The Alhambra a series of tales and sketches of the Moors and Spaniards |
LEGEND OF PRINCE AHMED AL KAMEL, OR THE
PILGRIM OF LOVE. |
 | LEGEND OF PRINCE AHMED AL KAMEL, OR THE
PILGRIM OF LOVE. The Alhambra |  |
LEGEND OF PRINCE AHMED AL KAMEL, OR THE
PILGRIM OF LOVE.
There was once a Moorish King of Granada
who had but one son, whom he named Ahmed,
to which his courtiers added the surname of al
Kamel, or the perfect, from the indubitable signs
of super-excellence which they perceived in him
in his very infancy. The astrologers countenanced
them in their foresight, predicting every
thing in his favour that could make a perfect
prince and a prosperous sovereign. One cloud
only rested upon his destiny, and even that was
of a roseate hue. He would be of an amorous
temperament, and run great perils from the tender
passion. If, however, he could be kept
from the allurements of love until of mature
thereafter be one uninterrupted course of felicity.
To prevent all danger of the kind, the king
wisely determined to rear the prince in a seclusion,
where he should never see a female face nor
hear even the name of love. For this purpose
he built a beautiful palace on the brow of a hill
above the Alhambra, in the midst of delightful
gardens, but surrounded by lofty walls; being, in
fact, the same palace known at the present day
by the name of the Generalife. In this palace the
youthful prince was shut up and entrusted to the
guardianship and instruction of Ebon Bonabbon,
one of the wisest and dryest of Arabian sages,
who had passed the greatest part of his life in
Egypt, studying hieroglyphics and making researches
among the tombs and pyramids, and
who saw more charms in an Egyptian mummy
than in the most tempting of living beauties.
The sage was ordered to instruct the prince in
all kinds of knowledge but one—he is to be kept
utterly ignorant of love—“use every precaution
for the purpose you may think proper,” said the
king, “but remember, oh Ebon Bonabbon, if
my son learns aught of that forbidden knowledge,
while under your care, your head shall answer
dry visage of the wise Bonabbon at the menace.
“Let your majesty's heart be as easy about your
son as mine is about my head. Am I a man
likely to give lessons in the idle passion?”
Under the vigilant care of the philosopher, the
prince grew up in the seclusion of the palace
and its gardens. He had black slaves to attend
upon him—hideous mutes, who knew nothing of
love, or if they did, had not words to communicate
it. His mental endowments were the peculiar
care of Ebon Bonabbon, who sought to initiate
him into the abstruse lore of Egypt, but in
this the prince made little progress, and it was
soon evident that he had no turn for philosophy.
He was, however, amazingly ductile for a
youthful prince; ready to follow any advice and
always guided by the last councillor. He suppressed
his yawns, and listened patiently to the
long and learned discourses of Ebon Bonabbon,
from which he imbibed a smattering of various
kinds of knowledge, and thus happily attained
his twentieth year, a miracle of princely wisdom,
but totally ignorant of love.
About this time, however, a change came
over the conduct of the prince. He completely
the gardens and musing by the side of the fountains.
He had been taught a little music among
his various accomplishments; it now engrossed a
great part of his time, and a turn for poetry became
apparent. The sage Ebon Bonabbon took
the alarm, and endeavoured to work these idle
humours out of him by a severe course of algebra;
but the prince turned from it with distaste. “I
cannot endure algebra,” said he; “it is an abomination
to me. I want something that speaks
more to the heart.”
The sage Ebon Bonabbon shook his dry head
at the words. “Here's an end to philosophy,”
thought he. “The prince has discovered he
has a heart!” He now kept anxious watch
upon his pupil, and saw that the latent tenderness
of his nature was in activity, and only
wanted an object. He wandered about the gardens
of the Generalife in an intoxication of feelings
of which he knew not the cause. Sometimes
he would sit plunged in a delicious reverie;
then he would seize his lute and draw from it
the most touching notes, and then throw it aside,
and break forth into sighs and ejaculations.
By degrees this loving disposition began to
flowers which he cherished with tender assiduity;
then he became attached to various trees,
and there was one in particular, of a graceful
form and drooping foliage, on which he lavished
his amorous devotion, carving his name on its
bark, hanging garlands on its branches, and singing
couplets in its praise, to the accompaniment
of his lute.
The sage Ebon Bonabbon was alarmed at this
excited state of his pupil. He saw him on the
very brink of forbidden knowledge—the least
hint might reveal to him the fatal secret. Trembling
for the safety of the prince, and the security
of his own head, he hastened to draw him
from the seductions of the garden, and shut him
up in the highest tower of the Generalife. It
contained beautiful apartments, and commanded
an almost boundless prospect, but was elevated
far above that atmosphere of sweets and those
witching bowers so dangerous to the feelings of
the too susceptible Ahmed.
What was to be done, however, to reconcile
him to this restraint and to beguile the tedious
hours? He had exhausted almost all kinds of
agreeable knowledge; and algebra was not to be
been instructed, when in Egypt, in the language
of birds, by a Jewish Rabbin, who had received
it in lineal transmission from Solomon the wise,
who had been taught it by the Queen of Sheba.
At the very mention of such a study the eyes of
the prince sparkled with animation, and he applied
himself to it with such avidity, that he
soon became as great an adept as his master.
The tower of the Generalife was no longer a
solitude; he had companions at hand with whom
he could converse. The first acquaintance he
formed was with a hawk who built his nest in a
crevice of the lofty battlements, from whence he
soared far and wide in quest of prey. The prince,
however, found little to like or esteem in him.
He was a mere pirate of the air, swaggering and
boastful, whose talk was all about rapine, and carnage,
and desperate exploits.
His next acquaintance was an owl, a mighty
wise looking bird, with a large head and staring
eyes, who sat blinking and goggling all day in a
hole in the wall, but roamed forth at night. He
had great pretensions to wisdom; talked something
of astrology and the moon, and hinted at
the dark sciences, but he was grievously given to
were more ponderous than those of the sage
Ebon Bonabbon.
Then there was a bat, that hung all day by his
heels in the dark corner of a vault, but sallied
out in a slip-shod style at twilight. He, however,
had but twilight ideas on all subjects,
derided things of which he had taken but an
imperfect view, and seemed to take delight in
nothing.
