CHAPTER XI: MOORISH ROMANCES OF SPAIN

These are, of course, more of the nature of romances of the Moors than

by the Moors--tales embedded in Spanish folk-lore relating to Saracen

times and themes, rather than written fictions existing in ancient

Arab manuscripts. The Arab literature of Spain was rather didactic,

theological, and philosophical than romantic. Fiction was, perhaps,

the province of the itinerant story-teller, as it still is in the

East. But that many Moorish legends and stories were handed down

among the Spanish peasantry, especially in the more southerly parts

of the Peninsula, can hardly be doubted. These, however, have been

much neglected by compilers, and but few of them are available. Such

as exist in written form make up for their scantiness in number by

the qualities of wonder and beauty which inform them. Perhaps no

collection of the traditions of the Moors of Spain equals that of

Washington Irving in his Tales of the Alhambra. These, he tells us,

he "diligently wrought into shape and form, from various legendary

scraps and hints picked up in the course of my perambulations, in the

same manner that an antiquary works out a regular historical document

from a few scattered letters of an almost defaced inscription." The

first of our Moorish legends, therefore, I shall retell from the

enchanted pages of the great American wizard in words, apologizing to

his shade for the alterations in verbiage which I have been forced to

make in view of the requirements of modern readers. I have, indeed,

entirely recast the tale for twentieth-century use.

The Arabian Astrologer

Aben Habuz, King of Granada, had in his old age earned the right to

repose. But the young and ardent princes whose territories marched

with his were in no mind that his old age should be free from the

alarms of war, and although he took every precaution to ensure his

possessions against the incursions of such hotheads, the constant

menace of an attack from one or other of them, no less than the

unrest which occasionally raised its head within his own dominions,

filled his declining years with irritation and anxiety.

Harassed and perplexed, he cast about him for an adviser capable of

assisting him to strengthen his position, but among the sages and

nobles of his Court he experienced such a cold selfishness and lack

of patriotic fervour as restrained him from adopting any of them as

his confidant in high affairs of state. While he meditated upon his

friendless condition it was announced to him that an Arabian sage had

arrived in Granada, whose fame as a man of wisdom and understanding

was proverbial throughout the East. The name of this pundit was Ibrahim

Ebn Abu Ajib, and it was whispered of him that he had existed since the

days of Mohammed, of one of whose personal friends he was the son. As

a child he had accompanied the army of Amru, the Prophet's general,

into Egypt, where he had remained for generations, employing his time

in the study of those occult sciences of which the Egyptian priests

were such consummate masters. Old as he was--and his appearance was

most venerable--he had walked the whole way from Egypt on foot, aided

only by a staff, on which were engraved hieroglyphs of deep and hidden

import. His beard descended to his girdle, his piercing eyes bespoke

insight and intelligence almost superhuman, and his bearing was more

grave and majestic than that of the most reverend mullah in Granada. It

was said that he possessed the secret of the elixir of life, but as

he had attained this knowledge when already well on in years, he had

perforce to be content with his aged exterior, although he had already

succeeded in prolonging his existence for upward of two hundred years.

King Aben Habuz, gratified at being able to extend his hospitality

to a visitor of such consequence, entertained him with marked

distinction. But the sage refused all his offers of soft living, and

established himself in a cave in the side of the hill on which the

famous palace of the Alhambra was later to be erected. This cavern he

caused to be altered in such a manner that it bore a resemblance to

the interiors of those lofty temples of the Egyptian land in which he

had passed so many years of his long life. Through the living rock

which formed its roof he commanded the Court architect to drive a

deep shaft, so that from the gloom of his cavernous abode he might be

able to behold the stars even at midday; for Ibrahim was pre-eminent

in the study of that lore of the heavenly bodies, that thrice noble

science of astrology, which the truly wise of all ages have recognized

as the real source of all divine knowledge, and the shallow erudition

of a later day foolishly despises. But only for a day in the round of

eternity shall that great and golden book be set aside; nor shall its

pages, arabesqued with mysterious and awful characters, ever be wholly

closed to man. The weird, serpentine script of this language of the

sages ornamented the walls of the astrologer's cavern, interspersed

with the no less mystic symbols of ancient Egypt, and, surrounded by

these hieroglyphs and provided with the primitive telescope we have

described, the wise Ibrahim busied himself in deciphering the history

of events to come as written in the glittering pages of the heavens.

It was only natural that the distressed Aben Habuz should avail

himself of the wisdom and foresight of the astrologer to the fullest

degree. Indeed, Ibrahim became indispensable to him, and was consulted

in every emergency. He responded graciously, and placed his marvellous

gifts entirely at the service of the harassed monarch. On one occasion

Aben Habuz complained bitterly of the constant vigilance he was forced

to maintain against the attacks of his restless neighbours. For a space

the astrologer was lost in thought. Then he replied: "O King, many

years since I beheld a marvel in Egypt, wrought by a wise priestess of

that land. Above the city of Borsa towers a lofty mountain, on which

was placed the image of a ram, and above it the figure of a cock,

both cast in brazen effigy and turning upon a pivot. Should the land

be threatened by invasion the ram would turn in the direction of the

enemy and the cock would crow, and by this means the inhabitants of

Borsa were enabled to take timely measures for defence."

"Would that such a contrivance might be erected at Granada," said

the King fervently. "Then might we rest in peace."

The astrologer smiled at the King's earnestness. "I have already

told you, O King," he said, "that I have spent many years in Egypt

mastering the hidden knowledge of that mysterious land. One day

while seated on the banks of the Nile speaking with a priest of that

country, my companion pointed to the mighty pyramids which cast their

shadows on the place where we reclined. 'My son,' remarked the sage,

'thou beholdest these mountains in stone, the memorials of kings who

died while Greece was yet in the cradle and Rome was unthought of;

all the lore that we can teach thee is as a drop of water to the

ocean compared with the secrets contained in those monuments. In the

heart of the Great Pyramid is a death-chamber where rests the mummy

of the high priest who designed and builded that stupendous pile. On

his breast lies a wondrous book containing magical secrets of great

potency--that book, indeed, which was given to Adam after the fall

and by the aid of which Solomon built the temple at Jerusalem.' From

the moment I heard those words, O King, I might not rest. I resolved

to find my way into the Great Pyramid and possess myself of the

magic volume. Collecting a number of the soldiers of the victorious

Amru and many of the native Egyptians, I addressed myself to the

task of piercing the solid masonry which concealed this ineffable

treasure, until, after unheard-of labours, I came upon one of its

hidden passages. Long time I searched in the labyrinths of the vasty

pyramid ere I arrived at the sepulchral chamber. At length, groping

in profound darkness, and haunted by the rustling of the wrappings of

mummied Pharaohs, I came upon the shrine where the corpse of the high

priest lay in grim state. I opened the sarcophagus, and, unwrapping

the voluminous bandages, found the mystic tome lying among spices and

amulets on the shrivelled breast. Seizing it, I hastened through the

black corridors, nor stayed until I beheld the fierce Egyptian day

and the friendly green of the languid river."

"But in what manner may all this assist me in my dilemma, O son of

Abu Ajib?" asked the King querulously.

"This have I told thee, O King, because by the aid of this book

most magical I can call to my assistance the spirits of earth and

air--jinns, and afreets, and peris--by whose help I shall construct

a talisman like that which surmounted the hill above Borsa."

The astrologer was as good as his word. With all the resources of

the kingdom at his command, he built a great tower on the steeps of

the hill of Albayan. At his words of power spirits conveyed great

stones from the pyramids of Egypt, and of these the edifice was

built. In the summit of this tower he made a circular hall with

windows looking toward every point of the compass, and before each

window he set a table on which was arranged, as on a chessboard, a

mimic army of horse and foot, with the effigy of the potentate who

ruled in that direction, carved out of wood. Along with each table

there was a small lance engraved with magical characters. And this

hall he closed with a gate of brass, the key of which was kept by

the King. Surmounting the tower was a figure of a Moorish horseman

cast in bronze and fixed on a revolving pivot. He bore a shield and

spear, the latter held perpendicularly. This image looked toward the

city, but when a foeman approached it the horseman would face in his

direction and would level the lance as if about to charge.

Now, averse as Aben Habuz had been to war, he was all impatience to

test the virtues of this talisman. He had not long to wait, for one

morning he was informed that the face of the bronze horseman was turned

toward the mountains of Elvira, and that his lance was directed against

the pass of Lope. The trumpets were at once commanded to sound the

alarm, but Ibrahim requested the King not to disturb the city nor

call his troops together, but only to follow him to the secret hall

in the tower.

When they entered they found the window overlooking the pass of Lope

wide open. "Now, O King," said the astrologer, "behold the mystery of

the table." Aben Habuz looked at the table covered with tiny effigies

of horse- and foot-soldiers, and to his astonishment saw that they

were all in motion, that the warriors brandished their weapons,

and the steeds neighed, but these sounds were no louder than the hum

which rises from a beehive.

"Your Majesty," said the astrologer, "if you desire to cause panic and

confusion among your enemies, you have only to strike with the butt

of the magic lance; but if you wish to bring death and destruction

among them, then strike with the point."

Aben Habuz, seizing the tiny lance, thrust it into some of the figures,

belabouring others with the butt. The former dropped upon the board

as dead, and the rest fell upon one another in confusion. Scouts sent

to confirm the destruction caused among the real invaders told how a

Christian army had advanced through the pass of Lope, but had turned

their weapons upon one another and had retreated across the border

in great confusion.

Delighted, the King requested Ibrahim to name his own reward. "My

wants are few," replied the astrologer; "if my cave be fitted up as

a suitable abode for a philosopher, I crave no more."

Surprised at his moderation, the King summoned his treasurer and

commanded him to take a note of the astrologer's requirements. The

sage desired that an entire suite of apartments should be hewn out

of the solid rock, and this having been done, he caused them to be

furnished with the most lavish magnificence. Princely ottomans and

magnificent divans filled every corner, and the damp walls were hung

with the luxurious silks of Damascus, while the rocky floors were

carpeted with the glowing fabrics of Ispahan. Seductive baths were

constructed, and provided with every kind of Oriental perfume. The

apartments were hung with innumerable silver and crystal lamps,

which Ibrahim filled with a fragrant and magical oil, which burned

perpetually and could not be exhausted.

Amazed at the profligacy of the astrologer, the treasurer made

complaint of it to the King, but as his Majesty had passed his word

to the sage and had, indeed, invited his extravagance, he could not

interfere, and could only hope that the furnishing of the cavern

would soon come to an end. When at last the hermitage was replete

with the luxuries of three continents, the treasurer inquired of the

astrologer if he was satisfied.

"I have only one small request more to make," replied the sage. "I

desire that several dancing women be provided for my amusement."

The treasurer, rather scandalized, carried out the sage's instructions,

as he was bound to do, and Ibrahim, having all his wants supplied,

enclosed himself in his retreat. Meanwhile the King occupied himself

in the tower with mimic battles, and as the hand of the astrologer

was not there to moderate his warlike propensities, he amused himself

by scattering armies like chaff and smashing whole battalions by

a stroke of the magic lance. His enemies, terrified at the fate of

such expeditions as approached his territory, ceased to trouble him,

and for many months the bronze horseman remained stationary. Robbed

of his amusement, Aben Habuz pined and grew peevish. But one glorious

morning news was brought him that the bronze cavalier had lowered

his lance toward the mountains of Guadix.

The King at once repaired to the tower, but the magic table placed

in the direction indicated by the horseman was placid. Not a mimic

warrior stirred, not a toy charger neighed. Perplexed, Aben Habuz

dispatched a scouting party, which returned after three days' absence

to report that they had encountered no warlike array, nothing more

formidable, indeed, than a beauteous Christian damsel, whom they had

found sleeping by a fountain, and made captive.

Aben Habuz commanded that the damsel should be brought to him. Her

stately bearing and the lavish ornaments she wore bespoke her of

exalted station. In answer to the King, she explained that she was

the daughter of a Gothic prince, whose armies had been destroyed in

the mountains as if by magic.

