part10-第2部分

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with　wounds；　but　refused　to　leave　the　field。　The　Christians　at

length　gave　way；　and　the　king　was　hardly　pressed；　and　in　danger　of

being　captured。

　　Don　Munio　called　upon　his　cavaliers　to　follow　him　to　the　rescue。

〃Now　is　the　time；〃　cried　he；　〃to　prove　your　loyalty。　Fall　to；　like

brave　men！　We　fight　for　the　true　faith；　and　if　we　lose　our　lives　here；

we　gain　a　better　life　hereafter。〃

　　Rushing　with　his　men　between　the　king　and　his　pursuers；　they　checked

the　latter　in　their　career；　and　gave　time　for　their　monarch　to　escape；

but　they　fell　victims　to　their　loyalty。　They　all　fought　to　the　last

gasp。　Don　Munio　was　singled　out　by　a　powerful　Moorish　knight；　but

having　been　wounded　in　the　right　arm；　he　fought　to　disadvantage；　and

was　slain。　The　battle　being　over；　the　Moor　paused　to　possess　himself

of　the　spoils　of　this　redoubtable　Christian　warrior。　When　he　unlaced

the　helmet；　however；　and　beheld　the　countenance　of　Don　Munio；　he

gave　a　great　cry；　and　smote　his　breast。　〃Woe　is　me！〃　cried　he；　〃I　have

slain　my　benefactor！　The　flower　of　knightly　virtue！　the　most

magnanimous　of　cavaliers！〃

　　While　the　battle　had　been　raging　on　the　plain　of　Salmanara；　Dona

Maria　Palacin　remained　in　her　castle；　a　prey　to　the　keenest　anxiety。

Her　eyes　were　ever　fixed　on　the　road　that　led　from　the　country　of

the　Moors；　and　often　she　asked　the　watchman　of　the　tower；　〃What

seest　thou？〃

　　One　evening；　at　the　shadowy　hour　of　twilight；　the　warden　sounded　his

horn。　〃I　see；〃　cried　he；　〃a　numerous　train　winding　up　the　valley。

There　are　mingled　Moors　and　Christians。　The　banner　of　my　lord　is　in

the　advance。　Joyful　tidings！〃　exclaimed　the　old　seneschal：　〃my　lord

returns　in　triumph；　and　brings　captives！〃　Then　the　castle　courts

rang　with　shouts　of　joy；　and　the　standard　was　displayed；　and　the

trumpets　were　sounded；　and　the　draw…bridge　was　lowered；　and　Dona　Maria

went　forth　with　her　ladies；　and　her　knights；　and　her　pages；　and　her

minstrels；　to　welcome　her　lord　from　the　wars。　But　as　the　train　drew

nigh；　she　beheld　a　sumptuous　bier；　covered　with　black　velvet；　and　on

it　lay　a　warrior；　as　if　taking　his　repose：　he　lay　in　his　armor；　with

his　helmet　on　his　head；　and　his　sword　in　his　hand；　as　one　who　had

never　been　conquered；　and　around　the　bier　were　the　escutcheons　of

the　house　of　Hinojosa。

　　A　number　of　Moorish　cavaliers　attended　the　bier；　with　emblems　of

mourning；　and　with　dejected　countenances；　and　their　leader　cast

himself　at　the　feet　of　Dona　Maria；　and　hid　his　face　in　his　hands。

She　beheld　in　him　the　gallant　Abadil；　whom　she　had　once　welcomed

with　his　bride　to　her　castle；　but　who　now　came　with　the　body　of　her

lord；　whom　he　had　unknowingly　slain　in　battle　I

　　The　sepulchre　erected　in　the　cloisters　of　the　convent　of　San

Domingo；　was　achieved　at　the　expense　of　the　Moor　Abadil；　as　a　feeble

testimony　of　his　grief　for　the　death　of　the　good　knight　Don　Munio；　and

his　reverence　for　his　memory。　The　tender　and　faithful　Dona　Maria

soon　followed　her　lord　to　the　tomb。　On　one　of　the　stones　of　a　small

arch；　beside　his　sepulchre；　is　the　following　simple　inscription：

〃Hic　jacet　Maria　Palacin；　uxor　Munonis　Sancij　De　Finojosa〃：　〃Here　lies

Maria　Palacin；　wife　of　Munio　Sancho　de　Hinojosa。〃

　　The　legend　of　Don　Munio　Sancho　does　not　conclude　with　his　death。

On　the　same　day　on　which　the　battle　took　place　on　the　plain　of

Salmanara；　a　chaplain　of　the　Holy　Temple　at　Jerusalem；　while

standing　at　the　outer　gate；　beheld　a　train　of　Christian　cavaliers

