conquest of Egypt, I remained among the priests of the land, studying
the rites and ceremonies of their idolatrous faith, and seeking to make
myself master of the hidden knowledge for which they are renowned. I was
one day seated on the banks of the Nile, conversing with an ancient
priest, when he pointed to the mighty pyramids which rose like mountains
out of the neighboring desert. ‘All that we can teach thee,’ said he,
‘is nothing to the knowledge locked up in those mighty piles. In the
centre of the central pyramid is a sepulchral chamber, in which is
enclosed the mummy of the high-priest who aided in rearing that
stupendous pile; and with him is buried a wondrous book of knowledge,
containing all the secrets of magic and art. This book was given to Adam
after his fall, and was handed down from generation to generation to
King Solomon the Wise, and by its aid he built the Temple of Jerusalem.
How it came into the possession of the builder of the pyramids is known
to Him alone who knows all things.’
“When I heard these words of the Egyptian priest, my heart burned to get
possession of that book. I could command the services of many of the
soldiers of our conquering army, and of a number of the native
Egyptians: with these I set to work, and pierced the solid mass of the
pyramid, until, after great toil, I came upon one of its interior and
hidden passages. Following this up, and threading a fearful labyrinth, I
penetrated into the very heart of the pyramids, even to the sepulchral
chamber, where the mummy of the high-priest had lain for ages. I broke
through the outer cases of the mummy, unfolded its many wrappers and
bandages, and at length found the precious volume on its bosom. I seized
it with a trembling hand, and groped my way out of the pyramid, leaving
the mummy in its dark and silent sepulchre, there to await the final day
of resurrection and judgment.”
“Son of Abu Ayub,” exclaimed Aben Habuz, “thou hast been a great
traveller, and seen marvellous things; but of what avail to me is the
secret of the pyramid, and the volume of knowledge of the wise Solomon?”
“This it is, O king! By the study of that book I am instructed in all
magic arts, and can command the assistance of genii to accomplish my
plans. The mystery of the Talisman of Borsa is therefore familiar to me,
and such a talisman can I make, nay, one of greater virtues.”
“O wise son of Abu Ayub,” cried Aben Habuz, “better were such a talisman
than all the watch-towers on the hills, and sentinels upon the borders.
Give me such a safeguard, and the riches of my treasury are at thy
command.”
The astrologer immediately set to work to gratify the wishes of the
monarch. He caused a great tower to be erected upon the top of the royal
palace, which stood on the brow of the hill of the Albaycin. The tower
was built of stones brought from Egypt, and taken, it is said, from one
of the pyramids. In the upper part of the tower was a circular hall,
with windows looking towards every point of the compass, and before each
window was a table, on which was arranged, as on a chess-board, a mimic
army of horse and foot, with the effigy of the potentate that ruled in
that direction, all carved of wood. To each of these tables there was a
small lance, no bigger than a bodkin, on which were engraved certain
Chaldaic characters. This hall was kept constantly closed, by a gate of
brass, with a great lock of steel, the key of which was in possession of
the king.
On the top of the tower was a bronze figure of a Moorish horseman, fixed
on a pivot, with a shield on one arm, and his lance elevated
perpendicularly. The face of this horseman was towards the city, as if
keeping guard over it; but if any foe were at hand, the figure would
turn in that direction, and would level the lance as if for action.
When this talisman was finished, Aben Habuz was all impatient to try its
virtues, and longed as ardently for an invasion as he had ever sighed
after repose. His desire was soon gratified. Tidings were brought, early
one morning, by the sentinel appointed to watch the tower, that the face
of the bronze horseman was turned towards the mountains of Elvira, and
that his lance pointed directly against the Pass of Lope.
“Let the drums and trumpets sound to arms, and all Granada be put on the
alert,” said Aben Habuz.
“O king,” said the astrologer, “let not your city be disquieted, nor
your warriors called to arms; we need no aid of force to deliver you
from your enemies. Dismiss your attendants, and let us proceed alone to
the secret hall of the tower.”
The ancient Aben Habuz mounted the staircase of the tower, leaning on
the arm of the still more ancient Ibrahim Ebn Abu Ayub. They unlocked
the brazen door and entered. The window that looked towards the Pass of
Lope was open. “In this direction,” said the astrologer, “lies the
danger; approach, O king, and behold the mystery of the table.”