"Beware of this woman, O King," whispered the astrologer, who stood

by. "Methinks she is a sorceress who has been sent hither to work

evil upon thee. Beware, I say."

"Tush, Ibrahim," replied Aben Habuz, "thou art a wise man enow, but

little versed in the ways of women. Which of them, pray, is not a

sorceress? The damsel finds favour in mine eyes."

"O King," said Ibrahim, "many victories have I given thee, but of all

the spoil thou hast won I have received nothing. Give me then this

Christian captive, who, I see, carries a silver lyre, and who will make

sweet music for me in my retreat below ground. If she be a sorceress,

as I suspect, I have spells that will render her harmless. But as

for thee, she will speedily overcome thee if thou takest her into

thy house."

"What?" cried the incensed monarch. "By the beard of the Prophet, thou

art a strange hermit indeed! Know that this damsel is not for thee."

"So be it," said the sage, in wavering tones. "But I fear for thee,

royal Aben Habuz. Beware, I say to thee again, beware!" And the

astrologer retired to his subterranean abode.

Now Aben Habuz had fallen over head and ears in love with the fair

daughter of the Goths, and in his desire to please her strained the

resources of his kingdom to their utmost limits. He lavished upon her

all that was most exquisite and most magnificent in his storehouses

and treasuries. He devised for her pastime a hundred spectacles and

festivities, pageants, bull-fights, and tournaments. All these the

haughty beauty took quite as a matter of course. Indeed it almost

seemed as if she urged the infatuated monarch to greater extravagance

and more lavish expenditure. But no matter how profuse was his bounty,

she refused to listen to a single amorous word from the lips of Aben

Habuz, and whenever he essayed to speak his love she swept her fingers

across the strings of her silver lyre and smiled enigmatically. When

she acted thus the King invariably felt a drowsiness steal over

his senses, and as the dulcet sound gained ascendancy over him he

would sink into a sleep from which he usually awoke refreshed and

reinvigorated.

His subjects were, however, by no means so satisfied with this

condition of affairs as he was. Irritated by his profligate

expenditure, and virtual enslavement by a woman of hostile race, they

at length broke into open revolt. But, like Sardanapalus of Babylon,

he roused himself from silken dalliance and, putting himself at the

head of his guards, crushed the outbreak almost before it had come to

a head. The episode disquieted him, however, and he recalled the words

of the wise Ibrahim, how that the Gothic princess would bring him woe.

He sought the astrologer in his cavern, and requested his

advice. Ibrahim assured him that his position would be insecure so

long as the princess remained one of his household. To this Aben Habuz

refused to listen, and begged the sage to find him some retreat where

he might pass the remainder of his days in tranquillity along with

the princess of whom he was so deeply enamoured.

"And my reward if I can procure thee such a retreat?" asked Ibrahim.

"That thou shalt name thyself, O Ibrahim," replied the infatuated

old man.

"Thou hast heard of the garden of Irem, O King, that jewel of Arabia?"

"Aye, in fable. Dost thou mock me, astrologer?"

"No more than these eyes have mocked me, O King, for I myself have

beheld that most delectable of all paradises.

"As a youth I stumbled upon it when searching for my father's

camels. Once the country of the Addites, its capital was founded

by Sheddad, son of Ad, great-grandson of Noah, who determined to

build in it a palace surrounded by gardens that should rival Paradise

itself. But the curse of heaven fell upon him for his presumption. He

and his subjects were swept from the earth, and his palace and gardens

were laid under an enchantment that hides them from human sight. When

I had recovered the book of Solomon I revisited the garden of Irem,

and wrung from the jinns who guard it the secret of the spells which

render it invisible to mortal sight. By virtue of these spells I can

rear for thee, O King, such a retreat even here on the mountain above

thy city."

"O wise philosopher!" cried Aben Habuz, "ill was it of me to doubt

thee. Do as thou dost promise, and name thy reward."

"All the reward I ask is the first beast of burden with its load

that shall enter the gate of thy paradise," said Ibrahim; "a moderate

request, surely."

"Moderate indeed!" cried the King, transported by the thought of joys

to come, "and I grant it immediately."

The astrologer at once set to work. On the summit of the hill above

his cavern he built a strong tower pierced by a great gateway, and on

the keystone of this portal he wrought the figure of a great key. The

gateway had also an outer guard, on which he engraved a gigantic

hand. Then on a night of unexampled darkness he ascended the hill

and wrought many incantations. In the morning he sought Aben Habuz

and intimated that his labours were at an end, and that the paradise

which should be invisible to all save him and his beloved awaited him.

On the following morning the King, accompanied by the princess,

ascended the hill, the latter riding on a white palfrey. Beside them

stalked the astrologer, assisted by his hieroglyph-covered staff. They

came to the arch, and the sage pointed out the mystic hand and key. "No

mortal power can prevail against the lord of this paradise," he said,

"until yonder hand shall seize that key."

As he spoke the princess on her palfrey passed through the portal.

"Behold!" cried the astrologer. "Did we not agree that the first

animal with its burden which should pass through the magic gateway

should be mine?"

Aben Habuz smiled at first at what he regarded as a humorous sally

on the part of the sage; but when he discovered him to be in earnest

he waxed wroth.

"Presumptuous astrologer!" he cried. "Dare you raise your thoughts

to her whom I have chosen from among many women?"

"Thy royal word is pledged," replied Ibrahim. "I claim the princess

in virtue of thine oath."

"Dog of the desert!" cried Aben Habuz. "Thou shalt feel the weight

of my anger for this, juggler though thou art."

"I laugh at thee, Aben Habuz," cried Ibrahim derisively. "Mortal hand

cannot harm me. Farewell. Remain in thy fool's paradise and continue to

reign over thy province. As for me, I go where thou canst not follow

me." And with these words he seized the bridle of the palfrey, smote

the earth with his magic staff, and sank with the princess through

the centre of the barbican. The earth closed over them, and left not

a trace of the aperture through which they had disappeared.

When Aben Habuz recovered from his astonishment he ordered gangs of

workmen to be brought to the spot, and commanded them to dig. But the

earth seemed to fill in as fast as they threw it out. The opening of

the astrologer's cavern too had disappeared. Worse still, the talismans

by which the astrologer had secured peace to Granada refused to work,

and the old unrest recommenced.

But one morning a peasant came before Aben Habuz and told him that

while wandering on the hill he had found a fissure in the rock through

which he had crept until he had looked down into a subterranean hall,

in which sat the astrologer on a magnificent divan, dozing, while

the princess played to him on her silver lyre. The distracted monarch

failed, however, to find the fissure. Nor could he enter the paradise

built by his rival. The summit of the hill appeared a naked waste,

and received the name of 'the Fool's Paradise.' The remainder of the

wretched King's life was made a burden to him by the inroads of his

warlike neighbours.

Such is the story of the hill of the Alhambra, the palace on which

almost realizes the fabled delights of the garden of Irem. The

enchanted gateway still exists entire, and is now known as the Gate of

Justice. Under that gateway, it is said, the old astrologer remains

in his subterranean hall, lulled to constant slumber by the silver

lyre of the princess. They are, indeed, each other's captives, and

will remain so until the magic key shall be grasped by the magic hand

and the spell which lies upon this enchanted hill be dissolved.

Cleomades and Claremond

The wonderful tale of Cleomades and Claremond is almost certainly of

Moorish origin in a secondary sense. In his preface to Adenès' Berte

aux grans Piés (Paris, 1832), M. Paulin Paris says: "I am strongly

inclined to believe that the original of the fiction of Cleomades

is really Spanish or Moorish. All the personages are Saracens or

Spaniards; the scene is in Spain; the character of the fiction is

akin to that of the fictions of the East." Keightley believed that

Blanche of Castile, the wife of Louis VIII of France, had heard

the tale in Spain, and had narrated it to the French poet Adenès,

who cast it into literary form.

Ectriva, Queen of Southern Spain, held a great tournament at Seville,

at which Marchabias, Prince of Sardinia, so distinguished himself as

to win her heart. She bestowed her hand upon the youthful champion,

and their union was a happy one, being blessed in time with three

daughters and a son. To the boy they gave the name of Cleomades,

while his sisters were called Melior, Soliadis, and Maxima.

Cleomades was dispatched upon his travels at an early age. But after

he had visited several foreign countries he was summoned home to be

present at the wedding of his sisters, who were about to be married

to three great princes, all of whom were famous as practitioners of

the magic art. They were Melicandus, King of Barbary; Bardagans, King

of Armenia; and Croppart, King of Hungary. The last-named monarch was

so unfortunate as to be a hunchback, and to his deformity he added

a bitter tongue and a wicked heart.

The three monarchs had encountered one another while still some

distance from Seville, and had agreed to give such presents to the King

and Queen as would necessitate a gift in return. Melicandus presented

the royal pair with the golden image of a man, holding in his right

hand a trumpet of the same metal, which he sounded if treason came

near him. Bardagans gave a hen and six chickens of gold, so skilfully

made that they picked up grain and seemed to be alive. Every third

day the hen laid an egg of pearl. Croppart gave a large wooden horse

magnificently caparisoned, which he told his hosts could travel over

land and sea at the rate of fifty leagues an hour.

The King and Queen, generous to a fault, invited the strangers to ask

anything that it was in their power to bestow. Melicandus requested

the hand of the Princess Melior, Bardagans that of Soliadis, while

Croppart demanded that Maxima should be given him as a consort. The two

elder sisters were pleased with their suitors, who were both handsome

and amiable, but when Maxima beheld the hideous and deformed Croppart

she ran to her brother Cleomades and begged him to deliver her from

such an unsightly monster.

Cleomades represented to his father the wrong done by him in consenting

to such a match. But Croppart insisted that the King's word had been

passed and that he could not retire from his promise. Cleomades,

casting about for an argument, told the Hungarian king that the value

of the gifts of Melicandus and Bardagans had been proved, but that,

so far as any one knew, his story about the wooden horse might be

a mere fable. Croppart offered to test the capacity of his wooden

steed. At this the golden man blew his trumpet loudly, but all were so

interested in the proposed trial that no one noticed it. The prince

mounted the gaudily harnessed hobby, and at the request of Croppart

turned a pin of steel in its head, and was immediately carried into

the air with such velocity that in a few moments he was lost to sight.

The King and Queen, filled with indignation, had Croppart seized,

but he argued that the prince should have waited until he had shown

him how to manage the wooden horse. Meanwhile Cleomades sped onward

for miles and miles. His strange steed continued to cleave the air

at a terrific speed, and at length darkness fell without any signs

of its slackening its pace. All night Cleomades continued to fly,

and during the hours of gloom had plenty of time to ponder upon

his awkward situation. Recollecting that there were pins upon the

horse's shoulders like those upon its head, he resolved to try their

effect. He found that by turning one of them to right or left the

horse went in either direction, and that when the other was turned the

wooden hippogriff slackened speed and descended. Morning now broke,

and he saw that he was over a great city. By skilful manipulation of

his steed he managed to alight upon a lofty tower which stood in the

garden of a great palace.

Descending through a trap-door in the roof, he entered a gorgeous

sleeping apartment, and beheld a beautiful lady reclining on a

sumptuous couch. At his entrance she awoke, and cried out: "Rash man,

how have you presumed to enter this apartment? Are you perchance that

King Liopatris to whom my father has affianced me?"

"I am that monarch," replied Cleomades. "May I not speak with

you?" he continued, for on beholding the princess he had at once

fallen violently in love with her.

"Retire to the garden," she said, "and I will come to you there."

The prince obeyed. In a few moments the princess joined him. But they

had not been long together when the lady's father, King Cornuant of

Tuscany, appeared, and at once denounced Cleomades as an impostor,

condemning him to death. The prince begged that he might be

permitted to meet his fate mounted upon his wooden horse. To this

the King assented, and the magical steed was brought. Mounting it,

he immediately turned the pin, and rose high in the air, calling out

to the princess, as he did so, that he would remain faithful to her.

