even jewels were not spared. They entered the square in the following order:--

The equerries of every chief of a squadron marched first, conducting the equipages; twelve horses, carrying at their foremost saddle-bows the arms of each knight, and at their hinder their devices, came next, followed by others, whose caparisons were hung with silver bells, which made a loud jingling. The footmen in livery followed the horses: they marched completely round the square, and went out by a different gate from that at which they entered, to avoid confusion. The quadrillos, each conducted by their chief, then entered in two files, with so much grace and skill that they charmed all the spectators; which is not surprising, since the most accomplished cavaliers for these sports are undoubtedly those of Seville, Cordara, and Xeres de la Frontera, where even children of eight or ten years of age are seen to manage horses, and manœuvre them in most excellent style.

When the quadrillos had exhibited themselves four times round the square, they retreated by the same gate as their equipages, but soon returned again with their shields on their arms and their sporting spears in their hands. They began their combats twelve against twelve, that is to say, one quadrillo against another. Having thus fought for about a quarter of an hour, two other squadrons came upon different sides, who under pretence of parting them, began a new combat.

In the mean time, Ozmin and Orviedo, having at length escaped from the crowd of people that had followed them, regained their inn; and having disarmed themselves, they returned to the place of sports, where the amorous Ozmin, pressing through the throng, placed himself under the balcony of the beautiful Moor. As he was now but plainly dressed, nobody took him for a man of any consequence notwithstanding his noble mien. Daraxa, who felt assured that he would not fail to appear again before her, was looking all around for him; but though he was so close to her, and was gazing at her with admiration, she did not perceive him. She was playing with a very fine nosegay, adorned with ribbons, which Don Alonso had sent her in the morning; and this nosegay chanced to slip out of her hand, and fell just at Ozmin’s feet, who hastened to take it up. This accident caused the lady to look down, and she recognized her dear Moor, from whom she did not afterwards turn her eyes; but perceiving that some of the people that stood around him were preparing to oblige him to restore the nosegay, she called aloud to them to let him keep it, adding, that it was in good hands: this having put an end to the dispute, the happy Ozmin, having become peaceable possessor of a favor for which he considered he was indebted rather to chance than love, fastened it, by way of gallantry, to his hat.

After this, our two lovers began to make signs to each other, a silent but very common language among the Moors, which Spaniards have since learnt of them, as well as very many other fashions, which have contributed to establish that nation as the most gallant in Europe. Ozmin and his mistress discoursed in this manner unnoticed by any one, all the spectators being too attentive to the sports to observe them. Besides, who could imagine that the beautiful Moor, who was so regardless of the addresses of the most accomplished cavaliers at the Court, could have found among the populace an object worthy of her attention?

These happy moments lasted only to the end of the sports of the quadrillos, which were no sooner ended, than the last bull, which was not less ferocious than that which had been killed by Ozmin, was let loose, as is customary, to conclude the diversions. The animal’s motions, when he was first loosed, sufficiently evinced that he was determined to sell his life dearly. Don Rodrigo de Padilla, Don Juan de Castro, Don Alonso, and many other cavaliers alighted from their horses, anxious to excel each other in engaging this beast on foot, who soon made two or three among them well acquainted with the hardness of his horns. One of them was carried off half dead, which rather moderated the ardor of the rest.

In fact, none but a true knight-errant could possibly have been delighted in engaging with a bull, whose very appearance was terrific; he foamed with rage, tore up the earth with his feet, and looked at each champion as if undecided on whom to vent his fury. Don Alonso, nevertheless, excited by his love, was desirous of signalizing himself under the eyes of the beautiful Moor, at the risk of his life. With this view, he advanced towards her balcony, to be the more observed by her, and while he stood thus in expectation of the animal’s approach, he perceived Ozmin, who now remained alone on that spot, fear having dispersed the crowd which had before surrounded him. Daraxa had in vain endeavoured, by signs, to prevail on him to follow them, or at least to get upon a scaffolding hard by; her tears had not been able to overcome his resolution; the conqueror of the bull of Tarita, would have considered it dishonorable to have shewn himself afraid of any other.