Beside these there was a swallow, with whom
the prince was at first much taken. He was a
smart talker, but restless, bustling, and for ever
on the wing; seldom remaining long enough for
any continued conversation. He turned out in
the end to be a mere smatterer, who did but
skim over the surface of things, pretending to
know every thing, but knowing nothing thoroughly.
These were the only feathered associates with
whom the prince had any opportunity of exercising
his newly acquired language; the tower was
too high for any other birds to frequent it. He
soon grew weary of his new acquaintances,
whose conversation spake so little to the head
and nothing to the heart; and gradually relapsed
spring opened with all its bloom, and verdure,
and breathing sweetness, and the happy time arrived
for birds to pair and build their nests.
Suddenly, as it were, a universal burst of song
and melody broke forth from the groves and
gardens of the Generalife, and reached the
prince in the solitude of his tower. From
every side he heard the same universal theme—
love—love—love—chaunted forth and responded
to in every variety of note and tone. The
prince listened in silence and perplexity. “What
can be this love,” thought he, “of which the
world seems so full, and of which I know nothing?”
He applied for information to his friend
the hawk. The ruffian bird answered in a tone
of scorn,—“You must apply,” said he, “to the
vulgar, peaceable, birds of earth, who are made
for the prey of us princes of the air. My trade is
war, and fighting my delight. In a word, I am
a warrior, and know nothing of this thing called
love.”
The prince turned from him with disgust, and
sought the owl in his retreat. “This is a bird,”
said he, “of peaceful habits, and may be able to
solve my question. So he asked the owl to tell
in the groves below were singing.
Upon this the owl put on a look of offended
dignity. “My nights,” said he “are taken up in
study and research, and my days in ruminating
in my cell upon all that I have learnt. As to
these singing birds of whom you talk I never
listen to them. I despise them and their themes.
Allah be praised, I cannot sing. In a word, I am
a philosopher, and know nothing of this thing
called love.”
The prince now repaired to the vault where his
friend the bat was hanging by the heels, and propounded
the same question. The bat wrinkled
up his nose into a most snappish expression.
“Why do you disturb me in my morning's nap
with such an idle question,” said he peevishly.
“I only fly by twilight when all birds are asleep,
and never trouble myself with their concerns. I
am neither bird nor beast, and I thank heaven
for it. I have found out the villainy of the
whole of them, and hate them, one and all. In a
word, I am a misanthrope, and know nothing of
this thing called love.”
As a last resort, the prince now sought the
swallow, and stopped him just as he was circling
about the summit of the tower. The swallow as
time to make a reply. “Upon my word,” said
he, “I have so much public business to attend to,
and so many pursuits to follow, that I have had no
time to think on the subject. I have every day
a thousand visits to pay; a thousand affairs of
importance to examine into, that leave me not a
moment of leisure for these little sing-song matters.
In a word, I am a citizen of the world. I
know nothing of this thing called love.” So saying,
the swallow dived into the valley and was
out of sight in a moment.
The prince remained disappointed and perplexed,
but with his curiosity still more piqued
by the difficulty of gratifying it. While in this
mood his ancient guardian entered the tower.
The prince advanced eagerly to meet him. “Oh
sage Ebon Bonabbon,” cried he, “thou hast revealed
to me much of the wisdom of the earth,
but there is one thing of which I remain in utter
ignorance, and would fain be informed.”
“My prince has but to make the inquiry, and
every thing within the limited range of his servant's
intellect is at his command.”
“Tell me then, oh most profound of sages,
what is the nature of this thing called love?”
The sage Ebon Bonabbon was struck as with
felt as if his head sat but loosely on his shoulders.
“What could suggest such a question to my
prince?—where could he have learnt so idle a
word?”
The prince led him to the window of the tower.
“Listen, oh Ebon Bonabbon!” said he. The
sage listened. The nightingale sat in a thicket
below the tower singing to his paramour the rose;
from every blossomed spray and tufted grove
arose a strain of melody, and love—love—love,
was still the unvarying theme. “Allah Achbar!
God is great!” exclaimed the wise Bonabbon.
“Who shall pretend to keep this secret from the
hearts of men when even the birds of the air conspire
to betray it?”
Then turning to Ahmed, “Oh my prince,”
cried he, “shut thine ears to these seductive
strains. Close thy mind against this dangerous
knowledge. Know that this love is the cause of
half the ills of wretched mortality. It is this
which produces bitterness of strife between brethren
and friends; which causes treacherous murder
and desolating war. Care and sorrow, weary
days and sleepless nights, are its attendants. It
and brings on the ills and griefs of premature old
age. Allah preserve thee, my prince, in total
ignorance of this thing called love!”
The sage Ebon Bonabbon hastily retired,
leaving the prince plunged in still deeper perplexity.
It was in vain he attempted to dismiss
the subject from his mind; it still continued uppermost
in his thoughts, and teased and exhausted
him with vain conjectures. “Surely,” said he to
himself as he listened to the tuneful strains of the
birds, “there is no sorrow in those notes: every
thing seems tenderness and joy. If love be a
cause of such wretchedness and strife why are not
these birds drooping in solitude, or tearing each
other in pieces, instead of fluttering cheerfully
about the groves, or sporting with each other
among the flowers?”
He lay one morning on his couch meditating
on this inexplicable matter. The window of
his chamber was open to admit the soft morning
breeze which came laden with the perfume of
orange blossoms from the valley of the Darro.
The voice of the nightingale was faintly heard,
still chanting the wonted theme. As the prince
was listening and sighing, there was a sudden
by a hawk, darted in at the window and
fell panting on the floor; while the pursuer, balked
of his prey, soared off to the mountains.
The prince took up the gasping bird, smoothed
its feathers, and nestled it in his bosom. When
he had soothed it by his caresses he put it in a
golden cage, and offered it, with his own hands,
the whitest and finest of wheat and the purest of
water. The bird, however, refused food, and
sat drooping, and pining, and uttering piteous
moans.
“What aileth thee?” said Ahmed. “Hast thou
not every thing thy heart can wish?”
“Alas, no!” replied the dove, “am I not separated
from the partner of my heart—and that
too in the happy spring-time—the very season of
love?”
“Of love!” echoed Ahmed. “I pray thee, my
pretty bird, canst thou then tell me what is
love?”
“Too well can I, my prince. It is the torment
of one, the felicity of two, the strife and enmity
of three. It is a charm which draws two beings
together, and unites them by delicious sympathies,
making it happiness to be with each other,
whom you are drawn by these ties of tender affection?”
