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Legend Of The Rose Of The AlhambraLegend Of The Rose Of The Alhambra
Legend Of The Rose Of The Alhambra
For some time after the surrender of Granada by the Moors, that
delightful city was a frequent and favorite residence of the Spanish
sovereigns, until they were frightened away by successive shocks of
earthquakes, which toppled down various houses, and made the old Moslem
towers rock to their foundation.
Many, many years then rolled away, during which Granada was rarely
honored by a royal guest. The palaces of the nobility remained silent and shut
up; and the Alhambra, like a slighted beauty, sat in mournful desolation,
among her neglected gardens. The tower of the Infantas, once the residence of
the three beautiful Moorish princesses, partook of the general desolation; the
spider spun her web athwart the gilded vault, and bats and owls nestled in
those chambers that had been graced by the presence of Zayda, Zorayda, and
Zorahayda. The neglect of this tower may partly have been owing to some
superstitious notions of the neighbors. It was rumored that the spirit of the
youthful Zorahayda, who had perished in that tower, was often seen by
moonlight seated beside the fountain in the hall, or moaning about the
battlements, and that the notes of her silver lute would be heard at midnight
by wayfarers passing along the glen.
At length the city of Granada was once more welcomed by the royal
presence. All the world knows that Philip V was the first Bourbon, that
swayed the Spanish sceptre. All the world knows that married, in second
nuptials, Elizabetta or Isabella (for they are the same), the beautiful
princess of Parma; and all the world knows that by this chain of
contingencies a French prince and an Italian princess were seated together
on the Spanish throne. For a visit of this illustrious pair, the Alhambra was
repaired and fitted up with all possible expedition. The arrival of the court
changed the whole aspect of the lately deserted palace. The clangor of drum
and trumpet, the tramp of steed about the avenues and outer court, the glitter
of arms and display of banners about barbican and battlement, recalled the
ancient and warlike glories of the fortress. As softer spirit, however,
reigned within the royal palace. There was the rustling of robes and the
cautious tread and murmuring voice of reverential courtiers about the
antechambers; a loitering of pages and maids of honor about the gardens, and
the sound of music stealing from open casements.
Among those who attended in the train of the monarchs was a favorite page
of the queen, named Ruyz de Alarcon. To say that he was a favorite page of the
queen was at once to speak his eulogium, for every one in the suite of the
stately Elizabetta was chosen for grace, and beauty, and accomplishments. He
was just turned of eighteen, light and lithe of form, and graceful as a young
Antinous. To the queen he was all deference and respect, yet he was at heart
a roguish stripling, petted and spoiled by the ladies about the court, and
experienced in the ways of women far beyond his years.
This loitering page was one morning rambling about the groves of the
Generalife, which overlook the grounds of the Alhambra. He had taken with him
for his amusement a favorite gerfalcon of the queen. In the course of his
rambles, seeing a bird rising from a thicket, he unhooded the hawk and let him
fly. The falcon towered high in the air, made a swoop at his quarry, but
missing it, soared away, regardless of the calls of the page. The latter
followed the truant bird with his eye, in its capricious flight, until he saw
it alight upon the battlements of a remote and lonely tower, in the outer
wall of the Alhambra, build on the edge of a ravine that separated the royal
fortress form the grounds of the Generalife. It was in fact the "Tower of the
Princess."
The page descended into the ravine and approached the tower, but it had
no entrance from the glen, and its lofty height rendered any attempt to scale
it fruitless. Seeking one of the gates of the fortress, therefore, he made a
wide circuit to that side of the tower is facing within the walls.
A small garden, inclosed by a trellis-work of reeds overhung with
myrtle, lay before the tower. Opening a wicket, the page passed between beds
of flowers and thickets of roses to the door. It was closed and bolted. A
crevice in the door gave him a peep into the interior. There was a small
Moorish hall with fretted walls, light marble columns, and an alabaster
fountain surrounded with flowers. In the centre hung a gilt cage containing a
singing bird, beneath it, on a chair, lay a tortoise-shell cat among reels of
silk and other articles of female labor, and a guitar decorated with ribbons
leaned against the fountain.