Zuniga took particular notice of this cavalier, or rather of the nosegay which he perceived in his hat, and which he easily recognized by the light of the flambeaux, with which the whole square was illuminated. He was not a little surprised at what he saw; but to be more certain that he was not mistaken, he addressed himself to Ozmin, who appeared to him no more than a man of the vulgar order: “Friend,” said he to him, “who gave you that nosegay?” Although the Moor rightly guessed what interest the cavalier who spoke to him might feel in it, he answered, without the least concern, that “it came to him very fairly, but that he owed it to Fortune only:” “I know but too well whence you got it,” replied Don Alonso, raising his voice, “deliver it up to me immediately, it was not made for you.” “I grant nothing by compulsion,” rejoined Ozmin, as coolly as before. “Once more,” said Zuniga, “give me that nosegay, or I shall let you know, my fine fellow, whom you have to deal with.” “I regret much,” said Ozmin, somewhat agitated, “that we are in the King’s presence; were we any where else, I should not content myself with refusing you my nosegay, but should force from you that knot of ribbon, which I perceive at your bosom.” This was the very same knot which the beautiful Moor had bestowed on Don Alonso, when she accepted him as her champion; and which Ozmin, who had formerly given it Daraxa, knew but too well; perceiving, therefore, that the cavalier who spoke to him was the most formidable of his rivals, he could scarcely restrain his rage at this discovery. Don Alonso, still more violent than he, lost all patience at seeing himself threatened by a man whom he considered so much beneath him: calling him, therefore, an insolent fellow, and thrusting among the ribbons of his nosegay a sharp-pointed stick, such as the champions make use of to irritate the bulls, he intended to have carried off the nosegay and hat together, but the active and vigorous Ozmin forced the stick from his hand as from a child’s.

Who can express the rage of the proud Zuniga, at having received such an affront under the eyes of his mistress, and in the King’s presence! He was no longer master of himself; without any regard to the presence of their Majesties, he drew his sword; but at the very instant that he was on the point of rushing like a lion on his enemy, who on his side was prepared to receive him without fear, the bull came suddenly upon them, and obliged them to separate. This animal attacked Don Alonso, and threw him, by one toss, four or five paces off, terribly wounded in the thigh; which excited the greatest alarm on all sides. To complete the misfortune, the beast, more enraged than ever, would not quit his victim, but was preparing to return to the charge; but Ozmin, from a generous feeling worthy of the warriors of those times, did not hesitate to fly to the assistance of his rival, notwithstanding what had just passed between them. With the very stick that he had wrenched from Don Alonso, he goaded the bull so severely, that he turned all his fury against him, and bent his head with the intention of goring him with his horns. The Moor took advantage of the moment, and, hitting him a back stroke on the neck with his sword, the temper of which he could rely on, such was the amazing force of the blow, that the animal fell down dead upon the spot, to the great astonishment of all the spectators.

What had been performed by the Knight of the Blue Scarf passed for a trifling exploit compared with this, which the disadvantage of fighting on foot rendered the more glorious; and the acclamations lasted longer than before. Ozmin evaded by a quick retreat the curiosity of such as wished to know who he was. The king in vain desired to see him; he was told that he had just disappeared, and that nobody knew any thing respecting him.

Let us now return to Daraxa: she had observed the quarrel of the two rivals, and had been on the point of preventing any fatal consequences by explaining the whole affair to their Majesties, though at the risk of the loss of her lover’s liberty: but the terror with which she was seized on seeing the furious bull come upon them so suddenly, had completely deprived her of her senses. The acclamations, however, which were renewed around her, restored her by degrees. Thus this tender lover passed successively from joy to grief, and from grief to joy; and thus it is that love ever inflicts some troubles, even amid the transports that it bestows.

As the adventure respecting the nosegay had commenced just under the place where the queen was seated, it had not escaped her notice; and curious to know all the circumstances of it, she took an opportunity, the very same evening, to request a detail of them from the beautiful Moor and Donna Elvira de Padilla, who had been together during the solemnity. Daraxa, thinking it more prudent to allow Elvira to speak, however much better she herself might have afforded the explanation, said, that she had paid but little attention to what had passed. Donna Elvira then was obliged to relate what she had heard and seen; but her recital rather heightened than satisfied the Queen’s curiosity; no sooner, therefore, was Don Alonso sufficiently recovered of his wound to receive visitors, than she requested the old Marquis d’Astorgas to call upon him, in the hope of obtaining from him the information she desired. The Marquis, who was a pleasant humorous man, was ushered into Don Alonso’s chamber, and thus acquitted himself of his commission.

“Well Signor Knight without fear,” said he to Zuniga, “what think you now of these vile horned animals, who have so little respect for such fine sparks as you? You will allow that it is better to have nothing to do with them.” “You could have informed me this, from experience, long since,” replied Don Alonso, smiling. “But,” continued the Marquis, with a serious air, “will you not inform me who was the valiant man that advanced so apropos to your rescue? It is most surprising that amongst all the heroes of our Court, there was not one sufficiently your friend, to venture to dispute that honor with him: and yet it is asserted that you were on the point of fighting with this noble cavalier.” “I know better than any body my obligations to him,” answered Zuniga, “and the little cause I had given him to deliver me from so great a danger. All that I regret,” added he, “is that I do not know him; I am so charmed with his bravery, and his noble behaviour towards me, that I shall never be satisfied until I have found some means of ascertaining who he is, and of convincing him of my gratitude.”