King Aben Habuz approached the seeming chess-board, on which were
arranged the small wooden effigies, when, to his surprise, he perceived
that they were all in motion. The horses pranced and curveted, the
warriors brandished their weapons, and there was a faint sound of drums
and trumpets, and the clang of arms, and neighing of steeds; but all no
louder, nor more distinct, than the hum of the bee, or the summer-fly,
in the drowsy ear of him who lies at noontide in the shade.
“Behold, O king,” said the astrologer, “a proof that thy enemies are
even now in the field. They must be advancing through yonder mountains,
by the Pass of Lope. Would you produce a panic and confusion amongst
them, and cause them to retreat without loss of life, strike these
effigies with the but-end of this magic lance; would you cause bloody
feud and carnage, strike with the point.”
A livid streak passed across the countenance of Aben Habuz; he seized
the lance with trembling eagerness; his gray beard wagged with
exultation as he tottered toward the table: “Son of Abu Ayub,” exclaimed
he, in chuckling tone, “I think we will have a little blood!”
So saying, he thrust the magic lance into some of the pigmy effigies,
and belabored others with the but-end, upon which the former fell as
dead upon the board, and the rest turning upon each other, began,
pell-mell, a chance-medley fight.
It was with difficulty the astrologer could stay the hand of the most
pacific of monarchs, and prevent him from absolutely exterminating his
foes; at length he prevailed upon him to leave the tower, and to send
out scouts to the mountains by the Pass of Lope.
They returned with the intelligence that a Christian army had advanced
through the heart of the Sierra, almost within sight of Granada, where a
dissension had broken out among them; they had turned their weapons
against each other, and after much slaughter had retreated over the
border.
Aben Habuz was transported with joy on thus proving the efficacy of the
talisman. “At length,” said he, “I shall lead a life of tranquillity,
and have all my enemies in my power. O wise son of Abu Ayub, what can I
bestow on thee in reward for such a blessing?” “The wants of an old man
and a philosopher, O king, are few and simple; grant me but the means of
fitting up my cave as a suitable hermitage, and I am content.”
“How noble is the moderation of the truly wise!” exclaimed Aben Habuz,
secretly pleased at the cheapness of the recompense. He summoned his
treasurer, and bade him dispense whatever sums might be required by
Ibrahim to complete and furnish his hermitage.
The astrologer now gave orders to have various chambers hewn out of the
solid rock, so as to form ranges of apartments connected with his
astrological hall; these he caused to be furnished with luxurious
ottomans and divans, and the walls to be hung with the richest silks of
Damascus. “I am an old man,” said he, “and can no longer rest my bones
on stone couches, and these damp walls require covering.”
He had baths too constructed, and provided with all kinds of perfumes
and aromatic oils. “For a bath,” said he, “is necessary to counteract
the rigidity of age, and to restore freshness and suppleness to the
frame withered by study.”
He caused the apartments to be hung with innumerable silver and crystal
lamps, which he filled with a fragrant oil prepared according to a
receipt discovered by him in the tombs of Egypt. This oil was perpetual
in its nature, and diffused a soft radiance like the tempered light of
day. “The light of the sun,” said he, “is too garish and violent for the
eyes of an old man, and the light of the lamp is more congenial to the
studies of a philosopher.”
The treasurer of King Aben Habuz groaned at the sums daily demanded to
fit up this hermitage, and he carried his complaints to the king. The
royal word, however, had been given; Aben Habuz shrugged his shoulders:
“We must have patience,” said he; “this old man has taken his idea of a
philosophic retreat from the interior of the pyramids, and of the vast
ruins of Egypt; but all things have an end, and so will the furnishing
of his cavern.”
The king was in the right; the hermitage was at length complete, and
formed a sumptuous subterranean palace. The astrologer expressed himself
perfectly content, and, shutting himself up, remained for three whole
days buried in study. At the end of that time he appeared again before
the treasurer. “One thing more is necessary,” said he, “one trifling
solace for the intervals of mental labor.”
“O wise Ibrahim, I am bound to furnish everything necessary for thy
solitude; what more dost thou require?”
“I would fain have a few dancing-women.”
“Dancing-women!” echoed the treasurer, with surprise.