Ruyz de Alarcon was struck with these traces of female taste and elegance
in a lonely, and, as he had supposed, deserted tower. They reminded him of the
tales of enchanted halls current in the Alhambra; and the tortoise-shell cat
might be some spell-bound princess.
He knocked gently at the door. A beautiful face peeped out from a little
window above, but was instantly withdrawn. He waited, expecting that the door
would be opened, but he waited in vain; no footstep was to be heard within -
all was silent. Had his senses deceived him, or was this beautiful apparition
the fairy of the tower? He knocked again, and more loudly. After a little
while the beaming face once more peeped forth; it was that of a blooming
damsel of fifteen.
The page immediately doffed his plumed bonnet, and entreated in the most
courteous accents to be permitted to ascend the tower in pursuit of his
falcon.
"I dare not open the door, senor," replied the little damsel, blushing,
"my aunt has forbidden it."
"I do beseech you, fair maid-it is the favorite falcon of the queen. I
dare not return to the palace without it."
"Are you then one of the cavaliers of the court?"
"I am, fair maid; but I shall lose the queen`s favor and my place, if I
lose this hawk."
"Santa Maria! It is against you cavaliers of the court my aunt has
charged me especially to bar the door."
"Against wicked cavaliers doubtless, but I am none of these, but a
harmless page, who will be ruined and undone if you deny me this small
request."
The heart of the little damsel was touched by the distress of the page.
It was a thousand pities he should be ruined for the want of so trifling a
boon. Surely too he could not be one of those dangerous beings whom her aunt
had described as a species of cannibal, ever on the prowl to make prey of
thoughtless damsels; he was gentle and modest, and stood so entreatingly with
cap in hand, and looked so charming.
The sly page saw that the garrison began to waver, and redoubled his
entreaties in such moving terms that it was not in the nature of mortal
maiden to deny him; so the blushing little warden of the tower descended, and
opened the door with a trembling hand, and if the page had been charmed by a
mere glimpse of her countenance from the window, he was ravished by the full
length portrait now revealed to him.
Her Andalusian bodice and trim basquina set off the round but delicate
symmetry of her form, which was as yet scarce verging into womanhood. Her
glossy hair was parted on her forehead with scrupulous exactness, and
decorated with a fresh-plucked rose, according to the universal custom of the
country. It is true her complexion was tinged by the ardor of a southern sun,
but it served to give richness to the mantling bloom of her cheek, and to
heighten the lustre of her melting eyes.
Ruyz de Alarcon beheld all this with a single glance, for it became him
not to tarry; he merely murmured his acknowledgments, and then bounded
lightly up the spiral staircase in quest of his falcon.
He soon returned with the truant bird upon his fist. The damsel, in the
mean time, had seated herself by the fountain in the hall, and was winding
silk; but in her agitation she let fall the reel upon the pavement. The page
sprang and picked it up, then dropping gracefully on one knee, presented it
to her; but, seizing the hand extended to receive it, imprinted on it a kiss
more fervent and devout than he had ever imprinted on the fair hand of his
sovereign.
"Ave Maria, senor!" exclaimed the damsel, blushing still deeper with
confusion and surprise, for never before had she received such a salutation.
The modest page made a thousand apologies, assuring her it was the way,
at court, of expressing the most profound homage and respect.
Her anger, if anger she felt, was easily pacified, but her agitation and
embarrassment continued, and she sat blushing deeper and deeper, with her eyes
cast down upon her work, entangling the silk which she attempted to wind.
The cunning page saw the confusion in the opposite camp, and would fain
have profited by it, but the fine speeches he would have uttered died upon his
lips; his attempts at gallantry were awkward and ineffectual; and to his
surprise, the adroit page, who had figured with such grace and effrontery
among the most knowing and experienced ladies of the court, found himself awed
and abashed in the presence of a simple damsel of fifteen.
In fact, the artless maiden, in her own modesty and innocence, had
guardians more effectual than the bolts and bars prescribed by her vigilant
aunt. Still, where is the female bosom proof against the first whisperings of
love? The little damsel, with all her artlessness, instinctively comprehended
all that the faltering tongue of the page failed to express, and her heart was
fluttered at beholding, for the first time, a lover at her feet - and such a
lover!