“If this be all that you have to tell me,” said the Marquis, “the Queen will not gain much information by having sent me hither. She is not ignorant of the quarrel that you had with the stranger, the beautiful Moor and Donna Elvira having explained it to her; she thought that you would be able to satisfy her more fully on the subject; and the whole Court as well as the Queen are astonished that two cavaliers, after having performed two such glorious actions, should take as much pains to conceal themselves, as others generally take to make themselves known. Ferdinand himself is anxious that they should come forward and receive the prizes that are destined for them, and especially for the last, who, according to all appearance, was not a man of any distinguished rank.” “Judging from his dress,” cried Don Alonso, “I was, at first, of the same opinion, but I feel convinced of my mistake; whoever he be I will venture to say, that he is a great man; and I can say no more on the subject.” The Marquis d’Astorgas, finding that he could gain no further information from Zuniga, returned to the Queen.

It was believed at Court that all this was not without mystery, and that Don Alonso, in return for the generosity that he had experienced, would not betray a cavalier who wished to be incognito. As for Daraxa, nobody suspected that she was at all privy to the matter; and the concern that she had evinced during the sports, was attributed solely to the misfortune of Don Alonso. It was very reasonably thought that she was kind enough to feel interested for a young nobleman, who was her champion as well as her adorer. She enjoyed in private the undivided pleasure of knowing what had happened; but this happiness was accompanied by the intrusion of many anxious thoughts. She had distinctly heard what Ozmin had said to his rival about the knot of ribbon, and she so well knew the delicate feelings of the Moors on such occasions, that she reproached herself with imprudence for having given to Zuniga any thing that had been presented to her by so dear a hand. She could find no excuse for having committed this fault, although her heart had no participation in it. She could not write to Ozmin, for she knew not where he was to be found; she could only hope that her lover would find some means or other of communicating with her. Several days passed in this sweet yet painful expectation; sometimes she reflected with pleasure that her future husband was in the same city as herself, and at other times, was distractedly impatient to see him. Time, however, brings every thing about.

You have, in all probability, walked in the gardens of the palace of Seville, and know which is called the upper and which the lower garden; they are literally two gardens, one above the other: the upper one, which is supported upon arches, is upon a level with the first floor of the palace, and is a complete flower garden. The lower garden, which is the larger of the two, was only open to the men belonging to the Court, who were permitted to walk there at certain hours. The upper garden was entirely reserved for the ladies, who frequently walked there to shew themselves to the gentlemen, with whom they occasionally conversed over the balustrade which runs about elbow high, quite round the garden; but these conversations were only permitted when the King and Queen were absent; in their presence they were obliged to content themselves with signs. Any gentleman was permitted, however, to sing, even in the presence of their Majesties, provided he possessed a fine voice. There were also, occasionally, instrumental concerts, the execution of which was enchanting.

One evening the beautiful Moor was walking in this garden with her friend Donna Elvira. They had scarcely taken two turns before they heard a man singing in so agreeable a strain, that they determined to listen. They concealed themselves behind some orange-trees that grew along the balustrade, directly opposite to the singer, whom they could observe without being seen by him. Elvira was much struck by his handsome appearance, and Daraxa recognized her Ozmin. Seated on a bank of turf, with his head reclining negligently against a tree, he sang the following verses in the Castilian language:--

Wilt thou, stern Jealousy! at once destroy
My life and love, with unrelenting doom?
Why, cruel Fate, this last sad blow employ
To sink me sorrowing to an early tomb?
Absence from her I love hath been the source
Of daily anxious thought, severe to bear;
But now Inconstancy, the Lover’s curse,
Clouds all my hope, and drives me to despair.

Among other excellencies our illustrious Moor was a most accomplished singer; instead of priding himself, however, upon this quality, he rather strove to conceal it. Many of the cavaliers at the Court of Granada speak good Spanish, and even sing in that language; there were even many Moors who composed verses in Castilian, which were much admired by the Spanish poets. Those which Ozmin had just been singing were composed by a Moorish author, and set to music by one of the same nation. Daraxa doubted not that it alluded to herself; and being unwilling to lose the opportunity of making a reply, she tore a leaf out of her pocket-book upon which she wrote the following words:--

“No more uneasiness about the knot of ribbon; the gift was made without the participation of the heart. Be assured when Daraxa loves, she loves but once in her life-time; if you wish to know more, you will find Laida at the palace-gate, at nine to-morrow morning.”

Having folded this leaf up carefully, she threw it into the lower garden, through the boughs of the orange-trees, which did not conceal her so perfectly as to prevent Ozmin from perceiving her. He observed that she had let something fall, which she had done so cautiously, that her friend had not in the least remarked it, who was, in fact, so much taken up with admiring and listening to the singer, that she thought of nothing else. No sooner had he finished his song, than she called to him to begin again for ladies’ sakes. This request he would willingly have complied with, but the King had just returned from hunting, which obliged Daraxa and her friend to return to the palace, to the great regret of the latter, who did not feel the least desire to quit the spot.