“I like my old teacher, Ebon Bonabbon, better
than any other being; but he is often tedious,
and I occasionally feel myself happier without
his society.”
“That is not the sympathy I mean. I speak
of love, the great mystery and principle of life;
the intoxicating revel of youth; the sober delight
of age. Look forth, my prince, and behold
how at this blest season all nature is full of love.
Every created being has its mate; the most insignificant
bird sings to its paramour; the very
beetle woos its lady beetle in the dust, and yon
butterflies which you see fluttering high above
the tower and toying in the air are happy in each
other's loves. Alas, my prince! hast thou spent
so many of the precious days of youth without
knowing any thing of love! Is there no gentle
being of another sex; no beautiful princess, or
lovely damsel who has ensnared your heart, and
filled your bosom with a soft tumult of pleasing
pains and tender wishes?”
“I begin to understand!” said the prince sighing.
“Such a tumult I have more than once experienced
should I seek for an object such as you describe
in this dismal solitude?”
A little further conversation ensued, and the
first amatory lesson of the prince was complete.
“Alas!” said he, “if love be indeed such a
delight, and its interruption such a misery, Allah
forbid that I should mar the joy of any of its votaries.
He opened the cage, took out the dove,
and, having fondly kissed it, carried it to the window.
“Go, happy bird,” said he, “rejoice with
the partner of thy heart in the days of youth and
spring-time. Why should I make thee a fellow
prisoner in this dreary tower, where love can never
enter?”
The dove flapped its wings in rapture, gave
one vault into the air, and then swooped downward
on whistling wings to the blooming bowers of
the Darro.
The prince followed him with his eyes, and
then gave way to bitter repining. The singing
of the birds which once delighted him now added
to his bitterness. Love! love! love! Alas, poor
youth, he now understood the strain.
His eyes flashed fire when next he beheld the
sage Bonabbon. “Why hast thou kept me in this
mystery and principle of life been withheld from
me, in which I find the meanest insect is so learned?
Behold all nature is in a revel of delight.
Every created being rejoices with its mate. This
—this is the love about which I have sought instruction;
why am I alone debarred its enjoyment?
why has so much of my youth been wasted
without a knowledge of its raptures?”
The sage Bonabbon saw that all further reserve
was useless, for the prince had acquired
the dangerous and forbidden knowledge. He
revealed to him, therefore, the predictions of the
astrologers, and the precautions that had been taken
in his education to avert the threatened
evils. “And now, my prince,” added he, “my
life is in your hands. Let the king your father
discover that you have learned the passion of love
while under my guardianship, and my head must
answer for it.”
The prince was as reasonable as most young
men of his age, and easily listened to the remonstrances
of his tutor, since nothing pleaded
against them. Beside, he really was attached
to the sage Bonabbon, and being as yet but theoretically
acquainted with the passion of love, he
own bosom, rather than endanger the head of the
philosopher. His discretion was doomed, however,
to be put to still further proofs. A few
mornings afterwards, as he was ruminating on
the battlements of the tower, the dove which had
been released by him came hovering in the air,
and alighted fearlessly upon his shoulder.
The prince fondled it to his breast. “Happy
bird,” said he, “who can fly, as it were, with the
wings of the morning to the uttermost parts of
the earth. Where hast thou been since we
parted?”
“In a far country, my prince; from whence I
bring you tidings in reward for my liberty. In
the wide compass of my flight, which extends
over plain and mountain, as I was soaring in the
air, I beheld below me a delightful garden with
all kinds of fruits and flowers. It was in a green
meadow on the banks of a meandering stream, and
in the centre of the garden was a stately palace. I
alighted in one of the bowers to repose after my
weary flight: on the green bank below me was a
youthful princess in the very sweetness and bloom
of her years. She was surrounded by female attendants,
young like herself, who decked her with
of field or garden could compare with her for
loveliness. Here, however, she bloomed in secret,
for the garden was surrounded by high
walls, and no mortal man was permitted to enter.
When I beheld this beauteous maid thus young,
and innocent, and unspotted by the world, I
thought, here is the being formed by heaven to
inspire my prince with love.”
The description was as a spark of fire to the
combustible heart of Ahmed; all the latent amorousness
of his temperament had at once found
an object, and he conceived an immeasurable passion
for the princess. He wrote a letter couched
in the most impassioned language, breathing his
fervent devotion, but the unhappy thraldom of his
person, which prevented him from seeking her
out, and throwing himself at her feet. He added
couplets of the most tender and moving eloquence,
for he was a poet by nature and inspired by love.
He addressed his letter, “To the unknown
beauty, from the captive prince Ahmed,” then
perfuming it with musk and roses, he gave it to
the dove.
“A way, trustiest of messengers,” said he. “Fly
over mountain, and valley, and river, and plain;
hast given this letter to the mistress of my
heart.”
The dove soared high in air, and taking his
course darted away in one undeviating direction.
The prince followed him with his eye until he
was a mere speck on a cloud, and gradually disappeared
behind a mountain.
Day after day he watched for the return of the
messenger of love; but he watched in vain. He
began to accuse him of forgetfulness, when towards
sunset, one evening, the faithful bird fluttered
into his apartment, and, falling at his feet,
expired. The arrow of some wanton archer had
pierced his breast, yet he had struggled with the
lingerings of life to execute his mission. As the
prince bent with grief over this gentle martyr to
fidelity, he beheld a chain of pearls round his
neck, attached to which, beneath his wing, was a
small enamelled picture. It represented a lovely
princess in the very flower of her years. It was,
doubtless, the unknown beauty of the garden:
but who and where was she—how had she received
his letter—and was this picture sent as a
token of an approval of his passion? Unfortunately,
the death of the faithful dove left every
thing in mystery and doubt.
The prince gazed on the picture till his eyes
swam with tears. He pressed it to his lips and
to his heart; he sat for hours contemplating it
in an almost agony of tenderness. “Beautiful
image!” said he. “Alas, thou art but an image.
Yet thy dewy eyes beam tenderly upon me;
those rosy lips look as though they would speak
encouragement. Vain fancies! Have they not
looked the same on some more happy rival? But
where in this wide world shall I hope to find the
original? Who knows what mountains, what
realms may separate us? What adverse chances
may intervene? Perhaps now, even now, lovers
may be crowding around her, while I sit here, a
prisoner in a tower, wasting my time in adoration
of a painted shadow.”