advancing；　as　if　in　pilgrimage。　The　chaplain　was　a　native　of　Spain；

and　as　the　pilgrims　approached；　he　knew　the　foremost　to　be　Don　Munio

Sancho　de　Hinojosa；　with　whom　he　had　been　well　acquainted　in　former

times。　Hastening　to　the　patriarch；　he　told　him　of　the　honorable　rank

of　the　pilgrims　at　the　gate。　The　patriarch；　therefore；　went　forth　with

a　grand　procession　of　priests　and　monks；　and　received　the　pilgrims

with　all　due　honor。　There　were　seventy　cavaliers；　beside　their　leader；

all　stark　and　lofty　warriors。　They　carried　their　helmets　in　their

hands；　and　their　faces　were　deadly　pale。　They　greeted　no　one；　nor

looked　either　to　the　right　or　to　the　left；　but　entered　the　chapel；　and

kneeling　before　the　sepulchre　of　our　Saviour；　performed　their

orisons　in　silence。　When　they　had　concluded；　they　rose　as　if　to

depart；　and　the　patriarch　and　his　attendants　advanced　to　speak　to

them；　but　they　were　no　more　to　be　seen。　Every　one　marvelled　what　could

be　the　meaning　of　this　prodigy。　The　patriarch　carefully　noted　down　the

day；　and　sent　to　Castile　to　learn　tidings　of　Don　Munio　Sancho　de

Hinojosa。　He　received　for　reply；　that　on　the　very　day　specified；

that　worthy　knight；　with　seventy　of　his　followers；　had　been　slain　in

battle。　These；　therefore；　must　have　been　the　blessed　spirits　of

those　Christian　warriors；　come　to　fulfil　their　vow　of　pilgrimage　to

the　Holy　Sepulchre　at　Jerusalem。　Such　was　Castilian　faith；　in　the

olden　time；　which　kept　its　word；　even　beyond　the　grave。

　　If　any　one　should　doubt　of　the　miraculous　apparition　of　these

phantom　knights；　let　him　consult　the　History　of　the　Kings　of　Castile

and　Leon；　by　the　learned　and　pious　Fray　Prudencio　de　Sandoval；

bishop　of　Pamplona；　where　he　will　find　it　recorded　in　the　History　of

King　Don　Alonzo　VI；　on　the　hundred　and　second　page。　It　is　too　precious

a　legend；　to　be　lightly　abandoned　to　the　doubter。

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Poets　and　Poetry　of　Moslem　Andalus。



　　DURING　the　latter　part　of　my　sojourn　in　the　Alhambra　I　was　more　than

once　visited　by　the　Moor　of　Tetuan；　with　whom　I　took　great　pleasure　in

rambling　through　the　halls　and　courts；　and　getting　him　to　explain　to

me　the　Arabic　inscriptions。　He　endeavored　to　do　so　faithfully；　but；

though　he　succeeded　in　giving　me　the　thought；　he　despaired　of

imparting　an　idea　of　the　grace　and　beauty　of　the　language。　The　aroma

of　the　poetry；　said　he；　is　all　lost　in　translation。　Enough　was

imparted；　however；　to　increase　the　stock　of　my　delightful　associations

with　this　extraordinary　pile。　Perhaps　there　never　was　a　monument

more　characteristic　of　an　age　and　people　than　the　Alhambra；　a　rugged

fortress　without；　a　voluptuous　palace　within；　war　frowning　from　its

battlements；　poetry　breathing　throughout　the　fairy　architecture　of　its

halls。　One　is　irresistibly　transported　in　imagination　to　those　times

when　Moslem　Spain　was　a　region　of　light　amid　Christian；　yet

benighted　Europe…　externally　a　warrior　power　fighting　for　existence；

internally　a　realm　devoted　to　literature；　science；　and　the　arts；　where

philosophy　was　cultivated　with　passion；　though　wrought　up　into

subtleties　and　refinements；　and　where　the　luxuries　of　sense　were

transcended　by　those　of　thought　and　imagination。

　　Arab　poetry；　we　are　told；　arrived　at　its　highest　splendor　under

the　Ommiades　of　Spain；　who　for　a　long　time　centred　the　power　and

splendor　of　the　Western　Caliphat　at　Cordova。　Most　of　the　sovereigns　of

that　brilliant　line　were　themselves　poets。　One　of　the　last　of　them　was

Mahomed　ben　Abderahman。　He　led　the　life　of　a　sybarite　in　the　famo