No sooner had the ladies retired, than Ozmin, curious to know what his dear Daraxa had thrown towards him, soon found the folded leaf, under the spot where she had stood to listen to his singing, which he took up, and quitted the garden hastily, congratulating himself on his good fortune, and considering how often he should be there in future.

Daraxa’s billet completely restored him to life, and he did not fail to dispatch Orviedo the next morning to the palace gate, where he met Laida, who was covered with a thick black veil to prevent her being known. As soon as she perceived Orviedo, she addressed him, gave him a letter from her mistress, and received one from Ozmin in return. Before they separated they had together a conversation long enough to enable them to give a most satisfactory account to both the lovers. Ozmin’s letter was full of complaints, and Daraxa’s of protestations of fidelity and love. They were, however, soon appeased. There is, certainly, a voluptuous pleasure in the quarrels of lovers; but they ought not to last long, neither should they too frequently occur, lest they produce ill effects.

What consolation for our lovers to have found means to establish an intercourse by letter, and even to see each other occasionally! Daraxa would gladly have walked alone in the palace gardens, that she might have conversed more freely with Ozmin; but it was too great a risk. They must both have been inevitably lost if any person had discovered them. Besides which, the sight of Ozmin had made so much impression on Elvira, that she never left her friend, and talked of nothing but the cavalier who had sung so finely. She herself proposed to her friend, the very next day, to walk in the garden, in the hope of meeting him there; and the complaisant Daraxa, who equally desired it, willingly consented to accompany her.

They left the palace together, and, upon looking into the lower garden, they perceived that the cavalier had just arrived there, and was seated in the same place as the day preceding. Donna Elvira, who was one of the most lovely women at Court, was not content with shewing herself, but obliged her friend to do the same. Ozmin pretended to be surprised to see them, and was about to retire; but Elvira commenced a conversation with him to detain him; he answered, and they all three at length insensibly engaged in a sprightly discourse, but still only such as a stranger could hold with two unknown ladies.

Ozmin summoned up all his wit on the occasion, and Elvira’s shone no less. Animated by the emotions of a rising passion, she said a thousand smart things, which she could not otherwise have thought of, although naturally full of wit. Daraxa was content to listen and say nothing. In short, each of them was well pleased, and time glided away with the rapidity usual on such agreeable occasions. If Ozmin did not find it tedious, the ladies, on their side, made it sufficiently evident that they were not tired of his company, for the King had already returned to the palace, and they had not once thought of retiring. The gardener put Ozmin in mind that it was time to leave the garden; but Elvira, before they separated, fixed, for another interview, the first day that the King went hunting again.

After this conversation, Elvira was so charmed with Ozmin, that when they had parted, she could not refrain from telling Daraxa that she had never seen so accomplished a cavalier. Any other but the beautiful Moor would have been alarmed by so frank a confession; but she relied so firmly on her lover’s fidelity, that she only smiled at it; while her friend thought her the most insensible of her sex, and made no mystery of the passion she entertained for the unknown gentleman, of whom she was constantly speaking in the most lively terms. “Yes,” she would say to Daraxa, “I am touched by the merits of this cavalier; but I should be glad to know who he is, and why such a man should never shew himself at Court. I conjure you, my dear Daraxa, to ask him this when we next see him.” Ozmin was soon informed of all this by his mistress, who warned him of the delicate situation in which he stood; that he ought not to abuse the credulous passion of Elvira, nor could he, she trusted, be capable of betraying his faithful Daraxa; that in love the slightest appearances cause anxiety; and that when one person is in possession of the heart, she ought to be the sole object of all its desires.

Ozmin really thought that his mistress wrote thus to amuse herself, and therefore answered her in a jesting manner. He even went further, for at the next interview he paid particular court to Elvira, who received his attentions in the most sensible manner, and returned them with usury. Daraxa, agreeably to her friend’s request, then interrogated him about his country and birth, and the present condition of his fortune. He replied, without hesitation, that he was a gentleman of Arragon, and that his name was Don Jaymé Vivez; that, having been taken by the Moors, and set at liberty by the capitulation of Baza, he was waiting in expectation of remittances from his family, to enable him to put himself into a condition to appear at Court. The story was simple and plausible, and sufficiently satisfactory to Donna Elvira, who, having inquired if there was a family in Arragon of the name of Vivez, learned, with extreme satisfaction, that it was one of the most illustrious in the kingdom.

This intrigue became by degrees very distressing to our two lovers. Elvira was really in love, and became more troublesome to them in proportion as her love increased. Ozmin no sooner perceived that she was in earnest, than he completely altered his behaviour towards her, and only addressed her in a civil and polite manner; but Elvira’s passion increased without his assistance. Daraxa, well satisfied with Ozmin’s conduct, pitied her friend sincerely, and would gladly have undeceived her; but she feared that such behaviour on her part would have excited Elvira’s jealousy, the effects of which were too much to be feared in the present condition of her fortune.