The diffidence of the page, though genuine, was short-lived, and he was
recovering his usual ease and confidence, when a shrill voice was heard at a
distance.
"My aunt is returning from mass!" cried the damsel in affright; "I pray
you, senor, depart."
"Not until you grant me that rose from your hair as a remembrance."
She hastily untwisted the rose from her raven locks. "Take it," cried
she, agitated and blushing, "but pray begone."
The page took the rose, and at the same time covered with kisses the fair
hand that gave it. Then, placing the flower in his bonnet, and taking the
falcon upon his fist, he bounded off through the garden, bearing away with him
the heart of the gentle Jacinta.
When the vigilant aunt arrived at the tower, she remarked the agitation
of her niece, and an air of confusion in the hall; but a word of explanation
sufficed. "A gerfalcon had pursued his prey into the hall."
"Mercy on us! to think of a falcon flying into the tower. Did ever one
hear of so saucy a hawk? Why, the very bird in the cage is not safe!"
The vigilant Fredegonda was one of the most wary of ancient spinsters.
She had a becoming terror and distrust of what she denominated "the opposite
sex," which had gradually increased through a long life of celibacy. Not that
the good lady had ever suffered from their wiles, nature having set up a
safeguard in her face that forbade all trespass upon her premises; but ladies
who have least cause to fear for themselves are most ready to keep a watch
over their more tempting neighbors.
The niece was the orphan of an officer who had fallen in the wars. She
had been educated in a convent, and had recently been transferred from her
sacred asylum to the immediate guardianship of her aunt, under whose
over-shadowing care she vegetated in obscurity, like an opening rose blooming
beneath a brier. Nor indeed is this comparison entirely accidental; for, to
tell the truth, her fresh and dawning beauty had caught the public eye, even
in her seclusion, and, with that poetical turn common to the people of
Andalusia, the peasantry of the neighborhood had given her the appellation of
"the Rose of the Alhambra."
The wary aunt continued to keep a faithful watch over her tempting little
niece as long as the court continued at Granada, and flattered herself that
her vigilance had been successful. It is true, the good lady was now and then
discomposed by the tinkling of guitars and chanting of love ditties from the
moonlit groves beneath the tower; but she would exhort her niece to shut her
ears against such idle minstrelsy, assuring her that it was one of the arts of
the opposite sex, by which simple maids were often lured to their undoing.
Alas! what chance with a simple maid has a dry lecture against a moonlight
serenade?
At length King Philip cut short his sojourn at Granada, and suddenly
departed with all his train. The vigilant Fredegonda watched the royal pageant
as it issued forth from the Gate of Justice, and descended the great avenue
leading to the city. When the last banner disappeared from her sight, she
returned exulting to her tower, for all her cares were over. To her surprise,
a light Arabian steed pawed the ground at the wicket-gate of the garden-to her
horror, she saw through the thickets of roses a youth, in gayly-embroidered
dress, at the feet of her niece. At the sound of her footsteps he gave a
tender adieu, bounded lightly over the barrier of reeds and myrtles, sprang
upon his horse, and was out of sight in an instant.
The tender Jacinta, in the agony of her grief, lost all thought of her
aunt`s displeasure. Throwing herself into her arms, she broke forth into sobs
and tears.
"Ay de mi!" cried she; "he`s gone! - he`s gone! - he`s gone! and I shall
never see him more!"
"Gone! - who is gone? - what youth is that I saw at your feet?"
"A queen`s page, aunt, who came to bid me farewell."
"A queen`s page, child!" echoed the vigilant Fredegonda, faintly; "and
when did you become acquainted with the queen`s page?"
The morning that the gerfalcon came into the tower. It was the queen`s
gerfalcon, and he came in pursuit of it."
"Ah silly, silly girl! know that there are no gerfalcons half so
dangerous as these young prankling pages, and it is precisely such simple
birds as thee that they pounce upon."
The aunt was at first indignant at learning that in despite of her
boasted vigilance, a tender intercourse had been carried on by the youthful
lovers, almost beneath her eye; but when she found that her simple-hearted
niece, though thus exposed, without the protection of bolt or bar, to all the
machinations of the opposite sex, had come forth unsinged from the fiery
ordeal, she consoled herself with the persuasion that it was owing to the
chaste and cautious maxims in which she had, as it were, steeped her to the
very lips.