The resolution of prince Ahmed was taken.
“I will fly from this palace,” said he, “which
has become an odious prison, and, a pilgrim of
love, will seek this unknown princess throughout
the world.”
To escape from the tower in the day, when
every one was awake, might be a difficult matter;
but at night the palace was slightly guarded, for
no one apprehended any attempt of the kind
from the prince, who had always been so passive
however, in his darkling flight, being ignorant of
the country. He bethought him of the owl, who
was accustomed to roam at night, and must know
every by-lane and secret pass. Seeking him in
his hermitage, he questioned him touching his
knowledge of the land. Upon this the owl put
on a mighty self-important look.
“You must know, O prince,” said he, “that
we owls are of a very ancient and extensive family,
though rather fallen to decay, and possess
ruinous castles and palaces in all parts of Spain.
There is scarcely a tower of the mountains, or
fortress of the plains, or an old citadel of a city
but has some brother, or uncle, or cousin quartered
in it; and in going the rounds to visit these my
numerous kindred I have pryed into every nook
and corner, and made myself acquainted with
every secret of the land.”
The prince was overjoyed to find the owl so
deeply versed in topography, and now informed
him, in confidence, of his tender passion and his
intended elopement, urging him to be his companion
and counsellor.
“Go to!” said the owl, with a look of displeasure.
“Am I a bird to engage in a love affair; I
the moon!”
“Be not offended, most solemn owl!” replied
the prince. “Abstract thyself for a time from
meditation and the moon, and aid me in my flight,
and thou shalt have whatever heart can wish.”
“I have that already,” said the owl. “A few
mice are sufficient for my frugal table, and this
hole in the wall is spacious enough for my studies,
and what more does a philosopher like myself desire?”
“Bethink thee, most wise owl, that while
moping in thy cell and gazing at the moon all thy
talents arel ost to the world. I shall one day be a
sovereign prince, and may advance thee to some
post of honour and dignity.”
The owl, though a philosopher and above the
ordinary wants of life, was not above ambition,
so he was finally prevailed upon to elope with
the prince, and be his guide and Mentor in his
pilgrimage.
The plans of a lover are promptly executed.
The prince collected all his jewels and concealed
them about his person as travelling funds. That
very night he lowered himself by his scarf from
a balcony of the tower, clambered over the outer
made good his escape before morning to the mountains.
He now held a council with his Mentor as to
his future course.
“Might I advise,” said the owl, “I would recommend
you to repair to Seville. You must
know that many years since I was on a visit to
an uncle, an owl of great dignity and power, who
lived in a ruined wing of the Alcazar of that place.
In my hoverings at night over the city I frequently
remarked a light burning in a lonely tower.
At length I alighted on the battlements, and found
it to proceed from the lamp of an Arabian magician.
He was surrounded by his magic books,
and on his shoulder was perched his familiar, an
ancient raven, who had come with him from
Egypt. I became acquainted with that raven,
and owe to him a great part of the knowledge I
possess. The magician is since dead, but the raven
still inhabits the tower, for these birds are of
wonderful long life. I would advise you, O
prince, to seek that raven, for he is a soothsayer
and a conjurer, and deals in the black art, for
which all ravens, and especially those of Egypt,
are renowned.”
The prince was struck with the wisdom of this
Seville. He travelled only in the night, to accommodate
his companion, and lay by during the day
in some dark cavern or mouldering watch-tower,
for the owl knew every hiding hole of the kind
in the country, and had a most antiquarian taste
for ruins.
At length, one morning at day-break they
reached the city of Seville, where the owl, who
hated the glare and bustle of crowded streets,
halted without the gate, and took up his quarters
in a hollow tree.
The prince entered the gate and readily found
the magic tower, which rose above the houses of
the city as a palm tree rises above the shrubs of
the desert. It was, in fact, the same tower known
at the present day as the Giralda, the famous
Moorish tower of Seville.
The prince ascended by a great winding staircase
to the summit of the tower, where he found
the cabalistic raven, an old, mysterious, grey-headed
bird, ragged in feather, with a film over
one eye that gave him the glare of a spectre. He
was perched on one leg, with his head turned on
one side, and poring with his remaining eye on a
diagram described on the pavement.
The prince approached him with the awe and
and supernatural wisdom. “Pardon me,
most ancient and darkly wise raven,” exclaimed
he, “if for a moment I interrupt those studies
which are the wonder of the world. You behold
before you a votary of love, who would
fain seek council how to obtain the object of his
passion.”
“In other words,” said the raven with a significant
look, “you seek to try my skill in palmistry.
Come, show me your hand, and let me decipher
the mysterious lines of fortune.”
“Excuse me,” said the prince, “I come not
to pry into the decrees of fate, which are hidden
by Allah from the eyes of mortals. I am a pilgrim
of love, and seek but to find a clue to the object
of my pilgrimage.”
“And can you be at any loss for an object in
amorous Andalusia,” said the old raven, leering
upon him with his single eye. “Above all, can
you be at a loss in wanton Seville, where black-eyed
damsels dance the zambra under every
orange grove?”
The prince blushed and was somewhat shocked
at hearing an old bird, with one foot in the
grave, talk thus loosely. “Believe me,” said he
errand as thou dost insinuate. The black-eyed
damsels of Andalusia who dance among the
orange groves of the Guadalquiver, are as naught
to me. I seek one unknown but immaculate beauty,
the original of this picture, and I beseech
thee, most potent raven, if it be within the scope
of thy knowledge, or the reach of thy art, inform
me where she may be found.”
The gray-headed raven was rebuked by the
gravity of the prince. “What know I,” replied
he dryly, “of youth and beauty? My visits are
to the old and withered, not the young and fair.
The harbinger of fate am I, who croak bodings of
death from the chimney top, and flap my wings
at the sick man's window. You must seek elsewhere
for tidings of your unknown beauty.”
“And where am I to seek, if not among the
sons of wisdom, versed in the book of destiny. A
royal prince am I, fated by the stars and sent on a
mysterious enterprise, on which may hang the
destiny of empires.”
When the raven heard that it was a matter of
vast moment, in which the stars took interest,
he changed his tone and manner, and listened
with profound attention to the story of the prince.
this princess, I can give thee no information of
myself, for my flight is not among gardens or
around ladies' bowers; but hie thee to Cordova,
seek the palm-tree of the great Abderahman,
which stands in the court of the principal mosque,
at the foot of it you will find a great traveller,
who has visited all countries and courts, and been
a favourite with queens and princesses. He will
give you tidings of the object of your search.”
