There was once a princess who had a black man slave.
“Princess,” said the black slave one day, “I know that you love the good
Count of Yanno very much; but you cannot marry him, for he is already
married. Why not, then, marry me?”
“I love, as you say, the Count of Yanno, and I know that he is married;
but my father is a very powerful king, and he can render his marriage
void. As for you,” continued the princess, “I would rather marry the
lowest born man of my own race than a nigger!”
“Remember, princess, for how many years I have been your true slave—how
I used to look after you when you were a child. Did I not once save you
from the fangs of a wolf?”
“You need not tell me,” answered the princess, “that you love me as
slaves love their superiors; but should you ever speak again about
marrying me, I will tell my royal father.”
“If you mention the love that slaves generally have to their owners, I
will not contradict you; but I think that sometimes masters are more
unworthy the love of their slaves than the slaves are entitled to the
love of their masters,” said the slave.
“You belong to us by purchase or by inheritance,” continued the
princess, “and we do not belong to you. The white man gains the love of
the lady of his choice by deeds of arms; he bears on his lance the
banner embroidered by his lady-love, and, as a true knight, he makes
verses in her honour.”
“Chivalry, as you understand it, is to me a fable; for if one of your
pale-faced knights risk his life, it is on behalf of his family pride,
although he may mention his lady-love’s name with his dying breath; but
if a slave lay down his life for his master or mistress, it is only
reckoned a part of his duty,” urged the slave.
“I command you not to speak to me again like this,” said the princess,
“or I will have you severely punished.”
The poor slave was very sorrowful when he heard the princess, whom he
loved so dearly, threaten to have him punished. “Death is the leveller
of all ranks and of all races,” said he; “the dust of the dead white man
and of the nigger are alike; in death, the king is no more than the
beggar. I will run away from this palace and seek refuge in the northern
provinces, where, if the climate be colder, they say the hearts of the
people are warmer.”
That very night did Mobarec—for that was the name of the slave—leave
the palace of his lady-love, the beautiful banks of the Guadalquivir,
and his favourite orange-groves. During the daytime he hid in the caves
on the mountain-sides, and as soon as night set in he would continue his
journey.
When he had been travelling like this for some weeks, and as he was
making his way through a dark forest, he saw a brilliant light in the
distance; and as he was very hungry, he hoped that it might be from some
house where he might get food and rest. As he walked on he discovered
that the light was not from a house, but that it was caused by a large
bonfire, around which some men and women were seated.
Fearing that he might be in the neighbourhood of robbers, he took the
precaution of approaching by hiding behind the trees; and when he got
near enough to the group to see them plainly, he observed that close to
the fire there was a very old woman standing with her arms over the
fire, and holding a child which screamed as if it were being burned.
Mobarec thought that the child was going to be roasted, and did not know
that what he saw was simply the act of disenchantment, which was being
carried out by the wise woman of the village on a child born with the
evil eye.
Approaching still nearer, he heard the crone mutter some words, which
Mobarec imagined to be used in order to stifle the piteous cries of the
child.
The crone suddenly commenced shrieking and jumping over the fire, while
the men and women who surrounded her beat the air with big sticks, which
is done when the evil one is supposed to be leaving the body of the
child.
Just at this moment Mobarec happened to show himself from behind the
tree, when he was immediately observed by the wise woman, who directed
all eyes to him; and their horror can be easily imagined when it is said
that Mobarec was the first nigger who had ever visited the northern
parts of Spain.
Mobarec, on perceiving that he was seen, thought he would smile, in
order to show them that he was a friend; but this made him look all the
more terrible by the glare of the fire, and, thinking that he was the
evil one that had just left the body of the child, they first of all
crossed themselves and then ran towards Mobarec with their bludgeons,
who, without more ado, took to his feet and was soon lost in the
darkness of the forest.
Having baffled his pursuers, Mobarec sat down to rest and to think over
what he had seen.
“I suppose,” said he to himself, “that these people were trying to make
a king by burning a white child until he became black, for I could see
that they were not going to eat it. I have been told that in some parts
they will only have black kings, and I am certainly in one of these
parts.”
Musing over this idea for a long time, he at last fell asleep, and
dreamt that he had arrived at a large city, where the people had crowded
to meet him, and that he was placed on a magnificent throne, crowned
king, and had married his dear princess.
Then he thought he was in a magnificent bed-chamber, and that the
sheets of his bed were fringed with fine lace; but purposing to raise
the richly embroidered clothes a little higher, as he felt cold, he
placed his hands on some stinging nettles, which made him wake and look
around.
The day was already commencing; the timid rabbit was lurking about the
dew-spangled leaves; the linnets were hopping about from branch to
branch, and the wheels of some market carts were heard creaking in the
distance.
Mobarec got up, and looking at himself in the waters of a passing
stream, he was surprised to see that he had a golden crown on his head.
It was, however, but the morning sun shining through the thick foliage
above him.
“I was a slave last night,” exclaimed Mobarec; “this morning I am a
king.”
He noticed the direction from which the noise of the cart wheels
proceeded, and hurrying thither, he soon came within sight of some
people who were carrying their wares to market.