“Dancing-women,” replied the sage, gravely; “and let them be young and
fair to look upon; for the sight of youth and beauty is refreshing. A
few will suffice, for I am a philosopher of simple habits and easily
satisfied.”
While the philosophic Ibrahim Ebn Abu Ayub passed his time thus sagely
in his hermitage, the pacific Aben Habuz carried on furious campaigns in
effigy in his tower. It was a glorious thing for an old man, like
himself, of quiet habits, to have war made easy, and to be enabled to
amuse himself in his chamber by brushing away whole armies like so many
swarms of flies.
For a time he rioted in the indulgence of his humors, and even taunted
and insulted his neighbors, to induce them to make incursions; but by
degrees they grew wary from repeated disasters, until no one ventured to
invade his territories. For many months the bronze horseman remained on
the peace establishment, with his lance elevated in the air; and the
worthy old monarch began to repine at the want of his accustomed sport,
and to grow peevish at his monotonous tranquillity.
At length, one day, the talismanic horseman veered suddenly round, and
lowering his lance, made a dead point towards the mountains of Guadix.
Aben Habuz hastened to his tower, but the magic table in that direction
remained quiet; not a single warrior was in motion. Perplexed at the
circumstance, he sent forth a troop of horse to scour the mountains and
reconnoitre. They returned after three days’ absence.
“We have searched every mountain pass,” said they, “but not a helm nor
spear was stirring. All that we have found in the course of our foray,
was a Christian damsel of surpassing beauty, sleeping at noontide beside
a fountain, whom we have brought away captive.”
“A damsel of surpassing beauty!” exclaimed Aben Habuz, his eyes gleaming
with animation; “let her be conducted into my presence.”
The beautiful damsel was accordingly conducted into his presence. She
was arrayed with all the luxury of ornament that had prevailed among the
Gothic Spaniards at the time of the Arabian conquest. Pearls of dazzling
whiteness were entwined with her raven tresses; and jewels sparkled on
her forehead, rivalling the lustre of her eyes. Around her neck was a
golden chain, to which was suspended a silver lyre, which hung by her
side.
The flashes of her dark refulgent eye were like sparks of fire on the
withered yet combustible heart of Aben Habuz; the swimming
voluptuousness of her gait made his senses reel. “Fairest of women,”
cried he, with rapture, “who and what art thou?”
“The daughter of one of the Gothic princes, who but lately ruled over
this land. The armies of my father have been destroyed, as if by magic,
among these mountains; he has been driven into exile, and his daughter
is a captive.”
“Beware, O king!” whispered Ibrahim Ebn Abu Ayub, “this may be one of
those northern sorceresses of whom we have heard, who assume the most
seductive forms to beguile the unwary. Methinks I read witchcraft in her
eye, and sorcery in every movement. Doubtless this is the enemy pointed
out by the talisman.”
“Son of Abu Ayub,” replied the king, “thou art a wise man, I grant, a
conjuror for aught I know; but thou art little versed in the ways of
woman. In that knowledge will I yield to no man; no, not to the wise
Solomon himself, notwithstanding the number of his wives and concubines.
As to this damsel, I see no harm in her; she is fair to look upon, and
finds favor in my eyes.”
“Hearken, O king!” replied the astrologer. “I have given thee many
victories by means of my talisman, but have never shared any of the
spoil. Give me then this stray captive, to solace me in my solitude with
her silver lyre. If she be indeed a sorceress, I have counter spells
that set her charms at defiance.”
“What! more women!” cried Aben Habuz. “Hast thou not already
dancing-women enough to solace thee?”
“Dancing-women have I, it is true, but no singing-women. I would fain
have a little minstrelsy to refresh my mind when weary with the toils of
study.”
“A truce with thy hermit cravings,” said the king, impatiently. “This
damsel have I marked for my own. I see much comfort in her; even such
comfort as David, the father of Solomon the Wise, found in the society
of Abishag the Shunamite.”