“Many thanks for this precious information,”
said the prince. “Farewell, most venerable conjurer.”
“Farewell, pilgrim of love,” said the raven
dryly, and again fell to pondering on the diagram.
The prince sallied forth from Seville, sought
his fellow traveller the owl, who was still dozing
in the hollow tree, and set off for Cordova.
He approached it along hanging gardens, and
orange and citron groves overlooking the fair valley
of the Guadalquiver. When arrived at its
gates the owl flew up to a dark hole in the wall,
and the prince proceeded in quest of the palm-tree
planted in days of yore by the great
Abderahman. It stood in the midst of the great
orange and cypress trees. Dervises and Faquirs
were seated in groups under the cloisters of the
court, and many of the faithful were performing
their ablutions at the fountains, before entering
the Mosque.
At the foot of the palm-tree was a crowd listening
to the words of one who appeared to be talking
with great volubility. This, said the prince
to himself, must be the great traveller who is to
give me tidings of the unknown princess. He
mingled in the crowd, but was astonished to perceive
that they were all listening to a parrot, who,
with his bright green coat, pragmatical eye, and
consequential topknot, had the air of a bird on
excellent terms with himself.
“How is this,” said the prince to one of the by-standers,
“that so many grave persons can be delighted
with the garrulity of a chattering bird?”
“You know not of whom you speak,” said the
other; “this parrot is a descendant of the famous
parrot of Persia, renowned for his story-telling
talent. He has all the learning of the East at the
tip of his tongue, and can quote poetry as fast as
he can talk. He has visited foreign courts,
where he has been considered an oracle of erudition.
the fair sex, who have a vast admiration for erudite
parrots that can quote poetry.”
“Enough,” said the prince, “I will have
some private talk with this distinguished traveller.”
He sought a private interview, and expounded
the nature of his errand. He had scarcely mentioned
it when the parrot burst into a fit of dry
rickety laughter, that absolutely brought tears in
his eyes. “Excuse my mirth,” said he, “but
the mere mention of love always sets me laughing.”
The prince was shocked at this ill-timed merriment.
“Is not love,” said he, “the great mystery
of nature,—the secret principle of life,—the
universal bond of sympathy?”
“A fig's end!” cried the parrot, interrupting
him. “Pry'thee where hast thou learnt this sentimental
jargon? Trust me, love is quite out of
vogue; one never hears of it in the company of
wits and people of refinement.”
The prince sighed as he recalled the different
language of his friend the dove. But this parrot,
thought he, has lived about court, he affects the
wit and the fine gentleman; he knows nothing of
the thing called love.
Unwilling to provoke any more ridicule of the
sentiment which filled his heart, he now directed
his inquiries to the immediate purport of his
visit.
“Tell me,” said he, “most accomplished parrot,
thou who hast every where been admitted to
the most secret bowers of beauty, hast thou in
the course of thy travels met with the original of
this portrait?”
The parrot took the picture in his claw, turned
his head from side to side, and examined it
curiously with either eye. “Upon my honour,”
said he, “a very pretty face; very pretty. But
then one sees so many pretty women in one's
travels that one can hardly—but hold—bless me!
now I look at it again—sure enough, this is the
princess Aldegonda: how could I forget one that
is so prodigious a favourite with me?”
“The princess Aldegonda!” echoed the prince,
“and where is she to be found?”
“Softly—softly,” said the parrot, “easier to be
found than gained. She is the only daughter of
the Christian king who reigns at Toledo, and is
shut up from the world until her seventeenth
birth-day, on account of some prediction of those
meddlesome fellows the astrologers. You'll not
get a sight of her, no mortal man can see her.
and I assure you, on the word of a parrot who
has seen the world, I have conversed with much
sillier princesses in my time.”
“A word in confidence, my dear parrot,” said
the prince. “I am heir to a kingdom, and shall
one day sit upon a throne. I see that you are a
bird of parts, and understand the world. Help
me to gain possession of this princess and I will
advance you to some distinguished post about
court.”
“With all my heart,” said the parrot; “but
let it be a sinecure if possible, for we wits have a
great dislike to labour.”
Arrangements were promptly made; the prince
sallied forth from Cordova through the same gate
by which he had entered; called the owl down
from the hole in the wall, introduced him to his
new travelling companion as a brother sçavant,
and away they set off on their journey.
They travelled much more slowly than accorded
with the impatience of the prince, but the
parrot was accustomed to high life, and did not
like to be disturbed early in the morning. The
owl, on the other hand, was for sleeping at mid-day,
and lost a great deal of time by his long
way; for he insisted on pausing and inspecting
every ruin, and had long legendary tales to tell
about every old tower and castle in the country.
The prince had supposed that he and the parrot,
being both birds of learning, could delight in
each other's society, but never had he been more
mistaken. They were eternally bickering. The
one was a wit, the other a philosopher. The parrot
quoted poetry, was critical on new readings,
and eloquent on small points of erudition; the
owl treated all such knowledge as trifling, and
relished nothing but metaphysics. Then the
parrot would sing songs and repeat bon mots, and
crack jokes upon his solemn neighbour, and laugh
outrageously at his own wit; all which the owl
considered a grievous invasion of his dignity, and
would scowl, and sulk, and swell, and sit silent
for a whole day together.
The prince heeded not the wranglings of his
companions, being wrapped up in the dreams of
his own fancy, and the contemplation of the portrait
of the beautiful princess. In this way they
journeyed through the stern passes of the Sierra
Morena, across the sunburnt plains of La Mancha
and Castile, and along the banks of the “Golden
half of Spain and Portugal. At length, they
came in sight of a strong city with walls and
towers, built on a rocky promontory, round the
foot of which the Tagus circled with brawling
violence.
“Behold,” exclaimed the owl, “the ancient
and renowned city of Toledo; a city famous for
its antiquities. Behold those venerable domes
and towers, hoary with time, and clothed with
legendary grandeur; in which so many of my
ancestors have meditated —”
“Pish,” cried the parrot, interrupting his solemn
antiquarian rapture, “what have we to do
with antiquities, and legends, and your ancestors?
Behold, what is more to the purpose, behold the
abode of youth and beauty,—behold, at length, oh
prince, the abode of your long sought princess.”