Shortly he arrived again in Seville, to the immense relief of his

parents. Croppart was requested to quit the country. But he had no

mind to do so, and in the guise of an Eastern physician remained

in the city. The two elder princesses were married to Melicandus

and Bardagans. As for Cleomades, he could not forget the beautiful

Princess Claremond, and, once more mounting his aery steed, he set

off in the direction of her father's kingdom.

On this occasion he had timed his visit so as to arrive by night

at the palace of his lady-love. Alighting in the garden, he made

his way to the chamber of Claremond, whom he found fast asleep. He

awoke her gently, and told her his name and station, avowed his love,

and placed himself at her mercy.

"What!" exclaimed the princess. "Are you indeed that Cleomades whom

we regard as the very mirror of knighthood?" The prince assured her

that such was the case, and taking from his arm a splendid bracelet

containing his mother's portrait and his own, he presented her with it

as an assurance that he spoke truly. The princess confessed her love,

and at his entreaty mounted behind him on the magic horse. As they

rose, Cleomades beheld the King in the gardens beneath, surrounded

by his courtiers. He called to him to fear nothing for his daughter,

and, setting the head of his mount toward Seville, sped onward.

Alighting at a small rural palace some distance from the Court,

Cleomades left the princess there to recover from her journey,

while he proceeded to acquaint his royal parents with the result of

his adventure. Claremond, having refreshed herself, was walking in

the garden for exercise, as she felt somewhat stiff after her aerial

voyage, when, as ill-luck would have it, she was observed by Croppart,

who, in the guise of an Indian physician, had entered the garden,

ostensibly to cull simples for medicinal purposes, but in reality to

spy out the land.

Croppart, seeing his own wooden horse, and hearing the princess murmur

the name of Cleomades, speedily formed a plan to carry the damsel

off. Approaching her, he offered to take her to Cleomades at once on

the back of the enchanted horse, and, fearing no evil, she accepted

his offer, and permitted herself to be placed on its back. Croppart

immediately turned the pin, and the horse ascended with terrific

velocity. At first Claremond was quite unsuspicious of the designs

of her abductor, but as time passed her fears were aroused, and,

looking down, she beheld, instead of populous cities, only gloomy

forests and deserted mountains. She begged Croppart to return with

her to the palace garden, but he merely laughed at her entreaties,

and at last, worn out with grief and disappointment, she swooned away.

Descending near a fountain, Croppart sprinkled the princess with its

water until she revived. Then he acquainted her with his intention

to make her Queen of Hungary. But the princess did not lack wit,

and told him that she was merely a slave-girl whom Cleomades had

purchased from her parents. This intelligence made the ferocious

Croppart treat her with even less respect than before, so that to

save herself from his violence she consented to wed him at the first

city to which they might chance to come.

When he had wrung this promise from Claremond, Croppart, who

suffered greatly from thirst, drank deeply of the fountain. So icy

cold were its waters that on quaffing them he fell to the ground,

almost insensible. Claremond, overcome by fatigue and anxiety, fell

fast asleep. In this condition they were discovered by Mendulus, King

of Salerno, who at once conceived a strong attachment to the sleeping

damsel, and had her conveyed to his palace, where he lodged her in

a fair apartment. As for Croppart, so severe was the disorder which

he had contracted by drinking of the icy fountain that he expired

shortly afterward.

Claremond told King Mendulus that she was only a foundling

whose name was Trouvée, and that she had accompanied Croppart, a

travelling physician, from one place to another, seeking a precarious

livelihood. This did not prevent him, however, from offering her his

hand and crown. To save herself from this new danger, Claremond had

recourse to feigned madness, and so convincingly did she play her

part that Mendulus had perforce to confine her under the charge of

ten chosen women, whose duty it was to restrain her.

Meanwhile the Court of Spain was thrown into the utmost

confusion. Cleomades, returning to the summer palace with his parents,

could find no trace of Claremond, and, overcome with grief, was

brought back to the capital in a state bordering upon frenzy. When

he recovered he set out for the kingdom of Tuscany in the hope that

there he might obtain tidings of his lady. Riding alone, he came to a

castle, where he encountered and overthrew two knights who refused to

let him pass. From them he learned that when a prince named Liopatris,

who had been betrothed to Claremond, arrived at the Court of Tuscany,

three of his knights had accused three of Claremond's maids of honour

of being accomplices in the abduction of their mistress. The knights

whom Cleomades had worsted were suitors for the hands of two of

those ladies, and had challenged their detractors, but as one of

them had been wounded by Cleomades, they could not now make good

their challenge. Cleomades graciously offered to take the place of

the wounded man, and with his unwounded comrade set out for the Court

of King Cornuant.

Next morning the combatants appeared in the lists. The three accusers

were overthrown, and the maids of honour pronounced innocent, according

to the laws of chivalry. Taking the damsels with them, Cleomades and

his new brother-in-arms returned to the castle whence they had come,

and when he had doffed his armour the prince-errant was recognized by

the ladies whom he had helped to rescue. Great was their grief when

they learned of the fate of Claremond. But one of them begged Cleomades

to seek the assistance of a famous astrologer who dwelt at Salerno,

"who saw most secret things right clear." Cleomades instantly resolved

to go and consult this sage, and accordingly next morning he set out

for the city of Salerno, after having taken an affectionate leave of

the lovers.

Arrived at Salerno, Cleomades put up at an inn, and lost no time in

inquiring of the landlord where the astrologer might be found.

"Alas, sir!" said the host, "it is now a year since he passed

away. Never did we need him more. For had he been alive, he might have

served our King by restoring to reason the most beautiful creature

who ever lived." And he told Cleomades the story of how Mendulus had

found the hunchback and the maid. At the mention of the wooden horse

Cleomades started, but kept his presence of mind, and assured the

innkeeper that he possessed an infallible cure for madness. He begged

the man to lead him to the King, and, on the plea that his arms might

excite suspicion, donned a false beard and the dress of a physician.

He was at once admitted to the royal presence, and on hearing

of his skill the King led him to the place where Claremond was

confined. Cleomades had taken with him a glove belonging to his

lady-love, which he had stuffed with herbs, and on the pretence that

these would cure her he placed it upon her cheek. Seeing her own

glove, she regarded the seeming physician earnestly, and succeeded

in penetrating his disguise. But, still feigning insanity, she begged

that her wooden horse might be brought, so that it could dispute with

the learned doctor. It was carried into the garden where they were,

and the princess pretended to have a whim that she could only be cured

if she and the physician mounted the wooden steed. To this Mendulus

consented, and when they bestrode the artificial hippogriff Cleomades

turned the pin, and in a moment they rose like an arrow from the bow.

Next morning the happy pair arrived in Seville. Their nuptials were

immediately performed, and Liopatris was consoled with Princess Maxima,

so that no one was left lamenting.

The Three Beautiful Princesses

Legend tells us that when Mohammed el Haygari, or 'the Left-handed,'

reigned in Granada he once encountered a train of horsemen riding

back from a foray in Christian lands. He observed in the ranks of

their captives a beautiful damsel richly attired, and learned that

she was the daughter of the commander of a frontier fortress which

had been taken and sacked in the course of the expedition. The lady

was accompanied by a duenna, and Mohammed ordered that both women

should be conveyed to his harem.

Day by day he urged the captive damsel to become his queen. But his

faith as well as his age caused her family to reject his advances. In

his perplexity he resolved to enlist the good graces of her duenna,

who undertook to plead his cause with her young mistress. She told

the lady that she was foolish to pine in a beautiful palace, who had

henceforth been used only to a dull old frontier castle, and that by

marrying Mohammed she could make herself mistress of all she surveyed

instead of remaining a captive. At last her arguments prevailed. The

Spanish lady consented to unite herself to the Moorish monarch,

and even outwardly conformed to his religion, which the duenna also

embraced with all the fervour of a proselyte, being re-named Kadiga.

In course of time the Spanish lady presented her lord with three

daughters at a single birth. The Court astrologers cast the nativities

of the infants, and with many ominous warnings cautioned their father

to keep strict guard over them when they arrived at a marriageable age.

Shortly afterward his queen died, and Mohammed, with the astrologers'

warning ringing in his ears, resolved to shut the princesses up in

the royal castle of Salobreña, a place of great strength, overlooking

the Mediterranean, where he felt certain no harm could come to them.

Years passed and at length the princesses became of marriageable

age. Although they had been brought up by the discreet Kadiga with

the greatest care, and had always been together, their characters

were of course very different one from another. Zayda, the eldest,

was of an intrepid spirit, and took the lead in everything. Zorayda,

the second, had a strong sense of beauty, which probably accounted

for the fact that she spent a large portion of her time gazing in the

glass, or in the fountain which plashed and sang in the marble court

of the castle. Zorahayda, the youngest, was soft and timid, and given

to reverie. All three were surpassingly beautiful, and as she gazed

upon them the shrewd old Kadiga would shake her head and sigh. When

they inquired of her why she did so, she would turn the question aside

with a laugh and direct the conversation to a less dangerous topic.

One day the princesses were seated at a casement which commanded a

noble view of the heaven-blue Mediterranean, the dreamy waters of

which whispered musically to the palm-shadowed shores which skirted

the height upon which the towers of Salobreña stood. It was one of

those evenings on which we feel it difficult to believe that we are

not temporary sojourners in a land of vague deliciousness, where

all is beautiful as it is unreal. Mists dyed in the sunset rose

like incense from the urns of twilight, hiding the far distances

of sea and sky. From between the curtains of sea-shadows there

drifted a white-sailed galley, which glided toward the shore,

where it anchored. A number of Moorish soldiers landed on the beach,

conducting several Christian prisoners, among whom were three Spanish

cavaliers richly dressed. These, though loaded with chains, carried

themselves in a lofty and distinguished manner, and the princesses

could not refrain from gazing upon them with intense and breathless

interest. Never before had they seen such noble-looking youths, who had

so far only beheld black slaves and the rude fishermen of the coast,

so small wonder was it that the sight of these brave cavaliers should

arouse commotion in their bosoms.

The princesses remained gazing until the prisoners were out of

sight. Then with long-drawn sighs they turned from the window and

sat down, musing and pensive, on their ottomans. The discreet Kadiga,

finding them thus, learned from them what they had seen, and in answer

to their inquiries regarding such beings related to them many a tale

of cavalier life in Christian Spain, which only served to heighten

the curiosity which the appearance of the captives had excited. But

it did not take the sage old woman long to discover the mischief she

was doing, and, full of fears for which she could scarcely account,

she dispatched a slave to her royal master, with the symbolic message

of a basket filled with leaves of the fig and vine, on which lay a

peach, an apricot, and a nectarine, all in the early stage of tempting

ripeness, which Mohammed, skilled in the Oriental language of fruits

and flowers, rightly interpreted as meaning that his daughters had

arrived at marriageable age.

Recalling the advice of the astrologers, he resolved to bring the

princesses under his immediate guardianship, and at once commanded

that a tower of the Alhambra should be prepared for their reception. He

himself set out for Salobreña to conduct them thither, and on beholding

them, and perceiving how beautiful they were, he felt glad that he

had wasted no time in bringing them to Court. So conscious was he

of the danger that three such beauties would run that he prepared

for his return to Granada by sending heralds before him, commanding

every one to keep out of the road by which he was to pass, on pain of

death. Then, escorted by a troop of the most hideous black horsemen

he could find, he set forth on the journey to his capital.

As the cavalcade was approaching Granada it chanced to overtake a

small body of Moorish soldiers with a convoy of prisoners. It was too

late for the soldiers to retire, so they threw themselves on their

faces on the earth, ordering their captives to do likewise. Among

the prisoners were the three cavaliers whom the princesses had seen

from the window of the castle of Salobreña, and they, too proud to

obey the order to grovel before their pagan enemy, remained standing.