In the mean time Spring came on, and gave quite another face to the affairs at Court. Ferdinand resolved to open the campaign by the siege of Granada; and the Moors, who had foreseen that this would be the case, were preparing to do their best in defence of so important a place. They had in the city a garrison of fifteen thousand men, of the best troops of King Mahomet. The Catholic King was well aware of this, and therefore had taken the precaution to solicit, by his Ministers, as well as through the interposition of the Pope, the assistance of the other Christian Princes, to execute his design of chasing all the Infidels out of Spain. Many of these Princes had promised succours; and as soon as he was well assured that their troops were advancing to join him, he set forward himself at the head of his army, with the intention of surprising the Moors, and to give them no further time to fortify themselves.

As the Queen foresaw that so precarious a siege would last for a considerable time, she resolved to accompany the King, and pass the campaign with him. This report being spread, our two lovers were much rejoiced at it, hoping that, in the confusion of the army, they might find an opportunity, with the assistance of Orviedo, to get into Granada. But their ill luck ordained it otherwise; for the Queen, the evening prior to her departure, told Daraxa that she was not to accompany her in this journey. “To have less trouble,” added that Princess, “I shall only take with me those women whose services I shall absolutely require. It is my intention to leave my maids of honour at Seville, with their relations, or under the care of persons of distinction, to whom I shall recommend them. As for you, my dear Daraxa, you will be entrusted to Don Lewis de Padilla. I have made choice of this Nobleman because he is the father of your friend Elvira; besides which, I think you will find yourself more agreeably situated in his family than elsewhere.”

The despair of Ozmin knew no bounds when his mistress sent him word of this order of the Queen. He saw that all his plans were frustrated, and his mind, fluctuating amidst a variety of thoughts and undetermined suggestions, inspired alternately by love and glory, was in an inconceivable perplexity. But he received so many tender and moving letters from Daraxa, that she at length succeeded in fixing his irresolute thoughts upon herself alone. The following is one of these letters, which I have selected from among them:

“Orviedo has informed me how excessively you lament your absence from Granada. Depart, Ozmin, depart; your heart is more devoted to glory than to love. Let me not detain you here any longer: I well know that your departure will cost me my life; but the severest pangs that I shall suffer will be in dying for an ungrateful man, who abandons me at the very time that I stand most in need of his assistance. I thought myself dearer to you than all the world. How greatly was I mistaken! Of whom am I to complain? Of myself, for having believed you, or of you for having thus beguiled me? If my love for you does not make me blind, your life is mine. You have told me so a hundred times, nay, you have sworn it. Why then, without my consent, do you dispose of what is mine? How can you think of applying it to any other use than that of serving me? Ah! Ozmin, you know but little how to love! How far are you behind me in love’s race! Glory may be every where acquired; and many might be found, if sought for, who would willingly resign all pretensions to glory, and share the distresses of an unfortunate woman, in preference to serving all the monarchs upon earth.”

Anxious as Ozmin was to render himself serviceable to his country, he was unable to resist Daraxa’s persuasive remonstrances; and the lover, on this occasion, gained the victory over the hero in him. The Court set forward for the army; and the beautiful Moor was received by the Marquis de Padilla with as much honour as if she had been the Queen herself. Elvira, who loved her tenderly, and whom an interest still stronger than friendship assisted to rejoice that they should henceforth be inseparable companions, was delighted with this change. Daraxa would also have been tolerably satisfied with her situation, if she had had a little more liberty in the family; but, on the contrary, she was more confined than she had been at Court. She was completely a prisoner. In the first place, neither she nor Elvira dared venture to leave the house, under any pretence whatever. The only indulgence that was extended to them was to walk of an evening in the garden at a regulated hour; and, as if this walk was not a recreation sufficiently restricted for them, the old Marquis generally took the trouble of accompanying them; or, if he sometimes had not sufficient time to allow of his harassing them with his vexatious company, Don Rodrigo, his son, took charge of them, and they gained nothing by the change. In addition to all this, the ladies’ apartments had no look-out but towards the garden, without any window towards the street. They saw nobody from without doors, neither men nor women; and of the people in the house, very few were permitted to speak to them.

All these unpleasantries united to embitter the extreme civilities paid her by Don Lewis. This old courtier professed that he only treated her in this manner from the very great consideration and respect he entertained for her. Daraxa was not, however, the dupe of these fine protestations; but losing all hope of receiving any communication from her lover, she would have completely given herself up to chagrin, had not Donna Elvira also been concerned in it, who, being scarcely able to live any longer without her dear Don Jaymé, told Daraxa that she much wished to write to that cavalier. “Ah!” answered Daraxa, “and how do you think of conveying the letter to him?” “One of my women,” replied Elvira, “has prevailed on a man, who does not belong to the family, and who is well acquainted with Vivez, to undertake to deliver the letter into his own hands.” Daraxa approved of her resolution, and they sat down to compose a letter together. The daughter of Don Lewis wrote it, and Daraxa added these words in her own language: “The chief happiness of lovers consists in seeing each other; their chief misery in being separated. I languish in expectation of hearing from you. I die if I do not receive some news from you shortly.”