The prince looked in the direction indicated
by the parrot, and beheld, in a delightful green
meadow on the banks of the Tagus, a stately palace
rising from amidst the bowers of a delicious
garden. It was just such a place as had been
described by the dove as the residence of the original
of the picture. He gazed at it with a
throbbing heart: “Perhaps at this moment,”
those shady bowers, or pacing with delicate
step those stately terraces, or reposing beneath
those lofty roofs!” As he looked more narrowly,
he perceived that the walls of the garden were
of great height, so as to defy access, while numbers
of armed guards patrolled around them.
The prince turned to the parrot. “Oh most
accomplished of birds,” said he, “thou hast the
gift of human speech. Hie thee to yon garden;
seek the idol of my soul, and tell her that prince
Ahmed, a pilgrim of love, and guided by the
stars, has arrived in quest of her on the flowery
banks of the Tagus.”
The parrot, proud of his embassy, flew away
to the garden, mounted above its lofty walls, and,
after soaring for a time over the lawns and groves,
alighted on the balcony of a pavilion that over-hung
the river. Here, looking in at the casement,
he beheld the princess reclining on a couch, with
her eyes fixed on a paper, while tears gently stole
after each other down her pallid cheek.
Pluming his wings for a moment, adjusting his
bright green coat, and elevating his topknot, the
parrot perched himself beside her with a gallant
air; then assuming a tenderness of tone,—
“Dry thy tears, most beautiful of princesses,”
said he, “I come to bring solace to thy heart.”
The princess was startled on hearing a voice,
but turning and seeing nothing but a little green-coated
bird bobbing and bowing before her:—
“Alas! what solace canst thou yield,” said she,
“seeing thou art but a parrot!”
The parrot was nettled at the question. “I have
consoled many beautiful ladies in my time,” said
he; “but let that pass. At present, I come ambassador
from a royal prince. Know that Ahmed,
the prince of Granada, has arrived in quest of
thee, and is encamped even now on the flowery
banks of the Tagus.”
The eyes of the beautiful princess sparkled at
these words, even brighter than the diamonds in
her coronet. “O sweetest of parrots,” cried she,
“joyful indeed are thy tidings; for I was faint,
and weary, and sick almost unto death, with
doubt of the constancy of Ahmed. Hie thee
back, and tell him that the words of his letter are
engraven in my heart, and his poetry has been
the food of my soul. Tell him, however, that
he must prepare to prove his love by force of
arms; to-morrow is my seventeenth birth-day,
when the king, my father, holds a great tournament;
my hand is to be the prize of the victor.”
The parrot again took wing, and, rustling
through the groves, flew back to where the
prince awaited his return. The rapture of
Ahmed on finding the original of his adored
portrait, and finding her kind and true, can only
be conceived by those favoured mortals, who
have had the good fortune to realize day dreams,
and turn shadows into substance. Still there
was one thing that alloyed his transport,—this
impending tournament. In fact, the banks of the
Tagus were already glittering with arms, and resounding
with trumpets of the various knights,
who with proud retinues were prancing on
towards Toledo, to attend the ceremonial. The
same star that had controlled the destiny of the
prince, had governed that of the princess, and until
her seventeenth birth-day, she had been shut
up from the world, to guard her from the tender
passion. The fame of her charms, however, had
been enhanced, rather than obscured by this seclusion.
Several powerful princes had contended
for her alliance, and her father, who was a king
of wondrous shrewdness, to avoid making enemies
by showing partiality, had referred them to
were several renowned for strength and
prowess. What a predicament for the unfortunate
Ahmed, unprovided as he was with weapons,
and unskilled in the exercises of chivalry.
“Luckless prince that I am!” said he, “to have
been brought up in seclusion, under the eye of a
philosopher! of what avail are algebra and philosophy
in affairs of love! alas, Ebon Bonabbon,
why hast thou neglected to instruct me in the
management of arms?” Upon this the owl broke
silence, prefacing his harangue with a pious
ejaculation, for he was a devout Mussulman:
“Allah Achbar! `God is great,”' exclaimed
he; “in his hands are all secret things, he alone
governs the destiny of princes! Know, O prince,
that this land is full of mysteries, hidden from all
but those who, like myself, can grope after knowledge
in the dark. Know that in the neighbouring
mountains there is a cave, and in that cave
there is an iron table, and on that table lies a suit
of magic armour, and beside that table stands a
spell-bound steed, which have been shut up there
for many generations.”
The prince stared with wonder, while the owl
blinking his huge round eyes and erecting his
horns proceeded:
“Many years since, I accompanied my father
to these parts on a tour of his estates, and we sojourned
in that cave, and thus became I acquainted
with the mystery. It is a tradition in our
family, which I have heard from my grandfather
when I was yet but a very little owlet, that this
armour belonged to a Moorish magician, who
took refuge in this cavern when Toledo was captured
by the Christians, and died here, leaving
his steed and weapons under a mystic spell, never
to be used but by a Moslem, and by him only
from sunrise to mid-day. In that interval, whoever
uses them, will overthrow every opponent.”
“Enough, let us seek this cave,” exclaimed
Ahmed.
Guided by his legendary Mentor, the prince
found the cavern, which was in one of the wildest
recesses of those rocky cliffs which rose
around Toledo: none but the mousing eye of an
owl or an antiquary could have discovered the
entrance to it. A sepulchral lamp of everlasting
oil, shed a solemn light through the place. On an
iron table in the centre of the cavern lay the magic
armour, against it leaned the lance, and beside
it stood an Arabian steed, caparisoned for the
field, but motionless as a statue. The armour was
bright and unsullied, as it had gleamed in days of
the pasture, and when Ahmed laid his hand upon
his neck, he pawed the ground and gave a loud
neigh of joy that shook the walls of the cavern.
Thus provided with horse to ride and weapon to
wear, the prince determined to defy the field at
the impending tourney.
The eventful morning arrived. The lists for
the combat were prepared in the Vega or plain
just below the cliff-built walls of Toledo.
Here were erected stages and galleries for
the spectators, covered with rich tapestry and
sheltered from the sun by silken awnings. All
the beauties of the land were assembled in those
galleries, while below pranced plumed knights
with their pages and esquires, among whom figured
conspicuously the princes who were to contend
in the tournev. All the beauties of the land,
however, were eclipsed, when the princess Aldegonda
appeared in the royal pavilion, and for the
first time broke forth upon the gaze of an admiring
world. A murmur of wonder ran through
the crowd at her transcendant loveliness: and the
princes who were candidates for her hand merely
on the faith of her reported charms, now felt ten-fold
ardour for the conflict.