The anger of the royal Mohammed was aroused by this flagrant defiance

of his orders, and, drawing his scimitar, he was about to decapitate

the unfortunate captives, when the princesses gathered round him and

implored mercy for them. The captain of the guard, too, assured him

that they could not be injured without great scandal, on account of

their high rank, and described to the irate monarch the manner in

which these illustrious youths had been taken captive while fighting

like lions beneath the royal banner of Spain. Somewhat mollified by

these representations, Mohammed sheathed his weapon. "I will spare

their lives," he said, "but their rashness must meet with fitting

punishment. Let them be taken to the Vermilion Towers and put to

labour."

In the agitation of the moment the veils of the three princesses

had blown aside so that their radiant beauty was revealed. In those

romantic times to see was often to love at once, and the three noble

cavaliers fell sudden victims to the charms of the royal damsels who

pleaded so eloquently for their lives. Singularly enough, each of them

was enraptured with a separate beauty; but it would be as impertinent

as illogical to ask the reason of this sleight of cunning Dame Nature,

who in romance, perhaps, is represented as being more judicious than

she really is.

The royal cavalcade now pressed onward, and the captives were conducted

to their allotted prison in the Vermilion Towers. The residence

provided for the princesses was all that imagination could ask and

splendour devise. It was situated in a tower somewhat apart from

the main palace of the Alhambra, and on one side was cheered by the

prospect of a garden beautiful as the first step into paradise, while

on the other it overlooked a deep and umbrageous ravine that separated

the grounds of the Alhambra from those of the Generalife. But to the

beauties of this delightful place the princesses were blind. They

languished visibly, and by none was their indisposition remarked so

shrewdly as by old Kadiga, who guessed its cause without any great

difficulty. Taking pity upon their forlorn condition, she told them

that as she was passing the Vermilion Towers on the preceding evening

she heard the cavaliers singing after the day's labours to the strains

of a guitar, and at the request of the princesses she arranged with

their jailer that they should be set to work in the ravine, beneath

the windows of the damsels' apartments.

The very next day the captives were given labour which necessitated

their presence in the ravine. During the noontide heat, while

their guards were sleeping, they sang a Spanish roundelay to the

accompaniment of the guitar. The princesses listened, and heard that

it was a love ditty addressed to themselves. The ladies replied to

the sound of a lute played by Zorayda, the burden of which was:

The rose by the screen of her leaves is concealed,

But the song of the nightingale pierces the shield.

Every day the cavaliers worked in the ravine, and an intercourse was

maintained between them and the no less captive princesses by songs

and romances which breathed the feelings of either party. In time

the princesses showed themselves on the balcony when the guards were

wrapped in noonday slumber. But at length this desirable condition

of affairs was interrupted, for the three young nobles were ransomed

by their families and repaired to Granada to commence their homeward

journey. They approached the aged Kadiga, and requested her to assist

them to fly with the princesses to Spain. This proposal the old dame

communicated to her young mistresses, and finding that they embraced it

with alacrity a plan of escape was arranged. The rugged hill on which

the Alhambra is built was at that time tunnelled by many a subterranean

passage leading from the fortress to various parts of the city, and

Kadiga arranged to conduct the royal damsels by one of these to a

sally-port beyond the walls of Granada, where the cavaliers were to be

in waiting with swift horses to bear the whole party over the borders.

The appointed night arrived, and when the Alhambra was buried in

deep sleep the princesses, accompanied by their duenna, descended

from their apartments to the garden by means of a rope-ladder--all

save Zorahayda, the youngest and most timorous, who at the decisive

moment could not endure the idea of leaving her father. The advance

of the night patrol which guarded the palace made it necessary for

her sisters and Kadiga to fly without her. Groping their way through

the fearful labyrinth, they succeeded in reaching the gate outside

the walls. The Spanish cavaliers were waiting to receive them. The

lover of Zorahayda was frantic when he learned that she had refused

to leave the tower, but there was no time to waste in lamentations;

the two princesses mounted behind their lovers, Kadiga behind another

rider, and, dashing the spurs into the flanks of their steeds, the

party galloped off at top speed.

They had not proceeded far when they heard the noise of an alarm

from the battlements of the Alhambra, while a lurid watch-fire

burst into flame on its topmost turret. Lashing their horses to a

frenzy of speed, they succeeded in outdistancing their pursuers,

and by taking unfrequented paths and hiding in wild barrancas they

were at last so fortunate as to reach the city of Cordova, where the

princesses were received into the bosom of the Church and united to

their respective lovers.

Mohammed was well-nigh demented at the loss of his daughters, but,

rather unnecessarily, took pains to redouble his watch over the one

who had remained. The unfortunate Zorahayda, thus closely guarded,

repented of her vacillation, and we are told that many a night she

was seen leaning on the battlements of the tower in which she was

confined, looking in the direction of Cordova. Legend, never very

merciful either to heroine or reader, says that she died young, and

her melancholy fate gave birth to many a sad ballad, both Moorish and

Castilian, so that she was at least successful in inspiring song--a

celebrity to which her more fortunate sisters did not attain.

The Story of Prince Ahmed

Once again the ancient city of Granada is the scene of the legend

we are about to relate. But, from considerations which we will

adduce later, there is good reason to believe the story to be of

Persian origin. It recounts the history of Prince Ahmed, surnamed

'al Kamel,' or 'the Perfect,' because of the beauty and equability

of his temperament. At the birth of this prince of happy disposition

the Court astrologers predicted that his career would be singularly

fortunate, provided one difficulty could be overcome; but that

difficulty was sufficiently great to daunt the heart of any monarch,

so that we cannot be surprised when we learn that his royal father

grew pessimistic regarding his chances of happiness when the wise men

informed him that in order to circumvent a cruel fate his son must be

kept from the allurements of love until he attained the age of manhood.

The perplexed King acted as most fathers in romances do--that is,

he confined his son from his earliest infancy in a delightfully

secluded palace which he built for the purpose on the brow of the

hill above the Alhambra. This building, which is now known as the

Generalife, is surrounded by lofty walls, and here the young prince

grew up under the care of Eben Bonabben, an Arabian sage of wisdom

and other formidable qualities, which made him a suitable guardian

for a budding royalty in such case as Ahmed.

Under the tuition of this grave preceptor the prince attained to

his twentieth year totally ignorant of the tender passion. About

this time a change came over his habitual docility, and instead

of listening attentively to the discourses of Eben Bonabben, he

neglected his studies and took to strolling in the gardens of his

abode. His instructor, who saw how it was with him, and that the

latent tenderness of his nature had awakened, redoubled his care,

and shut him up in the most remote tower of the Generalife. In order

to interest him in something that would remove his thoughts from

speculations which might prove dangerous, he instructed his pupil in

the language of birds, and the Prince, taking kindly to this recondite

subject, soon mastered it completely. After trying his skill upon a

hawk, an owl, and a bat with indifferent success, he listened to the

chorus of birds in his garden. It was spring-time, and each and every

feathered songster was pouring out his heart in an ecstasy of love,

repeating the word again and yet again.

"Love!" cried the prince at length. "What may this love be?" He

inquired of Eben Bonabben, who at the question felt his head roll

ominously on his shoulders, as if in pledge of what would happen to

it did he not avert the question. He informed Ahmed that love was one

of the greatest evils which poor humanity has to endure; that it made

strife between friends and brethren, and had brought about the ruin

of some of the greatest of men. Then he departed in perturbation,

leaving the Prince to his own thoughts.

But Ahmed observed that the birds which sang so lustily of love

were far from unhappy, and therefore doubted the arguments of his

preceptor. Next morning as he lay on his couch, lost in the pursuit

of the enigma which had presented itself to his thoughts, a dove,

chased by a hawk, flew through the casement and fluttered to the

floor. The Prince took up the terrified bird and smoothed its ruffled

plumage. But it seemed disconsolate, and on his asking for what it

grieved, it replied that its discontent was caused by separation from

its mate, whom it loved with all its heart.

"Tell me, beautiful bird, what is this thing called love that these

birds in the garden sing of so constantly?"

"Love," said the bird, "is the great mystery and principle of

life. Every created being has its mate. Hast thou spent so many of

the precious days of youth without experiencing it? Has no beautiful

princess or lovely damsel ensnared thine heart?"

The Prince released the dove and sought out Bonabben. "Miscreant!" he

cried, "why hast thou kept me in this abject ignorance--why withheld

from me the great mystery and principle of life? Why am I alone

debarred from the enjoyment of love?

Bonabben saw that further subterfuge was useless, so he revealed to his

charge the predictions of the astrologers and the consequent necessity

for the precautions with which his youth had been surrounded. He

further assured the prince that did the King learn how his trust had

failed his head would pay forfeit. The Prince, horrified to learn

this, promised to conceal his knowledge, and this in some measure

quieted the fears of the philosopher.

Some days after this episode the Prince was reclining in the garden

when his friend the dove alighted fearlessly upon his shoulder. He

asked it whence it came, and it answered that it came from a far

land, where it had seen a beautiful princess, who, like himself, had

been enclosed within the high walls of a secret retreat and kept in

ignorance of the existence of love. The knowledge that a being of the

opposite sex existed who had been brought up in like circumstances

to himself acted like a spark of fire to the heart of Ahmed. He at

once wrote a letter couched in the most impassioned language, which

he addressed, "To the unknown beauty, from the captive Prince Ahmed,"

and this he entrusted to the dove, who promised to convey it to the

object of his adoration without a moment's delay.

Day after day Ahmed watched for the return of the messenger of

love, but in vain. At last, one evening the bird fluttered into

his apartment, and falling at his feet expired. The arrow of some

wanton archer had pierced its breast, yet it had struggled on to

the fulfilment of its mission. Ahmed, picking up the little body,

found it encircled by a chain of pearls, attached to which was a

small enamelled picture representing a lovely princess in the flower

of youth and beauty. The prince pressed the picture to his lips in

a fervour of passion, and at once resolved upon flight, his object

being to seek the original of the portrait, whatever dangers and

obstacles might lie in the accomplishment of his purpose.

Seeking the advice of the wise owl, whom he had not spoken to since

he had been a beginner in the study of the language of birds, he

collected all his jewels, and on the same night lowered himself

from the balcony, clambered over the outer walls of the Generalife,

and, accompanied by the wise old bird, who had agreed to act as his

cicerone, set out for Seville, his purpose being to seek a raven

whom the owl knew to be a great necromancer, who might assist him

in his quest. In time they arrived at the southern city, and sought

the high tower in which the raven dwelt. They found the gifted bird,

and were advised by it to go to Cordova and seek the palm-tree of

the great Abderahman, which stood in the courtyard of the principal

mosque, at the foot of which they would encounter a great traveller,

who would give them information regarding the object of their search.

Following the raven's instructions, they travelled to Seville, and

were annoyed to find at the foot of the tree in question an immense

crowd, listening attentively to the chattering of a parrot, whose

plumage was of the most brilliant green, and whose pragmatical eye

held much wisdom. When the crowd had departed, the prince consulted

the bird regarding his quest, and was amazed to hear it burst into

cries of discordant laughter when it gazed upon the picture.

"Poor youth," it cackled, "are you another victim of love? Know that

this picture you worship so devoutly is that of the Princess Aldegonda,

daughter of the Christian King of Toledo."

"Help me in this matter, good bird," cried the prince, "and I shall

find you a distinguished place at Court."

"With all my heart," said the parrot. "All I ask is that it be a

sinecure, for we clever folk have a great dislike for hard work!"

Accompanied by the owl and the parrot, Ahmed proceeded upon his journey

to Toledo in search of the Princess Aldegonda. Their progress through

the stern passes of the Sierra Morena and across the sun-drenched

plains of La Mancha and Castile was slow, but at long last they came

in sight of Toledo, at the foot of whose steeps the Tagus rushed in

brawling cascades. The garrulous parrot at once pointed out the abode

of the Princess Aldegonda, a stately palace rising out of the bowers

of a delightful garden.