While the aunt laid this soothing unction to her pride, the niece
treasured up the oft-repeated vows of fidelity of the page. But what is the
love of restless, roving man? A vagrant stream that dallies for a time with
each flower upon its bank, then passes on, and leaves them all in tears.
Days, weeks, months elapsed, and nothing more was heard of the page. The
pomegranate ripened, the vine yielded up its fruit, the autumnal rains
descended in torrents from the mountains; the Sierra Nevada became covered
with a snowy mantle, and wintry blasts howled through the halls of the
Alhambra-still he came not. The winter passed away. Again the genial spring
burst forth with song and blossom and balmy zephyr; the snows melted from the
mountains, until none remained but on the lofty summit of Nevada, glistening
through the sultry summer air. Still nothing was heard of the forgetful page.
In the mean time, the poor little Jacinta grew pale and thoughtful. Her
former occupations and amusements were abandoned, her silk lay entangled, her
guitar unstrung, her flowers were neglected, the notes of her bird unheeded,
and her eyes, once so bright, were dimmed with secret weeping. If any solitude
could be devised to foster the passion of a love-lorn damsel, it would be
such a place as the Alhambra, where every thing seems disposed to produce
tender and romantic reveries. It is a very paradise for lovers: how hard then
to be alone in such a paradise - and not me ely alone, but forsaken!
"Alas, silly child! would the staid and immaculate Fredegonda say, when
she found her niece in one of her desponding moods - "did I not warn thee
against the wiles and deceptions of these men? What couldst thou expect, too,
from one of a haughty and aspiring family - thou an orphan, the descendant of
a fallen and impoverished line? Be assured, if the youth were true, his
father, who is one of the proudest nobles about the court, would prohibit his
union with one so humble and portionless as thou. Pluck up thy resolution,
therefore, and drive these idle notions from thy mind."
The words of the immaculate Fredegonda only served to increase the
melancholy of her niece, but she sought to indulge it in private. At a late
hour one midsummer night, after her aunt had retired to rest, she remained
alone in the hall of the tower, seated beside the alabaster fountain. It was
here that the faithless page had first knelt and kissed her hand; it was here
that he had often vowed eternal fidelity. The poor little damsel`s heart was
overladen with sad and tender recollections, her tears began to flow, and
slowly fell drop by drop into the fountain. By degrees the crystal water
became agitated, and - bubble - bubble - bubble - boiled up and was tossed
about, until a female figure, richly clad in Moorish robes, slowly rose to
view.
Jacinta was so frightened that she fled from the hall, and did not
venture to return. The next morning she related what she had seen to her aunt,
but the good lady treated it as a phantasy of her troubled mind, or supposed
she had fallen asleep and dreamt beside the fountain. "Thou hast been thinking
of the story of the three Moorish princesses that once inhabited this tower,"
continued she, "and it has entered into thy dreams."
"What story, aunt? I know nothing of it."
"Thou hast certainly heard of the three princesses, Zayda, Zorayda, and
Zorahayda, who were confined in this tower by the king their father, and
agreed to fly with three Christian cavaliers. The two first accomplished their
escape, but the third failed in her resolution, and, it is said, died in this
tower."
"I now recollect to have heard of it," said Jacinta, "and to have wept
over the fate of the gentle Zorahayda."
"Thou mayest well weep over her fate," continued the aunt, "for the lover
of Zorahayda was thy ancestor. He long bemoaned his Moorish love; but time
cured him of his grief, and he married a Spanish lady, from whom thou art
descended."
Jacinta ruminated upon these words. "That what I have seen is no phantasy
of the brain," said she to herself, "I am confident. If indeed it be the
spirit of the gentle Zorahayda, which I have heard lingers about this tower,
of what should I be afraid? I`ll watch by the fountain to-night-perhaps the
visit will be repeated."