Elvira asked the meaning of these words, and Daraxa answered, “I have sent word to Don Jaymé that his mistress can no longer endure his absence, and must fall a prey to _ennui_, if she do not find relief where she expects it.” The most attached friends generally behave in this manner towards each other when they are rivals in love.

The letter was faithfully delivered to Ozmin, who was the more rejoiced at its receipt as he had up to that moment employed in vain all Orviedo’s ingenuity to discover what was going on at Don Lewis’s: and as one happy event never occurs, according to the proverb, without another treading on its heels, it happened, two days after this, that Orviedo appeared before him dressed like a labourer. Ozmin did not recognize him at first, but shortly afterwards asked him the reason for this disguise. “I will tell you,” replied Orviedo. “I equipped myself in this manner for the purpose of perambulating the Marquis de Padilla’s house, in the hope of meeting one of Daraxa’s Moorish women, or of scraping acquaintance with some one of Don Lewis’s servants. I chanced to stop before a particular part of the garden, where several workmen were engaged in repairing the wall. The master-mason seeing me very attentive to their work, took me for one of his own trade: ‘My good friend,’ said he to me, ‘I am in want of labourers to finish this job, are you inclined to lend a hand?’ I replied, that I was employed elsewhere, but that I had a comrade who was out of work, and would be glad to make himself useful to him. ‘Send him to me,’ said the master-mason, ‘if he only knows how to wheel a barrow, he will be of service, and I will pay him well.’ Upon this I left him,” added Orviedo, smiling, “to propose this fine job to you, which love presents to make you pass your time more agreeably.”

Ridiculous as such an undertaking appeared to Ozmin, he was too much enamoured of Daraxa to reject this opportunity of seeing her. He accepted the employment, dressed himself like a workman, and followed Orviedo, who said to the master-mason, “_Senor Maestro de obra_, this is my comrade Ambrosio, an unfortunate soldier, who after having been four years a prisoner among the Moors, is reduced to labour for his subsistence.” The bargain was soon struck, and Ambrosio hired to begin his work the next morning. Our new workman, to shew that he had his work at heart, was up betimes to attend his new master, who led him into the garden, and putting the wheelbarrow into his hands, told him what he was to do. Ambrosio took to his work as readily as if he had been all his life-time in the trade: at which his master was so much satisfied, that he praised him exceedingly, assuring him that he would, in time, make an excellent workman.

Nobody yet appeared stirring in the house; but about ten o’clock our workman observed some of the Moorish women at the windows of Daraxa’s apartment, and shortly after, Daraxa herself with Donna Elvira. He now began to felicitate himself upon his contrivance; and felt delighted with the anticipation of the surprise the ladies would be in, when they should be walking in the garden, and recognize him in this laughable disguise. He even flattered himself, that in this habit, he might occasionally speak to them without danger. He knew not what sort of man Don Lewis was.

Independent of Daraxa’s having been recommended to his care by the Queen, in so particular a manner, that he would have considered himself unworthy of such confidence, did he not watch night and day over her actions, he well knew that she had many lovers; and did not believe Daraxa to be more insensible than others, the Moorish women of those days not being considered enemies to love. But was more afraid of enterprises from without, than of inward insensibility; of amorous cavaliers, than of the object beloved. He feared Don Alonso more than any, whom he regarded as a favoured lover. And his fear had by no means subsided, although well informed that this young lord was not yet sufficiently recovered to leave his house, and, consequently, unable to contrive any means of intercourse with the beautiful Moor. A commerce by billet-doux seemed to him to be no less dangerous than the nearest conversation. To relieve his mind entirely from such apprehensions, he pressed the master-mason incessantly to make an end of his work, fearing that some one of the workmen might be bold enough to undertake some amorous commission: this idea kept him constantly uneasy, and obliged him to observe all the labourers.

Seeing them at work at the close of this day, he took particular notice of Ambrosio, whom he had not before observed, and who appeared to him a very steady looking young fellow. This examination did not much please the young Moor, who turned pale from fear of being discovered. He had, however, nothing to apprehend; for suspicious and mistrustful as the old man was, he could distinguish nothing but the labourer in Ambrosio; and this false mason left his work at the regular time with the others, having had no other gratification during the whole of the day, than that of seeing his mistress pass him with Don Rodrigo, who was his rival. How much patience is necessary in love, although the most violent of all passions! Ozmin knew this already but too well. He was not, therefore, dispirited, but thought himself amply rewarded for his trouble, in having seen his beloved. If this can satisfy a Spaniard, why should it not suffice to make a Moor feel happy?