"Ah, Toledo!" cried the owl in ecstasy. "Toledo, thou city of magic

and mystery! What spells, what enchantments of ancient wizardry

have not been recited among thy carven shadows! City of learning,

of strange miracles, of a thousand profundities----"

"City of a thousand fiddlesticks!" piped the parrot. "A truce to your

raptures, friend philosopher. O Toledo," he apostrophized, with wings

outspread in mimicry of the owl, "city of nuts and wine, of figs and

oil, of banquets, jousts, and enchanting señoritas! Now, my prince,

shall I not fly to the Princess Aldegonda and acquaint her with the

fact of our arrival?"

"Do so, best of birds," replied the Prince enthusiastically. "Tell her

that Ahmed, the pilgrim of love, has come to Toledo in quest of her."

The parrot immediately spread his wings and flew off on his mission. He

beheld the princess reclining on a couch, and, alighting, he advanced

with the air of a courtier.

"Beautiful princess," he said, with a low bow, "I come as ambassador

from Prince Ahmed, of Granada, who has journeyed to Toledo to bask

in the light of thine eyes."

"O joyful news!" cried the princess. "I had begun to doubt the

constancy of Ahmed. Hie thee back to him as fast as thy green wings

will take thee, and tell him that his poetry has been the food of my

soul, and that his letters are engraven on my heart. But, alas! he

must prepare to prove his love by force of arms. To-morrow is my

seventeenth birthday, in honour of which the King my father is to

hold a great tournament, and my hand is to be the prize of the victor."

Ahmed was delighted with the news which the parrot brought him, but his

happiness at finding the princess had remained faithful was shadowed by

the knowledge that he would have to do battle for her; for he had not

been trained in the exercises of chivalry. In his dilemma he turned

to the wise owl, who, as usual, threw much light on the matter, for

he unfolded to him that in a neighbouring mountain there was a cave

where lay on an iron table a suit of magical armour and near it an

enchanted steed that had been shut up there for generations. After

a search the cavern was located. A lamp of everlasting oil shed a

solemn light among the profound shadows of the place, and by its

gleam the armour and the bespelled charger were soon found, as the

owl had said. Donning the mail, Ahmed leapt upon the destrier's back,

and with a loud neighing the steed awoke and bore him from the place,

the owl and the parrot flying one on either side of him.

Next morning Ahmed proceeded to the lists, which were situated in

a large plain near the city. They presented a scene of unparalleled

brilliance, and noble knights and lovely ladies had congregated in

hundreds to try their skill in arms or display their beauty. But all

the latter were quite eclipsed by the Princess Aldegonda, who shone

like the moon among the stars. At the appearance of Ahmed, who was

announced as 'The Pilgrim of Love,' excitement ran high, for he made

a most gallant and resplendent figure in his glittering armour and

bejewelled casque. He was informed, however, that none but princes

might encounter in the tournament, and on learning this he disclosed

his rank and name. On hearing that he was a Moslem a universal scoffing

arose among the Christian champions, and Ahmed, incensed, challenged

the knight who displayed the bitterest enmity. The course was run,

and the brawny scoffer tilted out of his saddle. But the prince now

found that 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. Down went Ahmed's opponents before his

levelled lance like ninepins, so that the lists were soon strewn with

their recumbent forms. But at midday the spell which had been laid

upon the charger resumed its power. The Arabian steed scoured across

the plain, leaped the barrier, plunged into the Tagus, swam its raging

current, and bore the prince, breathless yet avenged, to the cavern,

where it resumed its station like a statue beside the iron table,

on which the prince laid the armour.

Ahmed's feelings were most unenviable, for among those whom he had

unhorsed in his wild career had been the King himself, the father

of Aldegonda, who, on witnessing the overthrow of his guests, had

angrily rushed to their assistance. Full of anxiety, he dispatched

his winged messengers to gather tidings. The parrot returned with a

world of gossip. Toledo, he said, was in consternation; the princess

had been carried home senseless, and the general opinion was that

the prince was either a Moorish magician or a demon such as tradition

said dwelt in the mountain caverns.

It was morning when the owl came back. He had peered through the

windows of the palace, and had seen the princess kiss Ahmed's letter,

and give way to loud lamentations. Later, she was conveyed to the

highest tower in the palace, every avenue to which was strictly

guarded. But a melancholy, deep and devouring, had settled upon her,

and it was thought that she was the victim of magic, so that at last

a great reward--the richest jewel in the royal treasury--was offered

to anyone who should effect her cure.

Now the wise owl chanced to know that in the royal treasury was

deposited a certain box of sandal-wood secured by bands of steel, and

inscribed with mystic characters known only to the learned few. This

coffer contained the silken carpet of Solomon the Great, which had

been brought to Spain by exiled Jews. All this caused the prince to

ponder deeply. Next day he laid aside his rich attire, and arrayed

himself in the simple garb of an Arab of the desert, dyeing his face

and hands a tawny brown. Thus disguised, he repaired to the royal

palace, and after some delay, was admitted. When the King asked him

his business, he boldly claimed his ability to cure the princess, who,

he said, was certainly possessed of a devil, which he could exorcise

by the power of music alone, as the folk of his tribe were wont to do.

The King, seeing him so confident, immediately conducted him to the

lofty tower where the princess lay, the windows of which opened upon

a terrace commanding a view over the city and surrounding country. On

this terrace the prince seated himself, and began to play on his

pipe. But the princess remained insensible. Then, as if chanting an

exorcism, he repeated the verses of the letter which he had sent to

the princess, in which he had first declared his passion. Rousing,

she recognized the words with emotion, and asked that the prince

should be brought into her presence. Ahmed was conducted into her

chamber, but the lovers, knowing their danger, were discreet, and

contented themselves with the exchange of glances more eloquent than

speech. Never was triumph of music more complete. The roses returned

to the pale cheeks of the princess, and so delighted was the King that

he at once requested Ahmed to select the most precious jewel in his

treasury. The prince, feigning modesty, replied that he disdained

jewels, and desired only an old carpet enclosed in a sandal-wood

coffer, which had been handed down by the Moslems who once owned

Toledo. The box was immediately brought, and the carpet spread out

on the terrace.

"This carpet," said the prince, "once belonged to Solomon the Wise. It

is worthy of being placed beneath the feet of beauty. Let the Princess

stand upon it."

The King motioned his daughter to accede to the Arab's request,

and she at once complied. Then Ahmed took his place beside her, and,

turning to her astonished father, said:

"Know, O King, that your daughter and I have long loved one

another. Behold in me the Pilgrim of Love."

He had scarcely spoken when the carpet rose in the air, and, to

the consternation of all, the lovers were borne off, and swiftly

disappeared.

The magical carpet descended at Granada, where Ahmed and the princess

were espoused to one another with fitting splendour. In course of time

he reigned in his father's stead long and happily. But although he had

become a king he did not forget the services of his bird friends. He

appointed the owl his vizier, and the parrot his master of ceremonies,

and we may be sure by these tokens that in all his royal and domestic

circumstances he was attended by wisdom and magnificence.

This striking tale is, of course, manufactured out of a number of

original and separate elements--the lovers destined to be kept in

ignorance of love because of some danger prophesied at their birth,

the old theme of the language of birds, the 'helpful animal' theme,

and that of the magic carpet. The latter is merely an adaptation of the

idea that a magician was able to transport himself through the air in

a non-natural manner, and this ability he seems to have handed on to

the witches of the Middle Ages, whose broomsticks were merely magical

substitutes for the 'flying horse.' [54] But the appearance of the

carpet in such a tale makes it probable that it drew its inspiration

from Persia, the land where carpets were first manufactured, as the

wizards of more primitive folk adopted other and simpler means of

supernatural flight.

The Paynim's Promise

A singular story which shows that tolerance and even generosity

were occasionally to be found between Moor and Christian in ancient

Spain is narrated in connexion with the exploits of Narvaez, the

general who commanded the garrison of Medina Antequara, a Moorish

town that had fallen into the hands of the Spaniards. Narvaez made

the city a centre from which he launched a series of incursions into

the neighbouring districts of Granada for the purpose of obtaining

provisions and relieving the unfortunate inhabitants of any booty

which might happen to be left to them.

On one of these occasions Narvaez had dispatched a large body of horse

to scour the surrounding country. They had started on their raid at

an early hour of the morning and while it was yet dark, so that by

the hour of sunrise they had penetrated far into hostile country. The

officer in command of the expedition rode a few bow-shots ahead, and to

his surprise suddenly encountered a Moorish youth who had lost his way

in the darkness, and who was now returning home. With great boldness

the young man faced the Spanish horsemen, but was quickly overpowered,

and when they learned from him that the district in which they were was

little more than a desert, having been stripped of all its resources

by the inhabitants who had abandoned it, they returned to Antequara,

where they brought their captive before Narvaez.

The prisoner, a young man of about twenty-three years of age, was

of handsome and dignified appearance. He was dressed in a flowing

robe of rich mulberry-coloured silk, gorgeously decorated in the

Moorish manner, and was mounted on a magnificent horse of the Arab

breed. From these indications, Narvaez judged him to be a cavalier

of importance. He inquired his name and lineage, and was told that

his prisoner was the son of the Alcayde of Ronda, a Moor of high

distinction, and an implacable enemy of the Christians. But when

Narvaez questioned the young man himself, to his astonishment he

found that he was unable to reply to him. Tears streamed down his

face, and his utterance was choked by sobs which seemed to rise from

a heart overflowing with grief.

"I marvel to see thee," said Narvaez. "That thou, being as thou art,

a cavalier of good race, and the son of a noble so valiant as is thy

father, should be thus cast down and weep like a woman, knowing too

what are the chances of war and having all the appearance of a brave

soldier and a good knight--this surpasses my understanding."

"I do not weep because I have been taken captive," replied the

youth. "The tears flow from mine eyes because of a much deeper sorrow,

compared with which my fallen state is as nothing."

Struck by the young man's earnestness, and pitying his position,

Narvaez asked him sympathetically to confide to him the cause of his

sorrow. The cavalier, touched by the general's kindness, sighed deeply,

and replied:

"Lord Governor, I have long loved a lady, daughter of the Alcayde of

a certain fortress. Many times have I fought in her honour against

the men of your race. In time the lady came to return my affection,

and declared herself willing to become my wife, and I was on my way

to her when, by evil chance, I encountered your horsemen and fell

into their hands. Thus I have lost not only my liberty, but all the

happiness of my life, which I believed I held in my hand. If this does

not seem to you to be worthy of tears, I know not for what purpose

they are given to the eyes of man, or how to make you understand the

misery I am suffering."

The bold Narvaez was much affected at the pitiful nature of his

prisoner's story, and being a man of sympathetic instincts and generous

heart, he at once resolved to do what he could to lighten the captive's

sorrowful predicament.

"Thou art a cavalier of good family," he said, "and if thou wilt pledge

me thy word to return to this place, I will give thee permission to

go to thy beloved and acquaint her with the cause of thy failure to

be with her this day."

The Moor gladly availed himself of his captor's indulgence, gave

Narvaez the required assurance, and that same night reached the castle

wherein his lady dwelt. Entering the garden, he gave the signal by

which he usually signified his presence there, and she immediately

came to the trysting-place agreed upon between them. She at once

expressed the greatest surprise that he had not arrived at the time

he had promised to be with her, and he explained the circumstances

which had attended his delay. On hearing what had occurred the lady

was cast into the deepest grief, and as her lover was attempting to

console her by every means in his power the hour of dawn reminded him

of his pledge to Narvaez, and how he had given his word as a soldier

and a cavalier to return to his captivity.

"There is nothing left but that I should return," he said. "I have

lost my own liberty, and God forbid that, loving you as I do, I should

bear you to a place where yours also would be in danger. We must wait

patiently until the time when I can obtain my ransom, when I shall

immediately return to you."

