The last Hispano-Moorish family of Granada has found once more the shelter of an African desert, and even a Saracen horse, in an estate which comes to it from Saracens.  How the eyes of these brigands—­who but yesterday had dreaded my authority—­sparkled with savage joy and pride when they found they were protecting against the King of Spain’s vendetta the Duc de Soria, their master and a Henarez—­the first who had come to visit them since the time when the island belonged to the Moors.  More than a score of rifles were ready to point at Ferdinand of Bourbon, son of a race which was still unknown when the Abencerrages arrived as conquerors on the banks of the Loire.

My idea had been to live on the income of these huge estates, which, unfortunately, we have so greatly neglected; but my stay there convinced me that this was impossible, and that Queverdo’s reports were only too correct.  The poor man had twenty-two lives at my disposal, and not a single real; prairies of twenty thousand acres, and not a house; virgin forests, and not a stick of furniture!  A million piastres and a resident master for half a century would be necessary to make these magnificent lands pay.  I must see to this.

The conquered have time during their flight to ponder their own case and that of their vanquished party.  At the spectacle of my noble country, a corpse for monks to prey on, my eyes filled with tears; I read in it the presage of Spain’s gloomy future.

At Marseilles I heard of Riego’s end.  Painfully did it come home to me that my life also would henceforth be a martyrdom, but a martyrdom protracted and unnoticed.  Is existence worthy the name, when a man can no longer die for his country or live for a woman?  To love, to conquer, this twofold form of the same thought, is the law graven on our sabres, emblazoned on the vaulted roofs of our palaces, ceaselessly whispered by the water, which rises and falls in our marble fountains.  But in vain does it nerve my heart; the sabre is broken, the palace in ashes, the living spring sucked up by the barren sand.

Here, then, is my last will and testament.

Don Fernand, you will understand now why I put a check upon your ardor and ordered you to remain faithful to the rey netto.  As your brother and friend, I implore you to obey me; as your master, I command.  You will go to the King and will ask from him the grant of my dignities and property, my office and titles.  He will perhaps hesitate, and may treat you to some regal scowls; but you must tell him that you are loved by Marie Heredia, and that Marie can marry none but a Duc de Soria.  This will make the King radiant.  It is the immense fortune of the Heredia family which alone has stood between him and the accomplishment of my ruin.  Your proposal will seem to him, therefore, to deprive me of a last resource, and he will gladly hand over to you my spoils.