Fortune was much more favourable towards him the following day. He returned to his labour with fresh courage. The wheelbarrow was in perpetual motion; and as in carrying the stones along he was obliged to pass frequently under the windows of Daraxa’s apartment, he began to sing a pastoral song in the Moorish language. The masons considered him a lively fellow, who had been a long time prisoner among the Infidels, and were not surprised at hearing him sing one of their songs. But Laida heard him from her chamber; and curious to know what man it could be who was singing one of the songs of her country so well, went down into the garden, and recognized Ozmin.

She pretended to be gathering flowers for her mistress, which she did almost every day; and the Moor perceiving that she leered upon him, as he passed by her next time with his wheelbarrow, let fall a letter just before her eyes, which he had brought with him concealed in his bosom, without stopping or even looking at Laida, who instantly snatched it up, and carried it to her mistress.

You will easily conceive the joy and surprise of Daraxa. She was still in bed. She rose immediately, and dressed herself quickly, to enjoy from her window the pleasure of again beholding a lover so dear to her. She was much affected to see that he felt no shame in subjecting himself to so wretched a condition to show his extreme love for her; and yet there was something in this fantastical equipage which delighted her extremely. She wrote an answer to his letter, which she entrusted to Laida, who took the first opportunity to deliver it, unperceived by any one. From so propitious a commencement to his adventure, Signor Ambrosio began to relish his trade of a mason. Daraxa was almost all day at the window to see him pass and repass; so that they had full opportunity to converse by signs, which had a thousand charms for two lovers of so refined a character.

Thus they went on for several days. Don Lewis never failed to be among the workmen every evening, that his presence might excite them to despatch their work, and he always remarked that Ambrosio was the most indefatigable among them. He took a particular fancy for him on this account; and thinking that he would make a good servant, he inquired of the master-mason where he had procured so good a labourer. “One of the artisans of the city brought him to me,” answered he, “and I have every reason to be well satisfied with him.” With so good a recommendation the Marquis took Ambrosio aside, to whom he had never yet spoken, and asked him of what country he was. Our labourer made answer, in the most clownish manner he could possibly affect, that he was born at Arragon; and went on, fully confirming what Orviedo had before related to the master-mason. Don Lewis found his story very plausible, and it even seemed to him that he had the accent of that country. “Who was your master at Granada,” continued he, “and in what were you particularly employed?” “My Lord,” said Ambrosio, “I was servant to a great merchant, who had a very fine garden, and I had the care of his flowers.” “You know then how to cultivate a flower-garden!” cried the Marquis. “I am delighted; for I am just in want of a man to pay attention to mine, which I take great pride in. I have been wishing for one for these three months past, as my present gardener will not undertake the entire care of it; if, therefore, you are willing to serve me, I will pay you good wages, and shall not be disregardful of your future fortune, provided you continue faithful, and perform your duty punctually.”

At these words, our pretended labourer expressed more by his outward behaviour than by words, that he was most grateful for Don Lewis’s kindness, which he would endeavour to deserve by his future exertions. The agreement was soon made; Don Lewis desired him to lay by his apron, take leave of his present master, and to wait upon him the next day, when he should be provided with every thing necessary for the cultivation of his flower garden.

Ozmin was now no longer, therefore, a mason, but a gardener to the Marquis de Padilla, who, on his arrival next day, began by prescribing to him the line of conduct which he was to observe, if he hoped to be retained for any length of time in his family. He desired him to entertain the greatest respect for the ladies, and to avoid any sort of intercourse with the female servants. He dwelt particularly on this point, because, in spite of his affected clownish looks, he thought him of a handsome person.

After this lecture, his patron, who had sufficiently discovered to Ambrosio that he was a true Spaniard in his opinion of the fair sex, set his new gardener to work in his own presence, to judge of his ability, for he knew enough of the art to judge of his performance. Fortunately for Ozmin, he had a taste for flowers, and was as skilful in their culture as many a florist by profession. Don Lewis was soon convinced that he had gained an acquisition, upon which he prided himself, and he was so full of it, that he could not refrain from mentioning it at dinner. He said that he had been lucky enough to meet with a gardener to cultivate his flowers, and he hoped that for the future his flower-garden would be well attended to. “Among my workmen,” added he, “I remarked a young fellow who was employed at the wheelbarrow, whom I asked a few questions, and have discovered that he is a complete adept in the culture of flowers.”

This discourse did not escape Daraxa, who doubted not that the new gardener was Ozmin, and hoped that she should by this means have more frequent opportunities of speaking and writing to him. After dinner, she led Elvira into her apartment, where they both stood at the window that looked towards the garden. Ambrosio was at this time in the middle of the parterre opposite to them. The beautiful Moor having recognized him, and wishing to amuse herself, pointed him out to her friend; “Look at the gardener of whose skill your father has been boasting to us just now; observe him attentively; does not your heart whisper something in his favour? do you not feel some unusual emotions?”