"Before this hour," replied the lady, "you have given me many proofs

that you truly love me, but now you show your attachment more plainly

than ever in your desire for my safety, and for that very reason

I should be most ungrateful if I did not go with you to share your

captivity. Therefore I shall accompany you to the Christian prison for

which you are destined. If you must be a slave, so also shall I be."

The lady then commanded her waiting damsel to bring her jewel-case,

and when this had been done she mounted behind her lover. All

night they rode, and in the morning they arrived at Antequara,

where they presented themselves to Narvaez, who was no less struck

with the constancy of the lady than with the honour and fidelity of

the young Moorish cavalier. He immediately gave both their liberty,

and, loading them with presents and other marks of honour, accorded

them permission to return to their own land, providing an escort of

troops to accompany them until they had reached a place of safety.

This adventure, the love of the lady, the loyalty of the Moor, and more

than all the generosity of the high-souled Christian commander, were

greatly celebrated and applauded by the noble Saracens of Granada, and

were sung in the lays of their most distinguished poets and chronicled

by their annalists. And although this story in every way partakes of

the nature of romance, it has the additional merit of being true.

The Dream of King Alfonso

A mysterious story indeed is that which tells of the manner in which

Don Alfonso, King of Galicia, one of the Christian states which

held out against the Moors, was haunted by a dream which came to him

again and again in the watches of the night, and which no one might

interpret, until at last he was forced to call to his aid the occult

science of those very enemies against whom the vision warned him.

In the year 1086 the territories of Alfonso and other Christian

sovereigns were invaded by a vast army of Almoravide Moors, who,

sweeping over from Africa, menaced Central and Northern Spain. When

he learned of their advance Alfonso was engaged in the siege of

Saragossa, but in view of the danger which confronted him he joined

his allies at Toledo and prepared to give battle to the invaders,

who, numerous in themselves, had been reinforced by the Moors of the

various Mohammedan states in Spain. Before leaving Toledo Alfonso

was visited by one of those terrible visions of the night which,

history tells us, have so often prophesied the fall of nations. It

appeared to him that he was mounted on an elephant, and that beside

him, on the flank of the great beast, was placed an atambore or

Moorish drum, which he beat with his own hands. But the clamours

which pealed forth from the instrument were so loud and terrifying

that he instantly awoke in terror and amazement. At first he scoffed

at the dream as nothing but a nightmare, but when it returned again

and again on the succeeding nights of his stay at Toledo he began to

feel that it must contain some element of awful warning. Night after

night he awoke in great terror, drenched with perspiration, and with

the echoes of the Eastern drum thundering in his ear, until at last,

in great disquietude, he resolved to ask the advice of the learned

men of his Court regarding what the vision might portend.

With this object in view, he summoned to his presence the scholars and

sages of his retinue, as well as the bishops and priests, and even the

rabbis of the Jews who were his vassals, and who were more profoundly

skilled in divination and the interpretation of dreams than any of

his Christian subjects. When they had come before him, he related the

substance of his dream, which he described very minutely, concluding

his narration by saying: "That which most amazes and alarms me in this

matter is the peculiarity of the elephant which I see in my visions,

and which is an animal not reared in our country nor seen therein. In

like manner, the atambore is not of the form and kind which we have

in use among us, nor is that either to be seen in Spain. Wherefore

do ye consider what these may portend, and give me the signification

thereof without delay."

The wise men thereupon retired, and having considered the dream,

returned to the royal presence. "Lord King," they said, "we are of

opinion that this dream of yours was sent to signify that you shall

vanquish these great armies that the Moslems have brought against

you, that you shall despoil their camp and plunder it of the riches

it contains, and that you shall occupy their territory and return

victorious, with great honour and glory. Moreover, we believe that

your triumph will be made known through all parts of the East,

since the elephant which you nightly appear to bestride can be no

other than Juzef Aben Taxfin, King of the Moslems and lord of the

far-extending lands of Africa, who, like that animal, has been reared

in the deserts of that country. The strangely formed atambore which

you have sounded on these many nights implies the fame which shall

echo throughout the world, to every part of which it shall carry the

knowledge of your illustrious victories."

Alfonso listened to this interpretation with the utmost attention,

and when it concluded he said: "It appears to me that you have gone far

from the true interpretation of my dream, seeing that the explanation

which my heart gives me is of a widely different kind, for it announces

to me nothing better than events of terror and dismay."

Having thus spoken, the King turned his head, and, looking toward

certain Moorish knights who were his vassals, he asked them if

perchance they knew of any wise man of their nation who had skill

in the interpretation of dreams. They replied that they did know of

one such, and that there was in Toledo at that moment a wise man who

taught in one of the mosques and who would interpret the vision to

the satisfaction of the King.

Alfonso at once commanded that they should bring the sage before him,

and in a short space the Moorish cavaliers returned with the man of

whom they had spoken, the Faki Mohammed Aben Iza, who, however, sternly

refused to interpret the dream of an infidel, and when he learned for

what purpose he was required would not even set foot in the palace. The

Moorish knights in their dilemma told Alfonso that the Faki's religious

scruples would not permit him to appear in a Christian court, and

the King, who well knew the niceties of Mohammedan law, contented

himself with their assurance that they would bring him the wise man's

interpretation of the dream. They then entreated the Faki to consider

it, and as they pressed him urgently he replied: "Go to the King

Alfonso and say that the accomplishment of his vision is very near,

and that its significance is after this wise. He shall be vanquished,

yea, in a disgraceful defeat, and with great slaughter. He shall fly,

with but few of his people, and the victory shall remain with the Sons

of the Prophet. Tell him, moreover, that this declaration is derived

from the Koran: 'Know ye not what your God has prepared for him of the

Elephant? Hath he not brought his force to nothing and rendered his

evil intentions of no avail? See ye not that he hath sent over them

the vultures of Babel?' These words," continued the Faki, "foretold

the downfall of Ibrahim, King of the Abbassides, when he went forth

with his army against Arabia, riding on a great elephant. But God

sent for his destruction the wild vultures of Babel, who cast balls

of glowing fire upon that host and turned his pomp into wretchedness

and the vileness of dust. As to the atambore which Alfonso described,

that signifies that the hour of his desolation is approaching."

The Moorish cavaliers, as in duty bound, returned to the King and

acquainted him with the prophetic words of the Faki. On hearing them

he turned pale, and ejaculated: "By the God of my worship, let this

your Al Faki tremble if he hath lied, for be sure that I will make

of him a warning."

Shortly after this King Alfonso assembled his host, an innumerable

multitude of foot-soldiers and more than eighty thousand cavalry,

nearly thirty thousand of whom were Arabs. With this array he marched

to the encounter with King Taxfin and his allies, and came face to face

with him near Badajoz, among the groves and plains called Zalacca,

about twelve miles from that city. The armies were divided by a

river, and across this Taxfin sent an insulting message to Alfonso,

bidding him either abjure the Christian faith or acknowledge himself

his vassal. When Alfonso read this missive he cast it to the earth

in great anger, and, turning haughtily to the envoy, said: "Go and

bid Taxfin not to conceal himself in the battle, which if he do not,

we shall see each other."

Certain circumstances affected the combat. Friday was the holy day

of the Moslems, Saturday was the Sabbath of the Jews, of whom there

were many in the Christian host, and Sunday that of the Christians,

and Alfonso had already requested Taxfin that truce should be

observed on these days, and the Moor had consented. But Alfonso

considered himself justified in attacking at the hour of dawn on

the Friday morning. He marshalled his host into two divisions, and

set on. The Moorish King of Seville had asked his astrologer to cast

a horoscope with the intention of discovering the fate of the day,

and as this had been entirely unfavourable to the Moslems they were

somewhat disheartened. But as they succeeded in withstanding Alfonso's

first attack, the student of the stars cast another mystical diagram,

and on this occasion found his prognostication more auspicious. The

King of Seville, inspired by the favourable prophecy, sat down in his

pavilion and, taking pen and parchment, dashed off the following verse,

which he sent for the inspiration of his ally, Taxfin:

God's anger on the Christian horde

Sends cruel slaughter by thy sword,

While favouring stars announce to thee

And to thy Moslems victory!

Taxfin was greatly inspirited by these words, and rode up and down

his ranks encouraging his men, but he had not much time to do so,

for King Alfonso, heading a terrific charge, dashed down on him with

all the mail-clad chivalry of Spanish Christendom. A sanguinary and

murderous conflict ensued. The Moslems stood their ground bravely,

but the heavy cavalry of the Spaniards bore them down, and overwhelmed

them on all sides. The Moorish allies of the Christian force now came

into action, surrounding and hemming in the Arabs of Andalusia, and

the Moslem chroniclers tell us that the darkness produced by that mass

of men and horses was so great that those who fought could no longer

see each other, and grappled hand to hand, as in an obscure night. At

last Taxfin's forces began to retreat, and broke into disorderly rout,

closely pressed by the Christian cavalry. The Moors of Seville alone

stood their ground. Taxfin placed himself at the head of his reserve

and, charging with great fury, threw his mounted columns directly at

the pavilion of King Alfonso. This was but slightly defended, and

easily fell a prey to the Moslems, with all its treasure. Alfonso,

noting the advance of Taxfin, charged him in flank, and the two

principal leaders were soon engaged in furious battle. The Moorish

monarch rode among his men, exhorting them to constancy, and crying out

that the reward of their valour would be the crown of paradise. As the

result of his repeated charges the Christian host began to give way,

and on the renewed attack of Taxfin's allies, who had before been

beaten, fled in precipitate rout. Alfonso, seeing that all was lost,

and accompanied by five hundred followers only, rode fast before the

conquering Moors. It was with difficulty that he made his escape to

the city of Toledo, where he arrived with only a hundred men.

From that day King Alfonso never regained heart, and some years later,

on learning of the death of his son and the defeat of his people in

battle with the infidel, he fell sick and died. So was the prophecy

of the Faki fulfilled.

The Prince who Changed Crowns

During the age-long struggle between the Gothic and Arab races in

Spain many small kingdoms on both sides rose and fell, the names of

which have long since been forgotten. Perhaps two hundred years after

the infidels had gained a footing in the Peninsula, it chanced that

in the central portion of the country there existed side by side two

diminutive kingdoms, or rather principalities, the more northerly of

which preserved its Spanish nationality with the most jealous care,

while that which existed upon its borders was equally conservative

in its Moslem prejudices. At this period the Spanish principality

had at the head of its fortunes a prince of exceptional enlightenment

and ability, Don Fernando. His training had naturally been of a kind

which had led him to regard his Moslem neighbours with the profoundest

distrust and dislike. They were, he was told by his instructors, a race

of men lost to all humanity, deficient in honour, cruel, malicious,

and revengeful--in short, it is not to be wondered at that, having the

demerits of his Saracen neighbours so constantly dinned into his ears,

the young Fernando began to regard them with the utmost repugnance.

The low range of hills which divided the two principalities rather

assisted than hindered the constant raids which Moslem and Christian

made upon each other's territory, as they constituted a description of

No Man's Land, where the forces of either might be carefully marshalled

for a lightning foray. In these raids Fernando himself occasionally

took part, as it was thought necessary that the prince of a state

which lived in a condition of almost constant warfare should be well

acquainted with the practical side of military affairs. During one

of these constantly recurring miniature invasions, the company which

Fernando commanded had ridden far into Moorish territory without

encountering any resistance, and, advancing in loose formation and

without sufficient care, suddenly encountered an ambuscade of the

enemy, who, taking it in flank, succeeded in penetrating its ranks and

cutting them in two. The little band of Spaniards, thus separated,

fled in opposite directions, and Fernando, accompanied by only a

handful of followers, turned his horse's head in the direction of

his own country and galloped out of the range of immediate danger.

The route which he was now forced to take to regain his own dominions

necessitated his following a wide détour, and as he and his companions

had already ridden far that day their horses shortly became so jaded

that further progress was almost impossible. They also became aware,

to their dismay, that the foremost of the enemy were now not far

distant. In the dilemma in which they found themselves they resolved

to sell their lives dearly, as befitted Christian knights, and they

were about to dismount from their horses to seek a spot which might

afford them some advantage in such a struggle when they beheld,

some little way off, a building of rough stone standing on a little

eminence. "There, if anywhere," said Fernando, "we shall be able

to make a good defence. Let us secure that position and take full

advantage of the shelter it offers us."

