CONCLUSION.
La douleur lentement m'entr'ouve le tombeau, Salut mon dernier jour! sois mon jour le plus beau!
_Lamartine._
Three months had now elapsed since the death of Gomez Arias, and thepeople of Granada were again rejoicing in the success of the Christianarms. The insurrection of the Moors was now completely quelled; the wiseand prudent conduct of the queen had saved the country from the horrorsattendant on a fanatical war. The individuals admitted to the counselsof Isabella were in general men of enlightened understanding andphilanthropic dispositions, and though some few voices, swayed byfanatical zeal and religious intolerance, opposed themselves to liberalmeasures, yet, happily for Spain and honorably for her ministers, theirobjections were over-ruled, and the more beneficial and milder courseadopted. A full pardon was proclaimed to the rebels. Moreover it waspromised that they should enjoy the same privileges as the Spaniards,and that no compulsory measures should be adopted to make them embracethe tenets of the Christian religion. Free permission was given to everyMoor who should prefer passing over to Africa, to remove unmolested, andwith full security to his family and property.
These judicious resolutions answered the desired effect. The Moorsjoyfully accepted the offers of the queen, and the greatest part of themcame immediately to lay down their arms at the feet of the Alcayde delos Donceles, and other chiefs who still were carrying on the war.However, some Moors of the higher rank, who refused to subjectthemselves to the Christian government, retired into Africa, and amongstthis number we must count the magnanimous El Feri de Benastepar; for,as no account was received of his death, it was supposed he hadabandoned the country.
Thus peace was at length restored, and the city of Granada became againthe center of gaiety and happiness, and this was not a little enhancedby the anticipation of the union of Leonor de Aguilar with the gallantDon Antonio de Leyva: the nuptials being only delayed until a dueallowance of time had been devoted to the memory of the noble Don Alonsode Aguilar.
Meantime Don Manuel de Monteblanco and his unfortunate daughter hadretired to their mansion at Guadix. Shortly after the mortal remains ofGomez Arias had been consigned to the earth, Don Manuel prevailed on hisunhappy daughter to abandon a city fraught with such dreadfulassociations. Theodora submissively obeyed the desires of her solicitousand kind parent, but alas! the sorrow that slowly consumed her heart wasnot to be removed by change of place: the lovely victim carried withinher the deadly poison that was to consign her to an early grave.Theodora became the prey of a deep-rooted melancholy. The kind attentionof friends, the tender expostulation of her father, might momentarilywithdraw her mind from the subject of her constant meditations; tokensof regard, and the soft caresses of pity might elicit a transient smile;but soon, alas! her mind would revert to its mournful occupation; soonher smile would give way to sadness.
During the day, she wandered about the large mansion like a restlessspirit whose duties in life are fulfilled, and who longs to take itsflight. Sometimes she took her lute, and in wild and plaintive voice shewould sing those romances which Gomez Arias had loved to hear. Then shewould ramble through the garden, and visit those spots endeared by therecollection of her love. Sometimes, too, in the stillness of night, amost piercing scream would issue from her chamber, and arouse theunfortunate Monteblanco from his couch, to hush the fevered imaginationof his daughter, continually haunted by the image of the murdered GomezArias.
Day after day the disconsolate father watched the progress of themalady. Gradually Theodora was wasting in form, and her intellectualpowers seemed to share in the wreck of her outward appearance. Nothingcould disturb the gloomy monotony of her thoughts. Musing tranquilly,she would pass the hour, and oft in the night when the moon beams fellon the garden, she would be seen gliding along its paths like somefleeting phantom.
In this melancholy state Theodora had continued during some time, whenone morning Monteblanco was agreeably surprised to see his child inunusually good spirits. The gloom which sat habitually on her brow hadvanished, and a placid smile played upon her lips. Joyfully thevenerable parent beheld the welcome change, and anxiously he wished toimprove those favorable symptoms of returning health. Theodora told herfather that she had dreamed in the night an awful dream. She had seenher husband, not as heretofore, in the fearful scenes of his desertionand death, but his eyes beaming with a heavenly light, bidding her behappy, as he was happy and blessed.
It was the anniversary of the day on which Theodora had left her home.Night came, and Monteblanco saw not his daughter by his side. He waitedimpatiently for some time, and then repaired to the garden, for he knewTheodora delighted in rambling there.
The faithful Roque, who since the death of his master had attachedhimself to the service of Monteblanco, took a torch, and accompanied theold cavalier to the garden. Don Manuel called aloud upon his daughter,but his voice was only answered by the sad echoes of the place. Hebecame alarmed, and hastily proceeded to the bower: there he descriedTheodora lying on the marble seat, apparently asleep. He approached her,and affectionately chid her for her absence.
"Awake, child, awake," he cried; "surely your delicate health will beinjured by the chilling air of night."
He gently raised her arm.
"Roque, bring closer that torch."
Roque obeyed--Theodora indeed slept, but it was the sleep of death.
Struck with consternation, the wretched old man clasped the lifelessbody in his arms, and called eagerly on his child by the most endearingof names. Alas! it was too late: the spark of life had fled for ever,and the dull glare of the torch that fell upon her countenance soonconfirmed the mournful truth. Pale and bloodless was her cheek, and coldwere those beauteous limbs. The angel of death had spread his sablepinions over her dewy brow, and closed her eyes in eternal sleep. Thedespairing father now strove to raise his daughter in his arms, whensomething fell from her nerveless grasp. Roque immediately took itup--he gave a start, and uttered a most piteous moan, as he presentedthe object to Don Manuel. It was the portrait of Gomez Arias. Thatmelancholy testimonial told that the heavenly spirit had lately takenits flight, for it was yet moist with _her_ tears, the last effort ofher departing soul--the last sad evidence of a _woman's love_.
Non come fiamma, che per forza e spenta, Ma che per se medesma si consuma, Se n'ando in pace l'anima contenta.
_Petrarca._
THE END.
GUNNELL AND SHEARMAN, PRINTERS, SALISBURY SQUARE.
* * * * *
NOTES:
[1] The unfortunate passion of Don Rodrigo, the last of the Goths, forFlorinda, surnamed La Cava, was the primary cause of the Moorishinvasion, and the disastrous wars which followed. Count Julian, fatherof the frail fair one, highly indignant at the affront he had received,resolved to take the most signal vengeance. His views were warmlyespoused by Don Oppas, Archbishop of Toledo, who was the mostinfluential man in the kingdom. These two noblemen betrayed theircountry to the Moors, who, invited by them, landed in Spain, under thecommand of Tarik and Muza.
[2] The Black.
[3] Champion of the Lists.
[4] For this and for my King.
[5] A kind of small mantle.
[6] I am like my name.
[7]
I will bear him to the skies, That he may have the greater fall.