At first she touched her lute with a faltering hand, but gathering
confidence and animation as she proceeded, drew forth such soft aerial
harmony, that all present could scarce believe it mortal. As to the
monarch, who had already considered himself in the world of spirits,
he set it down for some angelic melody or the music of the spheres. By
degrees the theme was varied, and the voice of the minstrel
accompanied the instrument. She poured forth one of the legendary
ballads treating of the ancient glories of the Alhambra and the
achievements of the Moors. Her whole soul entered into the theme,
for with the recollections of the Alhambra was associated the story of
her love. The funeral chamber resounded with the animating strain.
It entered into the gloomy heart of the monarch. He raised his head
and gazed around: he sat up on his couch, his eye began to kindle-
at length, leaping upon the floor, he called for sword and buckler.
The triumph of music, or rather of the enchanted lute, was complete;
the demon of melancholy was cast forth; and, as it were, a dead man
brought to life. The windows of the apartment were thrown open; the
glorious effulgence of Spanish sunshine burst into the late lugubrious
chamber; all eyes sought the lovely enchantress, but the lute had
fallen from her hand, she had sunk upon the earth, and the next moment
was clasped to the bosom of Ruyz de Alarcon.
Pages:
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354