Spurring their beaten horses to a last effort, they soon gained

the summit of the little hill. Dismounting, Fernando sought for the

entrance to the rather dilapidated building, and having found it,

was about to make his way inside, when he was surprised to see a man

kneeling on its flagstones, engaged in earnest prayer. His long beard,

his patched clothing, and his general appearance signified that he

was a Moslem hermit, one of those who had retired from the haunts

of men to practise his religious austerities in peace. Fernando was

about to address him roughly and bid him begone, when the holy man,

hearing the ring of his mailed foot upon the pavement, looked up and

asked him what he required.

"Get you gone," said Fernando, "for we are about to defend this place

to the last extremity against your infidel brethren."

The hermit smiled. "Young man," he said, "what possible defence can

you hope to make in this poor place against the numbers which will

shortly surround you? Your sword and that of your companions will be

of little more avail than these poor walls, which, almost ruined as

they are, would soon be beaten down. Trust me, there is a much better

defence against the violence of man than either stone or steel."

"I know not of what you speak, old man," said Fernando, "but in those

things which you deride, I, as a soldier, have been accustomed to

place my trust."

"Alas," said the hermit, "that it should be so! Have you not been

taught, young man, in your own country that God is a surer defence

to those who trust Him than those vain material bulwarks which men

of blood erect against one another's rage? Put your trust in God,

I say, and He will be able to succour you, even through the least of

His servants."

"Were it the God of the Christians of whom you speak," replied

Fernando, "I would agree that your words were those of wisdom, but

in the mouth of an unbeliever they have naught but a blasphemous ring."

"Sir Knight," said the hermit, "you are yet a young man, but as you

grow older it will be given you to understand that God is the same

in all lands, and that division of His personality is one of the

fictions with which the Father of Lies seeks to make enmity between

the righteous. Argue no longer, I pray you, but take heed to what I

say. This remnant of stone is the last remaining turret of an ancient

fortalice, beneath which extends a labyrinth of dungeons. Secrete

yourselves speedily in the darkness of this labyrinth, I beg you,

so that you may evade your pursuers and regain your own country

after nightfall."

"Have a care, Don Fernando," cried one of the prince's comrades. "This

infidel seeks to beguile us into a trap, where his countrymen will

be able to murder us at their leisure."

"Not so," replied the prince, "for I can see that the mind of this good

and holy man holds a better purpose toward us, and I willingly yield

myself to his care. Lead the way, good father, to the hiding-place of

which you speak." The hermit immediately requested the cavaliers to

enter the building, and indicated to them a dark and sloping passage,

down which they led their horses. They had scarcely had time to conceal

themselves in the gloomy recesses to which it led when with a loud

clamour the infidels who had been pursuing them rode up. Their leader

challenged the hermit and asked him if he had observed any Christian

knights pass that way. "Assuredly no Christian knights have passed

this way, my son," replied the man of God; "go in peace." The Moslem

captain with a grave salutation immediately remounted his horse,

and the band swept on.

The hermit having entertained the Christian knights to the best of

his poor resources, returned to them within a few hours and told

them that darkness had now fallen. "You will now be able," he said,

"to make a safe return to your own land."

"How can I reward you?" cried Fernando, whose generous heart had been

deeply stirred by the old man's unaffected kindness.

"There is one way in which you can do so, young cavalier," said the

recluse, "and that is by trying to form a better opinion of the men

of my race."

"You ask a difficult thing," said the prince sadly, "for truth compels

me to say that I have heard great evil of the Moors, and but little

good."

"That is not surprising," said the hermit, with a smile, "since you

will readily admit that you have not encountered them otherwise than

with sword in hand or as prisoners whose hearts are burning with the

bitterness of defeat. Open your mind, young man, or rather pray that

its doors, until now closed, should be thrown wide to admit the rays

of celestial wisdom. Seek for the best in your enemies, and believe

me you will not fail to find it."

As he spoke, Fernando indeed felt as if the doors of his spirit, until

now rusty with prejudice, had been unbarred. "I shall not forget your

advice," he said, "for surely nothing evil can come from one so good

and noble," and with a respectful gesture of farewell he mounted his

horse and, followed by his companions, rode away.

He arrived safely in his capital in the early hours of the morning,

and having bathed and refreshed himself, sought his audience chamber,

where, surrounded by his anxious ministers, he told them of the

adventure which had befallen him.

"Great has been your good fortune, your Majesty," said one of his

advisers. "But for the services of this good man you would certainly

now have been a captive in the citadel of your enemies. Surely few

such spirits can reside in Moorish bodies."

"How so, señor?" replied the prince. "May it not be otherwise? When all

is said and done, what do we know of the Moors, save that knowledge

which is gained by constant strife with them? Would it not be well

for us to strive to know them better?"

"What!" cried another councillor, "do we not know them for dogs

and infidels, for perjured blasphemers and worshippers of false

gods? Heaven forbid that we should have further converse with them

than that of the herald, which serves to call us into the same field

as they, so that we may bring our lances to bear upon their infidel

bodies."

"These words seem to me neither good nor wise," said Fernando gently;

"and I tell you, señors, that while riding home this morning I made

a resolution to know those Moors better, even to travel into their

country, study their institutions and their faith, and meet them as

men rather than as enemies."

"Madness!" cried the Chancellor. "The rash vow of a young and

inexperienced prince."

"That is not my opinion," replied Fernando, "but in order to avoid all

unnecessary risks I have resolved to disguise myself as a Moslem. As

you are aware, I have a perfect acquaintance with the Moorish tongue,

and the manners and religious customs of our neighbours I know by

report. I have taken this resolve, and am not to be dissuaded from it."

"Your Majesty's word is law," replied the Chancellor, who saw in the

prince's resolve an opportunity for the extension of his personal

power. Others of his suite did their best to turn aside Fernando's

resolution by every argument in their power, but to no avail. His

preparations were speedily made, and within three days of announcing

his determination the prince, disguised as a Moslem of rank, set out

by night for the frontiers of his enemies.

On entering their country he resolved to make in the first place

for the capital, a town of considerable importance, on reaching

which he dismounted from his Arab steed and put up at a khan, or

public hostelry. Here he found himself in the company of travellers

of all sorts and conditions. The merchant sat at the same table

with the mullah, or priest, and the soldier shared his meal with

the pilgrim. The first thing that Fernando noticed regarding these

people was their great abstemiousness. They ate but little food, and

drank not at all, unless of milk or water. The atmosphere of gravity

prevalent in the inn surprised him. These sober, sallow-faced men sat,

for the most part, with downcast eyes, speaking rarely, and without

gesticulation, and in a low and decorous tone of voice. If asked a

question, they did not answer at once, but appeared to cogitate upon

their reply, which was invariably courteous and couched in formal

but agreeable language. All their conduct seemed to be subservient

to decency and dignity. Fernando noticed that they were spotless in

their cleanliness. Not only was this so as regards their garments,

but they were constantly performing ablutions, either in the inn

itself during the stipulated hours of prayer, or in the magnificent

public baths of the city.

On the other hand, the disguised prince could not but see that these

men were one and all within the grip of a powerful formalism, which

had the effect of cramping and limiting their ideas, and which was

only too painfully evident in their speech and manners. There seemed

to be no room for individuality in their system of life. He entered

into conversation with one of the shaven mullahs, who had retired

into a corner the better to read his copy of the Koran. At first he

evinced but little inclination to talk, but seeing that the prince

wished to exchange ideas with him, he soon brought the conversation

round to the especial point of Moslem law he was studying, upon which

he split so many hairs that the hapless Fernando deeply regretted

that he had ever approached him.

Fernando Makes Comparison

That night as Fernando lay in bed he summed up his impressions of

the day.

"These people seem to me exceedingly formal and conventional,"

he thought, "but against that we have to place the garrulity and

boisterousness of men of European race, their frequent lack of dignity

and too great familiarity of manner. That mullah, too, was terribly

long-winded, but have we not bores of our own, and in plenty? Is it

not the case that in all parts of the world selfish introspection

and scholarly pride frequently turn a man into a public nuisance? It

seems to me that the great bulk of mankind merely acts in imitation

of its fellows, and that only here and there does one meet with a

person of any outstanding individuality."

When he arose next morning Fernando paid a visit to the great

mosque of the city. It was the first time he had entered a Moorish

place of worship, and he was struck by the circumstance that the

atmosphere which prevailed within it closely resembled that to be

found in a Christian cathedral. The same hushed silence was distinctly

noticeable. Here and there stood a mullah, or teacher, instructing his

disciples in Mohammedan law and ritual, and this Fernando was rather

pleased than otherwise to notice, as direct instruction in the tenets

of the Christian faith was but seldom to be procured in the churches

of his own country. Another thing he could not but observe was the

manifest learning and erudition of the speakers. This seemed to him far

in advance of the monkish accomplishments of his own priestly subjects,

whose learning was of the most slender description, and but few of whom

were able to write, and he was deeply interested to find that in an

annexe to the mosque, which was fitted as a scrivenry or writing-room,

a number of mullahs, old and young, sat at desks writing swiftly in

the Arabic script and engaged in the multiplication of copies of the

Koran and other works of a religious nature.

From the mosque Fernando speedily found his way to the university,

and was soon lost in wonder at the rich intellectual life which

flourished there. In one room a white-robed teacher was lecturing

upon the practice of medicine with an acumen and ability he had

never heard equalled. His knowledge of drugs and chemistry and of the

properties of plants and herbs appeared to be both wide and exact,

and when Fernando thought upon the wretched leeches to whom so many

of the lives of his subjects annually paid forfeit he experienced a

deep feeling of shame that these swarthy yet studious foreigners were

so easily able to eclipse them in both theory and application. But he

was acute enough to discern that the lecturer spoke of the medical art

as a thing the principles of which were already fixed beyond the power

of expansion. He spoke of experiment in the past tense, and all his

references were to the great teachers of the old world, to Galen and

Hippocrates, to Avicenna and to Rhazes. If he did chance to allude to

the teachers of his own day, it was in rather an apologetic manner,

and by no means in a complimentary sense. Antiquity was everything

to him, and the tenets of the old masters of medicine appeared to

him quite as sacred in their way as the words of the Prophet himself.

In an adjoining classroom Fernando lingered some time to listen to

a professor of astrology. This ancient art had always held a certain

fascination for him, and he was well aware that the Moors were among

its greatest interpreters. The lecturer described at length the

influences which the various planets had upon the destinies of man,

the manner in which their conjunctions and oppositions affected human

affairs, and the characters of persons born under certain astrological

conditions. This science too appeared to him incapable of extension or

fresh effort, and while hearkening to the speaker he found that though

he heard much that his common sense told him was incapable of definite

proof, he gleaned nothing of the nature of those planets themselves,

their physical movement, or their scientific relation to the earth. In

the geography classroom he found that instruction was based upon

more modern lines. The works of Arab travellers who had journeyed

extensively in Asia and Africa were touched upon. The conditions of

life in distant countries of the world were discussed, and as a general

rule with much greater exactitude than in the European schools which

he had visited, where fact was often subordinated to fancy and where

the extraordinary was prized at a much higher rate than the probable.