Mobarec gradually approached them, and, seeing him advance, they
dropped their baskets, and would have run away if fear had not deprived
them of the power to do so.
“Be not afraid,” said the nigger, “for I am your king. Hitherto you have
had to work for the rich, but now the rich shall work for you. There
shall be no poverty in my kingdom, no hunger, and no sorrow. Bad
husbands shall take the place of the asses at the mills, and quarrelsome
wives shall have a borough to themselves. Go,” continued he, addressing
the crowd, “and tell the inhabitants of the city that I am approaching.”
“Long live the king!” shouted his hearers. “Long live the good king who
will free us from our quarrelsome wives!” exclaimed the men; “And who
will send our cruel husbands to replace the asses at the mills!”
shrieked the women. “Long live the king who will banish poverty!” cried
all together.
Having given vent to their enthusiasm, they hurried off to the city, and
the good news soon spread that a new king was coming, and that they
would all be rich.
Then they prepared a richly caparisoned white mule, with tinkling bells
round its neck and a cloth of gold on its back, for the black king’s
use, and they went out in a body to meet him.
Having approached Mobarec, they prostrated themselves before him, and
were at first very much afraid; but hearing him address the mule in a
grand speech, they rose and listened.
“Sir,” said Mobarec to the mule, “I feel highly flattered by this
ovation, and I confer on you here the post of principal minister, which
you richly deserve for the sagacity you have shown in preserving silence
when all want to make themselves heard. You will see that the poor are
provided for, and that they provide for the wants of their king and his
chosen ministers, of which you are the chief. People,” exclaimed
Mobarec, “behold your king and his minister! And from this day forward
let every man and woman in my kingdom strive to be as sure-footed,
patient, and silent as this my minister.”
It must be confessed that the people were somewhat surprised at the turn
events had taken; but as, recently, they had had a most unjust chief
minister, they contented themselves with the knowledge that his
successor could not introduce any cruel measures.
With similar ideas occupying them, they retraced their way to the city,
preceded by their black king and his chief minister.
Arrived at the palace, Mobarec entered and took his seat on the throne,
his chief minister standing close to the lowest step. He then addressed
the audience as follows—
“I make it known that the rich persons of this kingdom shall, if so
required, give up their wealth to the poor, who will then become rich;
but, as I would not that those who have hitherto been poor should forget
their duty to their more unfortunate fellow-creatures, I declare that
they shall have to contribute not only to the maintenance of the king,
his ministers, and the state, but also to the requirements of those at
whose expense they have themselves acquired riches. I also command that
all disputes shall be submitted to the superior wisdom of my chief
minister, without whose verbal consent it shall be treasonable to have
recourse to blows; and I further require of my liege subjects that they
engage in no war with neighbouring states without taking their wives to
battle.”
This speech was very much applauded, and the white mule, being
unaccustomed to the surroundings, commenced braying so loudly that
Mobarec got up from his throne and said—
“Listen to the voice of my minister; he bids you all be silent while you
pay him homage.”
Then one by one they passed before the mule, bowing to him; and when
this ceremony was finished Mobarec informed them that all real kings
were of his colour, but that he had resolved on marrying the daughter of
Xisto, false king of Andalusia; and, therefore, he commanded twenty of
his subjects to proceed to that kingdom, and bring back with them the
fair Princess Zeyn, which was the name of the princess he loved.
“If they ask you what I am like, say that you have never seen one like
me, and that my wisdom is only approached by that of my chief minister,”
said Mobarec.
At the end of a month the twenty men returned with the lovely princess,
who, until her marriage-day, was lodged in another palace.
Great preparations were made for the occasion, excepting in one borough
of the city, which was deserted, for it had been assigned to all
quarrelsome wives.
The princess was naturally very anxious to see her future husband, but
etiquette forbade her doing so. Often had she thought of her runaway
slave and lover. Absence had made her fonder of him, and little by
little he had grown less black to her imagination.
At last the wedding-day arrived. Mobarec, attended by all his court,
proceeded to the princess’s palace, dressed in magnificent apparel, his
strong black arms bare, but with splendid gold bracelets round them, and
a belt of the same metal round his waist. His coat of mail was
interwoven with threads of gold; but his heart required no gold to set
it off, it was purity itself.
As soon as the princess saw him she recognized her former slave, and,
hurrying to meet him, threw her arms round his neck, exclaiming—
“I am not worthy to marry so good a man; but if you will have me, I am
yours.”
“Princess,” exclaimed Mobarec, “if I before was thy slave, I am none the
less so now; for since the first man was created, beautiful woman has
made all men captives. If I have aught to ask of thee now, ’tis that thy
dominion over thy new subjects shall be as pleasant to them as it will
be delightful to me.”
From so wise a king and good a queen the people derived great benefit;
disputes never went beyond the ears of the chief minister, and, in the
words of the immortal barber and poet of the city, “the kingdom
flourished under the guidance of a mule; which proves that there are
qualities in the irrational beings which even wisest ministers would do
well to imitate.”