Elvira laughed aloud at these words which she thought were meant only in joke; but after having looked for sometime she began to suspect the truth. But the fear of being mistaken, and then laughed at, prevented her from saying what she thought, till Daraxa pressing her to answer and calling her insensible confirmed her suspicions. She then broke forth into an excess of joy and passionate expressions which but too well betrayed her excessive love for Don Jaymé. The prudent Moor rejoiced exceedingly that she had no longer concealed the metamorphosis of that cavalier. “My dear Elvira,” said she, “it is well that I have been the first to make this discovery. Alas! if Don Jaymé had presented himself before you in the presence of Don Lewis or Don Rodrigo, your surprise would have ruined us; but as you are now prepared to see him, I trust you will so restrain your feelings, as not to create any suspicions.” Elvira promised that she would do her best: after which the two ladies amused themselves by discoursing of the pretended Ambrosio.

Don Lewis’s daughter could not conceive how he had managed to deceive her father, the most mistrustful of men; and felt well pleased that Don Jaymé had subjected himself to so mean an employment for her sake. Had she known as much as her friend upon that score, her grateful sentiments would doubtless have abated.

From this time there was nothing but pleasures and intrigues from morning till night between the two ladies and the happy gardener. Claricia and Laida their confidants were expert girls, who served them with as much address as zeal. Ambrosio on his side acquitted himself so skilfully towards both his mistresses, that they were both well satisfied. Never was any affair better conducted. Elvira disclosed all the feelings of her heart to her friend, and Daraxa was prudent enough not to communicate what she felt in return. These rivals had each their particular hiding place in the garden; love letters flew to and fro; there was a perfect post of gallantry established; and if their communication had gone no further, ought they not to have been well satisfied with so agreeable a life? But if love be sufficiently gratified when ’tis only in fair way of succeeding, it immediately ceases to be love. That passion soon grows tired of the same pleasures too often repeated; it looks for variety. The impatient Elvira longed for an interview, and in her next letter desired Don Jaymé to meet them that night at the window of the lower gallery, of which Claricia would get the key. Although Daraxa did not altogether approve of this nocturnal meeting, she had not sufficient resolution to object to it.

Ambrosio lodged in the gardener’s house at the bottom of the garden, the door of which was always closed at midnight by order of Don Lewis, and remained shut until the hour for returning to work the next morning: this, however, was but a trifling impediment to our lover, who soon made a ladder of small cords, by means of which he could descend from his chamber into the garden, and re-ascend at his pleasure. In his answer therefore, he assured the ladies that he would not fail to be at the appointed spot the next night. With what impatience did they await that moment; and when it arrived, how delighted were they to be able to converse with their dear Ambrosio. Elvira gave way to the impetuosity of her feelings, without restraint; and Daraxa’s, though more restrained, were not in reality less violent. The windows of the gallery were very low, and the iron bars were at a sufficient distance apart to admit an arm between them. The amorous Elvira, emboldened by the darkness of the night, put her hands through the bars for Ozmin to kiss, to the heart’s regret of Daraxa. Ozmin, who well knew the delicate feelings of his country-woman on this point, took every opportunity of mitigating the pain that he knew she must feel on the occasion, by every endearment he could bestow on her unperceived by her friend; this interview, therefore, was the cause of more anxiety than gratification to Daraxa, who, though she possessed her lover’s heart, thought herself much to be pitied; when, on the contrary, her friend, though not loved by Ozmin as she imagined, felt herself truly happy. The one, ignorant of her happiness, was unhappy; while the other, who knew not how unfortunate she really was, felt elated with joy.

After two hours’ conversation they at last parted: Ambrosio regained his chamber, and the ladies withdrew, very differently affected by this interview. If Don Lewis’s daughter felt desirous for a second meeting, Daraxa’s wishes were much the reverse. Elvira had shewn so little modesty in this first interview, that she had good reason to fear she would become still less reserved, and more violent in her love; she could not, therefore, any longer refrain from writing a letter to Ozmin on the subject, wherein she told him that she never wished to converse with him again in this clandestine manner by night, the pleasure of which cost her too dear. The faithful Moor, who would rather have died than have given any real cause for his mistress’ suspicions, carefully avoided, under various pretences, every proposition that was made to him by Elvira for another interview, whose personal attractions were, in reality, too alluring to be long trifled with with impunity.

In the mean time the masons had made an end of their work, and there being now no longer any thing to apprehend from that quarter, Don Lewis allowed the ladies the full liberty of walking in the garden when they pleased. One day, as they were sitting with Don Rodrigo in an arbor, his sister, who did not much mind him, and wished to accustom him to her talking with Ambrosio, called that gardener as he was passing by, and desired him to gather them some flowers. Donna Elvira wishing to detain him, began to question him about his sufferings while a prisoner at Granada; upon which Don Rodrigo requested Daraxa to converse for a short time with him in the Moorish language, to see if he was well acquainted with it. The beautiful Moor willingly consented to oblige Don Rodrigo in this respect, and told him, that for a Spaniard he spoke it tolerably well.