Leaving the university, the court of which was filled to overflowing

with scholars who appeared to be disputing on various phases of

erudition, Fernando walked to the crowded market-place, a portion

of which, he observed, was given over to the sale of manuscripts,

and this part, he could not help noticing, was much better patronized

than those where food-stuffs and wearing apparel were for sale. In

the more open spaces jugglers and mountebanks, usually accompanied by

performing animals, went through all sorts of gambols and antics. Here

and there small knots of men discussed the more obscure points of

the Koran or of Mohammedan law, while others sat in shady corners,

lazily drinking sherbet or drowsing away the hot morning hours. In

the booths which surrounded the market-place he saw various tradesmen

at work--carpenters, smiths, sandal-makers, tailors--but he noticed

that the efforts of these were of the most leisurely description,

and that their tools were of a type much more antiquated than those

in use among the tradesmen of his own country. The hand of time was

indeed heavy upon the whole race. In some things it appeared to have

made great advances, while in others it seemed to have retained the

primitive ideas of the Dark Ages. Its progress seemed to have been

made in the realm of thought alone, but even here everything was

derivative and had reference to the experiments of an older age.

Strangely enough, however, Fernando felt that much of this conservatism

touched a responsive chord within his own nature.

"Are these people not right," he argued with himself, "when they

let well alone, as the proverb says? If they have brought about a

condition of things which suits them as a race, would it not be folly

in them to embark upon a career of experiment which might prove wholly

unsuitable to them? They seem reasonably happy and contented. Suppose

a condition of affairs such as obtains within my own principality

were suddenly to be forced upon them, would their happiness not be

changed into wretchedness? It must be that long experience has taught

them that their present manner of life is by far the most convenient

for them. Can it be that their dislike of us arises from the great

differences between our institutions and theirs? But, again, is it not

possible that these things are very much on the surface? Their real

natural sympathies and antipathies are, after all, very similar to our

own. They are entirely dependent upon the changes of the seasons and

upon the tillage of the earth for their food; they live constantly

in fear of warfare; the same private troubles between man and man,

between neighbour and neighbour, arise among them as among ourselves;

they are subject to the rule of authority precisely as we are. The

modifications of all these things are, after all, those of place and

circumstance, nor is it possible for any one individual among them to

break away from established custom, any more than it is in Spain. We

do not differ from them in the salient things of life, but only in its

surface details. Their religion teaches that the good are rewarded

and the bad punished, that a man must be constant in his patriotic

and domestic affections. After all, had one of these brown men been

reared in Spain, at the age of twenty years he would have been moved

by the same prejudices as myself, and have become so like me in every

particular as to be indistinguishable from an ordinary Spaniard."

Passing through one of the gates of the city, Fernando walked into

the country. It very much resembled the rural portions of his own

principality, except that it was cultivated with greater care. Here

and there tiny, snow-white farm-steadings nestled in hollows, and

from these streams of reapers and gleaners spread across the fields in

every direction, for it was harvest-time. Fernando joined one of these

groups, and was surprised to find that there was little difference

between it and a similar party in Christian Spain. At intervals the

work of garnering the grain was relaxed, and the reapers sat in a

circle and listened to the music made by one of their number on the

pipe, which possessed a strange melancholy of its own. Fernando found

in them the same simple and easily satisfied disposition that he had

discovered among his own peasantry. They shared their bread and cheese

with him, and tendered him a draught of goat's milk from a large skin

bottle, which he made shift to swallow with rather a wry face, for

princes as a rule do not accustom themselves to the pungent odours of

such a beverage. Thus refreshed, he passed on, walking slowly through

the heat of the day, which was now well advanced, and resting every

now and then beneath the shadows of the roadside trees.

He had advanced perhaps a mile and a half farther on when he came to a

wide, open plain upon which he beheld a large body of Moorish cavalry

performing military evolutions. His soldier's eye took in the scene

with interest, and he was quick to see that the rapid movements of

these lightly armed horsemen were greatly superior to those of his

own heavily accoutred warriors. At the word of command the squadrons

wheeled and charged with surprising unanimity and rapidity, and

when the word was given to halt they did so on the instant, without

scattering or losing the alignment of their ranks. The evolutions of

one of the squadrons brought it quite close to where the prince was

standing, and the officer in command, evidently regarding him as a

pilgrim of sanctity, gave him a courteous salutation.

"I take it, reverend sir," he said, "from the evident pleasure

with which you regard this scene, that you have once been a soldier

yourself?"

"That is quite true," replied Fernando; "I was a soldier for many

years, and saw a good deal of service in another part of the country;

but war is no longer my business, and I do not, as I once did,

cherish it for itself alone."

"But surely," said the soldier, "war is the only career to which a

noble mind can turn? You are young, and have evidently left its ranks

too early."

"Nay," rejoined the prince, "I am ready, if necessity enjoins, to take

up the sword once more, but only in case of unrighteous invasion or

to settle a grievous wrong. As I have said, I no longer desire war

for its own sake."

"But," said the soldier, smiling, "you do not mean that we should be

unprepared for attack? We know not the moment at which the rude and

savage Christians from the north may send a multitude of warriors

against us."

"Nor do they know, my friend, when we shall take it into our heads

to make a foray into their lands," said Fernando.

"But," said the officer, "if we were to do so, it would only be as

a protective measure after all, for we are well aware that they will

never become reconciled to us."

"Have we ever tried to discover that?" asked Fernando. "I fear not. We

have certainly made treaties with them, but these seem to have been

made for the very purpose of being broken."

"Yes," said the officer, his lip curling, "they are treacherous dogs,

these Spaniards, upon whose word no honest man can rely. They have

broken treaty after treaty."

"If I'm not mistaken," said Fernando, "we have done the same, only

our rulers take extraordinary care that the people shall not be

acquainted with the full measure of our national dishonesties, but

shall be told that it was necessary to act in such and such a manner

because of the untrustworthy nature of our enemies. May I ask, sir,

if you have ever travelled in Christian Spain, or have known other

Christians than those whom you may have chanced to take as prisoners?"

The cavalryman shook his head. "Now I come to think of it," he said,

"I have crossed swords with more Spaniards than I have bandied words

with, but I do not doubt, as you imply, that there are noble spirits

among that people, for I know out of my own experience that they are

stout men of war, and a brave soldier can scarcely be other than an

honourable man. But you will excuse me, sir; I can remain no longer. In

the name of God, I wish you a pleasant journey."

Fernando Meets his "Double"

Fernando passed on his way, and this day in his wanderings may

be taken as representative of many another. For three months he

wandered through the Moorish land, studying its institutions and

its people at first hand, and gleaning a practical insight into the

national characteristics. At the end of that time he had conceived

such a high opinion of his one-time foes that it was with heartfelt

sorrow that he turned his steps northward to the borders of his own

principality. Loath to cross them, he resolved to spend the night

at a small khan on the Moorish side of the hills. It was a poor

place, but beautifully situated at the entrance to a peaceful little

valley. Giving his horse to the white-robed ostler, he entered. To

his utter amazement, the first person he encountered was a young man

who so closely resembled himself that he started back in surprise and

dismay, for there was not a lineament in the stranger's countenance

which was not mirrored in his own. The young man thus confronted

also halted abruptly, and stared at his living counterpart; then

a smile broke over his pleasant face, and he said, with a laugh:

"I see, sir, you are as surprised as myself, but I hope you are not

angry that God has made us so alike, for I have heard that people

who closely resemble one another are apt to cherish a mutual distrust."

"There is small danger of that, friend," said Fernando, "for if God has

made our minds as like each other as He has fashioned our bodies, I am

convinced that you are of a liberal and unconventional disposition,"

and, laughing heartily, he indicated a table. "It would be fitting,"

he continued, "that we should break bread together."

"Agreed!" cried the other; "I accept your invitation with all the

goodwill in the world." And, seating themselves at the rough board,

the two young men were soon engaged in an animated conversation. Much

as they had been surprised at the physical resemblance between them,

they were even more astonished at the close similarity they bore to

one another in taste and disposition. For hours they sat in close

discussion. At last the stranger said: "I feel as if we had known

each other for a lifetime, and as I am certain that I can trust you

thoroughly, I will reveal to you my secret. Know then that I am Muza,

the prince of this country, and that I am even now returned from a

prolonged journey in the land of the Christians, whose character and

customs it had long been my desire to study."

"I am indeed honoured by your Majesty's condescension and confidence,"

replied Fernando, "and you may rest assured that your secret will

remain inviolate with me. But may I ask what opinion you formed of

the inhabitants of Christian Spain during your sojourn among them?"

"Such a high opinion," replied Muza, "that it is with the greatest

regret that I quit their country, for I find among them a spirit so

much more in consonance with my own than that of my native subjects

that I solemnly assure you I had much rather rule over them than over

my own people."

"Have then your wish, noble Muza," said Fernando, rising, "for I am

none other than Fernando, prince of the Christians, who, impelled by

a similar desire, has been travelling in your dominions, and who has

conceived such a strong predilection for the character and customs of

its people that he asks nothing better than to be permitted to guide

their destinies. That I am what I represent myself to be you may know

by this token," and, searching beneath his burnous, Fernando drew out

a gold chain, from which was suspended his royal signet. "There is,

so far as I can see," he continued, "but one possible bar to our

compact, and that is the difference between our religions."

"Nay, Fernando," said Muza, with uplifted hands, "I find no difficulty

in that, for, as I understand the matter, the difference is merely

one of exteriors. The inward spirit of our faiths is the same, and

it is only in their outward manifestations that they present any

divergency. Both spring from the one God, Who designed them for the

uses of differently constituted races, and if you agree with me that

this is so, there should be no greater difficulty in our embracing

the religions of each other's people than in accepting their customs."

"I heartily agree," replied Fernando, "but what I fear is that we

shall not be able to convince our respective peoples of the purity

of our motives. They certainly must not share our secret."

"Our great safeguard," said Muza, "is the extraordinary resemblance

between us, but it will be necessary that we should instruct each other

in our past histories, and in the intricacies of our personal affairs,

in order that ignorance of these may not give rise to suspicion."

"You speak like a wise man," rejoined Fernando; "let us address

ourselves to this business at once."

Far into the night the two young princes sat initiating each other

into the intimacies of their respective national diplomacies and

personal relationships, and at last, when morning broke, they parted

with every mark of mutual esteem, mounted their horses, and rode off,

Fernando to the capital of the Moor, Muza to that of the Christian. But

ere they parted they agreed to meet at the inn where they had first

forgathered at least once in three months, in order to discuss any

eventualities which might arise.

Three months passed rapidly, and, prompt to the day, the two young

rulers met once more at the inn. There was a noticeable stiffness in

the manner of their greeting.

"And how fare you, noble Muza, in the kingdom of my fathers?" asked

Fernando.

"Alas! your Majesty," replied Muza, "I am constrained to say that I

fare but ill. Every day your advisers present to me new schemes of

aggression against my late kingdom to which I can give no manner of

countenance, and they upbraid me bitterly with what they are pleased

to call my disloyalty."

"Precisely the same thing has happened to myself," said Fernando,

"and may I say, with all due regard to the race from which you spring,

that they do not compare in liberality of outlook with my own, that

they are extremely conservative, and difficult of comprehension!"

"On the other hand," said Muza, "I find your people much too active

and unruly, and I do not encounter the same implicit obedience to

which I have hitherto been accustomed. If I may say so, there is a

want of dignity----"

"I find some of my personal relations awkward too," groaned Fernando;

"your matrimonial arrangements, for example."

"And your lack of the same," replied Muza.

"On the whole I think----" said Fernando.

"I fully agree," replied Muza.

"If we put the matter in a nutshell," remarked Fernando, "it is better

for a man--even a liberal-minded one--to remain in the bosom of his

own people, for no matter how broad his views may be, among strangers

he must constantly be doomed to encounter much which will tend to

strengthen his prejudices against them and create odious comparisons

and regrets."

"Once more I agree," said Muza. "When once the novelty wears off----"

"Exactly," responded Fernando. "After all, what country can compare

with that in which one has been born?"

So the two princes parted, each to take his way to his native

land. But, despite the threats and entreaties of their advisers,

neither of them would ever again consent to make war upon the dominions

of the other, and it was even hinted by disgruntled and badly disposed

persons that Fernando and Muza met occasionally on their common

frontiers for the sole purpose of settling difficulties which had

arisen between their respective states--an unnatural proceeding which

they avowed was bound sooner or later to end in political disaster.