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 usual,
was in a prodigious hurry, and had scarce 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. "O Eben Bonabben," 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 everything within the limited
range of his servant's intellect is at his command."
"Tell me then, O most profound of sages, what is the nature of this thing
called love?"
Eben Bonabben was struck as with a thunderbolt. He trembled and turned
pale, and 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, Eben Bonabben,"
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 rose a strain of melody; and love--love--love was still the
unvarying strain.
"Allah Akbar! God is great!" exclaimed the wise Bonabben. "Who shall
pretend to keep this secret from the heart of man, when even the birds of
the air conspire to betray it?"
Then turning to Ahmed--"O 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 and strife between brethren and friends;
which causes treacherous murder and desolating war. Care and sorrow, weary
days and sleepless nights, are its attendants. It withers the bloom and
blights the joy of youth, 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 Eben Bonabben 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; everything 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
rushing noise in the air; a beautiful dove, pursued 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.
[Illustration: _Bridge on the Darro._]
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 everything 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?"
[Illustration: _The Moorish Mint._]
"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, but misery to be apart. Is there no being to whom you
are drawn by these ties of tender affection?"
"I like my old teacher Eben Bonabben 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
anything of love? Is there no gentle being of another sex--no beautiful
princess nor 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, without knowing the cause; and where 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 Bonabben. "Why hast
thou kept me in this abject ignorance?" cried he. "Why has the great
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?"
[Illustration: _Generalife. The First Court's Cool Canal._]
The sage Bonabben 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. Besides, he really was attached to Eben Bonabben, and being as yet
but theoretically acquainted with the passion of love, he consented to
confine the knowledge of it to his 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 heart. "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?"
[Illustration: _Seville Cathedral._]
"In a far country, my prince, whence I bring you tidings in reward for
my liberty. In the wild 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 wandering 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 garlands and coronets of flowers;
but no flower 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 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 bewailing 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.
"Away, trustiest of messengers!" said he. "Fly over mountain, and valley,
and river, and plain; rest not in bower, nor set foot on earth, until thou
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 her approval of his
passion? Unfortunately the death of the faithful dove left everything 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 almost
in an 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 in his
captivity. How was he to guide himself, 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 a 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 this my numerous kindred, I have pried 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, whose whole time is devoted to meditation and 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 are lost 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 on 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 walls of the Generalife, and, guided by the owl,
made good his escape before morning to the mountains.
He now held a council with his mentor as to his future course.
[Illustration: _The Giralda Tower, Seville._]
[Illustration: _The Alcazar, Seville._]
"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 am
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 advice, and accordingly bent
his course towards 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, and had a
most antiquarian taste for ruins.
At length one morning at daybreak 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 standing at the present day,
and known 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,
gray-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, poring with his remaining eye on a diagram described
on the pavement.
The prince approached him with the awe and reverence naturally inspired by
his venerable appearance 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 your counsel 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 eyes; "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 gravely,
"I am on no such light and vagrant errand as thou dost insinuate. The
black-eyed damsels of Andalusia who dance among the orange groves of
the Guadalquivir are as nought 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
heart, 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 fresh 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 can I seek if not among the sons of wisdom, versed in the book
of destiny? Know that I am a royal prince, fated by the stars, and sent
on a mysterious enterprise on which may hang the destiny of empires."
[Illustration: _The Palm Tree, Cordova._]
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. When it was concluded,
he replied, "Touching 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 thou wilt
find a great traveller who has visited all countries and courts, and been
a favourite with queens and princesses. He will give thee tidings of the
object of thy 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 Guadalquivir. 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 court of the mosque, towering from amidst
orange and cypress trees. Dervishes 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 top-knot, 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?"
[Illustration: _Entrance to Mosque, Cordova._]
"You know not whom you speak of," 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 various foreign
courts, where he has been considered an oracle of erudition. He has been
a universal favourite also with 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 into his eyes. "Excuse
my merriment," said he, "but the mere mention of love always sets me
laughing."
The prince was shocked at this ill-timed mirth. "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; "prithee where
hast thou learned 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 the 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 everywhere
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!"