Towards midnight, when every thing was quiet, she again took her seat in
the hall. As the bell in the distant watchtower of the Alhambra struck the
midnight hour, the fountain was again agitated; and bubble - bubble - bubble -
it tossed about the waters until the Moorish female again rose to view. She
was young and beautiful; her dress was rich with jewels, and in her hand she
held a silver lute. Jacinta trembled and was faint, but was reassured by the
soft and plaintive voice of the apparition, and the sweet expression of her
pale, melancholy countenance.
"Daughter of mortality," said she, "what aileth thee? Why do thy tears
trouble my fountain, and thy sighs and plaints disturb the quiet watches of
the night?"
"I weep because of the faithlessness of man, and I bemoan my solitary and
forsaken state."
"Take comfort; thy sorrows may yet have an end. thou beholdest a Moorish
princess, who, like thee, was unhappy in her love. A Christian knight, thy
ancestor, won my heart, and would have borne me to his native land and to the
bosom of his church. I was a convert in my heart, but I lacked courage equal
to my faith, and lingered till too late. For this the evil genii are permitted
to have power over me, and I remain enchanted in this tower until some pure
Christian will deign to break the magic spell. Wilt thou undertake the task?"
"I will," replied the damsel, trembling.
"Come hither then, and fear not; dip thy hand in the fountain, sprinkle
the water over me, and baptize me after the manner of thy faith; so shall
the enchantment be dispelled, and my troubled spirit have repose."
The damsel advanced with faltering steps, dipped her hand in the
fountain, collected water in the palm, and sprinkled it over the pale face
of the phantom.
The latter smiled with ineffable benignity. She dropped her silver lute
at the feet of Jacinta, crossed her white arms upon her bosom, and melted
from sight, so that it seemed merely as if a shower of dew-drops had fallen
into the fountain.
Jacinta retired from the hall filled with awe and wonder. She scarcely
closed her eyes that night; but when she awoke at daybreak out of a troubled
slumber, the whole appeared to her like a distempered dream. On descending
into the hall, however, the truth of the vision was established, for,
beside the fountain, she beheld the silver lute glittering in the morning
sunshine.
She hastened to her aunt, to relate all that had befallen her, and
called her to behold the lute as a testimonial of the reality of her story.
If the good lady had any lingering doubts, they were removed when Jacinta
touched the instrument, for she drew forth such ravishing tones as to thaw
even the frigid bosom of the immaculate Fredegonda, that region of eternal
winter, into a genial flow. Nothing but supernatural melody could have
produced such an effect.
The extraordinary power of the lute became every day more and more
apparent. The wayfarer passing by the tower was detained, and, as it were,
spell-bound, in breathless ecstasy. The very birds gathered in the
neighboring trees, and hushing their own strains, listened in charmed silence.
Rumor soon spread the news abroad. The inhabitants of Granada thronged
to the Alhambra to catch a few notes of the transcendent music that floated
about the Tower of Las Infantas.
The lovely little minstrel was at length drawn forth from her retreat.
The rich and powerful of the land contended who should entertain and do honor
to her; or rather, who should secure the charms of her lute to draw
fashionable throngs to their saloons. Wherever she went her vigilant aunt
kept a dragon watch at her elbow, awing the throngs of impassioned admirers,
who hung in raptures on her strains. The report of her wonderful powers
spread from city to city. Malaga, Seville, Cordova, all became successively
mad on the theme; nothing was talked of throughout Andalusia but the
beautiful minstrel of the Alhambra. How could it be otherwise among a
people so musical and gallant as the Andalusians, when the lute was magical
in its powers, and the minstrel inspired by love!
While all Andalusia was thus music mad, a different mood prevailed at
the court of Spain. Philip V, as is well known, was a miserable hypochondriac,
and subject to all kinds of fancies. Sometimes he would keep to his bed for
weeks together, groaning under imaginary complaints. At other times he
would insist upon abdicating his throne, to the great annoyance of his
royal spouse, who had a strong relish for the splendors of a court and the
glories of a crown, and guided the sceptre of her imbecile lord with an
expert and steady hand.
Nothing was found to be so efficacious in dispelling the royal megrims
as the power of music; the queen took care, therefore, to have the best
performers, both vocal and instrumental, at hand, and retained the famous
Italian singer Farinelli about the court as a kind of royal physician.