Further solicitations and remonstrances of the astrologer only provoked
a more peremptory reply from the monarch, and they parted in high
displeasure. The sage shut himself up in his hermitage to brood over
his disappointment; ere he departed, however, he gave the king one more
warning to beware of his dangerous captive. But where is the old man in
love that will listen to counsel? Aben Habuz resigned himself to the
full sway of his passion. His only study was how to render himself
amiable in the eyes of the Gothic beauty. He had not youth to recommend
him, it is true, but then he had riches; and when a lover is old, he is
generally generous. The Zacatin of Granada was ransacked for the most
precious merchandise of the East; silks, jewels, precious gems,
exquisite perfumes, all that Asia and Africa yielded of rich and rare,
were lavished upon the princess. All kinds of spectacles and festivities
were devised for her entertainment; minstrelsy, dancing, tournaments,
bull-fights;--Granada for a time was a scene of perpetual pageant. The
Gothic princess regarded all this splendor with the air of one
accustomed to magnificence. She received everything as a homage due to
her rank, or rather to her beauty; for beauty is more lofty in its
exactions even than rank. Nay, she seemed to take a secret pleasure in
exciting the monarch to expenses that made his treasury shrink, and then
treating his extravagant generosity as a mere matter of course. With all
his assiduity and munificence, also, the venerable lover could not
flatter himself that he had made any impression on her heart. She never
frowned on him, it is true, but then she never smiled. Whenever he began
to plead his passion, she struck her silver lyre. There was a mystic
charm in the sound. In an instant the monarch began to nod; a drowsiness
stole over him, and he gradually sank into a sleep, from which he awoke
wonderfully refreshed, but perfectly cooled for the time of his passion.
This was very baffling to his suit; but then these slumbers were
accompanied by agreeable dreams, which completely inthralled the senses
of the drowsy lover; so he continued to dream on, while all Granada
scoffed at his infatuation, and groaned at the treasures lavished for a
song.
At length a danger burst on the head of Aben Habuz, against which his
talisman yielded him no warning. An insurrection broke out in his very
capital; his palace was surrounded by an armed rabble, who menaced his
life and the life of his Christian paramour. A spark of his ancient
warlike spirit was awakened in the breast of the monarch. At the head of
a handful of his guards he sallied forth, put the rebels to flight, and
crushed the insurrection in the bud.
When quiet was again restored, he sought the astrologer, who still
remained shut up in his hermitage, chewing the bitter cud of resentment.
Aben Habuz approached him with a conciliatory tone. “O wise son of Abu
Ayub,” said he, “well didst thou predict dangers to me from this captive
beauty: tell me then, thou who art so quick at foreseeing peril, what I
should do to avert it.”
“Put from thee the infidel damsel who is the cause.”
“Sooner would I part with my kingdom,” cried Aben Habuz.
“Thou art in danger of losing both,” replied the astrologer.
“Be not harsh and angry, O most profound of philosophers; consider the
double distress of a monarch and a lover, and devise some means of
protecting me from the evils by which I am menaced. I care not for
grandeur, I care not for power, I languish only for repose; would that I
had some quiet retreat where I might take refuge from the world, and all
its cares, and pomps, and troubles, and devote the remainder of my days
to tranquillity and love.”
The astrologer regarded him for a moment from under his bushy eyebrows.
“And what wouldst thou give, if I could provide thee such a retreat?”
“Thou shouldst name thy own reward; and whatever it might be, if within
the scope of my power, as my soul liveth, it should be thine.”
“Thou hast heard, O king, of the garden of Irem, one of the prodigies of
Arabia the happy.”
“I have heard of that garden; it is recorded in the Koran, even in the
chapter entitled ‘The Dawn of Day.’ I have, moreover, heard marvellous
things related of it by pilgrims who had been to Mecca; but I considered
them wild fables, such as travellers are wont to tell who have visited
remote countries.”
“Discredit not, O king, the tales of travellers,” rejoined the
astrologer, gravely, “for they contain precious rarities of knowledge
brought from the ends of the earth. As to the palace and garden of Irem,
what is generally told of them is true; I have seen them with mine own
eyes;--listen to my adventure, for it has a bearing upon the object of
your request.
“In my younger days, when a mere Arab of the desert, I tended my
father’s camels. In traversing the desert of Aden, one of them strayed
from the rest, and was lost. I searched after it for several days, but
in vain, until, wearied and faint, I laid myself down at noontide, and
slept under a palm-tree by the side of a scanty well. When I awoke I
found myself at the gate of a city. I entered, and beheld noble streets,
and squares, and market-places; but all were silent and without an
inhabitant. I wandered on until I came to a sumptuous palace, with a
garden adorned with fountains and fish-ponds, and groves and flowers,
and orchards laden with delicious fruit; but still no one was to be
seen. Upon which, appalled at this loneliness, I hastened to depart;
and, after issuing forth at the gate of the city, I turned to look upon
the place, but it was no longer to be seen; nothing but the silent
desert extended before my eyes.