The princess, however, had a troubled look.
The colour came and went from her cheek, and
her eye wandered with a restless and unsatisfied
expression over the plumed throng of knights.
The trumpets were about sounding for the encounter
when a herald announced the arrival of a
stranger knight, and Ahmed rode into the field.
A steeled helmet studded with gems rose above
his turban; his cuirass was embossed with gold;
his scimetar and dagger were of the workmanship
of Fay, and flamed with precious stones. A
round shield was at his shoulder, and in his hand
he bore the lance of charmed virtue. The caparison
of his Arabian was richly embroidered, and
swept the ground; and the proud animal pranced
and snuffed the air, and neighed with joy at once
more beholding the array of arms. The lofty and
graceful demeanor of the prince struck every eye,
and when his appellation was announced, “The
pilgrim of love,” a universal flutter and agitation
prevailed among the fair dames in the galleries.
When Ahmed presented himself at the lists,
however, they were closed against him; none but
princes, he was told, were admitted to the contest.
He declared his name and rank. Still worse,
he was a Moslem, and could not engage in a tourney
the prize.
The rival princes surrounded him with haughty
and menacing aspects, and one of insolent demeanor
and Herculean frame sneered at his light
and youthful form, and scoffed at his amorous appellation.
The ire of the prince was roused; he
defied his rival to the encounter. They took distance,
wheeled, and charged; at the first touch
of the magic lance the brawny scoffer was tilted
from his saddle. Here the prince would have
paused, but alas! he had to deal with a demoniac
horse and armour: once in action, nothing could
control them. The Arabian steed charged into
the thickest of the throng: the lance overturned
every thing that presented; the gentle prince
was carried pell-mell about the field, strewing it
with high and low, gentle and simple, and grieving
at his own involuntary exploits. The king
stormed and raged at this outrage on his subjects
and his guests. He ordered out all his guards—
they were unhorsed as fast as they came up. The
king threw off his robes, grasped buckler and
lance, and rode forth to awe the stranger with the
presence of majesty itself. Alas, majesty fared no
better than the vulgar; the steed and lance were
he was borne full tilt against the king, and
in a moment the royal heels were in the air, and
the crown was rolling in the dust.
At this moment the sun reached the meridian;
the magic spell resumed its power. The Arabian
steed scoured across the plain, leaped the
barrier, plunged into the Tagus, swam its raging
current, bore the prince, breathless and amazed,
to the cavern, and resumed his station like a
statue beside the iron table. The prince dismounted
right gladly, and replaced the armour,
to abide the further decrees of fate. Then seating
himself in the cavern, he ruminated on the desperate
state to which this bedeviled steed and
armour had reduced him. Never should he dare
to show his face at Toledo, after inflicting such
disgrace upon its chivalry, and such an outrage
on its king. What too would the princess think
of so rude and riotous an achievement. Full of
anxiety, he sent forth his winged messengers to
gather tidings. The parrot resorted to all the
public places and crowded resorts of the city,
and soon returned with a world of gossip. All
Toledo was in consternation. The princess had
been borne off senesless to the palace; the tournament
talking of the sudden apparition, prodigious exploits
and strange disappearance of the Moslem
knight. Some pronounced him a Moorish magician;
others thought him a demon who had assumed
a human shape; while others related traditions
of enchanted warriors hidden in the caves
of the mountains, and thought it might be one of
these, who had made a sudden irruption from his
den. All agreed that no mere ordinary mortal
could have wrought such wonders, or unhorsed
such accomplished and stalwart Christian warriors.
The owl flew forth at night, and hovered about
the dusky city, perching on the roofs and chimneys.
He then wheeled his flight up to the royal
palace, which stood on the rocky summit of Toledo,
and went prowling about its terraces and battlements,
eaves-dropping at every cranny, and
glaring in with his big goggling eyes at every
window where there was a light, so as to throw
two or three maids of honour into fits. It was
not until the grey dawn began to peer above the
mountains that he returned from his mousing expedition,
and related to the prince what he had
seen.
“As I was prying about one of the loftiest
towers of the palace,” said he, “I beheld through
a casement a beautiful princess. She was reclining
on a couch, with attendants and physicians
around her, but she would none of their ministry
and relief. When they retired, I beheld her
draw forth a letter from her bosom, and read,
and kiss it, and give way to loud lamentations;
at which, philosopher as I am, I could not but be
greatly moved.”
The tender heart of Ahmed was distressed at
these tidings. “Too true were thy words, oh
sage Ebon Bonabbon!” cried he. “Care and
sorrow, and sleepless nights are the lot of lovers.
Allah preserve the princess from the blighting influence
of this thing called love.”
Further intelligence from Toledo corroborated
the report of the owl. The city was a prey to
uneasiness and alarm. The princess was conveyed
to the highest tower of the palace, every avenue
to which was strongly guarded. In the mean
time, a devouring melancholy had seized upon
her, of which no one could divine the cause. She
refused food, and turned a deaf ear to every consolation.
The most skilful physicians had essayed
their art in vain; it was thought some magic
made proclamation, declaring that whoever should
effect her cure, should receive the richest jewel
in the royal treasury.
When the owl, who was dozing in a corner,
heard of this proclamation, he rolled his
large eyes and looked more mysterious than
ever.
“Allah Achbar!” exclaimed he. “Happy
the man that shall effect that cure, should
he but know what to choose from the royal treasury.”
“What mean you, most reverend owl?” said
Ahmed.
“Hearken, O prince, to what I shall relate.
We owls, you must know, are a learned body,
and much given to dark and dusty research.
During my late prowling at night about the
domes and turrets of Toledo, I discovered a college
of antiquarian owls, who hold their meetings
in a great vaulted tower where the royal treasury
is deposited. Here they were discussing the
forms and inscriptions, and designs of ancient
gems and jewels, and of golden and silver vessels,
heaped up in the treasury, the fashion of every
about certain reliques and talismans, that have
remained in the treasury since the time of Roderick
the Goth. Among these, was a box of
shittim wood, secured by bands of steel of oriental
workmanship, and inscribed with mystic
characters known only to the learned few. This
box and its inscription had occupied the college
for several sessions, and had caused much long
and grave dispute. At the time of my visit, a
very ancient owl, who had recently arrived from
Egypt, was seated on the lid of the box lecturing
upon the inscription, and proved from it, that
the coffer contained the silken carpet of the
throne of Solomon the wise: which doubtless
had been brought to Toledo by the Jews, who
took refuge there after the downfall of Jerusalem.”