At the moment we treat of, however, a freak had come over the mind of
this sapient and illustrious Bourbon that surpassed all former vagaries.
After a long spell of imaginary illness, which set all the strains of
Farinelli and the consultations of a whole orchestra of court fiddlers at
def ance, the monarch fairly, in idea, gave up the ghost, and considered
himself absolutely dead.
This would have been harmless enough, and even convenient both to his
queen and courtiers, had he been content to remain in the quietude befitting a
dead man; but to their annoyance he insisted upon having the funeral
ceremonies performed over him, and, to their inexpressible perplexity, began
to grow impatient, and to revile bitterly at them for negligence and
disrespect, in leaving him unburied. What was to be done? To disobey the
king`s positive commands was monstrous in the eyes of the obsequious courtiers
of a punctilious court - but to obey him, and bury him alive would be
downright regicide!
In the midst of this fearful dilemma a rumor reached the court, of the
female minstrel who was turning the brains of all Andalusia. The queen
dispatched missions in all haste to summon her to St. Ildefonso, where the
court at that time resided.
Within a few days, as the queen with her maids of honor was walking in
those stately gardens, intended, with their avenues and terraces and
fountains, to eclipse the glories of Versailles, the far-famed minstrel was
conducted into her presence. The imperial Elizabetta gazed with surprise at
the youthful and unpretending appearance of the little being that had set the
world madding. She was in her picturesque Andalusian dress, her silver lute
in hand, and stood with modest and downcast eyes, but with a simplicity and
freshness of beauty that still bespoke her "the Rose of the Alhambra."
As usual she was accompanied by the ever-vigilant Fredegonda, who gave
the whole history of her parentage and descent to the inquiring queen. If the
stately Elizabetta had been interested by the appearance of Jacinta, she was
still more pleased when she learnt that she was of a meritorious though
impoverished line, and that her father had bravely fallen in the service of
the crown. "If thy powers equal their renown," said she, "and thou canst cast
forth this evil spirit that possesses thy sovereign, thy fortunes shall
henceforth be my care, and honors and wealth attend thee."
Impatient to make trial of her skill, she led the way at once to the
apartment of the moody monarch.
Jacinta followed with downcast eyes through files of guards and crowds
of courtiers. They arrived at length at a great chamber hung with black. The
windows were closed to exclude the light of day: a number of yellow wax
tapers in silver sconces diffused a lugubrious light, and dimly revealed the
figures of mutes in mourning dresses, and courtiers who glided about with
noiseless step and woebegone visage. In the midst of a funeral bed or bier,
his hands folded on his breast, and the tip of his nose just visible, lay
extended this would-be-buried monarch.
The queen entered the chamber in silence, and pointing to a footstool in
an obscure corner, beckoned to Jacinta to sit down and commence.
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.
The nuptials of the happy couple were celebrated soon afterwards with
great splendor, and the Rose of the Alhambra became the ornament and delight
of the court. "But hold - not so fast" - I hear the reader exclaim, "this is
jumping to the end of a story at a furious rate! First let us know how Ruyz
de Alarcon managed to account to Jacinta for his long neglect?" Nothing more
easy; the venerable, time-honored excuse, the opposition to his wishes by a
proud, pragmatical old father: besides, young people, who really like one
another, soon come to an amicable understanding, and bury all past grievances
when once they meet.
But how was the proud pragmatical old father reconciled to the match?
Oh! as to that, his scruples were easily overcome by a word or two from
the queen; especially as dignities and rewards were showered upon the blooming
favorite of royalty. Besides, the lute of Jacinta, you know, possessed a
magic power, and could control the most stubborn head and hardest breast.
And what came of the enchanted lute?
Oh, that is the most curious matter of all, and plainly proves the truth
of the whole story. That lute remained for some time in the family, but was
purloined and carried off, as was supposed, by the great singer Farinelli, in
pure jealousy. At his death it passed into other hands in Italy, who were
ignorant of its mystic powers, and melting down the silver, transferred the
strings to an old Cremona fiddle. The strings still retain something of their
magic virtues. A word in the reader`s ear, but let it go no further - that
fiddle is now bewitching the whole world-it is the fiddle of Paganini!
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