“In the neighborhood I met with an aged dervise, learned in the
traditions and secrets of the land, and related to him what had befallen
me. ‘This,’ said he, ‘is the far-famed garden of Irem, one of the
wonders of the desert. It only appears at times to some wanderer like
thyself gladdening him with the sight of towers and palaces and
garden-walls overhung with richly-laden fruit-trees, and then vanishes,
leaving nothing but a lonely desert. And this is the story of it. In old
times, when this country was inhabited by the Addites, King Sheddad, the
son of Ad, the great-grandson of Noah, founded here a splendid city.
When it was finished, and he saw its grandeur, his heart was puffed up
with pride and arrogance, and he determined to build a royal palace,
with gardens which should rival all related in the Koran of the
celestial paradise. But the curse of heaven fell upon him for his
presumption. He and his subjects were swept from the earth, and his
splendid city, and palace, and gardens, were laid under a perpetual
spell, which hides them from human sight, excepting that they are seen
at intervals, by way of keeping his sin in perpetual remembrance.’
“This story, O king, and the wonders I had seen, ever dwelt in my mind;
and in after-years, when I had been in Egypt, and was possessed of the
book of knowledge of Solomon the Wise, I determined to return and
revisit the garden of Irem. I did so, and found it revealed to my
instructed sight. I took possession of the palace of Sheddad, and passed
several days in his mock paradise. The genii who watch over the place
were obedient to my magic power, and revealed to me the spells by which
the whole garden had been, as it were, conjured into existence, and by
which it was rendered invisible. Such a palace and garden, O king, can
I make for thee, even here, on the mountain above thy city. Do I not
know all the secret spells? and am I not in possession of the book of
knowledge of Solomon the Wise?”
“O wise son of Abu Ayub!” exclaimed Aben Habuz, trembling with
eagerness, “thou art a traveller indeed, and hast seen and learned
marvellous things! Contrive me such a paradise, and ask any reward, even
to the half of my kingdom.”
“Alas!” replied the other, “thou knowest I am an old man, and a
philosopher, and easily satisfied; all the reward I ask is the first
beast of burden, with its load, which shall enter the magic portal of
the palace.”
The monarch gladly agreed to so moderate a stipulation, and the
astrologer began his work. On the summit of the hill, immediately above
his subterranean hermitage, he caused a great gateway or barbican to be
erected, opening through the centre of a strong tower.
There was an outer vestibule or porch, with a lofty arch, and within it
a portal secured by massive gates. On the keystone of the portal the
astrologer, with his own hand, wrought the figure of a huge key; and on
the keystone of the outer arch of the vestibule, which was loftier than
that of the portal, he carved a gigantic hand. These were potent
talismans, over which he repeated many sentences in an unknown tongue.
When this gateway was finished, he shut himself up for two days in his
astrological hall, engaged in secret incantations; on the third he
ascended the hill, and passed the whole day on its summit. At a late
hour of the night he came down, and presented himself before Aben Habuz.
“At length, O king,” said he, “my labor is accomplished. On the summit
of the hill stands one of the most delectable palaces that ever the
head of man devised, or the heart of man desired. It contains sumptuous
halls and galleries, delicious gardens, cool fountains, and fragrant
baths; in a word, the whole mountain is converted into a paradise. Like
the garden of Irem, it is protected by a mighty charm, which hides it
from the view and search of mortals, excepting such as possess the
secret of its talismans.”
“Enough!” cried Aben Habuz, joyfully, “to-morrow morning with the first
light we will ascend and take possession.” The happy monarch slept but
little that night. Scarcely had the rays of the sun begun to play about
the snowy summit of the Sierra Nevada, when he mounted his steed, and,
accompanied only by a few chosen attendants, ascended a steep and narrow
road leading up the hill. Beside him, on a white palfrey, rode the
Gothic princess, her whole dress sparkling with jewels, while round her
neck was suspended her silver lyre. The astrologer walked on the other
side of the king, assisting his steps with his hieroglyphic staff, for
he never mounted steed of any kind.