When the owl had concluded his antiquarian
harangue, the prince remained for a time absorbed
in thought. “I have heard,” said he, “from the
sage Ebon Bonabbon, of the wonderful properties
of that talisman, which disappeared at the
fall of Jerusalem, and was supposed to be lost to
mankind. Doubtless it remains a sealed mystery
possession of that carpet, my fortune is secure.”
The next day the prince laid aside his rich attire,
and arrayed himself in the simple garb of
an Arab of the desert. He dyed his complexion
to a tawny hue, and no one could have recognized
in him the splendid warrior who had caused
such admiration and dismay at the tournament.
With staff in hand and scrip by his side, and a
small pastoral reed, he repaired to Toledo, and
presenting himself at the gate of the royal palace,
announced himself as a candidate for the reward
offered for the cure of the princess. The guards
would have driven him away with blows: “What
can a vagrant Arab like thyself pretend to do,”
said they, “in a case where the most learned of
the land have failed?” The king, however, over-heard
the tumult, and ordered the Arab to be
brought into his presence.
“Most potent king,” said Ahmed, “you behold
before you a Bedouin Arab, the greater part
of whose life has been passed in the solitudes of
the desert. Those solitudes, it is well known,
are the haunts of demons and evil spirits, who beset
us poor shepherds in our lonely watchings,
sometimes render even the patient camel furious.
Against these, our countercharm is music; and
we have legendary airs handed down from generation
to generation, that we chant and pipe to
cast forth these evil spirits. I am of a gifted line,
and possess this power in its fullest force. If it
be any evil influence of the kind that holds a
spell over thy daughter, I pledge my head to free
her from its sway.”
The king, who was a man of understanding,
and knew the wonderful secrets possessed by the
Arabs, was inspired with hope by the confident
language of the prince. He conducted him immediately
to the lofty tower secured by several
doors, in the summit of which was the chamber
of the princess. The windows opened upon a
terrace with balustrades, commanding a view
over Toledo and all the surrounding country.
The windows were darkened, for the princess
lay within, a prey to a devouring grief that refused
all alleviation.
The prince seated himself on the terrace, and
performed several wild Arabian airs on his pastoral
pipe, which he had learnt from his attendants
in the Generalife at Grenada. The princess
present, shook their heads, and smiled with incredibility
and contempt. At length the prince
laid aside the reed, and, to a simple melody,
chanted the amatory verses of the letter which
had declared his passion.
The princess recognized the strain. A fluttering
joy stole to her heart; she raised her head
and listened; tears rushed to her eyes and streamed
down her cheeks; her bosom rose and fell
with a tumult of emotions. She would have asked
for the minstrel to be brought into her presence,
but maiden coyness held her silent. The
king read her wishes, and at his command Ahmed
was conducted into the chamber. The lovers
were discreet: they but exchanged glances,
yet those glances spoke volumes. Never was
triumph of music more complete. The rose had
returned to the soft cheek of the princess, the
freshness to her lip, and the dewy light to her
languishing eye.
All the physicians present stared at each other
with astonishment. The king regarded the Arab
minstrel with admiration, mixt with awe. “Wonderful
youth,” exclaimed he, “thou shalt henceforth
be the first physician of my court, and no
For the present, receive thy reward, the most
precious jewel in my treasury.”
“O king,” replied Ahmed, “I care not for silver,
or gold, or precious stones. One relique
hast thou in thy treasury, handed down from the
Moslems who once owned Toledo. A box of
sandal wood containing a silken carpet. Give me
that box, and I am content.”
All present were surprised at the moderation
of the Arab; and still more, when the box of sandal
wood was brought and the carpet drawn forth.
It was of fine green silk, covered with Hebrew
and Chaldaic characters. The court physicians
looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders,
and smiled at the simplicity of this new practitioner,
who could be content with so paltry a
fee.
“This carpet,” said the prince, “once covered
the throne of Solomon the wise; it is worthy of
being placed beneath the feet of beauty.”
So saying, he spread it on the terrace beneath
an ottoman that had been brought forth
for the princess; then seating himself at her
feet,—
“Who,” said he, “shall counteract what is
of the astrologers verified. Know, oh king,
that your daughter and I have long loved each
other in secret. Behold in me the pilgrim of
love.”
These words were scarcely from his lips, when
the carpet rose in the air, bearing off the prince
and princess. The king and the physicians
gazed after it with open mouths and straining
eyes, until it became a little speck on the white
bosom of a cloud, and then disappeared in the
blue vault of heaven.
The king in a rage summoned his treasurer.
“How is this,” said he, “that thou hast
suffered an infidel to get possession of such a talisman?”
“Alas! sire, we knew not its nature, nor could
we decipher the inscription of the box. If it be
indeed the carpet of the throne of the wise Solomon,
it is possessed of magic power, and can
transport its owner from place to place through
the air.”
The king assembled a mighty army, and set
off for Granada in pursuit of the fugitives. His
march was long and toilsome. Encamping
of his daughter. The king himself
came forth with all his court to meet him. In
the king, he beheld the Arab minstrel, for Ahmed
had succeeded to the throne on the death
of his father, and the beautiful Aldegonda was his
Sultana.
The Christian king was easily pacified, when
he found that his daughter was suffered to continue
in her faith: not that he was particularly
pious; but religion is always a point of pride
and etiquette with princes. Instead of bloody
battles, there was a succession of feasts and
rejoicings; after which, the king returned well
pleased to Toledo, and the youthful couple continued
to reign as happily as wisely, in the Alhambra.
It is proper to add, that the owl and the parrot
had severally followed the prince by easy
stages to Granada: the former travelling by
night, and stopping at the various hereditary
possessions of his family; the latter figuring in
the gay circles of every town and city on his
route.
Ahmed gratefully requited the services which
appointed the owl his prime minister; the parrot
his master of ceremonies. It is needless
to say, that never was a realm more sagely administered,
or a court conducted with more exact
punctilio.
| LEGEND OF PRINCE AHMED AL KAMEL, OR THE
PILGRIM OF LOVE. The Alhambra | |